10 comments/ 80904 views/ 18 favorites Meek as a... By: Rob_mDear Mouse languished, dreamlike, under her brother's ceaseless, invasive, overpowering kisses. He kissed her like no man ever had, and he never stopped. She reveled in it, feeling like the most loved, sensual and desirable woman who had ever lived. It amazed her when she found out how much he liked to kiss, how very well he kissed, despite her incessant teasing to the contrary. It amazed her even more to learn that his ex-wife had never liked to kiss, and had starved him of that pleasure for so many years. She lay atop him — she had impaled herself on him — with her body bent double, legs up with calves resting on his chest and shoulders, feet and ankles tucked up behind his ears, tickling and teasing them, while her own breasts pressed hard, blazing and sparking with electric pleasure and excitement, against his expansive, unnaturally hairy chest. Sprawled this way, she was completely opened to his penetrations, and totally powerless, completely, willingly, blissfully at his mercy. His cock filled her and moved within her at his will. She was given wholly, trustingly, and completely to her brother. He took her easily and voraciously with his own rapacious, illicit lust. Her hands clung to his bald scalp, struggling to find purchase on the smooth skin where there were no locks of hair to grab, instead digging vengefully into hard plate of his skull. If he'd had hair, she would have had him in agony, tearing it out by the roots in her scrabbling throes of pleasure. He suffered a painful alternative as she dug her fingers in, or raced them over his bare skull in searching, roaming, teasing exploration. "I love you, Michael. I love you. I love you. I love you so much." The words tumbled out, over and over, but she had to fight to make them coherent under the ceaseless restraint of his kisses, and despite the mind numbing feelings of pleasure he gave to her. His cock filled her like no other. She'd always loved him, admired him, and desired him, even as she needled and tortured him. For as long as she could remember, her own brother had evoked a shameful, sexual response in her body. She'd spent years looking at him with longing, teasing and tormenting him in inadequate substitute for the act of sinfully surrendering her body to him, and being whatever sort of lover he wanted — a shy, demure girl, an educated woman, or a dirty whore, anything, everything — as long as she could be a woman as well as a sister to him. "Tell me you love me, Michael. Tell your baby sister that you love her." So many men had fucked her. She'd found so many lovers, of so many sorts, trying to overcome and quell, or at least substitute for, the one man she truly wished to feel inside of her. But none of them could match him. She'd known all along that none of them could match even the idea of being with him, the horrible, shame-ridden pleasure of giving herself to her own brother. She knew they could never come close to that bizarrely fulfilling fantasy. And yet the reality of being his was so much more. It was more than just the thrill of incest. It was more than just the heady inebriation of doing what would make society, and their family, their mother, their father and older sister, all recoil in disgust. "Tell me, Michael. Tell your little sister that you love her. Fuck me, and tell me you love me." His mouth was wet and hot and surprisingly soft, both consuming and invasive all at once. His mouth possessed hers, as his cock filled and fucked and thrilled and possessed her, and was possessed by her. He drove into her with all of the strength one would expect from his massive frame, but enhanced by a passion that was as brutal as it was undeniable. He forced himself into her with a ruthless abandon, almost heedless of what he could be doing to her, and yet because of the mindless hunger that she knew she herself had inspired in him, it gave her pleasure beyond all imagining. She moaned her excited contentment into his mouth. Through it all, despite the sheer, violent turmoil of their coupling, he kissed her. He possessed her, pleasured her and wrestled her with his mouth. Her loving brother kissed her wantonly with his lips, while fucking her wildly with his tongue, and he forced her to return his affections, which she did eagerly, tenfold. "Tell me. Tell me you love me with your cock moving deep inside me." Half of the words were muffled by his mouth on hers. She clung to him with every grip or clench that she could manage. Her feet hooked behind the back of his skull. Her arms looped around his neck, with small hands clutching his ears. The muscles of her pussy clenched his cock as tightly as she could, grasping for every inch of him. She had waited so very long for these stolen, forbidden moments, that during them she felt that she could never, ever let him go, or let them end. "I love you, Mouse." The words came out, frantically delivered between one kiss and the next, with fury and audacity. He barked them at her, like they were commands, as if she were still a little girl that he was ordering about, or scolding and correcting for some childish misbehavior. His massive hands gripped her shoulders. The strength of them, their awesome, commanding, sensual strength, all by itself sent shivers running throughout her body. He abruptly rose from the bed, lifting her into the air with easy power, still kissing her as he did so. His massive frame soon held aloft her own petite, if agile, form, balanced in the air with her ankles still behind his ears, her hands frantically clinging to his skull, her lips locked hard against his, with his massive hands splayed under her ass and back, strongly supporting her precarious position, while his cock, his wicked, forbidden cock, stabbed marvelously up, deeply inside her, pinning her to him like a beautiful, sensual portrait of a nude hanging on a nail on a wall. With his new found leverage and the strength of his hands and chest and legs, he drove his cock repeatedly into her — his own beautiful, sexy baby sister — with a reckless passionate and mindless ambition to completely and impossibly rip into and fill her body with ever more of his thick, long, hungry prick. She screamed senselessly now into his kisses, heedless that any might hear them in their shameful coupling, as one of her own hands slipped down, around and behind his back, to wander ceaselessly, pleasing her with the constant raft of hair she found there. Her girlfriends, from high school to college, had thought it gross. He was the hairiest man she'd ever seen, even more than their father. Most women she knew found it repulsive, or at least that was what they said. She didn't believe them, because to her it was the most exciting feature a man could have, besides powerful hands. "I love you so much, Mouse. So fucking much." It came out as more of a bestial growl than human speech. He drove into her again, and again, and again. Her hands continued running across his back, through the soft, long, dark hairs. She travelled downward as far as she could reach. The hair diminished, and then reappeared on his taut ass. Her fingernails dug into the muscular flesh there, pulling his hips harder against hers, silently but blatantly urging her brother to fuck her harder and deeper. "Love me forever, Michael. I love you. I love your cock. I'm a horrible, evil, awful, dirty little slut for you, and that's what I want to be. I want my wonderful brother to protect me and hold me and fuck me forever." It sent him over the edge, as she'd intended, and she went right over with him. Their frantic coupling turned from passionate tumult to insane, frantic, all out warfare. They clawed and scratched at each other in a pinnacle of sinful, unrivaled pleasure. The storm of it lasted until it felt to Mouse as if her mind had snapped. She was lost in an endless tumult of thoughtless, mindless, unconscious passion. And then it was over. The fever passed. The fog lifted. Her mind returned, to find her floating in the air, still held there by her wonderful brother, with their bodies pressed tightly together, and no sound other than their rapid, rhythmic breaths as they each fought to recover. No one could ever say this was wrong, Mouse thought, as they both subsided and the ability to think any coherent thoughts slowly, if incompletely, returned. His massive bulk pressed against her. She could feel his hairs tickling her skin. His own form was solid but still, except for that rapid, unending panting as he fought to catch his breath. She felt the film of sweat along his back and his ass. She felt it building between them from the hot friction of their exertions, his and hers together, mingling and mixing just as his cum now mingled with hers, inside of her. Her own big brother's cum filled her womb. She glowed at the very thought of it. His swollen cock was still inside of her, stirring their cum, mixing it thoroughly and completely and inextricably. Once again, Mouse had made her brother fill her with his unacceptable seed. Once again, Michael had brought his sister to the heights of pleasure. Once again, they were joined in a way that she knew was right. No one could ever take his cum from her now. He was inside of her. No matter what happened from here on out, she would always have that. She would always, always have her brother's loving cum inside of her body. It wasn't wrong. She would ferociously battle anyone who said it was wrong. It was the most perfect, wonderful and not-wrong thing in the universe. She held him tightly, refusing to ever let him go. His soft kisses peppered her neck and cheeks and lips. She so loved that he loved kissing her. * * * "How does it feel to be pleasured by an old fart?" Nestled under his arm, pressed against his wonderful, tickling pillow of chest hair over the radiating warmth of his familiar skin, she felt as much as heard the deep vibrations of his words. "You're not an old fart." "Over forty is absolutely old fart territory. I'm not young anymore." "You are to me." "Why do you say that? Because this year you'll be turning thirty? And be an old lady?" She hit him. He yelped in appropriate pain, while pulling her closer. "Sorry. I didn't think you'd be sensitive about it, considering how little time I have left in comparison." She eased up to get enough leverage to punch him hard. Twice. "Don't even pretend. You're not leaving me, ever." She settled against him again. "How do you like making love to such a young girl? I'm much too young for you, you know. It's very inappropriate." He grunted, as she chirped out something that was a cross between a sinister giggle and an embarrassed chuckle. His hand ran through her hair, down her shoulder, then found one breast, lingering there with one finger tracing teasing, arousing circles over and about her quickly re-hardening nipple. It was as if she'd forced him to emphasize the licentious sexuality of their more than sibling relationship. He ignored her question and asked one of his own. "Why do you think Mom and Dad had you after such a long time? Were Melanie and I disappointments, do you think?" The bait was too obvious to take. She easily passed it by with barely a consideration. "If so, then I'm pretty sure that I convinced them they should have been happy with what they already had." He pulled her close again, pressing a warm, smothering kiss against her forehead. "I'm happier with you." Mouse tipped her head up to look at him and smiled. He'd said a lot of things to her in their lives, and many new things since they'd become a couple, but he'd never, ever said anything that felt as good as that. She wished he could have said something like that when she was much younger. It might have made all of the difference in the world in the direction her life had taken. * * * Michael sneered at the burning sand, the baking sun, the lack of a breeze, and especially at the heaving mass of noisy, sweating, swim suited humanity around him. This wasn't the sort of place for a thirty-something professional. It was the last place he wanted to be. He tried to ignore the bite of the heavy cooler handle pinching his palm, while painfully tugging him down along with the two beach umbrellas, five chairs, a satchel around his back full of lotion and books and who knew what else, and every other trivial, useless thing the girls had felt the need to pile onto him. They giggled and screeched like children, running about, kicking sand, with Mouse as their lead instigator, while he hauled the stuff around for them like a bellhop. He'd driven them here as if he were their private chauffeur. He carried their stuff. He'd thought he could at least eventually just go off and enjoy some time alone, but the damned place was so crowded he'd be lucky if he could find a spot out of earshot, let alone completely out of sight. "Not here, Mikey! I want to sit closer to the water, and farther down the beach." "Mikey?" one of the giggling girls taunted. "Michael." "Mikey." "No one's called me Mikey since you were five, Mouse." "Except me." "Not often." "Come on, Mikey. Keep going!" Damn it. He wasn't even supposed to be within two hundred miles of here. The deal was he'd drive the hundreds of miles to her dorm to help her load the car, drive home, unload, and then get back to his own life as quickly as he could, to his own job, and his own hobbies, and his own dilemma of a painful lack of female companionship. They should be on the road by now. How he'd been roped into staying overnight, while playing mule train for "one last trip to the beach" for a group of silly, over the top nineteen year old girls was just beyond him. It was typical, selfish Mouse behavior. He should have known it would go badly for him when she used that sweet, innocent, piping voice of hers. "Hey, Mona! Why's your brother so monstrously hairy? He looks like Bigfoot!" Was he this insensitive and simple when he was nineteen, Michael wondered? Mouse didn't answer her friend. She just stared at him, grinning widely in amusement, enjoying his obvious, predictable discomfort. In spite of the aura he tried to project, there were a few things that made Michael feel insecure, especially physically. The two biggest were the facts that he'd lost every bit of hair on his head before reaching thirty, and at the same time was covered head to foot with a generous mat of too long, too dark, too obvious body hair. The contrast was like some cruel, cosmic joke. "I think it's sexy." That was Sandy. She was a none-too-shy high school friend of Mouse's who'd followed her to the same university. She had always been finding reasons to sit next to Michael, or trying to help him, for as long as he could remember. The crush was obvious. When she'd been a high school student he took it as a compliment, but it was easier to shrug off back then. Now she was more of a woman making it harder, but his sister's friends, freshman college girls, any girls eleven years younger than him, were certainly not his thing. "Come on, let's go swimming." Thank heaven for Mouse. She tormented him like no other little sister ever could, but at least she seemed to sense his discomfort with Sandy, and help him out when she started to swoop in for the kill. Whenever Sandy's overtures got a little too heated, Mouse always found a way to extract Michael, or Sandy, or to at least change the course of the conversation, saving him from his predicament. "This is good enough, Mikey. You're off the hook. Come on, let's leave Sasquatch here to set up camp. Last one in has to kiss my hairy brother!" And away she went, leading the charge. Along the way she thankfully wrestled Sandy along with her, pushing her ahead and into the water first, thus making sure that Mouse herself was the one who lost the race so that none of her friends would have to actually kiss him. Of course, she'd claim exemption, too, being his sister. He wouldn't have minded kissing one of them at all, actually, as long as it was anyone but Sandy, or Mouse, obviously. Actually, he wouldn't have minded kissing her, either. He felt a flush of embarrassment and disgrace at the thought, followed by self-recriminations at his foolish reaction, his whole line of thinking, everything. He'd had thoughts like that before, even entertained the fantasy in some detail, but he always reacted with the same set of strong, conflicted emotions. Because of their age difference, he was both less and more than a big brother to her. He was like an uncle, and a father sometimes, too. He looked out for her, and put up with her, and catered to her, and she took advantage of him and teased him, but in the end she needed him, too. She was maybe the one woman in the world who needed him. It made him feel good, and it made any surrender to thoughts of sexual attraction to her seem very, very wrong. He looked back in the water, watching his sister's too appealing form athletically jumping through the waves. It almost hurt. She was exactly the sort of achingly vibrant, desirable woman he knew he could never have. But at least there was a reason that he couldn't have her. He didn't need to feel like a failure in missing out on her affections. She'd no doubt later make a great, comical scene out of having to distastefully kiss her brother on the cheek. That was too bad, but at least she'd saved him from Sandy. Thank heaven for Mouse. He couldn't believe he'd even thought the words. With a silent but not entirely real grumble, he set about depositing the chairs and paraphernalia for the girls, doing the best he could to make Mouse happy, and hoping that maybe the rest of the trip would turn out better. After all, needling, bratty, outlandish teasing aside, it was good to be around her again. * * * That had been ten years ago. Now that same, amazing girl, grown into a wonderfully sensual woman — his wonderfully sensual woman -- lay nestled under his arm, with one small but spectacularly firm and formed breast pressing insistently against his ribs. Each time he breathed, he could feel it more completely, with its still hard nipple trying relentlessly to stab him in the heart. He'd fought his attraction for as long as he could, until the night had come when he snapped, only to find that her attraction to him had dwarfed his tenfold. They each gave in to their most secret and warped of desired, and tried not to look back. They did, of course, or at least he did. When they talked about it, she acted as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was never so certain. He couldn't stand the thought of losing her, yet barely a day didn't go by when he didn't consider telling her they had to end it, if only for her sake. He never came close to doing it, but he thought about it. Now he held her close, wrapped in his arms, sheltered from the world, as he enjoyed the memory of their passionate love making, while wrestling with those same old doubts. He alternated between the emotional drive to gnaw his own arm off and run in shame, or to hold her there forever, never letting her go, or letting anyone ever come between them. * * * The warmth of his chest gently rocked her head as he breathed, while the gentle thumping of his heart, having calmed considerably from his fabulous exertions for her, drummed a lullaby into her ear. Her eyes were open, gazing at an expanse of black hairs on his chest, tinted with occasional strands of gray. He really was becoming an old fart, she thought. Her hand wandered ceaselessly, lovingly over his chest, up, around, over, anywhere, stopping now and then to twist a generous lock of chest hair into a painful knot. "Ow." He said it calmly, with no hint of actual pain. Mouse twisted more, and pulled harder. He didn't even grunt. She loved this moment. She wanted to savor it forever, being with him, so soon after he'd been inside her, so soon after they'd given each other pleasures beyond anything any other lovers had ever achieved, she was sure. Calm, restful, content, together, and gathering strength for another unnatural, impossible, marvelous union. Meek as a... "I wonder if she saw us kissing." "Oh, shit, no, please, don't say that." Mouse came to life. "I'll bet she did. I hope she did." "Mouse!" "What? I hope she saw us, the little snoop. I hope she watched the whole thing. I hope she saw me dancing for you, and seducing you, and kissing you, and..." "And then she'd have run home and told Mom and Dad, and we'd be fucked. They don't know, so she doesn't know, so she didn't see. If she had, all hell would have broken loose by now." Mouse eased her head up off of his chest, turning her face to his, with a bright twinkle in her dark eyes, to stare smiling into the mirror of her brother's. Despite his brave and certain words, his expression was flooded with concern and dismay, as she'd expected and even intended. She planted a quick kiss on his lips, then couldn't restrain from pouring herself into him, kissing her brother as their society, almost all societies, had never intended or allowed her to. She drank him in, relishing the knowledge that he was doing the same to her, then abruptly pulled back, breaking the kiss, and reveling to them both in the fact that he wasn't ready to stop kissing himself, clearly wanting and needing her to continue. His lips fought to keep contact with hers, as she withdrew, using one hand on his jaw him away so that she could continue her line of thinking. "She might have seen. She wouldn't tell," Mouse said. "She'd be too mortified." "Oh, God, I hope not." "How would she even do it? Can you imagine? Mom, Dad, I have something to tell you. Michael is fucking Mouse. And they're really, really good at it." "Oh, Fuck. Mouse..." "But she would have watched. All of it, from start to amazing finish." Michael squeezed her tightly. It was meant as a recrimination, Mouse knew, but it felt encouraging. She loved being in the vast, strong sweep of his arms. She loved feeling protected and loved and possessed by him, the one man in her whole life who she'd always known, trusted, teased, loved... and desired. She loved him, she always had, and now she finally had the chance to show it. She would be sure that no other woman would ever be what she was to Michael. "She saw us, I know she did," she continued. "She saw us kissing, and she was repulsed and disgusted, but she couldn't look away." Animated excitement crept into her voice as she went on. "Like when you drive past a gruesome accident, and you feel sick to your stomach but you look even harder for any traces of blood, or the people who were hurt." "You're sick. I feel sick." "She saw her little brother and her baby sister kissing, and touching, and doing all of the wrong things together. She saw us, and she watched, entranced. Amazed that two people so totally wrong for each other could show such uncontrolled passion." "So what we did was like a gruesome car accident?" She twisted the hair on his chest, this time as hard as she could. He yelped appropriately, and without faking it, this time. "She saw how much I love you, and you love me. She saw me give myself to you completely, not as a little sister, but as a woman and a lover. She saw you make a woman out of me, treating me like a creature created for your body's pleasure." "Is that what you are?" She jerked up to look him in the eye again, to hold his gaze. "Yes." "No." "Yes," she said, now engaged in a staring contest while twisting his chest hairs ever more tightly. His own large hand moved up to find hers, covering it easily, but tenderly, not stopping her painful, torturing tugs. Eyes held wide open, she leaned in to kiss him, watching him watch her as their lips joined. She held his gaze as she nibbled on his delicious upper lip, then ran the tip of her tongue across it playfully. "That's exactly what I am. I'm your lover now. I'm your baby sister, and your lifelong tormenter. You have to take care of me, and protect me, and scold me, and criticize me. That's your job, whether you like it or not. And now you also have to fuck me over and over and over again." "Everything seemed fairly natural until the 'fuck me over and over' part." "Over and over and over." His brow furrowed as he tried to glare at her, but he failed miserably. His eyes were so warm and soft and loving. He could resist her all he wanted. He could say whatever he wanted, refuting everything she said. That was fine. He could think and say anything. But she was going to fuck him from now on, every chance she got. She was always going to be his bratty little sister, but she was also going to be the most marvelous lover he had ever had, and he hers. She would never let him go. And she was sure that their sister had seen them, or at least, she wanted to think so. The thought of it thrilled her beyond imagining. * * * "Michael, no, stop! Stop!" With one great hammer of an arm, he slammed the jerk into the side of the car. It wasn't really hard enough to hurt him. Much. Michael was by nature not very physical, but when his temper flared, especially in issues concerning Mouse, the usual restrictions fell away. He didn't like to lose control. He usually regretted it later. Usually. He wanted to be a mature adult. He was shooting for that VP job at work. Losing control in a heat of anger wasn't being a mature adult. It felt good to lose control this time, though. It felt very good. He promised himself that when he turned forty, in just a couple of years, he wouldn't ever let this happen again. He'd be too mature and stodgy, then, to give in to these sorts of emotions. But right now he felt very young, very masculine, and very alive. Getting angry, and getting physical about it, felt damned good. And this old fuck was never going to get a chance to hurt his little sister again. The ass looked at him in defiant confusion, then began to curl his lip into a sneer. The anger flared in Michael again. He took a massive, belligerent stride forward. Mouse was between him and the man in an instant. "I said stop." Michael looked over her short form, beyond her, at where her ex-date now used the car's hood to pull and push himself back up onto his feet. Michael knew he hadn't roughed him up that much, but the guy, the jerk, looked shaken and unsteady. "Michael, that's enough. It's not all David's fault." There was an uneasy silence. "Not entirely." Michael stared from him to her to him. He tried to step past Mouse. "Can we just go?" At the sound of pained tension in her voice, Michael's whole mood softened. The anger fell away, replaced with total and complete concern for her. He had her under his arm in an instant, both guiding her to his car, and shielding her from the scum. They were both silent as he helped her in, started the ignition, and pulled away. "Don't tell Mom, Michael. Please." "What? That you're having sex with assholes?" "I think she knows that." "That you're having sex with older men?" "No." "He's fucking old enough to be Dad." Mouse was repentantly, or defiantly, silent. Michael stared away, out the windows of the car. "He is not. And I like older men," she finally said. "He was too old." "He was not. Maybe. Old enough. Or too old. Look, just don't tell." "That he's too old for you?" "No." "That you almost got yourself hurt? That you were fucking stupid enough to let yourself get caught alone with an alcoholic, demonic fuck who could have..." His voice grew in timbre and intensity as he spoke. It was trembling by the time he'd finished. He'd had to cut himself short, to gather himself. He looked over at her, and she was trembling, too. He could see her lower lip shuddering as it had when she'd been just a kid, whenever she got into trouble and was afraid of the inevitable recriminations, and punishment. But it wasn't getting into trouble that moved it now. It was having barely avoided it. The kid was scared. Mouse was really, actually scared. Michael softened. It was bad enough the jerk had hurt her, or almost hurt her. She didn't need it from him. He reached over to squeeze her hand. In an instant she was embedded in his chest, sobbing, almost making it hard to drive. "I won't tell." "I don't care if you tell. I fucking deserve it. I was fucking stupid." "I won't tell, and you don't deserve any pain, ever. Just don't scare me like that again. Take care of yourself. Please. For me." Mouse squeezed him tightly. The sobs had gone as quickly as they came. Mouse was too strong and proud for that shit. But she still clung to him like a survivor clinging to a piece of driftwood in a raging ocean. * * * It was one of her fondest memories, from before they became a couple, before they had admitted to each other how they really felt. It was a moment of barbaric heroism, from that time before he had found the courage, through his own anger, to make her admit to him and herself what she truly wanted from him, by staring into her very soul and kissing her with the passion he had bottled up for so very long. She hadn't really been in any danger from David. She could take care of herself. But he was an ass, and the thrill of having her big brother fight for her swelled her with pride and longing. Now they stared into each others eyes with that same, searing, rebellious passion. Mouse and Michael did that a lot whenever they were alone, or thought they were, whether talking, eating, or making love. Maybe it was because of who they were to each other, close if not always harmonious family, with an uninterrupted bond that went back for as far as Mouse could remember. They didn't deny that, or hide it, or run from it. It was important. It was a big part of who they were, both as individuals and when together — as a couple. They were brother and sister, and they stared into each other's eyes as they fucked to both remember it and reinforce it, that they wanted it so badly they would violate any constraint. They both wanted the act to be what it was, laid bare, an irresistible, shameless and shameful act of incest. The person with whom they were joined, that so familiar face, was a close sibling. They stared at each other to remember each other from as far back as their shared memories carried. They each recognized their partner's many roles and developing personalities from every varying stage of their lives. They also recognized themselves, and the rest of their immediate family, in each other's features and behaviors. They had obvious differences. He carried their father's towering height and thick, hirsute body, while she sported their mother's petite, very feminine frame. He had Mom and Dad's pale skin, while she alone in the family had an olive complexion handed down by some distant Italian ancestor. But they also shared a fair and undeniably connected collection of recognizable family features. Both had that too oversized Castillo nose. Hers was more petite, and unexpectedly not at all unattractive on a woman, certainly not as obvious as Melanie's, but still a bit too large for her face, and sporting that telltale Castillo bump in the center. As much as Mouse detested it, Michael said he loved that nose, and she was sure that part of the reason was that it reminded him of himself, and it continually reminded him that unlike any other woman he'd ever had or could have, she was his own sister. They both shared the same deep, dark, brown eyes, with that same laughing warmth that their father so naturally projected. Mouse's appeared darker, with wide, coal black pupils in that sultry, exotic Mediterranean fashion that so well suited her complexion. She also had Mom's evil, little, laughing twinkle as a sort of permanent spark accenting her gaze. But those eyes were the same, his and hers, matching windows into separate, but matching and inseparable souls. Staring into each other's eyes was in a way like looking into a pair of mirrors, facing each other, and infinitely repeating each other's reflection into an infinite depth. Mouse and Michael kept their eyes wide open and locked when they talked, and sometimes when they kissed, and usually, but not always, when they fucked. Sometimes the pleasure and intensity of it all just overwhelmed Mouse, so she had to clench her eyes shut and lose herself in the passionate, drowning flood of ecstasy that Michael gave to her. Sometimes looking into Michael's eyes, while feeling him inside of her, became just too much pleasure for any human soul to bear. When that moment came, if she didn't have the strength, Mouse clenched her eyes shut while screaming wordless, incoherent expressions of her joy at the ceiling, or muffled into a pillow, or directly into her brother's loving, sensual, overpowering kisses. Most of all Mouse loved to stare into Michael's eyes in that magnificent moment as he entered her. That most precious, lasting moment was one that Mouse longed to relive over and over again, as often as she could. She never tired of it, and it never seemed diminished, although too the memory of their very, very first, special joining always held an exaggerated place in her mind. She worshiped the memory of that precious night when her darling, older brother first entered her body, penetrating and consuming her, when she had accepted him with a seemingly fearful, frozen calm that had masked her building storm of turbulent, conflicting pleasures, and her long subdued but finally fulfilled desires. First he had kissed her with a spiteful, wanton fury and anger that had thrilled her, and had in fact been the only thing in the world that could push them both beyond fearful, hidden desire and into shameless, shared, licentious lust. It hadn't taken long before she was screaming her sinful desires into the dark night in the room, as her brother took from her what she'd so longed to give him. She sat now atop his dresser, ass beside a framed photo of her that he'd set there, in the same spot that was once commanded by a wedding portrait of him with his bitchy ex-wife. Here, now, she encircled her brother's neck with her arms, holding herself up, as she watched him lift her ankles up over his shoulders, to place them beside her hands at his ears. He arranged her into a helpless, open pretzel, contorted into a shape that would satisfy their needs. She stared into his eyes as he positioned her for their coming act of heavenly sin, as if he were tying a necktie in a mirror, getting it neatly twisted and straightened and presentable. She pulled her lips to his to kiss him, feeling the soft but masculine warmth of his own moist mouth return her affection. With eyes open and mouths joined, with tongues just beginning to dance and tingle with pleasure, she felt that first glorious sensation, the pressure of his bulbous cock head pressing against the wet, eager lips of her pussy. She felt the slow spread of her body, stretching wider to take within her a part of her brother that she never should have seen or touched or even considered. His cock was hard and swollen for her. Just that thought sent a shiver through her. She excited him, while the size of him, seemingly too thick to ever accept, thrilled her beyond imagining. He could have been average in size, or even less than average, and she would still have adored and wanted him more than any other man she'd ever had. But to her shock and delight her too sexy big brother came to her with a quality that multiplied her pleasure a thousand times. He eased into her slowly and tenderly, while staring with loving intensity into her eyes. Both of their lips ceased moving, held frozen against each other, as their combined pleasure and attention was focused completely and inescapably on the shared, commanding sensation of their joining. Once his penetration had begun, it continued seemingly without end. With slow, excruciating joy his cock continued to spread her, ever deeper, ever wider, slowly, inexorably filling and stretching and penetrating and joining her in a way beyond imagining. In he slipped, into the moist, hot, deepest recesses of her welcoming body. His invasion continued, slipping, sliding, ever inward, ever more deeply, as if his cock had no real beginning or end, and as if Mouse herself were an endless, welcoming source of pleasure to him. She could imagine his cock reaching into her very soul, impaling her and pinning her to him forever. The sculpted, marble hardness of his cock was met by her body with the warm, yielding, yet strong embrace that of all the world's creatures, only a woman could impart to a man. Her pussy clutched spasmodically at his manhood, holding him inside her and squeezing him with her love. Mouse's strong, athletic, feminine muscles grasped at her brother, clinging to him, holding him, pulling him more deeply inside of her and refusing to let him escape. While she held him there, both spearing and merging with her, they became one. He belonged to her and no one else. He existed with her and inside of her and nowhere else. They were as inseparable in body as she knew and felt they were in soul. They became more than ordinary lovers, far more than brother and sister, in a way no one could understand, or would ever experience. Later, when she was able to think more clearly, she would pity the people that could not comprehend or know what she and Michael knew, and shared. But for now she became lost in the feel of her brother's body forcing its way in to become a part of her. Too soon, yet a brief eternity later, his long, devastating penetration was complete. His pubic bone ground against hers, showing her that he had penetrated her to the fullest extent possible. Her tender breasts were crushed against his chest with his groin pressed against her own. His cock was buried inside her to the hilt, ready to engage in an evil dance of delicious abandon. They were free to fuck with a slowly building passion and intensity, surging on to grow into a violent, unreal battle of pleasures. Before long, Michael withdrew, only to drive himself back into her with ravenous lust, while she hovered in his arms, helpless to resist. Her toes curled, pressing against his scalp. Her fingers dug fierce divots into his muscular neck, heedless of the pain it caused. His cock speared her like a beast's claw driving into its prey, tearing into her, making her scream in delight. They fucked with a heated anger that dwarfed all of their past sibling duels and battles. He unexpectedly spun her about, while artfully keeping his cock embedded inside her. The surprise of it, followed quickly by a long, penetrating thrust that propelled her forward, threw her off balance. She was forced to release him, reaching out instead to catch the lip of the dresser to save herself, first with one hand, then the other. Her legs quickly looped backward about his waist and ass, holding her to him, even as his large, strong hands gripped the ridges of her hips to hold her skewered onto his fantastic cock. She arched her back for him, helping to meld her form to the wicked, upright curve of the stiff prick that penetrated her, commanding her complete attention with the feelings it gave to her. In so doing, she pressed her soft ass even harder against the firm resistance of his hips. He held her against him there, where she ground herself around and down, driving him more deeply inside of her, earning every fractional inch of pleasure she could take from him, tickling the most inner recesses of her body with the head of his beloved cock. Mouse felt like the figurehead on the prow of a ship, facing ever forward, riding and rocking on a stormy sea, while fucked by the massive, unyielding, wooden strength of the mighty ship to which she was forever attached, adding feminine grace and beauty to an already graceful and beautiful, masculine and powerful, master of the oceans. Meek as a... He fucked her harder then, slamming into her, as she fought to keep her balance, and to propel herself onto his awesome, worshipped cock. They continued to stare at each other, but now through the dresser mirror before her. He took her in, raping her form with his eyes, watching her dark nipples jiggle with his thrusts, watching her body wriggle and writhe against him as she fought to increase the pleasure she took from him. He watched her face. He watched her eyes and expressions, with the smiles that appeared one moment, betraying her joy, then vanished the next, replaced with a contorted face of pleased anguish, displaying that confused borderline between pleasure and pain that sex brought to her. She watched him, as best she could. She took in his might hands, painfully crushing her hips in his passionate urge to rip into her. She took in his warm eyes, always flooding her with that tender warmth that incongruously existed within his hairy, bestial form, and contradicted the violent force with which he fucked her. She took in the hair on his body, his massive height and thick girth, his familiar, features. She took in the whole vision of him behind her, filling and rocking her as he fucked her to her limits. In a moment of complete love, she reached back to him, contorting to wrap one hand behind his neck. One of his massive hands slipped up her body to cup her breast, using its position there as leverage to pull her back to him. She arched her back further, her mouth reaching eagerly for his. Eyes wide open, they joined in a completing kiss. Once again they were totally united, his cock within her, their mouths interlocked, and their tongues, in constant motion, thoroughly intertwined. His powerful hand completely covered her tit, squeezing and massaging pleasure into her. She moaned her approval straight into her brother's mouth. As her pleasure peaked, she pulled briefly away, as a radiating smile spread across her face, exposing to him the pure, distilled, tormenting pleasure that she endured under his skillful command. In response he bathed her with his own warm smile, taking in no small part some of his own joy from the mere act of bringing her into such a state of disconnected, mindless, overwhelming sensations. He took joy from driving her into a state of senselessness. Their eyes met. In a moment of intense fear and need, Mouse mentally willed Michael to love her as she held his gaze. Love me, she thought. Love me. Love your sister. It was foolish, magical thinking, and completely unnecessary, but she did it none the less. Fear often came to take her unawares, even at the oddest times, but especially when her senses were heightened by the pleasure he gave her with his body. It was just so likely that Michael would falter. He had rebelled against everything in his own nature by being with her. It was a game he had taken to too readily and easily after his monotonous marriage and painful divorce. But it wasn't in his nature. He loved her. She knew that he did, and that she was perfect for him. She knew that too. But his better judgment could step in at any time. She stared into his eyes, trying to master his will with her own, to subvert his own nature with hers. She tried to will him into loving her so fiercely that he could never, ever abandon it. She knew deep down that he could, and might. Neither of them could never, ever forget that, according to everyone they knew, what they were doing was unacceptable. Even she herself kept expecting to come to her own senses, half hoping she would, while hoping and praying she never could. She spent to many days wrestling with the idea, considering her options, and whether or not it wouldn't be best, for him, to let him go. It didn't matter. It didn't happen. Every time he entered her, she felt this way. It drove any thought of ending it from her mind. It drove any shame or sense of wrong doing from her conscience. It didn't diminish with time or repetition. It didn't lose its luster. Fucking her own loving brother was an experience that could never grow mundane, or even less than wondrous. She wondered if anywhere in the world there was a person who could understand the primordial soup of extreme emotions that sparked her love. For this one man she felt longing, trust, jealousy, rage, attachment, understanding, empathy, and more. The empathy was a surprise. They were so very different at their very cores, and in the ways that they had arrived at becoming who they were. He had grown up in a different time, almost a different household, even if they shared the same house and parents. Certainly Mom and Dad had changed over the years, and raised her differently from Michael, and Melanie. Hell, half the time Michael was as much of a father to her as a brother, sometimes even more so than Dad himself. By the time Mouse came along, Dad had tired somewhat of the role of father. He'd moved on. He didn't entirely have the energy for it. So sometimes, in some ways, Michael had taken his place. "I love fucking you, Mona 'Mouse' Josephine Castillo." His words intruded on her thoughts. The realization that she'd been distracted led her to she mindlessly scold herself for thinking anything conscious in this most perfect of couplings. As she replayed his words in her mind, Mouse's lip curled into a sneer, followed by the narrowing of her entire face into a well-aimed scowl. She glared ahead into the mirror, at her form held tightly against his, with his cock clearly inserted up into her body. She bounced daggers off the mirror at her brother with her devilishly black eyes. "I told you never to call me that." The complaint was interrupted with a tortured squeal as Michael thrust his cock more deeply into her, lifting her higher into the air while stretching her more widely for him with the thick, filling, very base of his cock. "No one else is here, Mona "Mouse" Josephine," he said, after she'd recovered her senses, to open her eyes again to the sight of him joined with her. "Don't fucking call me that, Michael Martin Castillo," she said, emphasizing his own middle name. She held a cruel, angry expression on her face as he fucked her, even as her body betrayed her desire by writhing her ass against his stomach, stirring his huge cock inside her like a spoon stirring cream into coffee. "It's your name, Joey. Think about it." "Fuck it, Michael, don't call me Joey," she said, then had to stop to quickly inhale as another of his magical thrusts took her breath from her. She was dangerously close to climaxing. She was losing control. "Josephine is bad enough. Fuck." That last word tailed off into a long, tortured squeal, as he first pulled his cock almost completely from her, lifting her into the air with his exciting, irresistible strength, then pulling her down and burying his full length inside of her in one sudden, rapacious thrust. His cock hit that spot, that perfect spot, that reminded Mouse how large he was, and how deeply inside of her he could embed himself. He held himself there, holding Mouse at the very brink of ultimate pleasure. "No one knows that's your middle name, Mouse. No one but Mom and Dad and Melanie, and me." The timbre of his voice cut through to her fogged consciousness. "Your friends in Chicago don't know, do they? Does anyone at work? No one knows but your mother and father. And your big sister. And the brother whose cock is stuffed up inside of you right now." He hammered his cock into her again with another fearsome, violent thrust that almost knocked Mouse off balance. One hand reached out, as she instinctively fought the feeling of falling, scrambling to find solid purchase somewhere. She screamed with panicked joy at the sensation. Again she had to close her eyes just to wrestle with the exquisite, painful pleasure of it all. She was so close to coming for him. "I love you, Michael Martin Castillo," she managed to get out in a breathy squeal. "I love you, too, Mona "Mouse" Josephine Castillo. Come for me, Josephine. Come for your brother, Joey Mouse. Come hard for your big brother." It was the last thing she remembered clearly before her mind and body exploded under her brother's heaving, powerful grasp and penetration. She reached back to cling to the back of his bald skull. One of his firm hands held her thigh up and against him, while the other crushed her tit in its grasp. Separated from the ground and the world, completely at his mercy, she came for him. The sudden rush of her climax took her and threw her bodily against an imaginary wall. With an almost audible snap of her own bones breaking with pleasure, she writhed and twisted in his powerful grasp, exercising her body with seemingly impossible contortions. Each time they fucked she had expected that violent concussion of pleasure to diminish. She expected the searing thrill to wear off. A day might come, she thought, when fucking this one forbidden man, of all of the men on Earth, would lose the evil, violent, spectacular explosion of rapture that always arrived to mercilessly rip her soul into fragments. But the day never came. Each and every time he fucked her, her body reached that point where it exploded into a billion shards that scattered throughout the universe, destroying every awareness of anything in her mind until all that was left of anything was her and her loving brother, becoming one and the same in the glorious release of his own forbidden seed into her wicked, welcoming body. * * * "I told you never to call me that, you bastard! Mom!" "You're a little old to go running to Mom, Joey." "Dad!" The loud, drawn out whine was half playful, half serious. "It's your name. Why don't you like it?" "Shut the fuck up, Michael." "I'm just saying, you've got muscles like a boy now." "I told you, it's from dancing. Dancing is hard." "And now you're hard like a boy. Joey." "Don't call me that! Dad!" "Michael," their father's voice boomed in from across the house. It struggled to sound stern, but they could both hear his amusement within the words. "Stop tormenting your sister." Their mother glided through the room, hurrying from one errand to the next, barely taking time to put her own opinion in. "How old are you now Michael, twenty six, or six? And that goes for you, too, Mona. Your father and I are too old for little kids. I'm not even sure why we had you. Any of you." The last words were leaving her mouth even as she was leaving the room, not having even hesitated to pretend to mediate the dispute. Mouse snapped at her retreating back, just after she'd left the room. "You shouldn't have had me if you were going to name me Josephine." The even, nearly emotionless response drifted back. "We didn't. We named you Mona." "And then you wrecked it by tacking on Josephine!" "Come on, Joey. I have to get to work," Michael piped in. "Do you still want me to give you a lift to the dance class? Or are you thinking of quitting, now?" * * * Mouse languished in that warm memory as her senses slowly returned to her. She loved having memories like those, memories that no two normal lovers could ever share. Fucking Michael was such an incredible high. Coming down from that high was like a slow, precarious descent down a frighteningly high ladder. It was like coming down from the huge water tower they all used to climb as kids, on a never ending, always frightening and thrilling dare. Going up had always been hard enough, but going down forced an awareness of just how high it was, and that there was nothing between that precarious perch and a perilous fall to the ground except for a clenched, exaggerated grip on the ladder. The whole experience made one's heart pound, and one's head dangerously light. It gave an ethereal, out of body feeling to the experience. Coming back from an orgasm with Michael was just like that. The bastard had called her Joey. As he fucked her, he had called her Joey once again. She grinned. She'd like it, too. He was right. No one knew that she was Josephine besides him, and their family. No man in the world other than her brother could or would even know to call her Josephine while he fucked her. She yanked hard on his chest hairs as she had the thought. She'd get him back for it. She would, even if she had enjoyed it, and he deserved better. He was the only person in the world who, like her, knew what it was like to crave something forbidden, or someone, for so very long, a desire everyone in the entire world says can't be indulged, but when finally sampled, teaches that it was worth more than anyone ever imagined, and that all of those years had been wasted in forestalling the inevitable by listening to them. It had left her feeling perpetually evil and wrong minded. It had tormented her until a fog was finally lifted by the experience of what she'd only imagined, and then she instead felt wondrously beautiful, and wanted, and loved, and fulfilled. He knew all that, in a way no one else did or could. "We better get cleaned up," she told him, not actually wanting to move. "Mel is going to be here in less than a half hour to pick us up." "Pick us up? Why? Are you kidding? Why didn't you tell me?" "Because you wouldn't have fucked me again first if you knew." He kissed her hard, in an unfriendly, rapacious way. Mouse enjoyed it. When he tried to end the kiss, she instead lingered and held him close. "Mouse, let go, I'll never get ready that fast," he said, when he was able to pry himself loose from her grip. "Sure you will, you're a guy. Throw on a clean shirt and you're done. Me, I have to get moving to make it on that sort of schedule, and still look as beautiful as I always do." Mouse squealed loudly as Michael spanked her ass, with a sharp sting, as she retreated. She quickened her step to get away, with a little jig of a double step thrown in to keep her butt out of reach of another threatened blow. "But why is she picking us up?" Michael asked. "Why can't we just go together, and meet her there?" "Because she's already asking insightful, leading, difficult questions. Too much has changed too quickly between you and I. I think she's catching on. So I told her I didn't want to be alone with you more than I had to." Before he could ask for clarification, she closed the bathroom door behind her and turned on the water. Let him worry, she thought. It will do him good. * * * "How's your fish?" "It's good. A little bland, but good enough." Mouse watched as Melanie pushed the halibut around on her plate. She'd barely touched it, which was a bad sign. Melanie wasn't the moody sort. What was bugging her was more than just a little thing. Shit. As much as she'd teased Michael about it, things were already complicated enough. They didn't need more stress. If Melanie knew, it meant real trouble. Mouse looked off across the dimly lit restaurant at Michael's retreating form. They had maybe five minutes before he returned. With no time for subtlety, she dove in, head first. "What's bugging you?" Melanie looked up from her plate to hold her gaze with one of those patented, dissecting, maternal stares of hers. Being fourteen years older, it had always been easy for Melanie to adopt that attitude with Mouse. She held the stare long enough to try to make Mouse squirm, and as always, she completely failed. And, as always, it visibly irked her. "What the hell are you and Michael doing?" Mouse tried to twist her smile into a look of confusion. "And don't give me that 'what ever do you mean' crap, Mona. What are you and Michael doing?" "But what do you mean? What are we doing? You make it sound like we're partners in plotting some sort of devilish crime. I'm visiting him." "You've never, ever visited Michael before. Ever. Not in all the years you lived in Chicago, not even when you lived at home, after he'd moved out, unless we made you." "So? It's not like you're his only sister." "So you spend one weekend with him for Mom and Dad's anniversary, then suddenly he's flying to Chicago on business trips, visiting you, and you're flying back here, not only visiting him, but visiting only him, staying with him, and ignoring Mom, Dad and me." Mouse smirked at her. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous?" "No, stupid, I'm not jealous." "Mom said not to call me stupid." "When you were five." "Still, she said." Melanie laughed, lightly and awkwardly, with more of a grunt than a chuckle. Mouse, showing her own nervous discomfort, stuttered a clumsy laugh of her own. "Okay, I take it back, Mona. You're not stupid." "Say you're sorry." Melanie rolled her eyes, while grinning. "Okay, I'm sorry. Please don't tell Mom!" She added that last bit with comically wide, pleading eyes, followed by another quick laugh. To cover her anxiety Mouse took a sip of her drink, hoping she'd weathered the storm. "But really," Melanie continued. "What's up?" Mouse put her glass down on the table with a clink, then pushed it away, then shoved it from left to right, like a hockey star toying with the puck before going for the winning shot. She looked back towards the restrooms to be sure Michael wasn't coming, that she had time. She looked at Melanie, who appeared both cool and calculating. That wasn't at all unusual for her, but it frightened Mouse. Melanie didn't exactly know anything, or she wouldn't be so indirect. She'd come right out with it, Mouse was sure. But she could know something, and the possibility played on Mouse's fears. She stuck to her planned response. "Look. I love Michael. I never show it, but I do. In another year I'll be thirty." Melanie scowled. "Wait until you're well past forty." Melanie looked very good for her age, curvaceous and still firm, but she was such a perfectionist that it wasn't good enough, for her. "Michael's past forty, too. He's already been married and divorced," Mouse said. "What does that have to do with anything?" Mouse looked around at the other diners, hesitating. Beside them was a young, well dressed couple, laughing loudly together in total oblivion to everyone else. The girl sparkled like sun on snow, with all of the diamond jewelry she wore. He must have bought her every piece, over the course of their relationship, and she must be wearing every single piece he ever bought her tonight. She looked like a living chandelier. She looked happy, too. Beyond them was a family of five, with the oldest, acned teen boy sulking within a hooded sweatshirt, like a turtle dressed as medieval monk, while the two younger kids fought energetically and too loudly over a small toy, like two squeaking, angry chipmunks. To their left was an older couple, worn and somewhat washed out, yet somehow still vibrant, with that same loving look the young couple shared and that same sense of separated togetherness. She wore an awful lot of jewelry, too. Michael was going to have to start buying her things, she thought. But they were all couples and families, enjoying meals together, talking, laughing, just being together without having to deal with all of the confusion and chaos that Mouse herself had put onto her own menu. She took a deep breath. What she was going to say was true, in a lot of ways, even if it dodged the real, deep, true truth. "I've lived my whole life like the spoiled little brat, Mel. I've taken advantage of him, teased him, used him, but he's always been there for me. So have you, and I appreciate it, but he's really, really been there for me. Always, in spite of how badly I've behaved." "So you're magically turning over a new leaf?" Mouse glared at her. "Not magically, no. It took that weekend, and maybe a little growing up, and maybe the scary shock of turning thirty, for me to realize that it's past time for me to grow up. Maybe I'll never meet the guy who's right for me, to tame my wild side and force me to settle down, like you and Mom are always saying. So I have to start doing it myself. And I'm starting with Michael."