The real Mother Goose

“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, turning 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.