The real Mother Goose

Mother’s big four poster bed was too empty, even as much as she tried to fill it both day and night. Between Jack, Jill and Blue, she managed to find someone to curl up with at bedtime, and if it wasn’t one of her charges, there was usually a tangle of cat flesh keeping her warm-Toby and Lucy curled together at the foot of the bed and the other one, Molly, more independent and strikingly like her own cat-mother in her black and white splendor, stretched out next to Mother on the other side of the bed.

Where Father had slept.

Mother turned under the covers in the darkness, away from the emptiness and the long stretch toward morning. She couldn’t deny that she missed Artan’s commanding voice, the firm press of his hands, his weight on her. She missed hearing someone call her by her given name, hearing it fill his mouth- come to me, Maren.

They had been Mother and Father Goose in the community for so long she could barely remember a time when they weren’t, but alone together, they were Artan and Maren, and they were deliciously good together.

A gentle purr in her ear, the tickle of whiskers against her cheek, made Mother stir as Molly moved in closer, sliding her half-hand, half-paw, complete with very sharp, retractable claws, under the covers to pull the older woman’s back against her bare front. The cat-girl-really a cat-woman now, almost-nuzzled her mistress, rubbing her soft, pointed ears and sleek black furred head against Mother’s neck.

“So sad.” Molly was the most introspective of the three, the most observant, and just the gentle comfort of her warm body made Mother want to cry. Instead, she turned toward the feline, the one who had learned to speak first, among the three, stroking her behind her ears, rewarded by a deep, rumbling purr in the woman’s chest.

“Not anymore,” Mother reassured her as the woman’s tongue, deliciously rough, licked at her mistress’ nipples. Teaching the cats to please her had been easy-they seemed naturally inclined toward pleasure. Of course, teaching them to keep out of mischief had been another story entirely.

Molly’s front was bare-her human breasts almost as full as Mother’s as she rolled on top, pressing the length of her feline form against the older woman-but the rest of her body was covered in sleek, black and white fur. The high arch of her tail, her bottom in the air, was a clear sign, but unlike most cats, Molly’s tail was no longer at the mercy of involuntary bodily reactions. Instead, it was prehensile, able to grasp and hold whatever she wished. Mother moaned when she felt that black tail with its white tip snaking its way between her thighs.

“Good kitty,” Mother praised, arching against the slightly raspy lick of the catwoman’s tongue down her belly. Molly replaced the rub of her tail with her mouth, her whiskers tickling Mother’s thighs, her hand-paws holding her legs apart. The cats were careful with their claws around humans, for the most part, conscious of the danger they could cause, but Mother had several deep scratches that would be scars forever, most likely.

Not that Artan hadn’t given her his share of scars, Mother thought with a brief smile. He would wonder at the new ones, and she would tell him the stories of training

Peep, Muffy, the kittens… she’d managed to take it all on her own after that afternoon he’d said, “I’ll be right back,” and then disappeared. She’d managed, quite pleasurably, but, she realized, not really happily. Mother squirmed as the catwoman between her thighs lapped at her juices, finding her sensitive clitoris, and tried to push thoughts of Artan out of her mind.

She needed a distraction.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Mother breathed, stroking the catwoman’s soft ears, reaching for the rest of her silky body. Molly purred as she repositioned herself on the bed, letting Mother part the fur between her thighs and delve in deeply with her tongue. Inside, she was entirely human, her clitoris throbbing, juices flowing, and Mother moaned as she drank her in, swallowing the sweetness. The fur on the catwoman’s labia was unbelievably soft against her nose and cheeks.

“Pussy’s sweet pussy,” Mother murmured before licking her in one long lap from stem to stern, Molly’s tail rising into the air like a dark question mark, her whole body rumbling under Mother’s hands, becoming a deep, continuous purr. All of the cat girls enjoyed being licked, and Mother’s tongue probed the tight ring of the woman’s ass, hearing her soft mews, her hips moving in response.