The real Mother Goose

“Thank you, dearest.” She kissed his cheek as she stepped out. “Would you like to wander the gardens while I visit?”

He grinned. “I would dearly love to do that, Mother.” She patted his hand. “Enjoy.” She went up the wide front steps and used the knocker on the front door. She was surprised when Mary answered, her green eyes flashing.

“Mother!” she exclaimed, leaning in to kiss next to the woman’s cheek. “I had hoped you would make it out today. I trust the drive was pleasant?”

“Your gardens are stunning.” Mother smiled, leaning in to kiss the air next to Mary’s cheek and breathing in the smell of the thick auburn hair tumbling down her back-cinnamon and roses. “As always.”

“You know the best is out back.” Mary gave her a wink over her shoulder as she led the way through the foyer, not letting go of Mother’s hand.

“Blue is back there, now.” Mother squeezed the woman’s small bare hand in her gloved one.

“Polly, put the kettle on!” Mary called toward the kitchen, offering Mother a seat on the settee. “Tea, Mother?”

“I’m parched.” Mother put her handbag next to her, watching Mary sink her hand into the bobbed hair of a young girl kneeling next to her chair. She was a small thing, her breasts barely buds, her big, dark eyes focused on the floor in front of her. Mother’s eyes fell between the girl’s legs, noting with a smile her hairless slit. Mary was fond of shaving her girls.

“Have you heard from Father?” Mary crossed one slender knee over the other, her silver, satiny skirt parting at the full front slit, from floor to crotch. Mother saw a glimpse of her curly red pubic hair with a smile-fond of shaving the girls, but never herself.

“No.” Mother sighed. “He crossed over two months ago, and I haven’t heard a word since. Except for those three horrid men in that tub of a boat, who said they saw him near the portal.”

“Oh, Polly!” Mary glanced up as the nude woman came in balancing the entire silver serving set on her head. “Must you do that? I have these visions-” Polly took the tray down, setting it on the table in front of the two women. “I haven’t ever dropped one, Mistress Mary.”

Mary sighed, picking up the teapot and pouring. “Yes, sweet. I know. But there is always a first time for everything.”

“You wouldn’t want to get scalded, Polly,” Mother agreed, dropping sugar cubes into her tea. Mary drank hers black, but Mother preferred hers sweet and creamy.

“Thank you for your concern, Mother,” Mary replied, sipping her tea. “But Polly is quite proficient.”

Mother pursed her lips, nodding. “So, Mary, dearest-” She looked at the redhaired woman over the rim of her teacup. “About what I came for?” Mary smiled, her eyes bright again. “Yes. Would you like to see them?”

“Out back, I presume?” Mother clutched her handbag and stood with Mary.

“They are still young yet,” Mary said as they made their way down several long corridors. “And I’m loathe to part with them, but goodness they are a great deal of work when they are grown. I just can’t keep them all.”

Mary opened the door to a screened-in sunroom, and Mother heard them crying plaintively in the wooden box in the corner. She squatted down next to the box, peering over the side.

“Oh, Mary!” Mother exclaimed, her voice soft. “Oh, aren’t they precious?”

“I know.” Mary knelt down, too, reaching her hand in and plucking one up by the scruff of the neck. The little kittengirl mewed pitifully, and Mary cuddled it to her breast, smoothing her fingers over the black velvety ears. Mother watched as the human-like face turned up toward Mary’s stroking fingers, rubbing her head against the woman’s hand again and again. The little kittengirl was purring now.

“How many did she have?” Mother glanced behind her at the full grown catwoman in the corner, stretched out on her side on the floor in the bright sunshine, her whiskers twitching, as if she were dreaming. She was a black and white beauty, her fur dark over her back and arms, white patches on all four of her padded paws, like little boots, and at the tip of her tail. Her belly was nearly bare, smooth and soft, her human-like breasts full with milk for her tiny sucklings.

“Fifteen, but there are only six left.” Mary handed Mother the little kitten-sized kittengirl. “The problem with breeding them is feeding them. She can’t feed her whole litter, so we have to pump the milk and feed them with droppers in shifts. Very time consuming.” Mary sighed, watching Mother as she dangled one of their string toys for the kittengirl, who batted at it playfully.

“They are weaned now?” Mother frowned as she looked at the catwoman’s full breasts.

“Oh, yes.” Mary plucked another from the box. She saw Mother’s eyes roaming over the black and white body of the kittens’ mother and she smiled. “I keep her breasts full now for my own reasons.”

“Ah.” Mother returned her smile, lifting the kittengirl high into the air. This one had tiger-like markings. “The Tom was obviously orange.”

“Yes,” Mary agreed. “So how many did you want?”