The real Mother Goose

“Three.” Mother watched the little kittengirls climb all over each other in the box.

They were tumbling together, mewling and jumping. “How can I choose?”

She finally made a decision, two girls and one boy. The girls were similar to their mother, one with markings almost exact, the other completely black except for a white patch at her throat. The boy was an orange tiger like his father.

“Will you breed them?” Mary asked, getting a separate crate and putting the three kittens inside, closing the lid. Their little paws reached out the slatted sides, and they tried to fit their heads through.

“Perhaps.” Mother let the little orange Tom latch into her finger with his claws.

“Are you hungry, Mistress Mary?”

Mother whirled at the delicate sound of the voice behind her, and saw the catwoman stretching, her claws extended. The woman was purring, a deep, rumbling sound.

“No, Puss.” Mary smiled, walking over to smooth the woman’s fur. “Go back to sleep.”

“Three more?” The catwoman sighed, looking at the smaller crate. She turned over onto her other side, curling up into a ball and closing her eyes again.

“She doesn’t mind?” Mother whispered.

Mary shook her head. “She doesn’t seem to.”

“I didn’t realize they could talk!” Mother said.

“They pick up human speech, just like children do.” Mary went to stand by the window. Mother followed her, leaning forward to breathe in the summer air, and spotted Blue out in the garden. She smiled as she saw him, turned away from her, his breeches down to his knees and his head thrown back as he rocked his hips.

“Your garden is growing, Mary!” Mother exclaimed. “Can we go down?”

“Of course, Mother.” Mary led the way out of the sun room and down the back steps. They walked the cobblestone path toward Mary’s garden, row upon row of glorious blooms, all with their lovely faces turned up toward the sun.

“How many species do you have now?” Mother watched Blue’s back, hearing his moans.

“Oh goodness, I’d have to ask Polly.” Mary smiled. “There are forty kinds of roses alone-and many, many other species besides. We just transplanted the daffodils and I’ve been very tender with them, although that one looks like it’s serving Blue quite well.”

“Yes,” Mother breathed, moving forward along the path so she could see fully.

The young daffodil’s delicate yellow center was bloomed wide open, revealing the human face inside, and Blue’s hard cock thrust happily into her open mouth. The dark green shoots of her leaves were wrapped around his calves and thighs, pulling him in.

All around him, the other daffodils were watching, a few reaching their tender stalks far enough to lick his hip or thigh.

There were dozens of types of flowers-high, proud tulips, fields of daisies, the petunias with their bright velvet colors and striped faces, fat mums and delicate calla lilies, all basking in the sunshine, much larger than their non-human counterparts. The rose garden stretched to their left, a vast expanse of color. The sunflowers were along the back of the garden, near the wall, their faces rising high above the rest of the flowers.

“They really don’t mind?” Mother asked, her breath coming faster as she watched Blue’s face, his stiff, reddened member disappearing beneath the bright yellow hood of the flower. She had seen it before, but still, it held her spellbound.

“Remember, it is food to them,” Mary smiled. “They crave it. The roses are tricky, of course. The thorns. But there are ways.”

“Do they have preferences?” Mother asked, hearing Blue cry out and thrust into the daffodil’s center, shuddering. He collapsed back onto the cool lawn, staring dreamily up at the sky. “Male and female, I mean.”

“Oh, yes,” Mary nodded. “The daffodils love men, as you can see. I don’t keep many of those. The irises, though… they prefer women. Look, here.” Mary knelt, showing Mother the delicate face of an iris, the eyes such a bright blue they were nearly purple, reflecting her violet petals. The iris began licking Mary’s hand, her pink tongue lapping gently over her skin, sucking at the webbing between her fingers. Mother moaned softly as she watched.

“Would you like to try Violet?” Mary asked. “While I feed her sister?” Mother watched as Mary parted her bright silver dress like a curtain in front, exposing her patch of red curls, moving to the iris next to the one she’d called Violet.

This one had creamy white petals all around her face, her outer petals a darker blue.

Violet looked longingly over as Mary spread pussy, watching her creamy faced sister begin to lap at the folds of flesh.

“Come, Mother.” Mary nodded toward the envious Violet. “Come feed her.” Mother watched as the blue iris bent her head forward, her green stalks wrapping around Mary’s creamy white thighs. Mary moaned, rolling her hips and sliding her hands up to cup her breasts. The Violet iris nuzzled Mother’s crotch, pulling at the lace material of her skirt.