The Real Mother Goose

by Selena Kitt

  Molly mewed loudly, drawing Mother’s wavering attention, her hips grinding back into the woman’s hand, and Mother felt the cat woman’s pussy beginning to spasm, the throb drawing her own pussy toward that pleasure center, as if it were leashed. Mother pressed her hand between her legs, Molly’s tail still working there, and came, her hips bucking in the chair, her head thrown back, eyes closed, a soft moan escaping her lips as she gave into the feeling.

  When she opened her eyes, Mother saw them all collapsed—Jill on top of Toby, Lucy curled in Blue’s lap, Molly beside her chair with Jack—panting and satisfied.

  “Lovely show,” Mother sighed happily, observing the sweetness of their domestic bliss. It had almost made her forget all concerns, not the least of which was the note, now just ashes in the fire, and the cryptic message about her husband. Perhaps her cats really were trainable, she mused, stroking Molly’s behind, feeling the feline’s hips rise with each pass. That, at least, would be a blessing.

  “Hickory dickory doc,” Jack mused, his hands behind his head, his eyes half closed. “The mouse ran up the clock…”

  All three cats’ heads came up, but it was Lucy who pounced, leaping out of Blue’s lap, her claws out—he would have scratches on his thighs for weeks—toward the mouse now running down the other side of the grandfather clock. It tilted dangerously, not used to her weight, and then started toppling toward them.

  “Willie!” Mother called in dismay as they all scrambled out of the way and the ancient clock crashed to the floor, the wood shattering, its innards springing loose in sprays of gold springs and bolts and cogs. Lucy crouched on top, the only evidence of the mouse a still-wiggling tail and the close-lipped smile on her face.

  “Bad kitty!” Mother scolded, shaking her finger at the cat girl, and Lucy had the sense to look guilty, spitting out the mouse, which ran, squeaking, for the corner of the room.

  “Well,” Willie said with a sigh, appearing silently beside Mother and making her gasp with surprise once again. “So much for domestication…”

  Chapter Seven

  Old King Cole

  Old King Cole was a merry old soul,

  And a merry old soul was he.

  He called for his pipe,

  and he called for his bowl,

  And he called for his fiddlers three…

  Blue pulled the coach up just as the sun was beginning to set, making Jill’s hair seem on fire as he helped her step from the carriage, dressed in red, of course, as the Queen of Hearts would be in attendance, although “dressed” was the optimum word. Her lush curves, hugged by a tight red corset, spilled over top and bottom, her breasts completely exposed, as was the fiery triangle between her legs. She didn’t seem self-conscious or shy any longer, though, and she gave Blue a smile as she stepped down, Jack crowding possessively behind her. He wore a burgundy shade of breeches, far more material than Jill had on.

  “Won’t you come in for dinner, Blue?” Mother asked, taking his hand and letting him help her down. “I’m sure they won’t mind.”

  He gave her a nod. “If you wish it.”

  The truth was, she did. Blue was an extra set of eyes and ears, and for some reason, she felt she needed that tonight. Something was happening, she could sense it, although she wasn’t quite sure what it was. It would be better if they all stayed a little on guard.

  The night was already in full swing inside the great hall, and Mother realized this would be no intimate dinner. The tables were already packed with men and women like herself, trainers, their pets leashed at their feet, or kneeling by their sides. Mother never had favored a leash too much, after that initial breaking in period, and she flushed at the looks her charges received when they walked in, the pair of them hand in hand, without any restraint.

  “Mother Goose!” King Cole’s voice rang out behind her, a bold, full, brash sound, and she turned, already smiling and holding out her hand. He was a short, rotund fellow, a stark contrast to his wife, and the whispered opposite comparisons to Jack Sprat and his wife had made the rounds more than once.

  “Your highness.” She curtsied, as was custom, and he kissed her outstretched hand as he told her to rise. She towered over him in her boots, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  “So glad you could come! George has news of your husband, I’m sure you’ll want to hear!” The King waved over his shoulder, beckoning someone, and Mother felt her heart sink as she saw the man approaching. Behind her, Blue stiffened, both at the King’s words and at the sight of the baby-faced, smiling man threading through the crowd.

  “Georgie Porgie,” Mother said under her breath, smiling in spite of the churning in her stomach as the man approached. Not many men could have boasted being shorter than the King, but this one was, and even more round. His cheeks burned bright red, but they almost always did with any little exertion, rather than out of embarrassment. The man was shameless.

  “They did call me that, didn’t they?” George’s grin stretched his face even wider as he took Mother’s hand and she winced at the oily, slick feel of it. “It’s been a long time, Mother dear. How are you?”

  Not long enough, she thought, but said, “I’m wonderfully well. You?”

  “I would have thought you’d be pining away.” George’s smile never wavered as he stood beside the King, the two of them like peas without a pod. “With Father being gone so long.”

  “A few months.” Mother waved her hand dismissively, although her heart plummeted. It had been more like six months now, although she was loathe to admit it. “He’ll be back any time.”

  “I’m not so sure.” George’s eyes narrowed, skipping past Mother to where Blue was standing, Jill beside him, pressed tight to Jack’s side. His eyes lit up when he saw the redhaired girl, but that didn’t stop his mouth from moving. “He’s on some sort of quest, you know. Looking for some such thing on the other side. Who knows what? A wild goose chase!” The round man laughed at his own joke, and the King chuckled appreciatively. “He hasn’t been seen anywhere near the portal in months. Gone, they say, I’m afraid to report.” George shook his head in mock sympathy. “Perhaps it’s time for you to start thinking about taking on a new Master, eh, Mother dear?”

  Mother’s breath caught in her throat and she saw the look that passed between he and the King and finally understood. She tried to speak, to defend herself, but couldn’t find the words. There was no way she was going to declare her husband dead—and she knew, the King could do it, could in fact do it without her consent, and give her, instead, to another man. George licked his lips, looking between Mother and the King, rocking on his heels in anticipation.

  I’ll kill myself first, she thought, her jaw clenching.

  “What think you of that, Mother?” King Cole asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “You’ve always needed a firm hand, you know.”

  She swallowed hard, blinking at him in disbelief. He couldn’t possibly believe that George—flabby, soft-bellied, soft-handed, soft-minded Georgie Porgie—could possibly be anywhere close to her match?

  “And George here, well he’s up and volunteered his services.”

  “I’m sure he has.” Mother looked down at the man and fought the urge to kick him—hard—the way she’d done the first time he’d accosted her alone somewhere in an attempt to kiss her quiet while he fondled and groped as much as he possibly could in the short time between surprise and indignation. He’d wanted her then, she remembered, had asked for her, had even offered both stock and a great deal of money, but Father had won out by proposing a simple test of personal strength and loyalty—hers, of course. She had held out for the man she wanted, and she had won him.

  So where are you now, my love, she thought, fighting tears. She couldn’t begin to imagine, remembering him kissing her quickly, saying, “I’ll be right back,” and then disappearing in a heated shimmer through the portal. Gone for a unique flower, something odd but delectable to eat perhaps. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d skipped between worlds to br
ing something unusually delightful back to her. But the longest he’d ever been gone was a week.

  “I hear he’s found someone else,” George said behind his hand in a stage whisper to the King. “A young blonde over there, a long, tall drink of water that one.”

  Mother’s spine stiffened, her eyes flashing as she turned on him, about to let go six month’s worth of worry and rage on the little man in the presence of the King, but Blue’s voice stopped her just in time.

  “Old Mother Hubbard told me she saw him, though,” Blue countered, making them all look over in surprise. “I meant to tell you earlier today,” he said in a low tone to Mother. “I talked to her this morning,” Blue went on, looking at the King. “Said he was looking for something. Calling through the portal. She tried to answer him, but he was gone again. Perhaps he’s just lost his way?”

  The King frowned, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, this is interesting news.”

  George waved his hand, rolling his eyes. “Rumor! Gossip! I was there, I tell you! The man is missing!”

  Blue shrugged. “Just because you didn’t see him, doesn’t mean someone else didn’t.”

  “Perhaps we should send out a search party?” The King looked up at Mother’s pale face. “What think you, Mother? Would you like that?”

  “I’d prefer it to a premature death declaration, followed by being paired off with someone of much less…stature.” She said this last as kindly as she could, through clenched teeth. George narrowed his eyes, sputtering, but his blustering was interrupted by the beginning of the dinner entertainment.

  “The wall! The wall!” The cry went up throughout the hall, and the King laughed, clapping and looking up to where a man was already scaling a high wall on the other side of the room. There was a large arch at the top, where the man could sit and look down at the crowd below. He was completely nude, and even from this distance, Mother glimpsed his cock, standing straight up like an arrow, the largest one she’d ever seen.

  “Humpty’s gonna get his fill tonight,” George cackled, licking his lips, his hand moving over his own breeches, caressing what lay below. “Look at the girls lined up!”

  They lined up as if the Pied Piper himself had come to call, as if the man’s enormous cock were a divining rod, calling out some mystical tune. Mother had never gone, although Father had given her permission, but she had seen this show a thousand times, and it still never failed to fascinate her. It obviously still amused the King—he cheered as one of his men threw one of the girls, completely nude of course, over his shoulder and carried her up the ladder toward the waiting man sitting in the archway.

  “Hump! Hump! Hump!” The cry went up as the girl thrashed and squealed, surely making her hard to hold. The element of danger was part of the excitement—they both could have been killed if they slipped from the archway and fell to the hard, cold stone floor below. The king’s men were there, of course, and so far, they had caught them all…but you just never knew.

  Mother never understood why they struggled so, after standing in line, anticipating the fuck, but they did. Perhaps it was part of the act, or the rush of adrenaline, or just that first, shocking pierce of the man’s member—no one could remember his name anymore, he’d be “Hump” for so long, and the kids all called him “Humpty Dumpty”—but whatever the reason, the girls always writhed and cried before they started moaning in pleasure.

  “Is she all right, Mother?” Jill asked softly, concerned, pressing against her mistress’ side. Hump had the blonde by the hips, situated firmly in his lap and impaled on his cock. Her breasts swayed as he pumped, his big arms used to the motion, and she hung nearly suspended, looking down at the knights below, her eyes wide with fear at first before the sensation of being fucked began to take over.

  “Look at her face, precious,” Mother murmured, petting the girl’s red hair as she pulled her closer. Of course, it wasn’t just her face that belied her pleasure. The blonde’s moans reached the crowd and she reached back, grasping the man’s hips, unable to move of her own volition, her legs dangling. He did all the work, thrusting, pumping, driving her toward climax. When it came, she screamed, her head thrown back, eyes closed, face and chest flushed a bright, rosy red, and Hump growled in triumph, letting her hips go completely.

  Her scream continued all the way down as six knights gathered close together to catch her fall. She collapsed into their arms, dizzy and gasping, and Hump laughed from above, a low, sexy sound.

  “Next!”

  And so another girl, slung over the shoulder of a man, began her struggling ascent, and the kitchen doors opened at the same time, cooks carrying trays of steaming hot food to the tables.

  “Let’s eat!” the King declared, putting his arm around George and staring toward the head table. He glanced over his shoulder at Mother, his eyes skipping over to the redhead beside her, and called, “You too, Mother dear. To me, to me!”

  And so they found themselves with front row seats to the grinding, grunting show above as they ate their roasted squab and asparagus. Jill still sat close to Mother, Jack pressed to her other side, whispering things throughout the meal. George kept frowning at her trainees’ lack of discipline, but Mother ignored him and his opinion, talking instead to the Queen, whose experience with little Muffy was thankfully satisfactory. She always had looked so good in red.

  “She dances for the King nearly every night,” the Queen confided, sounding proud. “She’s quite an accomplished little thing.”

  The King overheard them, sucking the grease from the cooked bird off his fingers, his eyes brightening. “Quite!” he agreed, lifting his head and calling. “My pipe! My bowl!”

  Mother saw Muffy, her blonde hair in long, lovely ringlets down her back, carrying both toward the King, her body adorned in silver, tattooed in henna, but otherwise nude. She was totally different, like something otherworldly, and Mother couldn’t help but stare.

  “What a fine piece of stock,” George admired, his eyes glittering from puffy slits in his face. “My wife found her,” the King said, nodding in agreement as Muffy knelt with her offering, and the King took his bowl and pipe, taking a long, held breath of the stuff. Mother had never done any of the poppiods, but knew the King loved his, and didn’t begrudge him. They grew wild in the fields, and even the animals loved to eat them, frolicking wildly afterward, rutting and grinding and squealing as if possessed.

  “Lovely.” George touched one of the girl’s ringlet curls, rubbing it between his fat finger and thumb, and Mother winced. She fervently hoped Muffy wouldn’t have to serve the King’s guest tonight.

  “Would you like to see her dance?” the King offered generously, glancing up as another girl dropped from the archway with a loud scream, and Hump called out, “Next!” with a large grin, his huge cock glistening in the light.

  “I would,” George agreed, his hand moving to his breeches as his thumb traced the girl’s tender lips. “Indeed, I would.”

  “Shower!” the King called up toward the archway, and Hump gave him a bow, standing in the archway now, his body slick with sweat from his effort. There were nine nude girls below, and the knights pushed them forward, not that they needed encouragement. They stood with their hands and faced raised, whimpering, mewing, panting, watching with big eyes as the man above them took himself in hand and began to stroke himself.

  “Show-er! Show-er!” became the chant throughout the hall as the man’s hand moved faster—Mother was amazed he could get his hand around it, and saw, from her angle, that he couldn’t, exactly, not quite. His girth was so great that his fingers didn’t quite meet his thumb. Beside her, Jill watched with wide eyes, squirming in her seat, and Mother smiled, remembering the first time she, too, had watched this show.

  “Ahhhh!” Hump’s buck and growl was followed by a literal shower of white hot cum. His cock jerked with it, his heavy balls drawn up tight, spewing forth impossibly long, heated spurts of the stuff, and it rained down on the women below. They squealed, tu
rning their faces up to catch it, their tongues out, as if they were catching raindrops or snowflakes, and when he was finished—it seemed to go on and on, his back arched, his cock a fountain—they turned to one another, kissing, licking, like kittens in a pile on the floor, writhing in ecstasy.

  “He’s gonna fall one of these days,” Blue mused, watching as the man sank, weary, to sitting in the archway, his head back, eyes closed, still panting hard.

  “This hall wouldn’t be the same without ol’ Hump,” King Cole agreed, looking up at the man fondly. “Found him across the borderlands, you know, dancing for women who put strange green paper in his underpants. I’d never seen a cock so big, and just had to bring him back to…ah…show the Queen.”

  The Queen of Hearts blushed red, but she nodded, her eyes bright. “Indeed.”

  The King took another long hit from his pipe, his eyes glazing over for a moment. Then he saw George’s hand moving down Muffy’s chin, venturing toward her breast, and he called, “Fiddlers!” clapping his hands loudly. Muffy stood immediately, stepping carefully between Blue and George, past their dishes and up onto the table. Before he could even speak, the kitchen staff had cleared their dishes, and Muffy had an open space to move, but she waited, poised, for the music.

  “They’re cats!” Jill whispered as the three fiddlers began, and they were, similar to the three they had at home, their markings and coloring slightly different. One of them, a dark gray cat girl, had four breasts instead of the usual two, a sight that caught Mother’s attention.

  “Hey diddle diddle, the cat with the fiddle…” Blue winked over at Jill’s stunned expression, but then his attention was drawn to the girl at the center of the table, her body swaying to the music.

  “Divine,” George murmured, watching Muffy dance, the music both melancholy and wonderfully hypnotic. The three cats were skilled fiddlers, seeming to move the dancer with their music, and Mother marveled at Muffy’s ability as well. She never would have known the girl could be so graceful.