The Real Mother Goose

by Selena Kitt

  When the music sped up, the girl’s hips moved faster, gyrating, insinuating sex with every movement, and when it slowed down, she swayed, dancing with her arm movements as beautifully as she did the rest of her body, her hips rolling in wider, easier circles, giving them all a clear view of her curves. Mother noted George’s hand edging toward the girl, and every time he managed to touch her, she would dance the other way, but she paid special attention to the King, focusing on him with her eyes, saving small, secret smiles for his personal pleasure.

  “She’s beautiful,” Jill whispered, watching with wide eyes. Mother smiled, leaning over and kissing the redhead on the forehead. “So are you, precious.”

  The King noticed the exchange, his eyes skipping between the two young women, and then he smiled, giving Muffy a nod. “Choose a partner,” he instructed her, his eyes moving again to the redhead, his meaning clear. Muffy smiled, stretching her hennaed hands out to the girl sitting next to Mother. Jill stiffened, shaking her head, and Jack grabbed her wrist, mimicking Jill’s head movement.

  “Hush, Jack,” Mother admonished, prying his fingers from Jill’s and encouraging the girl to climb up onto the table with the blonde. Both women were ripe and lush with curves, their breasts full and pink tipped, and Muffy danced circles around Jill at first, smiling, laughing, teasing, untying laces of her red corset as she went. The redhead blinked, dizzy, at the whirling blonde, and before she knew it, she was nude, too, and Muffy was encouraging her to step out of her corset. George had it in his hands before Mother could grab it, lifting it to his nose and breathing deeply as he watched the women together, rocking now, close, arms entwined. Muffy rubbed her lower belly against Jill’s, her shaved mound seeming to reach for the redhead’s lush fur, their nipples touching, teasing. Jill’s eyes closed with pleasure, and Muffy took advantage of the moment, pressing her lips to the other woman’s. Mother saw a soft, pink tongue sneak through, their bodies rocking, swaying to the fiddlers’ music.

  It was magical, and they all sat, transfixed by the show. If it weren’t for Jack’s hands clenched into fists beside her, Mother would have been carried away as well, but instead she focused her attention on the youngster beside her, whispering for him to hold still. His jealousy was almost as hot-headed as the ginger headed girl’s, his face growing as red.

  “Jack, enough,” she admonished, whispering so no one else could hear. “She’s coming home with you tonight. Let it be.”

  Of course, Mother couldn’t have predicted the next, as the Muffy led Jill to the end of the table toward the King, making her kneel down before him, a pliant offering. The King smiled, running his hands up the woman’s slim, pale thighs, the smooth, extended curve of her hips, her waist, feeling the weight of her breasts in his hands.

  “She’s a precious pet, isn’t she?” he murmured, glancing up at Muffy, who nodded, taking a light step off the table—in the direction of Mother, rather than George, whose hungry eyes followed her as she made her way to the King.

  “Hungry?” The King inquired, giving her a lazy smile as he leaned back in his chair, letting the blonde kneel down and free his cock. It was as short and stubby as he was, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her mouth worshipped it and the King groaned, his hand lost in her golden curls. But that still wasn’t enough.

  “You.” He pointed to Jill, who was watching the scene with rapt attention, and then down to where Muffy swallowed his length. “Here.”

  Jack moved quickly, trying to spring up from his seat, and Mother slid a leg over his, forcing him back down, her eyes narrowed at him in warning. She shook her head, glancing over at Blue, who frowned. Jill hadn’t hesitated—she knelt before her King, kissing Muffy over the fat, bulbous head of his cock, their pink tongues sliding together, each of them making soft, happy sounds.

  “Ahhhh yes!” King Cole shifted his hips forward, giving the women better access. They fought over him, teasing, their hands roaming over each other as they shared playing the instrument between them with their tender, pink mouths. “Good girls, good!”

  When Jack’s mouth opened, Mother nearly panicked, looking over to Blue for help, but he was already behind the youth, his hand over his mouth. “I’d close it, if you want to keep your head.” Blue’s words were just barely loud enough for Mother to hear, and her stomach lurched when she saw George watching them, his eyes cold, calculating.

  “What do you think of her now?” The King gasped, nudging George in the shoulder. The littler man’s attention shifted to the two women kneeling between the King’s legs. “They’re both exquisite,” George agreed, his hand moving under the table, and Mother was glad she couldn’t see his hand wrapped around the stub of his cock. “They should be savored, these two, slowly and together.” Beside her, Jack struggled against Blue’s hold, his blue eye on fire, and Mother knew where this was heading, and was helpless to stop it.

  “Permission, my Queen?” The King groaned as Jill took his cock deep into her throat, competing with the blonde, whose tongue slipped down to lick at his balls.

  The Queen of Hearts smiled indulgently, giving him a brief nod. “Of course. As long as Mother agrees to give up her charge.”

  Mother froze, knowing she couldn’t refuse, feeling Jack trembling beside her. “As you wish, your majesty.”

  The muffled, jolted shout from beside her—that was all Jack could do, with Blue’s hand over his mouth, and the weight of Mother’s thigh over his—would have been heard clearly anyway, if the King hadn’t reached climax right at that moment, roaring his pleasure as he grabbed a handful of blonde and red hair, forcing the two women’s mouths together over the head of his cock.

  The kitchen, hearing the uproar, mistook his call, and released dessert at that moment, causing the whole room to erupt in applause. Five cooks had to carry the pie out, high above their heads, and it erupted with a flutter of wings—blackbirds, sixty at least, flew out of the top, their wings coated with the sticky juices of blackberries.

  Mother took the quick, distracting opportunity to lean in to the Queen and make her apologies. “My charge needs a bit of discipline,” Mother whispered as Blue carried a kicking, struggling Jack quickly through the hall.

  The Queen nodded, giving her an understanding look, and Mother followed then, glancing back only once with a heavy heart to see Jill’s stunned expression as the only family she could remember left her alone in the hall amidst strangers.

  Chapter Eight

  Jack Be Nimble

  Jack, be nimble,

  Jack, be quick.

  It wasn’t the cats in the cage this time, it was Jack—wild, insane, thrashing, howling, pounding, wailing. Mother could barely stand it, and she paced the floor, her boots clicking hollowly, back and forth. He was two rooms away, and she could still hear him. Willie brought tea and left it quietly on the table, but Mother ignored it. She patted Molly on the head absently when the cat girl came to thread her way around Mother’s legs, but she sidestepped her, continuing to pace.

  “You said she was coming hooooooooooooome!” She heard Jack’s plaintive cry clearly and winced, her peignoir whirling as she turned, pacing back toward the door. She hesitated, her hand on the knob, listening to the youth sob, crying, “Jill! Jill!” over and over. Mother took a deep, steadying breath, turning away from the door, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t breaking for him.

  “Maybe we can distract him?” Mother queried, as Molly tried again, rubbing her soft ears against Mother’s thighs. The cat woman looked up at her mistress, her slitted eyes narrowing, the gold flecks bright.

  “Could you be distracted from your love for Father?”

  Mother sighed, wincing, and gave up her pacing, collapsing into a chair. “Oh Molly, what am I going to do? I’ve made a mess of everything.”

  The feline just rested her soft head in her mistress’ lap, letting herself be stroked as a comfort, more to Mother than to Molly. Mother considered calling in Blue, asking him what to do. He was the one she turned to now, with Father
gone, relied on, leaned on. He’d been such a strength and help, and might have a solution now. But her pride stuck in her throat, and she couldn’t seem to form the words. She knew both the King and Queen had looked askance at her ability to train and discipline her young charges, worried enough they had actually considered declaring Father Goose defunct and giving her to another man.

  Mother shuddered, closing her eyes against the thought, not wanting to remember George’s hungry, narrow glance, his groping hands. Instead, she held out hope that the search party the King had sent out would find Artan and bring him home, where he belonged. Maybe he could clean up the mess she’d made, she thought with a bright flash of hope. She’d take whatever punishment was coming to her, if only he could be here, beside her, again.

  Her daydream drifted toward the days—and nights—they’d spent together in this room, in the big four poster bed, Mother in various states of undress and restraint. She didn’t know how long it had been before she opened her eyes again, startled this time not by the noise, but the lack of it. Molly’s breathing was deep and even—she slept, too.

  Cocking her head, Mother frowned, opening her mouth to call Willie, when the little man appeared, his brow knitted, his eyes panicked. “Mother! He’s gone!”

  She’d known. Even before he spoke the words, she knew.

  “Jack’s escaped! I swear it was one of the cats who let him out, that female one, she’s so sly. Mother, he’s gone! Gone!” “Call Blue,” she said, her voice as unsteady as she was as she stood. “Get the carriage. Maybe we can catch him.”

  —

  The King and Queen were the last people Mother wanted to visit, and after they’d scoured the countryside for hours, she decided not to turn that direction after all. If Jack had gone after Jill and managed to get past the gates, his fate was sealed. There was no stopping what was going to happen, even if Mother showed up in the great hall asking if they’d found her charge. In fact, things would only be worse for her, she reasoned, for all of them. Better let things take their course, she decided, letting Blue help her down from the carriage, barely noticing him as she went into the house.

  The house was quiet that night, and Mother insisted, in spite of Willie’s objections, that the cats sleep in her room. Molly curled against her mistress, licking away her tears, while Mother pretended she wasn’t crying at all. Things were fine. They were going to be fine. One way or another, she was going to get them all out of the mess she’d somehow made, although she wasn’t quite sure how, on either front. How had this happened? And how in the world was she going to fix things?

  That night, she dreamed of Artan, of flying, white wings spread wide, soaring above it all. The reality of morning dawned far too soon, and Mother found herself dressed and ready, standing at the window of the drawing room—the curtains had been replaced, the remains of the grandfather clock cleaned—waiting for something, although she wasn’t sure what.

  She wasn’t sure, until Jack burst into the drawing room, dragging a sobbing Jill behind him. Both Blue and Willie followed quickly as the youth stood defiantly in front of Mother, his blue eyes dark with fear and determination.

  “Help us.” Jack swallowed, pushing a red curl out of his eyes—he desperately needed a haircut, Mother thought, apropos of nothing. “Please. They’re coming for us, and we’ve nowhere else to go.”

  Jill, wearing only Jack’s shirt—he stood bare-chested and barefooted, his face cut, bruised and dirty—collapsed at Mother’s feet, still crying.

  “I don’t want to go back there. Please help us,” she begged, wrapping her arms around the older woman’s boots. “I just want to be with Jack. That’s all I want. It’s all I ever wanted.”

  Mother swallowed, blinking fast, thinking faster. She squatted down, cupping Jill’s tear-streaked face in her palms, and kissed the girl’s forehead.

  “Mother will make it all better,” she promised. “Come with me.”

  They did. They all did—following her down to her bedchamber. Mother packed three bags, one for Jill, one for Jack, and another, larger one, for herself.

  “Mother, can I ask—?” Blue frowned as the woman began to change out of her usual attire, donning man’s breeches, cinching the waist tightly, a man’s white shirt, certainly Artan’s and entirely too large. She tucked in into the breeches, pulling her hair back tightly before turning to Blue.

  “I think you know,” was all Mother said, tossing the two smaller bags at Jack’s feet, along with a clean, warm change of clothes for each of her charges, who immediately scrambled to dress themselves. “Blue, three horses, please. The fastest we own.”

  “Not the carriage?” Willie’s voice was high and panicked, and Mother patted him absently on the head as she passed.

  “Not this time,” she murmured, plucking a dark wool cape from a hook. “Not this last time.”

  “Mother—” Blue sounded almost as distressed as Willie, but she gave him a sharp look, her eyes flashing.

  “Horses, Blue,” she instructed, waving him toward the door. “Now.”

  He gave a brief nod, turning on his heel and heading toward the door. A short time later, they were all mounted and riding toward the borderlands. Mother knew the way well enough, and her charges were both good riders, swift and skilled, keeping up with her frenzied pace without too much trouble. She only wished they’d been under cover of darkness, but there was no time to lose. Cutting across fields, driving the horses over streams and fences, she avoided the main road, too afraid they would cross paths with the King’s men, come to claim his property.

  They were over halfway there when she realized they were being pursued. At first, she had hope that it was Blue, mounted and riding to keep an eye on them, but when the riders came into view behind them over the crest of a hill, she saw the King’s banner flying, and knew they had to hurry. Digging her heels into the horse’s side, she spurred him on, and both Jack and Jill did the same, glancing behind at what Mother’s wide eyes had found.

  If Mother could get them through to the borderlands, she decided, just on the other side of the portal, they could disappear, blend into the strange, overly populated land beyond, and escape their fate here in her world. And me, too, she thought, leaning into the horse’s mane, trying to make herself as streamlined as possible. I can disappear forever, become someone else, live my life out over there until I’m an old woman, bouncing Jill’s babies on my knee and pretending they’re my own grandchildren.

  The thought pained her, but it was also freeing, and she took only a moment’s glance to gauge the distance between she and the riders. They were closing in fast. Too fast. She didn’t know if they were going to make it.

  Yanking a sharp left on the horse’s reins forced him in that direction. She heard him panting, knew he was foaming at the mouth from the run, and wished she didn’t have to drive him so hard, but she dug her heels in, cutting through a swath of trees, hearing Jack behind her and Jill behind him, following at a breakneck pace. They all knew the stakes, it seemed.

  The horse’s hooves had a hard time with the soft soil beyond the trees on the way up the hill, but she pushed onward, hoping it would give the riders behind them even more pause. Over the crest of the hill was a wide swath of field, bordered by a old wooden fence. The horse cleared it easily, directly over the faded “No Trespassing” sign, and Mother steered the steed right, forcing it onto a well-worn path that twisted and turned in the midst of the grass and flowers.

  When Mother quickly dismounted in front of an enormous rock, as tall at her horse’s back, Jack pulled up short, the horse rearing, turning to avoid Mother’s steed. He helped Jill down and unhooked their bags from the pommel.

  “Hurry!” Mother urged, unhooking her own bag and swinging it over her shoulder. Jill stared, open-mouthed, as Mother began to step through the rock. Not onto or around, but through it. Her hand appeared to be gone at the wrist as she turned to them, her eyes wide, the sound of the riders arriving behind them coming in a deafening thun
der.

  “I can’t go in there,” Jill whispered, shaking her head and pressing herself to Jack’s side. “Yes you can.” Jack grabbed her arm, pulling her along, glancing behind him as the King’s men arrived behind them, beginning to dismount. Their shouts—Halt! In the name of the King! Stop! You’re under arrest!—filled their ears, but Mother grabbed Jack’s hand, pulling hard. She saw the King himself, riding behind the forward riders, his face red with rage. She saw George, as well, pointing at her, yelling something, and she hoped it would be the last time she ever saw his round, pasty face.

  Mother thought they were home free. Her stomach lurched as it always did when she stepped through the portal, her body immediately cold, but Jack’s hand was warm in hers, and the sounds of the King’s men were fading. Then she hit a wall, and the wind was immediately knocked out of her. Mother went flying backward, knocking Jack and Jill back with her. The three of them sat, dazed, in a collapsed heap, caught between the King’s men on one side and—Mother shaded her eyes, and saw the King’s crest on the chest of the man who had stepped through the portal—more of the King’s men on the other.

  The search party, she realized almost immediately, before the man even spoke. “No sign of Father Goose, your majesty,” the knight called in direction of the King. The rock revealed more of his men, half a dozen in all, coming through the portal. “We have reliable reports he’s deceased.”

  Mother rolled her eyes and scoffed, picking herself up and dusting herself off. “Reliable reports? Please!”

  “You overstep your bounds, Mother.” The King moved his horse toward them, towering in the saddle in spite of his short stature.

  “She needs a firm hand.” The voice made Mother shudder and she glared at George, who moved his own horse up beside the King.