The real Mother Goose

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.