32 comments/  191818 views/  94 favorites

Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 01

By: Rob_mDear



Book 01 Chapter 01: Beginnings

<8 Breakfast

He felt guilt and shame and unparalleled pleasure as his sister's mouth enveloped his cock in hot, wet fire. He would feel her lips make a hot, constricting ring around his cock's head while squeezing it with one hand, at the very base, in a half circle made with her thumb and forefinger. As she descended on him he felt her sweet lips glide down, slowly, until his cock head touched the soft wet flesh at the back of her throat. From there she continued her wicked descent, his cock slipping more deeply in, with her mouth and throat feeling like the only place he ever wanted his cock to be.

As her mouth neared the very base of his cock she'd pause, while her lips moved artistically against him, massaging his shaft. Then she'd remove her hand to make room to continue further down with her lips, all the way to the base, taking every single inch of him into her. Her lips would touch the flesh of his groin, right at the base of his cock, then move agilely again, squeezing him, working him, while her tongue writhed, pressing and exploring the sides of his prick inside her mouth.

She would hold him like that, rammed deeply into her throat, for an unbearable eternity before releasing him.

She was amazing, taking him as no woman ever had. She'd take and release him quickly, two, three, four times, then let his cock slide out so she could hold it in her hands, licking and kissing the sides, while she regrouped, preparing for another assault.

While she had him deep inside her throat, while she devoured him, he lost all control. He would grab her head to pull her onto him, helping to drive his cock deeply into his own sister's mouth, fucking her wildly, aching for the release that would only come by filling her sweet loving mouth with everything he could give her.

When she released him, then conscious thought, and the guilt, would return. She would press her lips against his cock, holding it against her face. She would look up into his own eyes with hers. She was a woman, he knew, an irresistible woman, but when he looked at her he saw the big brown eyes in the innocent little girl's face that he had grown up with. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to stop, to take control and put a stop to it.

And then her mouth was on him again, feverishly trying to bring him to climax, clearly, excitingly hungry to taste her brother's cum. Each time he felt her mouth on him, he longed to give it to her. 

Lost in the sensation, his thoughts wandered randomly, aimlessly into recent days, as he felt her mouth torturing him gloriously.

Her mouth. His sister's nasty, perfect mouth.

<8 Party

It had been both as dull and as uncomfortably exciting as he'd known it would be. It could have been worse, he could have still been married, forced to endure the company of his ex-wife. He didn't hate her. It was just that their relationship had decayed, in the end, to the point where they each spent every moment together trying to get revenge, trying to somehow win after they really both had lost. They'd lost so many years and so many happy futures. 

Eventually she'd cheated. They were so done by then that her escapade didn't even bother him. They simply split. The end.

They were just lucky they had never had kids, so the break was that much easier when the time came.

Michael stood in a corner, feeling alone and awkward, watching the other guests mingle. Almost everyone was a friend of their parents; neighbors, co-workers, old army buddies and odd acquaintances. One of them had cornered Melanie, his older sister. Some short, hunched, graying man was lecturing her energetically about something important to him. Melanie pretended to care.

His sister towered over the man. She was a tall, statuesque woman. Most of the family was tall. She wore a low cut, tight fitting evening gown, all glittering with midnight blue sequins. The bare flesh of her cleavage was... attractive, and showed readily in the gown, an unusual display for his big sister. This seemed to be part of the reason the short little old gnome was talking to her, his face being naturally almost in her chest. His eyes indiscreetly strayed there too frequently. 

Melanie was the only blonde in the family. Dark roots clearly betrayed her act of vanity. It wasn't natural, but it looked good on her. She smartly didn't try to make herself completely blonde. There were streaks of darker locks, a mix of dark and light browns, amidst a bed of dirty blonde. Frosted, Michael thought the women called it. Like most women in her forties, she kept her hair cut short, though not quite as short as most. Michael liked it.

He scanned the room some more. On the other side, there was Mouse, his little sister, entertaining a small harem of men. Her smile was like a fire in their midst. They all camped around it, drawn inward toward it for warmth. Mouse was always like that, always lively and joking, always the center of attention. She met his gaze for a moment, held it, and then broke the link to make a laughing joke with the man beside her.

"Are you going to mingle at all, Michael? You look like a wall flower," Melanie told him. She'd drifted over to his side while he was lost in thought.

"Yeah, I will. I just have to relax a bit. I had a tough day at work. A lot of stress. I think I need to unwind before I talk."

"Talking is a good way to unwind, silly. Come on, I'll introduce you to some people."

"That's okay, Mel. Not yet. I will, I promise."

He looked at her meaningfully, letting her know that she couldn't push him on this. She held his gaze, then smartly gave in.

"Okay, but I'll be back."

With that she eased away, and Michael returned his gaze and his thoughts to Mouse.

Mona was her given name, but everyone in the family usually called her Mouse. Michael himself had given her the pet name when they were younger, when she was very young.

Melanie was the oldest, a mother of her own brood of three young adults. Michael had only just turned forty, felt even older, was now very un-married for a year, and childless. Mona – Mouse – was the baby, just shy of thirty. Obviously she was an "accident" late in their parent's marriage, or perhaps a conscious effort by their mother to restart the family after he and Melanie had outgrown childhood. 

Being eleven years younger, when Michael was a teenager Mona was nothing but a pest to him, the bothersome little girl he had to watch and keep out of trouble. She constantly interfered with the important and life-shattering moments that string together to make up what, at the time, is The Most Important Time of Your Life, or so it always seems to the self absorbed teenager living through it.

When Michael wanted Mona to be quiet, he'd tell her to be as quiet as a mouse. When she scampered about, just being a kid, he'd complain that she scurried like a mouse. She did "mouse" things. She'd scrunch her nose up like a mouse when she didn't like something, and when she giggled. Unlike her siblings, she was tiny. She had dark brown hair and eyes, with a very slightly too large nose. They all had that nose, thanks to Dad. When you added her tiny feet, with her squeaky nasal voice, she just reminded him of a mouse. 

She reminded everyone of a mouse. So with Michael always saying things like "be as quiet as a mouse", "stop scurrying like a mouse", and "you look like a mouse", it eventually stuck. Everyone started to use it, and soon she wasn't Mona anymore, she was Mouse.

She didn't grow up anything like a mouse. By the time she was ten, she had started to fight back. Michael and Mouse had had more fights, more knock down drag out shouting matches, than any normal, battling siblings would ever have. He'd tease her, she'd tease him, he'd fume, she'd find some clever words to twist the knife in the wound, it hurt, and it never ended. 

It didn't end when he'd graduated from college, not when she'd graduated from college, not in all the years after, never. To this day, they couldn't be civil with one another for thirty seconds. That was why she was way over there, and he was way over here, even at their parent's anniversary party.

She caught him looking at her, and purposefully strode across the room to confront him.

"Are you going to talk to anybody? This is a party, you know. Do you know how parties work?"

Michael didn't answer at first. He tried to simply hold a steady glare.

"I'll do what I like, Mouse. Leave me be. Just for tonight."

Mouse rolled her eyes at him.

"Suit yourself," she said, turned, and walked off.

She did look beautiful, in the sluttish fashion she'd adopted, he thought. Mouse was the wild one. Melanie and Michael were plain, conservative, and reserved. They stayed in or near the town they grew up in, married, had kids, or at least tried to, and held a steady job. Michael had even gone to community college, safely living at home the whole time, like a moth that wouldn't leave a cocoon. 

Mouse couldn't wait to go out of state for college, to move out of the house to another city, to be independent. Once released, she exercised that independence as much as she could. She even flaunted it, in what she did and how she dressed. She always wore something tight, or low cut, or too short, and quite often all three at once. And if it wasn't tight, it was loose and open, so loose that all the men would keep shifting positions, like pubescent teens, hoping for just the right angle to catch a glimpse of something.

They had good reason to. Mona's body was tight and athletic. Her bust was small, but firm and well formed, with a gentle, obvious curve to breasts that suddenly peaked upward like a ramp at a skate park. Her hips were maybe a bit wider than they should be, but the curves of her butt stuck out nicely in round complement. The combination accented how very narrow her waist was. She had a dancer's taught, athletic legs to support it all.

Tonight, she wore something that was sure to be giving the parents fits. She always got away with it because she was a fashion designer, as if that made wearing anything she wished okay, but that didn't mean it didn't draw a reaction. 

Underneath was a tight black miniskirt, one that was too short by far. He was sure that it ended above her crotch. Tonight, every man's gaze burrowed there when she walked, thoroughly expecting to see something they shouldn't. As if to make up for that bit of indiscretion, it came up to her neck in a tight, high collar, but it was open at the back, and sported a keyhole opening, too, between her breasts, one so far open that he could swear the inside edges of her nipples showed. 

No one could be sure of any of this exhibitionism because over it all she wore a dark, sheer, loose, neck-to-ankle chemise, also black. It had long, billowing sleeves, and ballooned like a cloud above the waist, and into harem pants below the waist. It hinted at an open fold somewhere near the crotch, like well-designed lingerie that offers easy access to the main event. It flowed out from her body so that she appeared to have two forms, one inside another. The silhouette of her curves was strikingly revealed beneath it. Everything was "out there" in a way, and yet not. 

Michael was sure that the shift was designed as lingerie, and wouldn't Mouse be just the one cheeky enough to wear lingerie to her own parent's wedding anniversary. And on the outside where everyone could see it.

"You're so quiet Michael, find someone to talk to."

Michael's mother was perched at his side. He hadn't noticed her come to him, he had been so busy studying Mouse. He mentally rolled his eyes that yet another member of his family was trying to egg him on. He just wanted to be left alone. He wouldn't even have come to the party if he didn't have to.

"I will, Mom. I'm just... getting comfortable," he lied, taking another sip of his beer.

"Well, don't get too 'comfortable'. You know how sleepy too many sips of 'comfort' make you. And I expect you to dance with me later. Lord knows your father won't," she scowled, and then squeezed Michael's arm before pushing off to intercept an old friend. "And please don't fight with your sister tonight," she added over her shoulder, making economical use of the remnants of her scowl.

Above that tight, black neckline, Mouse's face was a floating heart. Her wide, high forehead and cheeks, her small, pointy chin, her shining, dark brown eyes, and her small mouth and nose – yes, it stuck out a bit too far, but it was still small – gave her a child-like look. Her nearly black hair fell in soft shining waves over her shoulders. Her pupils were so wide, so black, that they gave her expression an unnatural intensity, no matter what her mood. 

She caught him looking at her again, shooting him a glare as if to say "What? What do you want?" It lasted only a moment, then she returned to her conversation. He took the hint, looked away, and went to get another beer.

Michael was surprised when she appeared at his side at the bar.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" Mouse asked accusingly.

"Why did you wear something like that tonight?" he countered, more accusingly.

She laughed at him before answering. "Maybe I want to get laid while I'm in town. Someone new for a change. I'm tired of Chicago men."

This was irritating, she knew, because she was staying with him. He'd picked her up at the airport in the afternoon, taking her home just long enough to change and drive here. Everyone thought it convenient, and more than a little bit funny, to push the two of them together in his now-too-empty house. It did make sense, in a purely practical way, since he was all alone there. His ex-wife had moved back to Pennsylvania, running home to her own family and gladly leaving him the cavernous house as a consolation prize. 

The thought of his sister coming home in the wee hours reeking of sex, or worse perhaps trying to bring some guy back with her, was jolting. So was the thought of lying there worrying about her, if she spent the night elsewhere. The scenario made Michael a little jealous, too, he realized, privately embarrassing himself.

"Man, everything is about you, isn't it? Everything is about making little Mona happy, getting little Mouse's rocks off."

"So I should be like you, let people walk all over me like your wife did, skulk around at a party feeling sorry for myself?" she sneered back. "No wonder she left you. Wet rag. Excuse me," she finished, spinning away like a dust devil.

He angrily watched the sway of her ass as she slipped into the crowd and was gone again. The open back of her miniskirt was very low cut, he now saw clearly. He could swear he saw the top of the crack of her ass cheeks through the sheer chemise. And he could swear he saw the outlines of pubic hair further down as well, he could swear it.

Michael took a sip of his new beer. Looking across the room, he saw Melanie watching him, before turning quickly away. So she had seen them fight again. So what was new? He looked around for someone else to talk to, someone that wasn't family, but drew a blank. There were Melanie's friends all around, since it was her house, and there were his parent's acquaintances, and even some of Mouse's old classmates. 

His own friends had all moved on. He'd allowed himself to lose touch with each and every one of them after he had married, another big mistake in a long list. Now he had to start over. And he hadn't, yet. Couldn't.

The evening passed slowly, laboriously, monotonously. 

* * *

Across the room Michael saw his mother, father and Mouse in what was at best an animated discussion. Mouse and his mom, who was also very petite, glared eye to eye, evenly matched in both stature and temperament. Their dad, so much taller, hovered over them both like some towering, benevolent archangel, with his barrel chest and gray-white hair implying that he was ready and able to enforce the peace. As if he'd actually cross Mom. 

Michael figured it was all about Mouse's clothes, a weak and useless parental dressing down. All three of them looked his way at the same moment. Shit, he thought, he didn't need to be everyone's problem. He was just fine being his own problem. 

And that, he realized, was part of the problem. He was far too obviously alone tonight. 

He figured the best way to stop it was to join them. He took a few more sips of his beer, delaying the confrontation. Once ready, he strode purposefully through the crowd, like an icebreaker charging into the Arctic. He got there a moment too late to make an impact. The fight had seemingly changed focus, and now Mouse was putting an end to it herself.

"Fine, see him over there?" Mouse asked, tossing her head toward a young, too-neatly dressed man. "He looks like 'father' material, I'll just go have his babies. I'll go ask him right now." With that, she elbowed her way past Michael with a shove, something she clearly didn't have to do, but it was no doubt fun and emphasized her mood. 

She proceeded to march on up to the guy. Based on his expression, to her mother's horror, she'd said exactly that, word for word, she just walked up and asked if she could have his babies. After a moment's awkward silence, the guy broke into a shit-eating grin that made Michael's skin crawl.

"I'm sorry, dear," his mother was saying, seemingly from a distance. "I just don't know how to handle her. I never did."

"None of us do, Mom," he answered, snapping almost audibly back to where he was, instead of where Mouse was.

"What she needs is a man to 'handle' her, one that will hold her down and pound some sense into her," his father interjected bluntly. Michael's mother glared up at him.

"What?" his father asked defensively. "What? It's what she needs. And when I say 'pound,' I do mean 'pound'."

She's not sure, either, Michael thought, looking at his mother's nondescript, frozen expression. Neither of us is sure if he means "pound" as in subdue and hit, or "pound" as in "screw her brains out". It was just like Dad to get away with a crude reference by being just vague enough that Mom couldn't call him on it without being the crude one herself.

Michael was thinking this, looking straight over his mother's head, when he noticed the only woman at the party that he didn't recognize, that was around his age, and that might be considered attractive. There were too many of the other kinds. This one was tall, blonde and well dressed. She wasn't too chunky, although she did show a bit of that in-your-40s-no-stopping-it belly. Not too bad, though. 

His mother noticed him looking.

"She works with Melanie at the hospital. I think her name is Nancy. Would you like me to introduce you?" she offered.

"Why not?" Michael replied eventually, trying to feel adventurous.

* * *

It seemed like he'd only been talking to her for a few minutes, just long enough to know she was divorced, a bit interested, but also being careful not to show much interest herself. She was trying not to send any signals until she was sure that it, meaning he, was something she wanted. It was that same old, tired, "is it worth my time" dance. 

Abruptly Mouse entered the picture.

"You two getting along?" she intruded, her smile beaming over a subtly annoyed tone. She seemed more than a bit tipsy as she said it.

There was an awkward silence.

"If you like them tall and hairy, big brother's your man!" she bubbled, poking his shoulder childishly. Mouse was too in control to slur her words, but Michael heard it that way, anyway.

Neither of them knew what to say. The three of them, blonde, brother, sister, stood in the clumsy silence, blinking like owls.

Mouse leaned in conspiratorially and added, "You'll notice he never goes strapless at one of these, not with all the hair on his back."


Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 01



"Mouse!" 

Michael was mortified.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly and too awkwardly. "She's just in a rotten mood tonight, and obviously has had too much." He turned to glare at Mouse, then turned back to Nancy. 

"Do you have any siblings?" he asked politely, hoping to both explain and deflect things, and to simply pretend that nothing uncomfortable had happened in the process.

"No." Nancy drew the word out, as if using it to cover what she really wanted to say, what she was saying in her mind as the word left her lips. "I'm an only child," she answered tersely, and just a bit more cooly than she'd been speaking before.

Michael glared at Mouse, who smiled sweetly before coasting off again.

* * *

The conversation with Nancy didn't last much longer. Michael didn't know if it was the discomfort that Mouse had created, or his own childish sibling behavior, or the thought that he really did have a hairy back. He certainly did, and so the last thought ate at him. 

Michael was himself very tall, with the too-large family nose, only more so, and he was totally bald. Actually he was only partly bald, but he was so far gone that he regularly used a razor on the rest. He had a bit of that over-40 paunch himself, not too badly, but the six-pack was obviously long gone and a bit of exercise clearly wouldn't hurt but wasn't happening. And yes, he did have a lot of body hair, on his chest, stomach, arms, and even a bit – only a bit – on his back. To make matters worse, now some of the hair on his face and chest was turning gray.

Mouse was dancing with some guy now, having cleared a small area simply by willing it. Half the men in the room were watching her, blatantly or covertly. Most of the women realized it and pretended not to notice, though the men would pay the price when they got home.

The thing was, Mouse could really dance. Watching her dance was like having sex. It wasn't that her dancing was like having sex, it was the watching that was like having sex. Even when her partner had no sense of the beat, she had a way of moving in rhythm with both him and the music. She could move her hips and her torso, her ass and even her breasts in wonderful twisting ways, ways that accentuated her figure, ways that drew your eyes to her body while drawing you out of your own. You felt like you were with her, even when you weren't, and your body reacted to it, at least a man's did. Maybe some women, too, Michael thought. 

He felt an erection growing. Damn. It was embarrassing. He'd never been able to watch her dance without getting hard. He quickly turned away, both to hide his growing bulge from the crowd, and to try to halt its progress. He moved off to get yet another beer, carefully keeping his back to Mouse's impromptu dance floor, walking a little awkwardly, and not only from too much alcohol.

Melanie was at the bar, too.

"Mona's at it again, isn't she?" his older sister asked without lifting her eyes from the drink she was mixing.

"She's Mouse. What did you expect?"

Melanie let out a soft grunt. That was very... "Melanie". It was amazing how different two sisters could be, although maybe it wasn't that surprising, given the fourteen year age difference. Melanie was so much more motherly, so mature and conservative. 

Michael glanced at the top of her bust. The expanse of her large, bare, fleshy breasts disappeared under the sequins of her gown, decorated with a large, jewel studded pendant hanging just within and above the deep, dark canyon between them. He forgave the little old gnome for his interest. He shared it, too. 

Her belly was reasonably flat for her age, no doubt aided somewhat by the tight fitting evening gown that also helped to push her chest up and out even more prominently. The spread of her hips wasn't unattractive, either. Certainly she'd gotten a bit wider there, with childbirth and age, but the effect was nice. She offered a very pleasing, full, hourglass shape to a man's eye.

Too bad she was his sister. They would have made a good match, the two of them. Unlike Mouse, Melanie's personality was a better twin to his, and their mutual size fit well, too. Michael would crush most women with his mass when making love, certainly any woman as petite as Mouse. Melanie was something of an amazon herself, tall, sturdy, but still very attractive. They had both played basketball in high school. She could handle him, he was sure. If only she weren't his big sister.

He realized his erection was returning. Nice, real nice, he thought. Now both of his sisters were turning him on. He'd fantasized about Mouse more than enough before today, but rarely Melanie. He'd been alone for too long. He was starting to think he needed help. Or maybe it was just the beer thinking for him.

Oh, well, he thought. They were just harmless fantasies. There certainly was no way anything could ever happen between he and Melanie. She was happily married to Dan, and more than that she showed little interest in sex at all. Her gown tonight was a rare exception. She usually dressed very properly and plainly, with everything nicely covered, and then some. When she sat it was with her knees together, back ramrod straight, hands politely clasped in front of her. 

More importantly, he was sure she'd be utterly shocked and disgusted by just the thought of being intimate with her own brother. And, mostly, he would never have the nerve to even hint at something like that, let alone act on it. It just wasn't in him. He'd have to be Mouse to do it.

And there was absolutely no way anything was happening between him and Mouse, not the way they went at each other. The way he saw it, he figured that she would find a way to needle and annoy him at his own funeral, if he didn't snap and kill her first. Then she'd probably still find a way to annoy him at her funeral.

"You're not having much fun, are you?" Melanie asked, startling him out of his thoughts.

He looked up to see her searching his eyes. He hoped she didn't realize where he'd been staring or, God help him, what he'd been thinking. She had a disconcerting way of doing that from time to time.

"No, I don't have much fun anymore," he admitted somberly.

"It's been a year, Michael, and it wasn't any good for you long before that. Lighten up. You're living like you've got one foot in the grave, like all your best years are behind you."

There she was, being his big sister again. They had always been close, so she didn't hesitate to wade right into the depths of his problems. She always looked out for him, always looked to protect him, to nurture him, and she was candid about it. But unlike Mouse, she knew when and where to push, and when to stop. He liked that about her.

"That's easy for you to say," he argued. "You've got three kids. Jennifer's graduating from college soon, followed by the others. You and Dan will be able to travel together. There'll be weddings and holidays. You've got a whole string of futures to look forward to."

"So start over. You're not at the end of the road. You're just at a branch in the only road you get to take."

"Very poetic," Michael answered sourly, looking away. Mouse had found a new dance partner, he noticed. He jerked his eyes back to Melanie.

"Look, I'll be okay. This just isn't a good setting for me, okay? Too much of the old, with nothing new. I need a change."

"Yes, you do," she said decisively. "So do it, find a change, make a change, a big change if need be. Take some chances." She held her tongue for a short pause. "Nancy didn't work out?" she added nonchalantly.

He didn't answer. He could tell that his silence made her uncomfortable. So, he thought to himself, Nancy was brought here for him. Melanie will be pissed at Mouse when she finds out why it imploded before it could even start.

"Will you behave Sunday?" Melanie prompted sweetly, changing the subject. There it was. She knew just when to back off.

"At dinner? At your place? You mean Mouse and I?"

"Yes."

"Look, it's just going to be family, right, just Mom and Dad and us? No one there for you to be embarrassed in front of."

"Dan will be there, obviously. You guys always make him uncomfortable when you fight. And Jenn and Doug are both home for the weekend. It's not something my kids need to endure."

Michael himself felt he always endured her husband Dan, like mosts must, he knew, so he didn't really care much about Dan's discomfort.

"They're old enough," he replied about the kids, pointedly bypassing Dan. "Rick is what, seventeen? And they all fight amongst themselves, especially Jenn and Doug."

"Not like you and Mouse."

No, nobody fights like Michael and Mouse, they both thought.

And with that, lifting the stirrer in her drink to her lips like a straw, Melanie turned to glide away into the crowd. He admired her figure and the rhythm of her hips as she moved away from him. She turned sideways to slip between two men in her way. Holding her drink above her head, it was still a tight squeeze, but not too tight. Her heavy breasts brushed against one lucky man's back, while her ass brushed the ass of the other. To him it seemed that both men eased back into her, increasing the contact, and that she enjoyed it, if only as a silent compliment. He felt some jealousy added to his lust.

He moved off into the crowd himself, heading in another direction to find a quiet corner to drink in peace, alone with his own thoughts.

* * *

"Where'd your friend go?" Mouse had appeared abruptly at his side again. She did that a lot, too, to his annoyance.

"You drove her off quite expertly, Mouse. Well done. Thanks again." He made his annoyance palpable for her.

Mouse put on a cute, phony, little pout.

"I didn't do it on purpose. But it's for the best. She didn't look like your type." There was an edge to her voice.

"How would you know what my type is?" he asked with a well-controlled snarl.

"I'm your little sister, silly, I know you better than anyone. Trust me, not your type. You'd regret the whole thing within a week. Come on, get me another drink," she finished, looping her arm through his to tug him toward the bar.

Michael stood his ground, jerking her back unexpectedly as she tried to pull him.

"I just got one," he said solidly. "And you've had enough, I can tell. I don't need you getting sick back at my place."

"Party pooper," she skulked, then sighed loudly. "This thing's winding down anyway. And there were no decent men here to start with," she said, cruising the room with her eyes. "Present company excluded, of course." 

She looked up right into his face, into his eyes, with a laughing sparkle in hers. She carefully kept any hint of sincerity out of her voice. It was all playful and teasing, with a touch of scorn, as usual.

" 'Of course,' " Michael intoned, carefully avoiding her gaze. "Come on, let's go home."

<8 Sleep

The ride home was even less pleasant than the party. Mouse wouldn't stop talking. She also couldn't seem to finish a sentence without getting a dig in on him somehow. He never seemed to be able to fight back, either. He just didn't have the quick, witty comebacks he wanted, or the energy. 

Mouse was the kind of pretty, vibrant woman that Michael would never have. She radiated the happy, aggressive personality he could never adopt himself. She teased him about his divorce, and the fact that he never dated. She called him a sad recluse and a loser. 

They parked and entered his house, where the onslaught continued. Her comments got bolder, harsher. He supposed it was her way of helping him. She was trying to goad him into action, to make him do something about his life. That was her style. 

Unlike Melanie, she had no limits, no sense of boundaries. And of course it was ineffective. It just hurt, and it hurt all the more coming from her, someone who was young and happy, with all of the men and nightlife she could want, and with a great chance at a happy marriage ahead of her. 

Of course she took it too far in the end, after it had already gone on for too long.

"Look, was the sex ever good? Because if it wasn't good, the whole marriage was a waste of time," she advised smugly, looking out into the darkness through the big bay window in his expansive family room. She stood utterly still, looking too beautiful, and sexy, in the dim lights. He felt something stirring again.

"I don't want to talk about that."

"I'm serious, sex is important. You guys never had good sex, I could tell. There was no chemistry."

"Don't. Want. To. Talk." He figured extra punctuation made the words weightier. Mouse missed the extra periods, though, or chose to ignore them.

"Was it her fault, or yours? How did she kiss? Did she like the way you kiss?"

"Mouse, stop it!" he barked. "I'm tired of your shit tonight, alright? Just lay off."

This made her own blood boil, he could tell. She didn't like being told to shut up, she never had, and it set her off, every time, even if he had every right to say it now.

"So it was your fault," she accused. "You probably kiss like a fish." That was said hurtfully, with an audible sneer.

"Mouse, stop it."

"Cock like a fish, too, no doubt, all floppy and soft and small."

He didn't answer her this time. He just stood there seething. She stood, too, glaring back at him, all smug and nasty and defiant, in her too tight, too short, too everything outfit.

Something in Michael snapped. He didn't think it out, he didn't decide to do it, he just did it. He walked up to her, chest to chest, bumping her, towering over her. She stood her ground. He grabbed her shoulders in his overlarge hands, pulled her up and toward him, and kissed her hard on the lips. Mouse's eyes stayed open in shock the whole time, her arms flat at her sides, her body rigid. His lips searched and pushed and probed at hers, moving ceaselessly and angrily over her own in a very unbrotherly kiss.

When he had pulled his lips away, she stayed as she was, perfectly still, staring at him, finally silent, barely breathing.

"Well? Was that like a fish?" he exhaled in a snarl.

She didn't answer, but she didn't pull away, either. She didn't move. She just stared back, unblinking.

He pulled her closer. He pushed his face into hers, their noses touching. "Well? Answer! Fish or not?" he demanded, still barbarically angry.

She shook her head "no" very quickly, almost imperceptibly, while staring back, timorously, as if any movement would be agonizingly painful. He kissed her again, holding her to him tightly. She still didn't move a muscle. She simply hung there, limp, in his strong grip.

He pulled his lips away again. Hers seemed to follow his a bit, to linger a moment extra.

"Do you like the way I kiss?" he demanded, still angry, but regaining control by small increments. He squeezed her shoulders tightly with his powerful hands.

"Do. You. Like. The. Way. I. Kiss." The extra periods worked this time.

She nodded her head "yes", again with only quick, tiny flicks, so he was barely sure she'd done it. She looked scared, shy and eager all at once, seemingly afraid that if she moved too much he might do something dangerous, or perhaps that something would break, this would break, whatever it was, whatever was happening. She held his stare for a long time, a very long time.

He held it too, while slowly calming down, realizing what he had done. He was drunk. He was angry, dangerously angry. Now he was afraid to let go and face the consequences, afraid to admit he'd wildly lost control and apologize for it. 

Not knowing what else to do, seeing no way out, he kissed her again. He did so less angrily this time, more gently, more tenderly, but still with passion, still trying to prove to her that yes, a woman could want him. It was insane, but he did it.

When he finished, she still hovered in his arms, trembling a bit, he thought, and still, still staring maddeningly into his eyes.

Michael looked down at her. He looked her over, like a john sizing up a hooker. He looked at the flesh and curve of her shoulders, her breasts, her neck. He studied her face, realizing how similar they looked, brother and sister, how her eyes were shaped and positioned just like his, how they shared the family nose, and only now realizing that even their lips and chins were the same, though his clearly had a more masculine tone. He noticed how her cheeks were a bit higher and softer, but they were his, with the same basic cut and shape. 

He leaned forward to kiss her again, not really knowing why he did, why he was doing any of this. It was a very "Mouse" thing to do, doing something just because you wanted to, without thinking of right or wrong or consequences. And she was being very "un-Mouse" like, too timid, too insecure, instead of simply slapping him hard and shoving him away.

He kissed her firmly this time, finally playing his tongue against her lips, feeling them part just a bit for him. He forced his tongue through that opening into her mouth. He tasted the beer in his own mouth, mixing with vodka and something fruity from hers.

She leaned away from him slightly. It wasn't nearly enough to get away from him, not even enough to signal that she wanted to get away. She obviously didn't. She never once pushed back, as she passively let his tongue explore her mouth. He found her own tongue, flicking and twirling around it with his. When he stopped again, she was still staring into his eyes. Her arms were still limp. She was leaning far back with only his grip restraining her. Without his support she would topple over. 

Michael realized with a shock that his cock was now hard, pressing firmly against her. She had to feel it, too. He hadn't felt it himself, he had been so lost in the kiss and his emotions, and an alcoholic fog. But she wasn't pulling away. In fact, he realized too, now, that when she had leaned back it was to push against him harder below the waist, against his hips and crotch as he kissed her. 

He couldn't believe he was doing this, but he did. He let his hands slide down her back to her waist, tracing her spine with his fingertips. He went further, lower, brushing along the sweet little ass he had admired for so long. Once his hands had cupped it, he pulled her hips hard against his, driving his bulge against her. Mouse bit her lower lip as she felt it. Still she didn't move, and didn't drop her gaze. Her eyes were locked on his as tightly as he held their waists and bodies together.

He pulled her against him now with a slow, gentle rhythm, all the while kissing her forehead, nose and cheeks. And she still stared at him, but now she was thrusting back, only gently, but she was obviously a part of it now, no longer a bystander, no longer a spectator, no longer just an unresisting participant, but now an active one.

"And is it tiny?" he breathed softly. "Floppy?"

Again, she shook her head "no", very quickly and very shyly, visibly frightened. He jerked her once, very hard, against him, enjoying the soft squeal that escaped her throat.

Michael slid his large hands up her sides, barely brushing his knuckles across her breasts, up her neck and jaw to her face. He held it steady while kissing her gently again, then slid his thick fingers back down the soft skin of her shoulders and arms until they grasped her delicate hands.

He didn't even think about stopping this any more. He'd somehow stumbled this far. There were no more limits.

He pulled both of their hands in between them. He brashly held hers against the bulge in his pants. Her eyes grew wide as she realized what he was doing, what she was doing, that she was touching her brother's cock, touching his erection. 

She didn't pull back. She moved her index finger, only that, ever so gently, up and down, tracing the ridge of his prick through his pants. He held her gently now, barely touching her, so that the motion of her hands against him was clearly hers alone. Then he took her wrists in his finger tips to guide her hands up to his belt buckle. 




Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 01



All this time she had still not broken their gaze. Still they stood staring at each other. She did as she was being silently asked, or ordered, undoing the buckle, and the zipper. Slowly, but without hesitating, she reached in to hold him, first with one hand, then with both. 

She was feeling the heat, the solid fire of her brother's cock in her hands. She moved her fingers slowly along it, exploring the sides, the base, the head. He felt her smear a large drop of pre-cum as she slid a thumb across the sensitive tip of his cock head. He sucked in a quick, sharp breath at the sensation, while watching her own excitement growing with his. 

Finally she couldn't take it any more. She broke eye contact to look down, clearly hungry to see his cock in her hands. She pulled his pants partly down his hips. They both stared down for a long time, watching her fondle and play and explore.  

With a start, she seemed to realize that she'd been lost in her own world, herself, her hands, and his cock. She looked up again to stare at him intently as she continued to hold and caress him. He closed his eyes now. He was lost in that world too, the world of his sister's hands on his own swollen cock. After a while he opened them to find her staring at him, again and still.

"You're finally quiet, Mouse? For once?" he asked gently. "Forever? Say something. Anything."

Still Mouse just stared at him. He sighed dramatically before kissing her again. This time her tongue came out readily to tangle with his. She kissed him back with all the force and passion and hunger that he had shown her. When she did so she unconsciously gripped him harder in her two hands, squeezing and tightening and pulling, pulling with the same rhythm as their mouths. The thrill of it shot through him, tearing at his consciousness.

His own hands reached down to the space between her legs, where he was pleasantly surprised to find he had been right. The covering chemise was lingerie, designed for easy access, to be separated at the slightest touch. He did so effortlessly. And he was right, too, about the miniskirt. It was far too short, and she had no panties. His first touch met with curls of pubic hair and soft, hot flesh. 

He gently rubbed one finger against the moist, steaming crease of her pussy. He was startled at how wet she was. She inhaled sharply as he touched her. Michael pulled the miniskirt higher, hiking it up on her hips. He reached around to hold her adorable, nearly bare ass with both hands, and lifted her off of her feet.

He held her there a while, looking into her face, now level with his. For a moment he saw the sweet little girl he had grown up with. She was quiet, and a little fearful, looking admiringly and hopefully at her big brother like she once did. He couldn't believe he was doing this. This was insane. But the warmth of her pussy was now burning right above and against his cock. He was long past having any self-control.

Mouse was silent and unresisting as his powerful frame raised and held her crotch up above his hardened prick, itself arching up at her like the prow of a ship ready to plow through the waves. She helped by slipping her arms around his neck, reluctantly having released his cock, helping to balance herself as he eased her down onto him and entered her. A soft squeak escaped her mouth as he did so, followed by several more in a wonderfully musical rhythm. 

He was shocked at how easily he slid in. His prick was thicker than most, even after accounting for his body's girth and stature. Mouse was so petite, so tiny in his arms. He knew she must be tight. He was afraid it would hurt her. Yet she was so amazingly wet, sizzling hot and wet, that he slid into her without resistance, her pussy expanding willingly for him, though still enveloping him tightly. 

Right then he was overwhelmed with guilt, hit with the sudden shocking realization that he was fucking his little sister. His mind screamed "wrong, wrong, wrong," and "stop, stop now," but the blazing, drenching heat of her cunt over his cock silenced the voices, pushing them into the recesses of his mind as he filled her. 

She became a storm of squeaks and squeals. She wriggled and moved, feeling him inside her, not resisting, not minding, not fighting him. She pulled her knees high, locking her ankles behind his back, resting them on his ass, opening herself wide for him while holding him tightly with her arms around his neck. 

He looked over her shoulder at their reflection in the big bay window. They made quite an erotic couple, he a large, masculine ogre of a man, she a petite, curvy elf, both of them half dressed, locked together and rocking rhythmically in a wild, wicked dance. 

After a while the initial shock of his entry subsided. She opened her eyes to stare into his again. He was frightened of what he would see there, of finding hate or fear or loathing in her eyes, but they were soft and penetrating and filled with a fire to match the heat that embraced his cock.

They stood there, entwined, balanced, fucking slowly and gently for a while, always staring into each other's eyes. She used one hand to undo his shirt buttons to play with the copious hair on his chest, the same hair she had earlier disparaged. She slid all five fingers through it once, then let her hands wander, twirling the longer strands around a single finger as he fucked her. 

After a while, she reached up to slide his shirt back from his shoulders and off, immediately kissing his exposed neck and chest when she could. He used one hand to hold her body hard against him, always keeping the other under her ass to hold her up, to keep her afloat with himself inside of her.

His sister shuddered now and then, never coming, but never tiring. Between short, quick breaths she kissed him gently. She finally spoke, finally broke her frightening silence, whispering her secret, shameful desire to him. 

"Take me to your bedroom, Michael. Take me to your room and nail me to your bed," she squealed through quickened breaths. Nothing, no words, had ever excited him so much in his life.

He moved one hand to get a firmer grip on her ass, by chance sliding it into the crack. As his finger brushed her anus she squealed again, more loudly now. She grabbed him more tightly, trembling in his arms. Taking the cue, he moved one finger down past her asshole to where his cock was already inside her. 

Once his finger was slick with her dripping fluids he moved it back to her anus, slipping it smoothly inside her, filling her twice at once, cock and finger, pussy and ass. Her eyes widened as her squeals changed to moans, loud and utterly unrestrained. Her soft controlled whisper turned into a sudden plea. 

"Now, Michael, nail me now, now, now," she repeated, begging, until her lips found him again to scurry wildly over his, raining hot, darting kisses across every bit of his mouth.

He carefully carried her to the stairs, climbing them with her still attached to him, riding him throughout his ascent. He drove his cock gently into her with every step up, a soft moan escaping her lips with each incidental stroke. He carried his little sister into his room, where he lowered her down to the bed, holding her ass tightly, never letting her cunt escape him. She gripped him tightly, too, making certain that he stayed inside her the whole time. 

Once on her back she spread her legs wider, willingly offering everything to him. He was so much taller then she, her face would be smothered in his chest if he simply lay atop her, so he propped himself up on his hands, locking his arms. With his new found leverage, he could surrender to the burning urge to force himself faster and deeper into his baby sister, sinking her down into the bed with each savage thrust. 

She moaned and begged, "Harder, Michael. I'm a slut. You know I'm a slut. You said I'm a slut. I need to be fucked harder. Fuck me harder." 

Her dirty pleas excited him more. He grew wilder with each word, ramming himself into her as fast as he could, timing each stab with each filthy word she said. She stared into his eyes as he violated her brutally. 

He startled both her and himself when the words "I love you, Mouse" slipped out. He froze in that moment, terrified of what she might say or do, certain that that was a mistake. She smiled up at him. In instinctive response to her smile he thrust into her again, as hard and as deeply as he could. She laughed and squealed at the sensation, virtually screaming back at him "I love you, too, Michael, I love you, too." 

Still propped above her, looking down at her angelic heart-shaped face, he continued to move in and out of her, hard, hard, again and again, like the beat of a song. And with every beat her deliciously tiny lips repeated, over and over, "I love you, I love you, I love you". 

After a while she pulled her face up to his, holding him tightly, kissing him deeply, greedily, wickedly. After the kiss she fell back to play with the hair on his chest again. He felt her pull her legs apart and up, bending her knees. 

Her toes traced his skin, first along his back and then his sides. Next she gymnastically slipped her feet under his armpits to let her toes trace a path inward to his chest. He'd never seen a woman do this before, open herself to him while using her toes, like a contortionist, to play with his chest hair as he fucked her gently. 

She expertly slid one toe up his neck, across his jaw to his lips. He took it into his mouth, sucking it softly. She smiled at him, moving more toes to his mouth, one by one, squealing, giggling and moaning to show her pleasure.

When she'd had enough, she moved her legs back behind him, locking them tightly, holding him inside her while he used his strength to keep sliding out and in, over and over. He lifted one hand from the bed, precariously balancing on the other as he drove himself into her. 

He moved his free hand to gently cup one breast. The heat of it struck him, but not as much as the size. Her breasts had always seemed so large in her tight clothes, matched against her tiny frame. Yet in his own overlarge hands her tit felt tiny, lost in the breadth of his palm and his thick, clumsy fingers. She looked so fragile, so beautifully fragile. 

He let her nipple slide between two fingers, beneath the fabric of her clothes, inward beyond his knuckles, then squeezed both the nipple and the flesh of her tit in his hand, first gently, then more firmly. Her sharp intake of breath told him how it felt for her. The touch shot a wave of something through him as well. He had been holding himself in check. He didn't know how he'd kept himself from coming for so long, but he was losing control now, losing himself in her.

"I love you," she whispered again, with a slight quiver in her voice.

Before he reached his limit, before he couldn't stop himself, he looked at her again, asking, "How do you love me?"

Her eyes opened and narrowed, taken off guard and brought to awareness by the question. They danced back and forth across his face, frantically trying to decide what he meant by it. He thrust himself hard into her again, pushing the smile back onto her face and the question momentarily out of her mind.

"How do you love me? As a lover or as a brother?" he asked softly. He shocked himself with the harsh, naked truth of it. He didn't know why he was asking, he wasn't sure what answer he wanted, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know. 

He had been afraid to mention who they were to each other. It had been right there in his mind the whole time, filling him with guilt. They were family. They were brother and sister. Big brother and little sister. He was fucking his sister.

He was absolutely terrified that putting it into words would jerk them both back to sober control and end their wild, shameful adventure. So why did he ask? Why did he ruin it? 

Deep down, it felt important. Not important enough to stop. He continued to fill her, to push himself inside his little sister, even now, even after he had shattered the atmosphere of careening lust. But he'd asked the question, and waited for the answer he needed, whatever that might be, before he would come inside her.

The smile drained away from her face again, as he knew it would, but it was replaced not with fear or revulsion or guilt as he'd expected, but with an expression of thoughtful, hungry lust. She looked at him hard, for a long time, all the while her fingers tracing invisible lines across his chest and shoulders and then his neck and lips, and all the while with his cock continually moving in and out of her with a will of its own. 

The rhythm of his penetrations slowed. He never stopped, but was gentler, giving her room to think, and maybe, please, to say what he wanted to hear, even if he didn't know himself what that was. Something that would fill his burning need, something that would let him come inside her.

"Both" she answered softly, to his delight. She hesitated, studying the chest hair she had wound around one finger. Then she looked into his eyes again to answer more forcefully. "I love you as a brother and I love your cock, and I love being your little sister and I love being your lover. And I love being fucked by you, by my brother."

He was shocked at her candor. She went far beyond the question he had asked. It was more than candor. She said it like she did everything, like she dressed, like she danced. It was like wearing lingerie in public, outside of your clothes. It was like dancing in public so that anyone watching felt seduced. Her words basically screamed "look at me, look what I'm doing, I want this and to hell with you, I'm wicked, I'm committing incest and I'm loving it and I want everyone to know and to see. I'm fucking my brother."

Passionate, wordless moments passed as they searched each other's eyes, trying to see each other's souls. She closed her eyes, moaning softly for him. Her hands traced a path along his back, and down to his ass, where she grabbed tightly, aggressively pulling him more deeply into her. "I love being your little sister whore," she growled. 

Michael lost all control. He came at that moment, pouring himself into her, driving himself as far into her as he could, feeling his cum shoot even deeper. All the while she kept repeating "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck your sister, fuck your baby sister whore with your beautiful brother cock". They had both lost all control, all shame, all restraint, and were willingly long, long past the point of no return.



Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 02



Beginnings

<8 Drinks

The morning light brutally assaulted Michael's eyes when he awoke, unable to remember having fallen asleep. His head hurt when he moved, and when he lay still. The evening's memories flooded back. 

He bolted up. His eyes searched the room in a panic, looking for Mouse. He fell backward onto the mattress, staring blankly at the ceiling when he realized, with both relief and disappointment, that he was alone. 

Michael lay there for some time, wrestling with his conscience, trying to will himself to get up and face Mouse. The bed was a refuge he wouldn't abandon easily, until he thought about what he'd done there last night. Then he was quickly up, thinking he might never lie there again.

He had to apologize. He had to promise it would never happen again, maybe blame the alcohol. He probably had to help her get her things together and drive her to Melanie's house for the rest of her stay. They could just tell Mel that it wasn't working out. That would be easy to believe.

It wasn't working out.

Michael peered around the door into the hall, then quietly quick stepped to the bathroom. His head throbbed. His mouth was dry, tasting of stale beer, and something more. He brushed his teeth, then took two ibuprofen and a long shower. As the too hot water cascaded over him he felt safe there, knowing Mouse couldn't walk in on him. At least he hoped she wouldn't.

Michael began to imagine that she did, that she came to him willingly then, how she would look and feel there, sharing the water with him, before touching him, and letting him explore her.

He pictured his little sister in the shower with him, wet and soapy and inviting. He immediately cut off the image, scolding himself for the twisted indulgence. 

He definitely needed to get her out of his house.

* * * 

Some time later he had dressed. After finding every reason he could to delay the inevitable, Michael went down the stairs, trying to seem at ease. He scanned the large, empty family room as he descended, then wandered into the kitchen, only to find it empty, too. He was surprised at how disappointed he felt at her absence.

There was a handwritten note on the kitchen table. Michael began to read it.

Hey, sleepy head. I didn't have the heart to wake you. You looked too cute sound asleep, and I knew your head would hurt when you did wake up.

I called Melanie to come over and take me shopping. I didn't think you'd want to come with us girls.

She'd drawn a small heart shaped smiley face right after the word "come". He hoped she didn't mean it the way he read it, as a double entendre. He sat down at the table to finish reading the last lines.

Melanie wants to go out for drinks tonight. Pick you up at 8.

Last night was nice.

She didn't sign it. Instead she included a little cartoon of a mouse's head, with puckered lips.

Michael read it again and again, at first to be sure he'd read it right, then again in disbelief, then again for pleasure.

When he realized he enjoyed the note, he mentally slapped himself. Mouse had to go.

* * *

Michael waited anxiously for Mouse and Melanie to drop by. He'd wasted the entire day lumbering about the house, doing nothing but letting his mind float. He'd alternated all day between meandering fantasies and mental self-flagellation.

Now he alternated between feeling nervous, like a teenager before a first date, and foolish. He sat in his recliner, got up and sat on the couch, got up and sat in the kitchen, then moved back to the recliner. He'd changed shirts twice before coming downstairs, then once again.

He was being an idiot.

She was doing it to him again, he thought. Mouse had tormented him in a variety of ways for decades, and now she'd found another, one that worked when she wasn't within ten miles of him.

As soon as he heard the car pull into his driveway, Michael was up and at the door.

* * *

Mouse watched Michael fidget in his seat for the umpteenth time. He was like an adolescent. He was a complete dork, but it was sweet. She couldn't believe she had him in such fits.

She also still couldn't believe it had happened, after all these years. She glowed at the memory, thinking that she'd have to try to feel guilty about it later. She knew she should, and almost certainly would, but somehow guilt wouldn't come to her now. Instead, she felt like she was floating.

Mouse watched the thick fingers of her brother's hand spinning his drink ceaselessly, by quarter turns, on the table. It would have been annoying, if his hands didn't look so damn sexy doing it.

"Michael, did you have too much coffee today?" Melanie asked with an irritated smile.

He was driving her crazy, too. Mouse decided she needed to do something to change his mood.

"Do you remember Michael before his very first date, Mel?" Mouse asked with a grin.

Melanie sat up and leaned forward, suddenly charged with energy.

"Shit, yes! He paced around the house like a caged animal, then he almost fell over the chairs racing to the door when she got there. I felt so sorry for him, I wanted to go along and coach him to keep him from frightening her away." Melanie smiled kindly at Michael when she said it, but he avoided her gaze, wearing an embarrassed scowl.

"Which he did, as I remember," Mouse added, grinning nastily at Michael. "There was no second date. I'd give anything to have seen his face when he tried to kiss her. If he tried."

He glared back at her, then conveniently disappeared into the bottom of his glass as he drained it.

"I remember your first date, too," Michael countered, after swallowing. "You were only fourteen, you were only going to a PG-13 movie, yet you'd already learned to dress like a hooker."

He said it like he fully intended to use a harsher word than "hooker". Whore. Mouse remembered using the word herself last night, with him on top of and inside her. She found it hard to be insulted by it now. She wished that Melanie weren't around, so she could brazenly remind him of it.

"I've been called worse," Mouse said obliquely, her eyes sparkling with a wicked smile, hoping he made the connection.

Melanie sat up, stiffening, sensing that another sibling skirmish had begun. Her eyes darted between the two of them, probably struggling between choosing the role of peacemaker, or simply getting out of the line of fire.

This wasn't going well, Mouse decided. She'd taken the wrong tack, by insulting him. She didn't know why she always did that, why she loved him so much, was so infatuated with him, yet cut him down at every turn.

"Actually, I think Mouse was funniest when she was six," Michael put in. 

He paused, seemingly for effect. Mouse could almost hear the whole bar yelling in chorus, "how funny was she?"

"Remember when she dressed up in Mom's bra and slip, and high heels, and nothing else? Then sauntered into the family room for everyone to see?"

"Oh my God, I'd completely forgotten!" Melanie said quickly, grinning widely. "She used gobs of Mom's best red lipstick, too. I was sure, then and there, that she was going to grow up to be a stripper, or a prostitute!"

Michael and Melanie both laughed out loud. Mouse laughed, too, with her eyes focused away across the room, as if she were embarrassed, feigning disinterest. Let Michael think he'd scored a hit, she thought. It actually hardly bothered her. She'd gladly take a ribbing from both of them if it set Michael at ease. Mouse picked up her drink, emptied it smoothly, and called to the waitress for another round.

Michael's glass, and now hers, were both empty. Melanie had barely started on her own. Was she drinking slowly, or were Mouse and Michael nervously downing them like water?

"I remember when I was ten," Mouse said, preparing the next volley in the battle. 

Michael and Melanie both braced themselves visibly, wondering what was coming.

"I was struggling with impossible math homework, and Michael was helping me. He was patient with me back then, before he felt threatened by me." Mouse widened her eyes meaningfully at him. "But he made doing the problems seem so easy, I thought he was a genius."

Mouse smiled warmly straight into Michael's eyes, wasting only a passing glance on Melanie as her sister took a small sip of her drink. The waitress arrived with three more. Michael couldn't grab his fast enough.

"I decided right then and there that I was going to marry him some day," Mouse finished. She held Michael's eyes with hers, and held her smile, too. Her mind filled with the warm memory of covertly touching his deliciously large hands with hers as he'd helped her. 

Melanie pretended to choke on her martini, but Mouse didn't even look her way. Michael was staring back at her with an uncertain expression. It could have been interest, or disbelief, or shock. Or discomfort. He eventually gave in, lowering his eyes to the table and lifting his beer to his mouth as an excuse to look away.

Melanie looked between them, then broke into an easy smile, deciding that this was Mouse's way of declaring a truce. Mouse thought to herself that Melanie would die if she understood the background behind this whole conversation.

"Thank goodness you two can't ever marry. That would be the messiest marriage ever. And I'd pity your children!" Melanie grinned at both of them.

There was a short, uncomfortable pause. Mouse was waiting for some response from Michael, something to make her feel better, too. She wanted him to admit, in some small way, that he'd felt that way, too, before last night.

Michael was silent. He remained silent.

"That was before I knew what a dork he really was, though," Mouse said somewhat bitterly into the growing space, keeping her eyes on his.

Mouse had been quickly hurt that Michael hadn't given her what she wanted, and needed, from that bit of conversation. It angered her. He didn't need to say much, but any small comment would have helped. Just acknowledge that he liked her, had feelings for her, the way she always had for him, and still did.

But he hadn't. He'd let the opportunity pass. Mouse decided to go for the throat.

Melanie beat her to it.

"I remember the screams of rage when you were eleven and you walked in on him in the shower!" Melanie chimed in, getting into the spirit of what she thought the game was. This episode was safely embarrassing for both of them, so she wasn't taking sides.

They all laughed a little more easily, even Michael.

"I'd forgotten about that, myself," Mouse lied. "But I also remember when I was twelve, and I walked in on Michael in bed with a girl," Mouse said devilishly.

"Oh my God, you didn't. You never told me that. When? How? What did you see?" Melanie said in a rush. She was blushing slightly herself, as if she were directly involved, and it had happened only yesterday.

Michael was seriously scowling at Mouse now. It wasn't feigned, and it wasn't mild. He was fuming. Mouse realized she'd really gotten to him with this one. It had been their secret for almost two decades now. She'd always respected that, always kept her promise of silence.

"I'm sorry, Michael," she said timidly, for once regretting that she'd let her anger take her this far. "But it's been so long. Can't I finally tell someone? Just Mel?"

Michael looked at her for a while, until his expression softened. Then he looked sheepishly at Melanie.

"You've already gone too far, I guess," he said to Mouse, without taking his eyes from Melanie. "It's not like Mom and Dad can ground me, or kick me out of the house." He laughed, but it was forced. "You might as well go on. But Mel has to keep it secret for at least another twenty years. From everyone. Don't even think of telling your husband."

Melanie made a show of crossing her heart, while holding up a scouts honor sign with her other hand, although to her credit she never actually said a word of agreement, Mouse noticed.

"Michael didn't know anyone was home," Mouse continued, now very eager to share her tale. "I'd never been left home alone before, so he just assumed he was safe when Mom and Dad were out and he brought her home. I'd heard him come in, but I was playing in my room and stayed there... until I heard funny noises coming down the hall," Mouse said, pausing. "Hers, and his."

"Ewwwww," Melanie said theatrically, looking again between them both, to Mouse for more details, and to Michael, possibly trying to picture it, or to see how he was handling this particular story.

"I won't say too much more, except that I was curious. I went to check things out. I watched a while trying to figure out what was going on. When they finally saw me they were both mortified. He shooed me away, then paid me handsomely to keep quiet... three trips to the movies with him, I think it was," Mouse said with another grin, and another glint in her eye.

"You milked it for another two after that, as I remember. Extortionist. And you made me hold your hand through all of them."

"Exactly how much did you see?" Melanie asked.

Mouse inhaled sharply, readying herself for her next blow.

"I don't want to go into details."

Melanie was silent, giving her a disappointed "oh, come on" sort of look. Mouse thoroughly intended to continue.

"I was so young, I didn't know what I was looking at anyway," Mouse said, eyeing Michael. "I will say that Michael had a lot to offer the girl. A lot."

Mouse smirked into her drink, taking her turn to hide behind the glass as she lifted it to her mouth, but letting her eyes twinkle past the rim at Michael and Melanie both.

Melanie's mouth was agape, as she looked back and forth between the two of them.

"Ewwwww," she said again, but this time with far more emotion. "Ewwwww," she repeated for emphasis. "That was something I don't think I wanted or needed to know."

You asked, Mouse thought to herself. And Mouse couldn't wait to say it, she admitted to herself, both for her and for him. She couldn't tell, through Michael's look of astonished embarrassment, but she thought she could see him secretly swelling with pride.

"Really?" Melanie asked in a moment of weakness, betraying a hint of interest, while glancing shyly back and forth between her brother and sister. She immediately blushed, regretting the question. Melanie and Michael both looked bashfully down at the table, while Mouse brashly beamed a satisfied smile at them both.

She'd won again.

* * *

Michael faced the tiled wall, eyes closed, concentrating on the relief he felt as he emptied his bladder. He'd found a momentary refuge from Mouse in the men's room. He couldn't believe now that he'd let himself be excited about having drinks with her tonight. It was exactly the same as it had always been, only worse. There was nothing fun about this.

He zipped his pants reluctantly once he'd finished, wishing he'd had more to drink, and so more to pee, and so could kill more time away from Mouse. He used yet more time by carefully washing his hands, twice. After taking one deep breath in resignation, he headed out the door.

Mouse was waiting for him there, right outside. She'd worn a fantastically sexy dress this evening, white, low cut, bare shouldered, skin tight and short. She stepped right up to him, chest to chest, just as they had stood together the night before. She was looking up into his eyes again, like a sexy angel wearing the expression of a vixen.

His memories of holding and kissing her flooded back. He felt momentarily overwhelmed and confused, even dizzy, with the onrush of images and thoughts.

Michael opened his mouth to ask her what was going on tonight. Before he could get a word out she was up on her toes, with her arms around him and her mouth on his. He put his hands on her shoulders to immediately push her back down. 

That one moment when her mouth lost contact with his was almost physically painful. He leaned into her, extending the kiss, even as he pushed her away.

"Mouse!" he whispered harshly. "Are you crazy? Where's Melanie?"

"Back at the table. She's not drinking nearly as fast as you and I, so she didn't really need to go. She asked if I wanted company, and I said no, although I meant yes, but not hers..."

Mouse beamed a revealing smile at him. Michael tried to give her a stern, brotherly, reprimanding look. Mouse adopted her favorite phony, little pout in response.

"You're not too mad at me, are you?" she asked, looking coquettishly into his eyes. "I was only playing..."

"You're always playing, Mouse," he interrupted angrily. "With me. Always."

Michael took her firmly by the arm, dragging her back towards their table in the bar, but she pulled free.

"I still need to go. I just wanted to catch you alone, to say 'hi'," she said, backing her way into the ladies room.

"Hi," Michael said, in a straight-faced monotone. She smiled weakly at him, making him feel suddenly cruel. He smiled weakly back at her as she retreated behind the door.

* * *

"I don't know why you're staying in that gigantic, empty place," Mouse said to Michael critically, as they started a fourth round of drinks. "It's like a mausoleum."

Michael bristled, taking it as an insult.

"I like my home, thank you," Michael replied evenly. He could feel the liquor hitting him, realizing he should stop after this one, maybe should have stopped at three. Michael didn't drink often enough to handle it well. He obviously hadn't last night. "If you don't like it, stay with Melanie."

Mouse glared at him. She seemed to be silently asking if he really wanted her to leave. It struck Michael that he'd actually hurt her, for a change. But he didn't back off.

"Anyway, it's better than living in a cramped, little, mouse hole," Michael added.

"I like my tight, little, mouse hole," Mouse replied. "You'd like it, too, if you'd ever been in it." Mouse raised her eyebrows at Michael meaningfully, her eyes smiling, then smirked into her glass as she tasted her next drink.

Michael knew this was yet another transparent double entendre. He glanced over at Melanie in fear that she'd recognized the switch from "cramped" to "tight", and understood the implications. She hadn't, or didn't visibly react if she had. She watched stoically, maybe apprehensively, waiting to see how violent this line of conversation was going to get.

"You're small, I'm big," Michael said smiling, enjoying a rare chance to one up Mouse with subtle wit. "To each his own."

"To each his own," Mouse said, raising her glass in a slightly tipsy toast. "Sisters and brother, different, but joined." 

Melanie raised her glass, too, again completely missing the incestuous undertone to the comment. Michael raised his glass last, reluctantly, not having missed a thing.

Mouse had clearly gotten a buzz. She needed to stop after this one, too, Michael thought. They didn't need to go home drunk together again. That would be a disaster.

He didn't know how he was going to tell her that she had to get out, tonight, but it had to be done. They had to be physically separated, or this was going to get out of control. Or, rather, further out of control.

* * *

Melanie had dropped them off and fled. Michael seemed to be trying to get her to stay, Mouse noted, to get something off of his chest, or to avoid being alone with Mouse, but Melanie hadn't given him the chance. She was pulling out of the driveway as Michael flopped into his recliner, exhausted by the evening.

Mouse didn't hesitate. She dropped straight onto his lap, looping her arms around his neck while gently placing her forehead against his. She studied his nose and mouth first, up close, with her face just inches from his, before looking into his eyes. She felt the intensity in her own expression. She didn't want to scare him, but she couldn't hide it, either.




Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 02



"Are you drunk again?" she asked teasingly, but softly.

Michael stared back at her, frozen solid under her touch.

"Are you going to try to kiss me again? Make me kiss you?" she asked, in a breathy, kittenish, little girl voice.

"No," Michael snapped at her.

Maybe not, she thought, but she knew he would kiss her back if she kissed him. She had only been waiting for him to open his mouth, no matter what he said in reply. The moment he did, although the word that came out was "no," she pressed her lips to her brother's, forcing her tongue past his teeth, hunting frantically, trying to make the kiss as sexual as she could.

The doorbell rang abruptly, startling them both. Michael sprang to his feet, almost dumping Mouse on the floor. He held onto her at the last moment, lifting her and setting her on her feet with his strong hands and arms. 

That act alone excited Mouse more than the kiss. She felt her heart pounding in her chest and a heat rising in her face, from the kiss, from the shock of the interruption, and then from the harsh, powerfully masculine touch of his hands saving and protecting her, just like he'd done when she was very young.

They looked up together to see Melanie's face pressed against the glass pane beside the front door, peering in. Michael turned to Mouse, speaking out of the corner of his mouth.

"Shit! What did she just see?"

Mouse didn't answer. She hoped to God that Melanie hadn't seen anything. What was she doing back here?

Michael strode to the door in a handful of long steps. He unlocked the bolt and pulled the door open.

"Come on in," he said, stepping eagerly aside to let her in. "I'm glad you came back, I..."

Mouse didn't let him finish.

"What's up, Mel?" she said cheerily.

Melanie looked between the two, sensing that something was up.

"Sorry to intrude. I just... have you two been at it again? Already? I've only been gone a moment."

"We were discussing the idea of Mouse moving over to your place," Michael said, shocking Mouse.

"No, that's too much of a burden on Mel," Mouse said immediately, maybe too quickly. "I'm fine right here. It's just one more day."

"Two more nights," Michael corrected, glaring meaningfully at her.

"That's right, two long nights where we'll be fast asleep, completely unable to bother each other in any way," Mouse countered, grinning evilly.

Melanie looked again between the two of them, clearly feeling uncomfortable. Maybe she had seen something through the windowpane.

"Look," she started, pausing when neither gave her their full attention. Michael and Mouse had their eyes locked on each other in a death embrace. "Look, I just came back because I was nervous about leaving you two alone. Michael was acting like he wanted you out, which seems to be the case, and I'm starting to think we were all silly to do this to the two of you."

Mouse turned on her with a cruel stare.

"We're fine." 

She'd said it with a painfully loud period at the end of the sentence.

Melanie stood blinking nervously. It wasn't like her to show her nerves, or to back off, and she didn't do so easily now. She was the eldest. She and Mouse didn't argue much. Because of their age difference, and distance, they simply didn't cross paths, or swords, often. But as legendary as Mouse's temper was in their family, Melanie's need to control everything was just as well recognized.

This time, Melanie gave in first, surprisingly quickly.

"You'll be all right, Michael. It's only one more day," she said, defeated.

"And two nights," Mouse chirped happily.

"Sorry I interrupted," Melanie said with a weak smile, retreating from the room. Now that she'd lost, she seemed eager to get off of the field of battle. "I'll see you both at dinner tomorrow night. Please behave better then. Get everything out of your system now," she finished, already half out the door.

"We will," Mouse sang back, smiling wickedly yet again, first at Melanie, but then, more meaningfully, at Michael.

He looked back at her helplessly.

"We will not," he tried to say to her with authority.

It was adorable, she thought to herself. He'd tried to escape, and now he was going to pay. As soon as Melanie was gone, Mouse turned and headed into the kitchen, asking Michael if he wanted a beer. He said "no", and she returned with one for each of them anyway.

Michael accepted it begrudgingly, took a long sip, and sank again into his chair. He sat there nervously relaxed, like a patient awaiting a dentist's drill.

Mouse glided toward the entertainment center. As she moved she secretly watched Michael's reflection in the big bay windows, feeling a satisfying tingle as she caught him watching her ass. She casually dimmed the lights, without comment, then proceeded to turn on the stereo. She'd already picked the music out that morning, leaving it ready for this evening. Michael started to protest, as Mouse started to dance.

* * *

His objections died in his throat as soon as she started to move. Michael tried to numb himself with another quick swig from his bottle, knowing he had lost. It was one of his favorite songs, a slow, melodic, R&B ballad sung by rich voiced diva.

I 'm a l o s tAnd lonesome g i r l S p i n n i n g throughA l o n e l y world

Mouse swayed easily, erotically with the music. Michael felt himself falling into her body as soon as she began to move, as he always did when watching her dance. He watched her smooth, feminine lines undulate and bend and spin, drawing his eyes irresistibly from one part of her body to another, and another.

It didn't help that her dress was so short and tight that it seemed that she was already naked, or that it might creep further up or fall down at any moment as a delightful consequence of her movements.

Wanting some - o n eTo t a k e me d o w nAnd m a k e me c o m e to him

He felt his body reacting to the sight of hers. He silently scolded himself. She was his little sister. He tried to fight back the feeling, or to look away, but found he couldn't.

And make me c o m e to h i m

* * *

Mouse tried not to look at him, tried not to see how he was reacting. She knew very well what her dancing did to him. She did it as often as she could. It had always been one way she could touch him, sexually, even though he was her brother, and she could never feel the touch of his skin the way she wanted to.

She'd always promised herself she would never let any of this actually happen. He was her brother. But it had happened. It was happening.

I'm a s w e e tand bitter g i r lTrampled b yAn u n - c a r i n g world

Mouse felt her own body warm as she danced. Her heart sped. When she thought about touching Michael, it started to pound. The warmth turned quickly to heat, centered in her hips.

Needing some - o n eTo t a k e me d o w nAnd make me c o m e to h i m

Mouse braced herself for the moment when the music would pause, and then swell, as the singer belted out the chorus soulfully. Mouse put the same feeling and drama into her dance, like a lover building towards climax after a time of slow, tender foreplay. She wanted Michael to feel that with her.

T a k e me d o w nH o l d me d o w nAnd make me c o m e to him

H o l d me d o w nAnd m a k e me c o m e for h i mF o r h i m

Just once more, she thought. She would only be here for one more day. She could have two more nights with him. Then she'd return to Chicago, and it would never happen again. But she could have her brother now, the way she'd always wanted him, the way he took her last night. For just two more nights, she could give in to her desires, and be his, be more than just his little sister.

Mouse worked her way over toward her brother, still keeping her gaze away from him. As she approached he stood up, seemingly to stop her. Once at his feet, dancing almost against him, with him, she looked warily up into his eyes, hoping he'd see and respond to the incestuous lust she knew clouded hers. 

His eyes were smoldering. She wasn't sure if it was with desire or anger. For a brief moment she was both afraid and excited by the thought that he might grab her, to hold her, to stop her from dancing. She wanted both. She wanted her brother to stop her, to tame her. And she wanted her brother to hold her, to possess her.

She wanted him to touch her, any way he wished.

He didn't move. He stood there, holding her gaze, arms at his sides, the beer bottle forgotten, dangling by the neck from the fingers of one hand. Mouse continued to dance gently for her big brother. It was all for him, intensely sexual and for him. She made it clear with her gaze now irresistibly locked on his face.

He still didn't visibly react. He didn't touch her, or move with her. Mouse dropped her gaze to his abdomen. She eased her body forward. Swaying from side to side, she brushed her nipples across him several times. She closed her eyes as she did it, enjoying the feel of her brother's body against hers in that soft, indiscrete, dangerously incestuous touch. Then she looked up at him again, more shyly this time, feeling less secure.

Michael raised his hands to find her shoulders, then dropped them again to his sides. He stepped back abruptly, conflicted, and dropped down again into his recliner.

* * *

When the song ended, Mouse picked her own beer up from the coffee table, pausing to take a long drink. She glanced briefly, sidelong, at Michael, then looked away around the room, then down at the ground. She seemed uncharacteristically uncomfortable, for a change.

This wasn't easy for her, either, Michael thought. He wanted her. He knew he did, he'd admitted it to himself, and after her dance, he struggled to stay away. She wanted him, too, obviously. But they both found it hard to cross the line now, the one that had so easily vanished the night before.

Despite their lust, neither could dive so eagerly into incest again.

She eased over to him, then supplely climbed into his lap, straddling him in his chair. Michael abruptly dismissed the thought that she'd give up. It was difficult for him, but not her.

She'd had to hike her short skirt up to get her legs apart and around his. Michael felt a wave of panic, along with a seizing thrill, as she exposed more of her thighs, as well as her pubic hair. She hadn't worn panties, again, or had taken them off at the bar. A wave of heat at her crotch pressed against his legs. He fought back the desire to feel it pressed instead against his shameful erection.

The next song began, and Mouse swayed again, now on his lap, even as she took another sip of her beer. She did this for some time, dancing just above him, on him, with her eyes on his. It was all eerily similar to the night before, but with their roles reversed. 

His beautiful baby sister held his gaze with her intense, dark brown eyes, her black pupils widely dilated in the dim light. She was looking at him as if she were waiting, patiently waiting, for him to snap like before. Michael maintained his composure, refusing to surrender to his lust. 

Mouse did as he'd expected her to do, and had been quietly wishing she both would and wouldn't do. She leaned forward, slowly, deliberately, to touch her lips to his. He didn't dodge, or push her away. He should, he knew he should, as his sister tried to kiss him.

At first it was so soft and gentle, it was almost as if they hadn't touched, as if there was a paper's width of space between them the whole time.

He didn't react. Her lips started moving over his, still gently, still with whisper soft touches. She found his upper lip with hers, then his lower, then the corners of his mouth. She pulled back a moment to look into his eyes, then continued her gentle lover's attack.

Michael felt his hands resting on her hips, not knowing how they'd gotten there. She felt so warm and slight in his grip. Her narrow waist, with a sudden curve expanding outward into the wondrous shape of her ass, filled his hands as she rocked gently in time to the music.

He became conscious then, too, of his stiff cock straining out toward her. She deliberately pressed forward and down on it with her hips. In a panic he knew she felt it, that she knew his composure was a lame masquerade.

Michael tried to avoid finally yielding to Mouse's soft, warm, teasing lips by thinking about her as his sister. She was his little sister. Her kisses were incestuous.

He saw her in his memory as a little girl. He remembered helping her with math. Like the time she'd said she had decided she wanted to marry him, he thought, then realized his mistake as it gave him a sudden thrill. He remembered picking her up from dance lessons when she was young, then pictured her again seductively moving for him, last night, and tonight. He pictured her in her prom dress, remembering belatedly how beautiful and sexy she'd been, and how desperately he'd wanted to kiss her then, too.

Her tongue was in his mouth now, and his own tongue had responded eagerly on its own, dancing with hers. It was the one way he felt comfortable dancing with her. He didn't even remember opening his mouth to her, letting her tongue find his. It just happened while he was thinking about her, his little sister.

As she took her mouth away Michael felt a painful longing grow in him. She looked at him lovingly. He knew he must be looking at her the same way. 

"Don't make me beg, Michael," she breathed at him. "I will, if it's what you want. I'll beg for you."

Then the shameless Mouse came out to play. She took her bottle of beer. She pressed the neck of it to her breast, casually rubbing the rim of the bottle around the rim of her nipple, firm, dark and easily visible beneath the fabric of her tight dress, straining toward him at the peak of the delicious curve of her breast.

Mouse tipped the bottle. Beer flowed over the dress, over her nipple, soaking it. The fabric clung more tightly to her skin. It became more sheer, clearly exposing the deep, dark outline of the perfect circle of her nipple in the center of her perfect breast.

Michael felt himself irresistibly drawn toward it, as Mouse's free hand reached around the back of his bald head, pulling him into her chest, drawing his mouth over her wet nipple. He tasted beer mixed with cotton. He felt the fabric against his tongue, along with the hard resistance of her erect nipple. The soft flesh of her breast pressed against the sides of his mouth and face, giving way pleasingly as she pulled him harder against her.

My sister's nipple, Michael made himself think. He'd thought it would stop him, but it only excited him further. My sister's tit. My little sister's sweetly magnificent tit, he thought, and suddenly his mouth was hungrily sucking at the beer, trying to get her completely into his mouth. His tongue probed harder, licking beer from the fabric. He heard a sharp intake of breath, telling him that she enjoyed the sensation as much as he did.

* * *

Mouse's eyes shot open. She stared at the ceiling, feeling a whimper rising in her throat. She fought it back, afraid of frightening her brother into coming to his senses. She failed. The sound escaped her throat as a short, high-pitched, erotic squeal. Mouse was delighted when Michael responded by moving his hand up from her hip to cup her other breast.

She pressed herself into him, grinding harder, one tit in his hand, the other in his mouth. Mouse began a gentle rocking motion, fucking his mouth with her nipple and her tit, while rubbing the wet patch between her legs against anything she could.

The moment he withdrew his mouth she found it with hers again. She relished that kiss most of all, tasting the beer in his mouth, finding his tongue, then whimpering into him as his tongue pushed hers back and invaded her, tangling frantically and uncontrollably with hers.

She broke the kiss to smile at him wickedly. With one hand she pulled the top of her dress down below her one damp breast, then poured a healthy stream of beer over her bare tit. She moved the bottle to drench the cloth of her dress on the other side as well, exposing that nipple's dark shadow to him. 

Mouse held his eyes as she did it, then his gaze was drawn to the beer glistening on her flesh. Finally he dove on her, licking and sucking the beer from her skin with a satisfyingly animal lust.

Mouse laughed and squealed at the feel of him, delighted that she'd driven her stale big brother into such a passionate state. She enjoyed the game, and played it longer, spilling beer on them both in the process. It dripped down onto his crotch. She looked at the wet patch spreading there, and in a sudden loss of control, she knew she had to play the game herself. She emptied the bottle onto him.

She was on her feet a moment later. He reached out to her, trying to keep her close. She held his hand in hers, gently, signaling that she couldn't be parted from him, either. She circled around behind his chair. He kept his eyes on hers, and she on his. Once behind him, she agilely crawled over his shoulder, sliding down his chest and stomach, inverted, to press her face against the hard, hot, damp crotch of his pants.

"Mouse, no," Michael whispered.

"Yes, Michael, yes," she whispered back, sounding like a little girl, but one overly excited by a woman's lust.

Then her mouth tasted the beer, and felt the pleasingly hard bulge beneath it. Her hands found the buckles and snaps of his pants quickly and easily. She expertly pulled his waiting cock into her hands as he reluctantly moaned encouragement. His hands, Michael's beautiful hands, had found her ass, where his fingers were squeezing her flesh tightly, almost painfully.

As she took her brother's cock into her mouth, she slipped one leg over his head so that her cunt would be in his face. She raced her mouth over his cock, eliciting more powerful groans from her brother, before teasing him with her dirty thoughts.  

"Lick my pussy, Michael. Lick my tight, little, mouse hole."

He did as he was told. She hadn't worn any panties. His thickly muscular tongue easily found it's way inside her. She screamed with his cock in her mouth as she felt his touch. His strong hands gripped her harder, pulling her violently against his face. His tongue twisted and searched, trying to penetrate her deeply. His lips found her cunt lips, and her clitoris, nibbling and sucking everything delightfully.

Mouse fought the urge to speak more, to remind him of their incestuous relationship. The thoughts, the act, the thoughts of the act, all excited her immensely. She wanted to convey it to him, to excite him with it, to share her feelings, but she couldn't risk frightening him. Not yet, not when his cock had only been in her hands and mouth for a moment.

She gently made love to her brother's cock with her mouth, now. She took her time, enjoying the feel of it against her lips and tongue for the very first time, her loving brother's thick, long, deliciously wicked cock. She ached to make him cum, imagining it filling her mouth, but knowing she wanted more than that tonight. In time, she willed herself to release him.

Mouse pushed her head up off of his lap, simultaneously driving her cunt more firmly against Michael's face. He responded by thrusting his tongue further into her. She screamed her satisfaction.

"Oh, Michael! Oh, Michael! Wicked Michael!"

She twisted suddenly in his grip, falling free, almost to the floor, laughing like a child as she did it. She smiled up at him as she spun around to sit on his lap again, this time facing away from him. She took each of his hands in hers, holding them as she twisted her head to kiss him again.

Mouse moaned into his mouth as soon as their lips met, then pressed his adored hands against her breasts. He squeezed them roughly, making her moan ever more loudly into their kiss. She felt his cock, hard and hot, between her legs, pressing against her greedy, hungry cunt.




Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 02



She needed him inside her. Mouse reluctantly released his hands. He left them covering her tits, squeezing and fondling them ceaselessly. Her own hands found his cock, her brother's cock. She lifted her hips enough to guide him into her, then settled slowly, deliciously slowly, onto his cock as it impaled her. A soft whimper escaped her throat at first, but continued, growing to a squeal and then a full scream, once he had completely filled her.

"Oh, yes, Michael. Fuck me. Fuck your baby sister like you should," she wailed, finally, recklessly exposing her thoughts to him.

In response Michael bucked his hips, either to move inside her, or simply to penetrate her further, Mouse was unsure. The effect on him and her was electric, though, as they both felt her big brother respond energetically to her pleas.

"Yes, Big Brother, yes. Fuck your little sister whore as deep as you can."

"Fuck my tight, little, mouse hole, Michael. Fuck my incestuous, little hole."

He groaned then. His sounds were like music to Mouse. He was bucking rapidly now, driving her closer and closer to orgasm. She felt herself losing the ability to think, to focus. Everything shrank and constricted to the feel of his cock pressing against the flesh inside her cunt, and the wet, slippery feel of it sliding inside her, tugging gently, teasingly on her clit as it did so.

As if he knew what she was feeling, one of Michael's large, fantastically sexy hands slid down her body to find her clitoris. The moment he touched her she exploded, no longer aware of what she was doing.

"Oh, God, Big Brother. Oh, God, I love you! I love you! I love your beautiful, forbidden cock, Michael. I love it, I love you, I love my brother's cock..."

* * *

Her words and screams were driving all reason from him. Her body felt so amazingly supple and soft in his hands, and so small, so easily manipulated. He felt a wicked power course through him, like he could do anything with her, anything to her.

She was his sister. What he was doing was so wrong. He was fucking her, and he loved fucking her, and he was never going to stop. He was going to find a way to fuck her harder.

Michael moved his hands back up to her sweet little tits, squeezing her entire body more firmly against his own chest, pinning her there. Then he stood up, with his cock still inside her, as she screamed more loudly. The sound was thrilling.

He carried her that way a few steps, to the couch, then lowered her onto it. She whimpered as his cock slipped out of her. She quickly climbed to her knees, lifting her beautiful round ass to him, wiggling it whorishly, beckoning to him with the pink, glistening flesh inside her open cunt.

"Please, Michael," she whimpered, crying. "Please come back inside me. I need my brother inside me."

He relished the onslaught of screams she made as he satisfied her need, plunging violently into her to drive her down onto her belly on the couch. He grabbed one of her shoulders in each hand to hold her steady, then thrust himself into her with his hips as hard as he could, over and over, quickly, almost cruelly.

The words that came from her mouth were tangled and tortured, almost incoherent.

"Oh, Michael, don't ever stop. Promise you'll fuck me like this forever. Promise you'll fuck your baby sister again and again, tonight, tomorrow, forever."

She repeated the plea over and over, reminding him how evil their act was, but begging him to accept it. He listened, fucking her ceaselessly, but silently.

"Please, Michael. I adore your cock. I love your cock. I've always loved you, your eyes, your hands, your body, your cock. I have to have my brother, Michael, please promise I'll always have my brother's body and cock."

Michael hadn't intended to make any promises. He told himself over and over, just this once, he could do this just this once, he had to do this just this once. Then he felt his cock stiffen and convulse. Mouse's pussy was so tight and hot against it, he didn't know how he'd lasted this long.

"You can't marry me, but you can fuck me," she squealed between quick, labored breaths. "I'll be your whore, Michael, just like you said I was. You and Mel called me a whore, and I am."

The mention of their older sister jarred him. He felt wicked and dirty, fucking his baby sister. He could see in his mind the look of shock and horror Melanie would have on her face if she caught them.

But he longed to stay inside Mouse, and to fill her with his cum. His little sister's cunt was so tight and sweet. It enveloped his cock with a hot, drenching, grip that sucked everything out of him. He ached to come inside her. As if sensing it, she begged him for it, too.

"Michael, come in me now, Michael, I need my brother's cum in me now. Fill me with incestuous cum, Michael, make me an incestuous whore by filling me with my sweet, loving brother's wicked, hot cum."

Michael felt the soft skin of her ass meet his hips each time he thrust into her, then the soft fleshy resistance of her cunt near the end of each stroke. Her words brought the cum up, into and through his cock in a moment. It burst from him in a delightful, nasty, unstoppable feeling of complete and total release.

"Promise me, Michael! Come in your sister and promise her you'll come again," she screamed. "Promise me you'll fuck me full of your cum again!"

"I can't, Mouse, I can't. You're my sister, my beautiful baby sister."

"I'm your whore, Michael, my brother's little whore."

"You're my sister, Mouse. My fucking sister, I'm fucking my fucking sister..."

The words, the admission of his own guilt, drove him over the edge. Michael couldn't contain himself as he came again and again into her, his cock jerking each time as it shot more of his seed into her. He couldn't bite back his next words. They exploded from his mouth of their own accord.

"Yes, Mouse, yes, I promise, I have to fuck you, I need to fuck you. I love my little sister, I love her cunt, I love filling her with cum. I'll cum for you, in you, whenever you want, Mouse, I'll fill your tight little mouse hole with your brother's cock and cum whenever you want."

* * *

He lay on top of her, panting, sweating, pressing her down into the cushions of the couch with his bulk. Mouse lay beneath him, enjoying the smothering, protective feel of his body over hers. She panted herself, trying to recover, and to regain her wits.

She was afraid it wouldn't have been possible, that nothing could match their previous night, that she'd be disappointed. She wasn't. It did. It was every bit as sensual and wonderful and memorable.

The words had poured out of his mouth like the cum pouring from his cock, warming and filling her. They came in an amazingly wonderful series of growls, animalistic in their intensity and honesty. She knew it was true, that it was how he felt. She knew that he loved her, too, and that from now on she would have him always. 

Her brother would fuck her again, and again, and again.

Mouse hadn't wanted to come herself. She'd told herself before this started tonight that it was only for him, that she wanted to be with him only for his pleasure. She couldn't let herself enjoy it too much. She couldn't let herself come, let alone try to.

She did. She had to. He had made her come with his intensity, and his promises.

<8 Breakfast

The morning light attacked Michael again the next morning, just as painfully and viciously as the day before, reinforced this time with an irritating collection of noises from downstairs. He wanted to groan dramatically, but couldn't bring himself to do even that. His hands rubbed the sleep from his eyes, too gently, so he pressed harder, until points of light glittered in the darkness behind his closed lids.

He stood, threw on a robe, and headed to the stairway. At the top of the stairs he froze, realizing his mouth tasted foul. He turned back, scuttling into the master bathroom to brush. In mid-stroke he stopped, glaring at himself in the mirror. "I want to taste fresh," he thought disparagingly, "in case my sister kisses me." 

He finished brushing, rinsed, and wiped his face. His head ached. He looked a moment at the razor, feeling his stubble with one hand, then dropped it to his side in disgust. He strode out and down the stairs.

Mouse was standing in front of the stove with her back to him as he approached the kitchen. She was wearing a gold, shiny, satin camisole, one that was clearly too small, so it rode up at the bottom, and no doubt was too low in front. She must have customized it, he thought, to get that effect. She was always "improving" her clothes. She'd done it tease a lover with what she had waiting for him.

To tease a lover, Michael thought again.

She had also donned a whore's metallic gold high heels and a housewife's white lace apron, tied loosely so the lovely curves of her breasts showed at the sides. The bottom of her ass cheeks, and the space below her ass and between her legs, was clearly, subtly visible, revealed to him invitingly by the camisole and the high heels, like a drink offered by a waitress. He admired how small, round and tight her ass was, and remembered clearly how wonderful it had felt in his hands.

He stumbled in. Mouse artfully gave him time to be seated at the dinette before breaking the silence of the bright morning. 

"Did I exhaust you?" she asked without turning. "You slept in. Again." 

Keeping his eyes on her backside, and keeping to their familiar pattern of communication, he answered a question with a question.

"Exactly how much lingerie did you bring for a four night stay with your brother? And why?"

Mouse smiled to herself, ignoring him.

"Do you like it?" she asked sweetly.

"It's... nice. Maybe a bit much for breakfast."

"What makes you think you're getting any for breakfast?" she teased, without turning. "What makes you think you're getting any at all, again?" she added with a grin, glancing over her shoulder.

"I'm not. I mean, we shouldn't," Michael answered awkwardly.

"Of course not. Me being your hot, little sister, and all," she replied, almost singing the words.

"Exactly," he added with a deeper tone of authority, trying to sound more in control, trying to act the part of the older brother.

Mouse put some eggs and bacon onto a plate, turned around, and walked to him. It was amazing to him how she could sway erotically in the morning, through a kitchen, wearing an apron and carrying a breakfast plate. 

She had no make up on, too. That was a shock. He couldn't remember ever seeing her without makeup, at least not since she was a kid. She still looked great. He wondered why she wore so much, and so often. He liked her better this way. 

She put the plate on the table in front of him. Faster than he could react, she spun around to the side to drop onto his lap, looping her cool, soft hands around his neck. She quickly parted his robe to play with his chest hair, planting a small gentle kiss his forehead, and then his lips, first softly, and then hard and hungry. Michael tried not to respond to the delightful string of sensations.

When it ended, Michael mastered himself enough to speak.

"We have to talk". 

Mouse shot up off his lap and shot back "No, we don't", retreating part way to the stove, her alluring backside to him again. 

"Mouse, we have to talk. We're brother and sister and we just fucked like newlyweds."

She stopped, looking over her shoulder, carefully and consciously, he was sure. She arched her back, accentuating the bewitching curves of her ass and tits. She smiled shyly at him, saying demurely, "Newlyweds? We're married? Like I always dreamed?"

"Mouse, stop it, we have to talk."

She turned away again, continuing to the stove, sternly repeating, "No, we don't." She picked up steam then, a touch of anger swelling in her voice. "People who are in trouble have to talk. People whose relationships are going the wrong way have to talk. We're not going the wrong way. Our relationship is better today than it's ever been." 

She stopped at the stove, putting her hands on its edges and studying them intently, still keeping her back to him. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other uneasily, then settled on straightening both legs at once, so that she once again thrust her ass back towards him temptingly. 

Michael looked achingly at the space between her legs, at the narrow gap between her two smoothly sculpted thighs, and the wisp of pubic hair silhouetted there. He had to fight down his natural reaction to the sight. He knew he was being manipulated, but she was so good at it.

"Mouse... this isn't a 'relationship'. We're br..."

She spun and virtually lunged at him, ripping the apron off. Mouse violently grabbed a kitchen chair with one hand, turning its back towards Michael with a thud. She straddled it and sat abruptly, spreading her legs around its back, leaning forward at him with her hands clutching the tops of the chairback. 

Dark brown nipples poked out just above her too low camisole. Black curls of pubic hair were now clearly visible behind the rungs of the chairback. Michael saw everything. He didn't let his gaze linger, but he noticed and it had the desired effect, starting a maelstrom inside him. Outwardly he kept his composure. 

From her position there, posing, she just stared at him mutinously. She sat, staring right into his eyes, like the last two nights, yet not. The emotion was definitely different.

"Very subtle, Mouse. It's what you always do," he tried to bark. "Flash your tits and your cunt to deflect..."

As violently as she sat down, she jerked up, pushing the chair forward to fall on the ground in a thunderous clatter.

"You're vulgar. I hate that word," she snapped, storming back to the stove, staring at a spot on the wall, yet again purposely keeping her back to him.

"Everyone hates that word," Michael replied. "I just said it to piss you off. Like I always do."

"It worked."

"Yes, it did, it seems." 

In reply, she picked up a pot, then dropped it loudly on another burner, just to make the noise.

"Mouse, don't be mad. But we don't have a relat..."

"Yes, we do!!!" she interrupted loudly, her voice trembling, while banging the pot again. "We've had a relationship for twenty nine years, since the day I was born."

Michael was shocked by her growing tantrum.

"That's different," he tried. "That's not..."

"So we've had a relationship for two nights? Is that it, to you?" she hammered, interrupting again. "A two night stand? Fuck your kid sister, once or twice for grins, notch the belt and move on?" Her fury was building. She had tried to make it sound as dirty and hurtful as she could. She succeeded.

"Mouse, no..."

It struck him that he had no idea how he had mysteriously wound up back here, fighting with a woman in this kitchen, arguing about a relationship. And it wasn't even a relationship, damn it! A year ago he'd washed his hands of fighting over nothing, of fighting just for something to do, because there was nothing else there to fill the void. And here he was again. 

Well, not quite again, he thought. There certainly was more here than just fighting between them, even if they didn't act like it, even without the sex. They did have a bond, as warped as their usual dance might seem to everyone else. He did love her, deeply. He was always deeply involved with her. He had always looked out for her, even when he was fuming at her. That must mean something.

And his ex had rarely worn lingerie. Certainly not in the morning, and absolutely not while making him breakfast. Michael admired Mouse's curves again, thinking too that even ten years ago, his ex had never looked nearly as good as Mouse did now. As good as his sister did now, he reminded himself.

She spun around again, glaring at him, snapping back at him, pulling him back into the fight. 

"Some quickie fucks for you? That's what this was? That's what you want this to be? Fuck your sister and move on? Well it's more to me." A single tear was coming down her cheek, jolting Michael into silence. 

"Do you know how many men I've picked up and fucked because they looked a bit like you? Do you know how many men I've told to call me 'Mouse' as I held them inside me?" The words were coming fast now. "Sometimes, if I knew I didn't want to see them again, I'd call them 'Michael' while I was in their arms. I'd wait until I was ready to come, and I'd say your name over and over. Usually they would freeze up and it would ruin everything, but I'd do it anyway, as soon as I started to come, just to be a little closer to being with you. Just to make the fantasy a little more real." 

It all came out so quickly, so unexpectedly, an unsettling rush of words and images.

She continued to glare at him, tears now running down both cheeks, but anger and defiance in her face.

He stared back at her, dumbfounded. This was absolutely not what he had expected. He'd never dreamed she felt this way, that she'd thought about him like that, too, for that long. He had always been sure it was only him, that it was all in his own, perverse head. That he was alone with his secret desires.

Even after the last two nights, it hadn't occurred to him that Mouse had thought about him before now. He thought it was all just sort of happening, and she played along for her own sordid idea of fun.

"That first night, when you were kissing me, I was so afraid," she continued, her voice more steady. "Couldn't you tell? I was afraid to move or speak or blink or breathe, afraid that you would stop and it would all be over. I was so afraid that you'd remember we were brother and sister, and you'd come to your senses and push me away. And I needed it, I needed you. 

"I think about you a lot, and I've always wanted you to think about me that way, too. And then you actually said it out loud. You asked me. You asked me. Remember? You asked me how I loved you, and I told you."

It all came out so randomly, a thunderstorm of thoughts and emotions and feelings and secrets. She stopped a moment, catching her breath, waiting for him to speak.

Michael was silent.

"Hadn't you ever thought about me... like that? Before now?" she asked, a silent plea in her eyes.

Michael still hesitated, holding back the shameful truth. He couldn't answer. It was all so sudden, so extreme, so hard to get hold of. How had this all happened so quickly? He looked down at the ground. He dodged the question, a coward, changing the subject, saying "I didn't know you were so obses..."

"Obsessed?" she finished for him with a crack like a whip. "With you? Don't flatter yourself... I'm not 'obsessed'. It's just a fantasy. One I enjoy." She closed her eyes, biting her lip, adding almost only to herself, "really, really enjoy."

"It's not a fantasy anymore," he interrupted, then paused. Her eyes snapped open, eagerly hoping. "It's real," he continued. "And it's dangerous."

They froze time in between them, locked in a long, silent gaze. Michael wondered how often they were going to spend staring at each other like this. It was becoming an unsettling habit. 

Suddenly, she glided forward, saying deeply, almost growling, "I like danger". 

She fell to her knees before him. She opened his robe to take his cock in her mouth before he could react. No, that was another lie. He didn't want to react. He was never going to stop her.

She looked up at him sinfully, his soft cock half in her mouth, the tears still wet and glistening on her cheeks, but with eyes wide and in control and waiting. She let it flop out as it started to harden. 

"You can do all the talking you want, big brother," she purred. "I'll listen. While I do this." 

She met his eyes while taking him fully into her mouth. Without even knowing he was doing it, he moved his hands behind her head and held it, firmly but gently, as she bobbed up and down, taking him in and out, covering him with warmth and wet, continually tickling his cock head with her tongue as she pressed with her lips. 




Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 03





Both of their garments lay in a heap at their feet. They stood there, brother and sister, naked, facing each other, her nipples hard and straining toward him, his cock between them still warm and hard enough in her hand. Mouse lowered herself gently to sit on the lip of the tub, never letting go, even as she turned on the water. 

With his cock beside her face, she couldn't resist a quick kiss, spiced with a mischievous glance and smile. She felt the water a few times, then quickly stood, stepped into the shower and pulled him in with her. He yanked the shower curtain closed behind him, as she finally, reluctantly released him to slide both hands up his chest. Mouse stretched up on her tiptoes, aching to kiss him lightly again. She closed her eyes as his hands slid pleasingly down her sides to rest on her hips.

Mouse turned to set the massaging shower head to pulse, giving it a slow, hard rhythm. She took the soap and began rubbing it on herself, putting on a show for her brother. She soaped her body much like she danced, with a silent rhythm, and with undulating, arching stretches. She thrust her tits and her legs and her ass out and forward and back for her brother, moving almost as if he were still fucking her. Soon her body glistened for him with water and soap. She dipped her head back into the drumming spurts of water, tipping it from side to side until her hair was soaked. Rivulets of water ran down her face.

* * *

Michael watched as Mouse's hair darkened further, matting against her head and changing her look completely. It was as if she had turned into another woman before his eyes, becoming a short haired, boyish, shining water-nymph, with water cascading down her face from the shower head like cum from a huge, pulsing metal cock above her. 

She looked at him coyly, shifting her hips and shoulders seductively.

Without taking her eyes off of him she turned around, leaned against the shower wall, and pushed her ass toward him, rotating it slowly and invitingly. He reached forward with a single hand to touch it, to rub it, feeling the slippery sensation of the soap on her smooth skin. 

He let his lone hand slide from there up her side to her breast. The whole way up he felt the soap and the warmth, and when he cupped her breast he noticed for the first time how soft it was, how much larger it felt than it had looked the night before, and how very, very hard her nipple was against his palm. He let the nipple slip between two soapy fingers, to squeeze it gently. Mouse responded immediately with a satisfying hum.

"That's a good boy," she said. "Get your dirty little sister nice and clean all over. Don't miss a spot." 

She leaned back into him again, grinding his cock between her ass cheeks. He felt it slip and glide across the slippery skin of her ass, wishing that he could get another erection this soon. 

"I've always loved your ass, Mouse," he murmured into her ear, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone that pleased her immensely.

"Oh? So you have had thoughts?" she demanded, widening her eyes with a laughing, interrogating look.

"Of course I have, you slut. You strut around everywhere half dressed, wiggling and cooing like a whore, of course I've gotten erections and 'had thoughts'. You little tease." 

He kissed her nose quickly, eliciting a small grin from her. She turned her face away from him, but at the same time she lifted herself onto her toes to rub the smooth, soapy crack of her cheeks up and down against his cock.

"Tell me more," she breathed, her rising voice signaling her growing excitement. 

* * *

Michael was silent, seemingly refusing to answer her question, so Mouse focused instead on the feel of his hand on her breast. She looked down, watching his marvelously large, sexy hands holding her comparatively small tit gently, kneading it, caressing it.

Emotions raged through her like a rain swollen river. She was embarrassed that she'd cried in front of him, that she'd lost it so completely. She'd opened herself so thoroughly to him, telling him everything she felt. She had never intended to do that. She didn't do that with anyone, ever.

She had spent so many years trying to seduce him, and trying not to seduce him. She'd been in love with her brother for so long, holding everything in check for so long. The sudden release now was impossible to control.

The hand on her breast drifted down her arm to interlock with her own fingers. She held his hand tightly, as his other hand slipped in to find her other breast.

With her eyes closed, with his hand holding hers, she drifted back in time. She sat again at the kitchen table, a little girl in awe beside her handsome older brother. That was when she'd first noticed his hands. That was when she fell in love with them, and with him. She was a silly little girl. 

He went on and on about math, while she pretended to listen. All she could see and think about were his hands. He held the pencil in them, scratching meaningless symbols on the page in front of her. She didn't see the symbols, only his hand.

He would explain things in his deep, musical voice. She'd heard the voice, but not the words. She would eagerly reach forward to grab the pencil from him as an excuse to touch his thick, strong fingers. She'd let her hand coast smoothly over the back of his, feeling the curve of the bulge of muscle between his thumb and forefinger. She'd pretended he was her boyfriend, that they were holding hands at the table.

She couldn't wait to marry him.

Mouse's mind snapped back to the present as Michael's other hand abandoned her marvelously tortured breast to drift down to her waist, only to fall further still along her soapy ass, then slip underneath, between her legs. One thick, worshipped finger found her slit. It rubbed the crease of her pussy, forcing Mouse to respond, forcing her to thrust her ass back and forth with his movements, trying desperately to draw it inside her. Her body was under his control, not hers.

"Don't make me come, Michael," she pleaded, knowing he would ignore her. "Don't make your dirty little sister come. I don't deserve to come, Michael."

She remembered with glee when she'd snuck into the bathroom as a girl while he showered. It wasn't the naive accident everyone thought it was. She'd planned it carefully, although her plan had failed. She'd been there quite a while, nervously gathering the courage to peek, to see him naked and up close, before he'd discovered her. She trembled now under his touch, just as she had then in mere anticipation of seeing her brother's naked form.

Michael's finger slipped into her now. She smiled as he found that the flesh of her cunt was more slippery than her soapy ass. His finger penetrated her deeply. She imagined it as a cock, one that could wiggle and please her like no other. A second finger joined the first. She pictured them, her brother's fingers, her brother's sexy hand, working inside his little sister to please her.

Mouse opened her mouth to speak again. She was shocked when a high-pitched squeal escaped instead. The words that followed came out an octave higher than she expected, a little girl's voice using her mouth to speak a wicked woman's words.

"Sweet brother, darling brother," she whimpered. "Don't make me come for you, Michael. I'm so nasty to you, I don't deserve to come..."

Michael tried to release her hand, to use that hand on her body, too, but Mouse clung to it tightly. He forced her hand across her body to her crotch, where one more of his amazing fingers found her clit and rubbed it gently. Mouse relaxed her grip on him, letting him touch her now, as long as she could gently touch his hand, too.

"Michael, brother Michael. Sweet lover, sweet fucker Michael," she squealed.

She tried to say more when another finger, slick with soap, found it's way into her asshole. She felt his strong hands everywhere, on her clit, in her pussy, in her ass. She held her own hand against his, and quickly found the other, too. With her hands on his, with his sexy, massive, powerful hands in her, filling her, fucking her, tormenting her, raping her, she started to come.

"Oh, God, Michael sweet Michael. I shouldn't come, I shouldn't let you make me come," she screamed. Her body started to convulse. Some corner of her mind knew that her cunt was grabbing at and twitching against his fingers. His fingers were everywhere. She felt them everywhere inside her, she saw them in her mind, she touched them with her hands.

Michael's wonderfully strong, brotherly hands were all over her.

"Yes, Brother, yes! Yes, make me come, if you have to, make me come, make me love you, make me be the slut you've always wanted."

The orgasms seemed to continue forever. He never stopped moving inside her, until her mind and body were both spent and numb.

* * *

The hot water was gone, the shower almost ice cold when they finally rested. 

He loved this feeling of power over her. He had wanted to make her string of orgasms last for as long as he could. After a time he was almost afraid that he was hurting her, but even as long as it had all lasted, he still felt disappointment when her screams and shudders ceased, and she was still.

He withdrew his hands from her slowly, gently. She whimpered softly as he did so. The moment they were free of her she grabbed them tightly in her own and held them. She guided one hand up to rest on her enticingly soft breast. She pulled the other up to her mouth, where she sucked on his fingers one by one, still panting and cooing softly to him.

"I love you, Michael, I know I can't, I know it's wrong, but I love you, I love my brother, I love you..."

After a while even that subsided, and they both were silent. Mouse leaned against the shower walls, exhausted, trying to regain an awareness of something other than their own spent, indulged bodies. Eventually she turned the water off. She leaned back to kiss him passionately once more. 

Abruptly, with a sudden energy, she hopped out of the shower, while he hesitated in a half-trance, still relishing the lingering memory of the feel of her lips on his. Grabbing the only towel, Mouse ran from the room, laughing at his howls of mock rage.

He dripped his way to the hallway linen closet to get one for himself, pausing to look longingly at the guest room door she had closed behind her. He dried himself as he walked happily back to his own room to dress. He was smiling, not grinning, but warmly happy maybe for the first time in several years. It felt good. 

Wicked, he thought, but good, too.

* * *


Michael finished dressing first. He waited for her downstairs. To his disappointment she had dressed plainly in tight fitting jeans and a loose shirt, one of his own dress work shirts. He looked at her in it for a long time. The shirt billowed so much around her small frame that it implied shoulders and a breast cup size several times larger than she could really claim. In contrast, her jeans hugged her so tightly it was as if she was still naked, or at least still wanted to be.

"What?" she asked in a confrontational tone, instinctively reacting to his stare.

Always ready to do battle, Michael noted. 

"Nothing" he said meekly. "I've just never seen you dress... like a normal human being," he explained.

"You mean 'not like a slut'?" she asked, with a laugh.

"Basically," he agreed, laughing himself to cover his embarrassment at the admission.

"I like wearing a man's own shirt after I've had him."

The way she phrased that ignited a spark in Michael. She'd had him. He liked the sound of it.

That startled him, how quickly he'd moved from feeling guilt and shame to feeling sexual power and pride. He looked at her, admiring her profile, and her hair, and the subtle outline of her breasts where his shirt rested against her bare flesh, with the slight, dark rise of her nipples making a clear outline beneath the fabric.

No bra, obviously. He liked that, too. Two days ago it would have annoyed him. 

"I was going to wear that shirt to work on Monday," he commented.

"You still should. In fact I insist you do. After you've fucked me in it tonight."

* * *

They spent the day hanging out around his place. Mouse sat beside him, nestled under his arm while they watched old movies. They just spent time feeling comfortable with each other.

That by itself was startling. For the first time in decades, since she'd been about ten, Mouse and Michael were comfortable with each other.

"So... you didn't finish this morning," Mouse started on a new topic. "Our conversation, I mean. You definitely finished the other stuff. Definitely." She lingered on that for emphasis. The implied compliment warmed him. She kissed him lightly.

"Did you ever fantasize about me? Before this weekend, I mean," she asked, looking back at a clichéd, old western playing on the TV. He thought it surprising that she feigned disinterest. He'd thought that he was supposed to be the insecure one, not Mouse.

"Yes," he answered hesitantly.

"Oh? Tell me about it," she demanded casually, fixedly watching two angry men staring each other down in a saloon.

"It was hard not to, with you prancing around dressed like a whore all the time."

She looked at him as soon as he said it, but with a smile instead of a glare. She kissed him quickly on the chin.

"Incestuous whore," she corrected.

Michael laughed uneasily. She used the word so comfortably, with pride. It was unsettling.

"No, incestuous lady," Mouse said, quickly correcting herself. "I like that. 'Incestuous lady'. 'Incestuous lady whore'." She rolled the words around in her mouth, like she would with his cock.

The exchange made Michael uncomfortable. He fell silent as his mind began to wander, reconsidering what they were doing.

"Go on," she continued. "Details. Stories. When, where, how. How often."

"Oh, I don't know, different things," Michael responded. "It's embarrasing. I'm not as... creative as you are." 

Michael found this all hard to talk about. His fantasies about Mouse had been his own, shameful secret for so long, it simply didn't seem possible to discuss them, even with her, even now, even after all that had transpired. Even after he'd fucked her. Repeatedly.

"I did get jealous of your stuffed animals," he found he could say.

Mouse laughed out loud. "Jealous of Mr. Snuggles?" she asked incredulously.

"He got to sleep with you, the little prick," Michael said, laughing, his mood lightening a touch. "Every night. There I was, unattached, approaching thirty, and you were all pert and perky and hot at eighteen, lying in your bed every night with Mr. Snuggles when I was lying alone in my apartment, thinking about you and..."

"And?"

Michael hesitated.

"And masturbating?" Mouse finished for him.

Michael hesitated further, feeling a blush rise uncontrollably in his face, before finally managing a slightly strangled "yes."

"Really? Hmmmmm. I like picturing that. If you only knew..."

"Knew what?"

"If I tell you you'll really hate Mr. Snuggles."

"I do already. What? Tell me."

"I used to pretend Mr. Snuggles was you, sometimes. I'd hug him and kiss him, then press him against my pussy and pretend he was eating me, or fucking me... and that he was you. Mr. Snuggles got pretty sloppy after a while. I think Mom always wondered why I kept washing him."

"That bastard! If I get my hands on him..."

They both laughed together. She put on a fake pout and punched him in the chest. After, Mouse moved to nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder again, looking up with a kittenish expression. "Don't you dare hurt Mr. Snuggles. I'll never forgive you," she cooed.

"You'll forgive me the moment I fuck you again," he commented, trying to sound both dirty and aloof. It didn't come easily to him, but he tried, for her.

"Well, yeah, okay, but I'll be mad at you while you fuck me." She waited a moment before adding, "Sometimes that's the best kind of fuck, anyway, an angry fuck." She nuzzled him again. "An angry incestuous fuck," she corrected, then leaned up to kiss him again, passionately.

There it was again. She seemed so openly proud of it all.

* * *

Michael backed the car out of the driveway, ready for the short trip to Melanie's house for dinner with their family.

"Why do you always fight with me, if you love me so much? If you love me so much, why the constant nastiness?" Michael asked.

"What about you? Like you're Mr. Nice to me?" Mouse retaliated.

"I'm mostly just responding. I don't usually start it," he said defensively.

"No. No, I guess you don't," she conceded. She stopped to think, looking away out the window. "I guess it's mostly habit. Partly it's a way of flirting. If we couldn't have loving, passionate emotions, the next strongest thing was angry, passionate emotions. If we didn't have sex, at least there was tension, and conflict."

Michael thought it over. There had been a lot of tension. And conflict. Now there was a lot of sex.

"And I think I did it to keep you away," she continued. "To keep us in a position where I wouldn't give in to what I wanted, where I wouldn't have a chance to do... what we're doing."

They both remained silent, thinking. Michael broke the silence first.

"It backfired, bigtime."

"Oh?" she asked.

"You got me so angry, I virtually raped you," he said, pretending to glare at her. "So angry, the emotion overwhelmed me and I had to kiss you, and keep kissing you."

She smiled happily at this portrayal of events, and her own memories of their first night together. Her smile seemed to him to brighten the whole car. Michael really loved her smile. He always, always had.

"Can I make you angry some more, later?" she needled.

"I'm sure you will."


Rows of nondescript, suburban houses coasted by as they got closer to their sister's home. Mouse was close against Michael, studying his face, breathing her words into his neck.

"First, you're going to sit in your favorite recliner, and I'll sit across from you on the couch. You're going to watch me play with myself, and talk dirty, but you can't touch yourself. That's my job. I have to masturbate and come first, to be able to keep from touching myself and losing control when I take you in my mouth. I need to be able to concentrate on what I'm doing, to keep from just giving up and mounting you for my own pleasure," she explained with a twinkling leer. 

Michael found it unsettling that Mouse had waited until now to arouse him. The last thing he needed was to walk into his big sister's house with a bulging erection broadcasting his lust for his little sister.

"Then, when I'm good and ready, I'm going to give you the best blow job you've ever dreamed of, and you are going to come in gushers in my mouth and on my face and on my sweet little sister titties, and then you are going to tell me that you love me, and I'll tell you I love you, and then we'll go to sleep and get up tomorrow and get me to the airport."

"Hmmm. And when do we talk?" Michael asked.

"Talk?" She acted like she was both confused and disinterested.

"We have to talk," he dropped, trying to sound mature.

"Stop saying that! I hate that! That's what people say when they're ready to break up. That's my line, my best get-ready-to-get-dumped line. 'We have to talk.' Are you ready to break up? Already?"

"Mouse, we can't 'break up', we're brother and sister. Please. I'm sick with guilt," he pleaded.

She softened a bit, searching his face.

"Look, Michael, I'm sorry, I'm not avoiding it. Well, I am avoiding it. But I don't want you to be hurt. Okay, let's talk."

Mouse moved away from him then, breaking contact, sitting more properly in her own seat, but still looking at him.

"We have to stop," Michael started. "I mean, this has been unbelievable, but we can't do it anymore. You have to go back to Chicago, and we have to stop... touching each other."




Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 03



Mouse looked at him intently, without blinking. Michael couldn't tell if her temper was building, or if she were coldly calculating what to say.

"Alright, look. First, I don't think it's all that wrong," Mouse said, soberly and with a ludicrous air of confidence. He looked at her in disbelief. 

"Do you feel guilty?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Okay, so do I, a bit," she conceded. "That's part of the fun, I think. I've been wrestling with this urge for years. I've thought about it often enough.

"Incest excites me," she confessed quietly. "A lot. Incest with you excites me a lot, lot, lot. Lots of people get excited by what they aren't allowed to do, and a lot of it is, to me, sicker than incest. People pee on each other. People dress in diapers and spank each other. People play sado-masochistic games. Men have sex with men, and women with women, which, by the way, sort of excites me, too." 

She paused to gauge his reaction. He definitely perked up. 

"I thought you'd like that," she said, smiling.

Mouse went on. "Everyone gets excited by something society won't let them do, by something wicked. Extra-marital sex is the most alluring taboo, and the easiest taboo to break." 

That one hit close to home. She watched the blood drain quickly from his face. It was thoughtless of her. She immediately regretted it.

"Sorry. But it's true. It's exciting because it's not allowed. Homosexuality, too. A lot of normal men and women have homosexual fantasies." 

She paused again. His face was like stone.

"Hmmmm. Maybe we'll discuss that later, too."

"Definitely not," was his cold response.

"Okay, whatever. Look, incest excites the hell out of me, and you too, it seems. Society doesn't want us to do it just because most people are repulsed by it, but I'm not most people. I've never let anyone else run my life, and you shouldn't let them run yours, either."

Mouse reached over to hold his hand in hers.

"But maybe we've gone far enough. Maybe now we should stop."

"Hey, I didn't start this, you did," she stated flatly.

The truth of the accusation startled him, even though he'd been thinking it for days.

"I haven't been obsessed with incest for years," he countered emphatically.

"No? I think you lie. But either way, I didn't kiss you, you kissed me. Repeatedly."

She paused for only a moment. She slid over beside him, moving her face toward his, putting her mouth against his ear, before going quickly on, incongruously gentle in her tone. 

"You put my hands on your cock. You fucked me. You fucked your sister. You picked me up and lowered me onto your cock. You put yourself inside your baby sister and fucked her and fucked her and fucked her. I didn't do anything. I stood there. I didn't lift a finger, until you put my hands on your cock. I didn't even kiss you back until I was ready to explode. 

"You fucked me. It was all you. I was drunk and you, you virtually raped me," she finished, breathing the last words straight into his ear. 

He felt her warm breath, and the soft feel of her hand on his. He tried to keep his eyes on the road.

"I couldn't help it," he said. To his own ears it sounded like a whine. He took a moment to compose himself better. 

"I don't know why I did it, I really don't. Maybe that's why I feel so much more guilty than you. Because I did it, I started it." 

He kept his eyes forward, on the road, unable to meet her stare.

Mouse softened. 

"You did it because you love me," she breathed into his ear. "You did it because you want me." 

"You did it because it excites you," she continued huskily, closing her eyes. "Just like it excites me." 

She kissed his neck and his cheek and ear. From there she moved around, kissing every inch of skin she could find. She continued for quite a while, all the time tracing circling patterns on his hand with a fingertip.

"Mouse?" he whispered gently.

"Hmmm?" she answered. She opened her eyes and a fog seemed to lift from them, as if she suddenly remembered where she was.

"Look," she whispered directly into his ears, closing her eyes again. "I've wanted you for years, and I had long ago decided I couldn't have you.

"The best I could do was to flirt with you, and tease you and fight with you," she continued. "Maybe that was my way of fucking you, maybe, right in front of everybody. Every jab, every comment, every insult was another incestuous fuck. It was all I had, so I did it. And I liked it. But I like this better. Much better."

She pulled away, just a bit, to stare intently at him. He cast a quick glance her way, then forced his eyes quickly back to the road.

"I was wrong not to give in," she continued. " You were right. You were right to take me. You were right to make me do it. This is what I wanted, and it was wrong to fight it. I want to love you, and I want to make love to you, and I want to make you come as much as I can. 

"If I could, I'd go out and fuck you in the street, where everyone can see, but we can't. So I want to do this. I'll fight with you when we're out there, fuck you that way, the way I'm used to, the way I'm allowed to when anyone is watching. Then I want to take you back home and fuck you right, fuck you the way only your little sister can, and get fucked the way only my big, big brother can."

Michael was lost now, totally confused and lost. He thought he understood her, if not himself, but lust clouded everything.

"How long can we keep it up? How long before one of us comes to their senses, and the other gets hurt?" he asked. "How long before we ruin our relationship forever?"

She laughed and kissed him again, and smiled at him. "I doubt I'll tire of you first, not the way you've been able to perform. And I'll work very hard at keeping you interested. I think I can do it."

"I'm sure you can." 

She kissed him again. She settled against his shoulder, still tracing circles on his hand.

"And I swear that we will always, always love each other, not matter what happens," she added.

"But what about my guilt?" Michael pushed.

"Enjoy it. It's part of what makes it special. Just know that you're a good person, and you're not hurting me or yourself. Look, how do you feel now?" Mouse asked.

"Guilty."

"And?"

"Excited."

"And?"

"Guilty."

"Yes, yes, I got that part. And?" Mouse pressed.

"Happy?" Michael guessed.

"That's right. For the first time in years, you aren't acting like a depressed dolt. 'Oh, woe is me.' You're happy. You're allowed to be happy! We're all allowed to be happy, and it's not quite right for everyone else to say that you and I can't be happy, just because it turns out that what we want isn't... conventional."


Once at their sister's house, as soon as he put the car in park, Mouse leaned over to kiss him. He had expected a quick peck, but she soon made it more passionate. He opened his door in mid kiss and stepped out.

"Mouse!" he barked softly. "Are you crazy?"

"Oh, they aren't going to look out the window," she teased.

"You just get a thrill out of pushing it," he snapped back.

"Yup," she said, with a wide, tight-lipped smile.

He hurried up the walk toward the door before she could get out of the car, using long strides, trying to stay ahead of her. She scurried after him, using two tiny steps for every loping one of his, trying to catch up. She was just in time to grab his hand and give it a squeeze before their father opened the door.

"Oh, look, the 'mother of all battles' has arrived. Or should I say the 'brother and sister of all battles'?" he joked. Mouse made a show of rolling her eyes at him. Their mother cruised in to drag Michael away by the arm, leaving their father to offer his to Mouse. She curtsied playfully, took his arm, put her nose in the air theatrically and glided into the dining room. 

They were late, as was always expected when Mouse was involved. Everyone else had already taken their places at the table. Dan and Melanie sat at the ends, with their three kids arrayed between them along one side, boy-girl-boy, with one more chair beside Melanie, for Mouse. The youngest, Rick, had claimed the seat beside the empty chair left for Aunt Mona. He'd always had an obvious crush on her. Mouse encouraged it by blatantly flirting. 

If Mouse squeezed onto that side, between Rick and Melanie, then Michael would sit on the opposite side, kitty-corner to her, between Melanie's husband and their father, who was beside their mother who was across from Mouse. It was a typically sensible family arrangement, carefully planned to keep the anniversary couple together and Michael and Mouse far, far apart.

Mouse was still wearing his shirt. Melanie appeared to notice, giving Mouse a cold once over, but that could have been an ordinary sign of general disapproval of her attire. Everyone probably noticed, Michael thought, but no one said anything. They probably assumed she did it to annoy Michael. With it she wore painfully high-heeled red leather boots, white stockings, a red leather skirt, and a red leather tie. The effect was a mix of business and pleasure, sex on bottom and conservative faux masculinity on top. 

But the heart of the outfit was underneath, again. It wasn't entirely clear, but to anyone that looked there was probably a red bustier under the shirt, one that stopped just around her nipples. It had the effect of pushing her bust up and out, straining against the tightly tucked in shirt. A red beret, subtle eye shadow and bright red glossy lipstick topped the effect, adding just enough "french whore" to push the ensemble over the top. 

The effect was fantastic, Michael thought. She was definitely an artist. Poor Rick was probably dying to get up to his room to jack off.

It was funny. Last night he would have been fuming at her choice of clothes, angered and jealous that she could dress that way for other men, while no one dressed that way for him. Tonight, she was dressed that way for him. 

In fact, other nights she might often have been dressed that way for him, too. He just didn't know it. But tonight he could look at the hint of the bustier underneath, and the tight skirt hugging her ass, with a tantalizing offer of sex in the opening below the hem. It was all waiting for him, if he could just get through dinner and the subsequent after dinner coffee with cream and small talk. Then it would be a quick race to get home.

Michael really wasn't sure how he was going to survive an evening of teasing and torment. And he couldn't wait to try.

* * *

Melanie watched Mouse and Michael carefully. She would have been doing that anyway, just to keep things under control. There was no way she was going to allow open warfare in her own house. But something else was going on this weekend, something strange. 

Michael and Mouse weren't like oil and water. They were more like thunder and lightning. It wasn't that they didn't mix, but rather that when they did, there was always turbulent noise and bright flashes of light and tree splitting bolts of violence, all from the terrible forces they unleashed. Everyone had to run for cover.

Just now, Michael was somberly fiddling with his food, in the self absorbed, introspective way he had. He didn't realize that Mouse was looking at him the whole time, with soft concern settled on her face.

She had such a crush on him, Melanie thought to herself, and he on her. They'd always had. Neither of them recognized it, but Melanie did. Mouse constantly admired and chased after Michael. Her teasing was obviously a backhanded way of flirting. If he really annoyed her that much, she could just avoid him.

Michael was a little harder to read. He did avoid her as much as he could, but Melanie could hear the admiration in his voice whenever he talked about her, when Mouse wasn't around to hear it for herself.

Melanie could understand Mouse's attraction to him. She felt it somewhat, herself. His sober, sad demeanor could be sexy, in a way. Physically, he wasn't good looking in a classical sense, but he had a tender strength about him, something that made him seem to be both a protector and in need of protection himself. Every woman wants someone strong that they can still mother, Melanie thought. And his eyes were so warm. And, according to Mouse, he was pretty well hung, too.

Melanie shook off that line of thought, before it went too far. Michael was her brother, and Mouse's brother. He made a decent model for a fantasy man, but a model only. Michael himself was out of bounds to her, just like he was for Mouse, no matter how much they were attracted to each other.

If either of them realized it, Melanie thought with a smile, they'd both die. What a couple they'd make. They really would make a great couple. For about two days, before it imploded, Melanie added to herself, her smile widening further.

"What's so funny, dear?" her mother asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Oh, nothing, nothing, just happy to be around family," Melanie lied, quickly putting a bite of food into her mouth to avoid having to say more.

* * *

Dinner was the usual family affair. Michael couldn't say anything without a snide comment and a grin from Mouse. Mouse couldn't say much without a grumble or cough coming from Michael. Mother kept trying to steer the conversation into safer waters, navigating the sibling storm that always brewed around them. 

All in all, though, they were more civil than usual. Melanie noticed. She also noticed that they seemed to make a lot more eye contact than usual, and every time they did one or both of them would have just the faintest trace of a smile. Michael didn't totally avoid Mouse the way he usually did. He even let her sit beside him, on the arm of his chair, after dinner. Later, they stood side by side, almost touching, as they all raised their glasses in a toast to their loving parents, Mr. and Mrs. Castillo.

At one point Melanie mentioned to Michael that Nancy, the woman from the party, had asked about him. He coldly shrugged it off, saying he wasn't very interested. She hadn't expected a lot, but she thought he should give it a chance. He firmly declined. 

Before leaving, Mouse went upstairs to use the bathroom. Michael followed her soon after, and that piqued Melanie's interest. She made a show of going to the kitchen to get more coffee, but instead took the back route up the stairs soon after her brother. Near the top she could hear them whispering. Mouse giggled some, and Michael snapped at her. That sounded normal. She couldn't make out too much of the conversation, only scraps.

* * *

"You're not playing the game well, Michael," Mouse said teasingly.

"What's that mean?"

"I mean you're acting differently."

"Things are different! It's really hard not to..."

"Look, we've done this for years, for all our lives," Mouse interrupted. "We're good at it. I insult you, I try as hard as I can to get under your skin. I succeed easily. You get mad and sulk. Then you make a lame attempt to get even. You don't just sit and quietly take it, you certainly don't laugh with me. Come on, put some feeling into it. We hate each other, remember?"

Michael looked down at her stern expression. He bent to give her a quick peck on the lips. She responded readily. As soon as he stood up, she reached up to wipe the lipstick traces from his mouth.

"Oh, that would really do!" she scolded. "You're a wreck at this, you know."

"Sorry," he skulked.

"That's the idea. Stick with that. Droop your shoulders and act perpetually sorry. It works for you. And don't keep moving next to me! It's out of character, and worse yet it's killing me. I keep wanting to pounce on you right then and there."

* * *

There was long period of quiet before Mouse came out of the bathroom, followed by Michael. At that moment, Melanie pretended to be just reaching the top of the staircase. Mouse smiled at her as they passed, calling back to Michael. "Come on, meathead, the party will be so dull without you." Then she quick stepped down the stairs, while Michael rolled his eyes at Melanie, patiently following Mouse down. Melanie stood there, trying to sort out the meaning behind the bits and pieces she'd overheard.

* * *

The entire evening had seemed to pass slowly, tormentingly at the time. Every moment was filled with thoughts of sex and secrecy and subterfuge, creating a tension that made them both feel they were about to burst. One moment he was worried about what Melanie might be thinking, the next he was fighting an erection as Mouse stared at him meaningfully. After that she would take a verbal jab at him, and he'd try hard to stay in character. Stay in character, as if he was playing himself in a movie. The whole thing was tedious.

And yet, when it was finally over, it felt as if the dinner had flown by, so they were walking out the front door seemingly in the same moment they had entered, as if nothing at all had transpired. He stepped out into the crisp, summer night air first, obviously more eager to get home, or more willing to show it. That certainly wasn't out of character, he thought, although he did wonder where his earlier apprehensions had gone. 

Right now he felt no shame, only anticipation, in trying to get alone with Mouse.

He was a few steps away before he realized that she wasn't right behind him. Not wanting to be too far from her, he stopped and turned on the walkway, waiting there for her.

Mouse lingered at the door, kissing Melanie and her mom on the cheeks, giving her dad a big, long, tight hug and a smile, telling them all she'd be home again as soon as she could, sooner than usual. She said she missed them all very much, and was getting lonely in Chicago. Mom told her she could always move home, making Mouse roll her eyes. 

"You always say that, Mom."

"Yes, but you've never acted homesick before," her father replied gently. 

That appeared to catch Mouse off guard. Michael thought she might actually cry. Obviously, he wasn't the only one acting out of character, although in all of the complexities of the night, neither he nor Mouse had realized it. The smile she wore now was forced, but she beamed at them all nonetheless. Mouse abruptly turned to scamper down the walkway, her eyes locked firmly on the ground ahead, while her parents echoed a chorus of "have a nice flight" and "keep safe" and other standard goodbye pleasantries.

* * *

When they first sat in the car, Mouse took a deep, audible breath. She turned her head to him, keeping her shoulders squared to the front. "Well, that's over," she exhaled. 

He was looking thoughtfully out the front windshield himself. Without turning to her he started the car and put it in drive, while answering tersely, "yup." 

Minutes ago he had been dying to touch her and to have her touch him. But now he was suddenly despondent, feeling sorry for her, sorry for himself, knowing how lonely she really was, and knowing how lonely he'd feel again this time tomorrow afternoon, when she was on the plane flying home. A little more than half a day from now everything would change. Again.

He felt like Cinderella after midnight. Actually, he felt more like the pumpkin.

Mouse didn't let the somber mood last long. She easily sensed where his head was at. She slid over to nuzzle his shoulder, then nibble on his ear and his neck. "Are you ready?" she whispered, breathing the words into his ear. The moist warmth of her breath hit him. "I thought of so many things to do to you tonight, could you tell?" He didn't turn to look, but he could sense her grinning. Her tongue flicked his ear, then bit the lobe gently, and then her hand was tracing it's way up his thigh to his crotch.

"I still feel guilty, Mouse," he cut in.

"Mmmmm hmmmm?" she replied, only half listening, tracing lines towards his crotch with a single fingernail, but teasing him and herself both by constantly stopping short and starting over.




Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 03



"I don't want to feel guilty," he elaborated, shattering the mood.

She sighed, realizing her fun would have to wait while she worked on his head. She eased away from him a bit, reluctantly letting her hand pull away from his beckoning crotch. She took his hand in hers instead.

"Okay, look. Do you ever think about having sex with Mom?"

"What? No, ugh. Well... I did a bit when I was younger, when she was younger. Not very much. I was just a crazed teenager then. I think every guy does it. I think I thought about sex with every woman I ever met. But it's hard to even imagine sex with her now. Ugh."

"See, the thought's repulsive."

"Maybe, yeah, okay. But she's kind of... old."

"What about Melanie? You fantasized about me, what about Melanie? She's your sister, too, and she's definitely on the hot side, if you like a woman that's busty and curvy and tells you what to do all the time."

He thought about it for a moment, completely ignoring the insult to Melanie, but not too long.

"Not much," he answered. "Maybe some. She's got a great rack..." 

He glanced sidelong at Mouse, to see if this offended her, or made her jealous. She didn't react visibly, so he went on. 

"Not often, though. It just doesn't seem.. it doesn't feel right. She's almost more like a brother than a sister, I think. Or another mother. There's just no spark like I have with you."

"How about Jenn? She's young and hot, too. And she's only a niece."

"Jenn? She's just a kid," Michael interrupted dismissively.

"She's almost twenty one. That's an adult," Mouse countered. "And I know she's not a virgin. We girls talk."

"No," he said quickly, before he heard more than he wanted to. "She's really cute, and I like looking at her, but she's my niece. And she's Melanie's kid. It would hurt Mel, too."

"See? You're not so abnormal, and you're not some incest crazed teenage boy. Anymore. You want me, your 'sweet' little sister, but not your entire family. Just me, because I'm a hot little tease, I'll admit, and I make you crazy and I make you feel like you're going to explode. And sometimes I do make you explode. In a lot of different ways. And in just a little while, I'm going to set you off like a nuclear warhead," she concluded, grinning devilishly at him.

A wry smile crept onto his face. He silently admitted defeat by pulling their hands, and Mouse, towards him. She obediently and eagerly slid back into her place beside him, her hands quickly finding his thigh again. He didn't seem entirely comfortable, but his funk was fading.

"Just one more thing."

"Yes. Yes. What?" she snapped in melodramatically comic irritation.

"What about you and Dad?"

"Me and Dad?" Her reply was tinted with just a hint of surprise. He'd caught her off guard.

"You and Dad. Have you ever thought about fucking your father?"

Mouse was very quiet for an uncomfortable while, wrestling with her answer, as if she wondered herself what the real answer was, or perhaps what Michael could handle.

"Yes, and no," she started lamely. "I mean, I've had some really wicked, delicious fantasies with him." 

She looked at Michael again, a bit ashamed. Then she grinned, ad-libbing to change the tone of the conversation. 

"Sometimes with him and you. The idea of handling two giants like you two is really thrilling, and the incest hitch makes it so sweet."

He didn't take the bait. She paused, collecting her thoughts again, and he waited for her to continue, to give him a more serious answer.

"But no, I wouldn't let him, I wouldn't try. Deep down I don't really want to, no."

"Before you said you wouldn't ever try with me."

"That's different. I held myself back with you, but I flirted and teased anyway, and I wanted it more than anything. I just didn't have the courage. I was always hoping that you or I would snap -- and you did, by the way -- but it was something I really wanted, even though I drew a line and kept, or tried to keep, from crossing it. 

"With Dad, well, it's just too evil, even for me. A father is supposed to be something else, something more, and that's not a bond I want to screw with. I like things there the way they are. I like the fantasy, very occasionally, but that's all it is," she finished adamantly.

"Anyway," she added, "Dad is such a dork, it's hard to get excited about that. Seducing him would be a thrill, but I doubt the sex would be very good."

They both laughed a bit, but just a bit. She was already sliding her face down his chest, and soon it was rubbing slowly and seductively against his expanding pants. A muffled "Hurry home, big brother, drive faster" reached his ears, and he readily pressed the pedal further down.


Once in the house, they stood just inches apart in front of his recliner. She was so tiny beside him, her face level with his chest, her chin tipped up so she could look at him. He was a bear, tall and bulky, she a minx, diminutive, petite. The contrast was strikingly erotic. They kept their hands at their sides, prolonging the theme of the evening, the "look but don't touch" rule. Mouse bit her lip seductively, while Michael glowered at her in a disapproving big brother kind of stare.

Mouse looked down at his belt. She began to undo his pants, being careful not to touch his skin.

"Remember the rules," she scolded. "You can't touch yourself. You can sit and watch, and you can say anything you like, but you have to stay in the recliner, and you can't touch yourself. Or me." 

His pants dropped to the ground at the last word. He stepped out of them, then started removing his shirt. She reached up on tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his lips before backing away.

He sat down, watching the small show she put on by undressing. It wasn't some phony half-erotic strip tease act, he recognized happily. Somehow she had made it more erotic to simply undress, casting a cursory glance his way as she untied the necktie. Her eyes glazed over as she stared shyly into space while she unbuttoned her shirt, his dress shirt, then let it fall to the ground, revealing the marvelously naughty red bustier. She pushed her ass out and toward him as she wriggled the skirt down. Once mostly nude, she sat on the couch, partially spreading her legs. She incidentally flashed her pussy briefly as she worked off the boots.

"Can't you leave the boots on?" he interrupted.

In answer she just smiled, while reaching under the coffee table to pull out a pair of red very high heels she'd stashed there earlier. She kept her eyes on his as she stepped into them, then stood up, letting him drink her in.

And there she was. Mouse. His sexy little sister. Her red bustier stopped just below her erect nipples, so the tips poked out above the red satin like small, angry volcanoes. The bottom of the bustier ended at her belly button, where her panty-less bottom left her charming ass and enticing pussy in full view. The white panty hose were still there, held up by garters, while the high heels naturally pushed her ass up and out invitingly.

She let him admire her a while, standing first full front, then turning a bit to the side, posturing to show him the curve of her ass and the silhouette of one agonizingly beautiful breast. She finished the pre-show with her backside to him. Keeping her legs locked straight, she bent over to pick up her discarded clothing, certainly knowing that the sight of her opening holes would drive him wild. Holding that pose, she picked up the skirt and then each boot in turn, tossing them aside. 

She picked up his shirt last, but kept it. She stood up to grin at him over her shoulder as she pushed her arms into the sleeves. She didn't pull it all the way on, instead leaving it unbuttoned, hanging erotically off of her deliciously bare shoulders. The implication was plain, however. He was going to fuck her in it, just as she'd said he would.

Finally ready, she eased back down onto the couch, to sit with one leg propped, bent, against the coffee table, the other raised up on the back of the couch. Her pubic hair beckoned to him between her two widely spread legs.

She stared at him a short while, still looking shy and innocent. She looked at her own body next. They both watched intently as her finger traced the rims of her nipples, one at a time, spiraling into the center of first one, then the other. She traced a path across her belly, working towards the sweetly tempting "v" between her thighs before detouring away along her raised leg. 

Mouse closed her eyes. 

"My brother fucked me last night," she whispered, as her finger began to work it's way back along her leg. Her fingers brushed, then looped and flicked, ever so slowly, through her pubic hairs. "I could have stopped him, but I didn't. I let him fuck me." Her eyes were still closed. Her voice was at times husky, at times a girlish squeak. "I let him fuck me hard," she continued, as one finger found its way inside her.

"He couldn't stop," Michael added in his naturally deep, masculine baritone.

She smiled at the sound of his voice. Michael felt a thrill at the sight of her smile.

"He wouldn't stop," she corrected. "He picked his little sister up and he lowered her onto his beautiful cock." Now her finger was moving in and out. "It was so hard. It felt so good, I could have stopped him, but I didn't, I didn't want to." Mouse put two fingers into herself, then three, while her other hand begin to rhythmically rub the clitoris above her wet, gaping pussy.

"You spread your legs for him," Michael added. "You eagerly spread your legs for your brother."

"I did," she agreed. "I did, I spread my hot cunt for my big brother."

Now her fingers were moving quickly, almost violently. Both hands were diving into her pussy, as her hips bucked gently up and down to help them.

"I was a little whore. I wanted to be his little whore, and I was."

"Did you feel guilty?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, I was bad. I was ashamed. I was nasty and I knew I was nasty and he knew I was nasty but I couldn't stop. I had my brother's cock inside me, deep, deep inside me, and if anyone ever knew I would die, but I wouldn't let him go, I wouldn't let him out, I wanted him deeper and I wanted him to stay there forever." Her last words ended in a combination of a moan and a shriek, with a final, long squeal that continued unbroken after the words trailed off, as she writhed and squirmed in front of him.

Her eyes opened to look at him, no longer shy and innocent, instead filled with sinful heat and passion and abandon. The words stopped, though. She was visibly struggling to say more, but the words wouldn't come out.

He had never, ever been this excited. No one had laid a hand on him, but his cock was twitching and jerking like it had a life of its own, as if his sister was a puppet master, pulling strings to make it dance as she moved with it. He knew what was going to happen, he knew that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't control it. 

Michael jerked himself up from the chair with one powerful push of his arms. He was beside his sister in one long stride long before she could react. He could see her struggling to tell him to sit, that he was breaking the rules, but she couldn't find the composure to form the words. 

She was lost in a boiling sea of her own fingers and pussy and emotion. She looked up at him as he towered over her, his cock sticking straight out between them. Her eyes darted back and forth, continually changing focus from his cock to his face and back to his cock. 

Her mouth formed a sweet, precious, inviting "o".

Michael looked down at her angelic, devilish face, at the passion in her expression, at her small, red, slightly parted lips. He looked at one small bead of sweat that was pooling at her hairline from her wild exertions. She was still trying to form words, to keep up her erotic monologue. "B... b... b... oh b..." was all she could manage as she writhed, arching her back, thrusting her nipples straight at him, straight at his cock, so close above her.

Michael finally lost control. Without a touch, without any contact at all, his cock twitched and grew, hardening further and arching up, a mirror to the way she arched her back at him. A stream of cum burst from it, spraying a thin river of droplets from the top of her bustier to her brow. One small drop fell neatly at the edge of her nipple, still larger drops on her neck and chin, with the largest on the side of her nose. 

Her eyes flew wide with the shock of what had happened. Before she could react, or squeal, or smile, his cock jerked again. Another hot stream shot across her, this one falling between her lovely, shallow cleavage, up her neck, and just across her upper lip. Her tongue immediately, instinctively came out to taste it, as his cock jerked gently one more time, releasing another, smaller pool on her tit.

Michael put one knee on the couch, lowering himself further, moving his cock toward her face. Mouse responded quickly. She reached up with her mouth and tongue to eagerly lick the cum from its tip. To her delight, as she did so it gave one final, violent twitch, shooting its few final drops straight into her waiting, thirsty mouth. 

The smile that covered her face then filled Michael's mind. It was all he could see or sense in any way. She laughed out loud, and he grinned with her, and then her laugh was stifled as she enveloped his cock again with soft, burning lips.

Without releasing it, his cock still full in her mouth, she looked up at him with sweet little girl eyes, the cum gleaming on her face. His little sister. She let the smile appear again around his cock, the edges of her teeth just tickling his skin, her eyes sparkling up at him with delight.

"Sorry, Mouse," he apologized half-heartedly. "I guess I screwed up."

"You pathetic dork," she teased, releasing him momentarily, then swallowing him completely with three quick bobs before letting him fall out. "You lame, pathetic loser." Her hands reached around to gently caress his ass, feeling the firm, powerful muscles in his butt, then gripping him tightly to pull him into her mouth again.

Now it was his turn to take control. He wasn't really angry, but his gut reaction to the insult re-ignited his emotions. He reached down with one hand, firmly grabbing a lock of hair, yanking her up. She screamed with pain, shouting his name, forced to rise under his control. Once she was high enough he reached under her arms, stood, and lifted her easily off of her feet, holding her above his stiff cock, just as he'd done that first wicked night. 

She looked into his eyes with a ferocity triggered by his rough handling and the pain.

Once again he saw his sweet little sister's face, this time painted with the anger and rebellion that was so familiar. This time, too, her natural look of little girl innocence was betrayed by the gleam of his cum reflecting the light off the side of her nose and her chin.

"Remember this, little sister? Remember doing this?"

She glared at him, her own eyes darting left and right between his.

"Yes," she snapped back angrily.

"Again?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered quickly.

And then he did it again, he lowered her dripping, hot incestuous slit onto his still hard cock. Their cum mixed together as she pulled him close, her lips and tongue raging over his ear, her hands racing over his bald head. She moaned uncontrollably directly into his ear.

"Ask me to nail you," he ordered.

"Nail me," she breathed immediately.

"Again."

"Nail me. Nail your baby sister."

"Again."

"Nail me. Nail me. Please," she stuttered.

With this last plea, he lowered her again to the couch. He didn't bother to prop himself up this time, to protect her. He smothered her beneath his chest. She had to turn her head to the side to breathe. He could feel his hairy, sweaty chest forcing her head and torso down into the cushions, though not quite as far down as the pounding thrusts of his hips forced hers. 

With each stroke, he first felt himself pushing inside her, then he felt her ass pushed down into the cushions. Finally the cushions would give no more, her ass could retreat no further, and the length of his cock drove suddenly deeper and harder and fully into her. Over and over and over he did this, while Mouse fell into a world of wild, loving, incestuous rape. Oblivious to what she was doing, her nails dug into his back. Her legs clenched and unclenched in a tight coil around his waste. Her mouth was literally biting his chest, his sweat and hair pressing against her tongue.

Michael wasn't going to come again, he knew. This was all for her. They had fucked so much in the past 48 hours -- had it really been only two days? -- he wondered if he would ever come again. He was amazed that he had gotten and stayed hard so often. He knew that no other woman could have done that to him. Only his beautiful little sister. Only his Mouse.

"My little Mouse," he growled at her. 

A muffled whimper came from beneath him in reply. 

"My beautiful little Mouse." 

This sent her into more of a frenzy, though he hadn't thought it possible.

"Yes, Michael, say it again." The words were almost inaudible, spoken straight into his chest in a halting, trembling voice.

"My sweet little Mouse," he rumbled, then thrust himself deeply into her, earning a satisfying whimper as his reward.

"My sexy little Mouse." Again he rammed himself into her, again she whimpered, digging her nails brutally into his back.

"My wet little Mouse." Another thrust. Another whimper. Her felt her face buried in his sweating chest, biting him.

"My darling little Mouse."

"My hot little Mouse."

"My incestuous little Mouse."

He worried that he was hurting her, that their passion had driven them both beyond reason. He lifted his frame to allow her to breathe. She didn't seem to care. She simply used the extra space to writhe left and right, tossing her head and hair around in a wild frenzy.

"You're beautiful," he offered, unexpectedly and incongruously tender, compared with his previous, raping stabs and her still wild convulsions.

Mouse half opened her eyes, unable to focus completely, still lost in the thrill of his now slow, deep, strokes, but unconsciously taking his lead, changing her own rhythms to match his.

"Yeah?" she mumbled, smiling, half dreaming.

"Yes," he answered adamantly. "Beautiful."

Still smiling widely, she wriggled slowly and erotically on the couch, trying to elicit more friction between her pussy and his cock, and giving him one more exciting show with her body. At last she slowed, then stopped. Her eyes opened fully, her glowing smile remained.

"You're sweet," she said, staring into his face.

His smile was simple and genuine, not a hungry grin, not a laugh. Just a simple smile. He lowered himself to kiss his little sister deeply. They lay there for quite some time, his cock still inside her, their combined sweat and his load drenching their stomachs and chests, his own cum on her face rubbing onto his, and their lips and tongues locked and darting and twisting in a long lasting miniature re-creation of their incestuous lovemaking.

* * *

Some time passed with both of them lying in each other's arms, lost in thought and emotion and comfort. She broke the mood first, of course.

"We're so lucky that Melanie didn't 'pop in' this time," she teased.

That got his attention, as he realized that she still could. It was early. The mothering snoop very well might "pop in". He didn't know why, but he had a suspicion that Melanie had suspicions, and Melanie was nosey enough to follow a hunch, with absolutely no idea where it might lead her, or if it was really anyplace she wanted to go. Big Sister had no idea how much this was a place she didn't want to go.

Michael got up, trying not to seem panicked or rushed. Mouse laughed at him, so he felt silly, but he was up and the mood was broken.