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Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 01

By: Rob_mDear



Book 5: Mouse's Rival

Chapter 1

The "Mouse" tales are a wild, erotic, incestuous, romantic fantasy. It's not meant to be entirely realistic, and it's not always meant to be arousing. The sex can be hot, while the events enveloping the sex acts can be wildly unrealistic, but the interactions are also meant, on some level, to be real. The real world feelings that make incest a difficult act to pursue, the guilt and reluctance and hesitation, often intrude on the otherwise shameless desires of the characters.

So, if you are looking for an involved story and something intricate to chew on, while maybe getting a little bit hot and bothered, please read on. If you haven't read the first books, you can start here easily enough and then go back, but this book will mean more if you start from the beginning.

If, on the other hand, you are looking for a raw, pleasing release through unrestrained, intensely sexual writing, then you should probably move on to something else. This story is likely to disappoint you.

— The Author



For emphasis, in an added touch of cruelty, he was bound upside down, naked, with his ankles cuffed together to one side of the top of their high headboard. His arms were cuffed to the foot of the other side of the bed, touching the floor. His ass and abdomen were suspended somewhere in between, depending on how he writhed. 

Melanie reclined comfortably on the bed, propped up on full, soft pillows, in easy reach of his swelling cock.

She had pictured Dan in this position when they first bought the bedroom set, decades ago. She had insisted on the high headboard for just this reason, but somehow they had never even come close to using it as she had intended. Kids intruded. Work intruded. Life sped up. She and Dan, overwhelmed and distracted, had slowed down, like old fashioned spring wound clocks that no one had bothered to rewind.

She hesitated for a moment, contentedly watching him struggle in the handcuffs, twisting his body uselessly, tensing his strong leg muscles, arching his back, thrusting his hips. He did it as a show for her, of course. She appreciated his efforts, admiring his body as it went through its gyrations. It had been a long time since they had played this game.

It was as if her body had been asleep all these years. Now it was awake. Now she was making up for lost time.

When his pointless protests subsided, she glared down at him. His eyes stared defiantly back into hers before closing in submission. Melanie smiled. It was the cold, wicked smile of a woman in unquestioned control, ready to take what she wanted after years of hunger. 

Things had been too tame. Things had grown stale. A long time ago, things were fresher. He and she had been young. They had played games. She had played games.

Melanie lowered her head to Dan's cock. She took her time, as she always did, nuzzling it with her cheek as she purred, admiring it, teasing it, urging it to slowly grow. It was hers. She knew it. He knew it.

With the cock pressed against the side of her nose, she paused to look down at Dan's face near the floor, flushed a ruddy pink with the rush of blood and gleaming with sweat, perhaps from his struggles, but mostly from his awkward position. He was uncomfortable. Good.

Melanie could make it all better. Only Melanie could make it all better. She held his cock gently between two finger tips as she placed her lips against its head. She took one brief moment to collect herself. She'd been practicing this often. She was getting good at it. She took pride in her own self control, in everything she did. She took pride in this, the ultimate sexual act of self control for a woman.

Melanie felt the taut skin of Dan's thick, semi hard cock sliding past her lips. The head pressed down on the top of her tongue, then past it. With concentration, her whole mouth relaxed, her tongue relaxed, her throat relaxed as the meat of his cock pushed deeper and deeper into her mouth. She could feel the veins along the sides of it with her lips, ever so slightly, the smooth, mild texture of his shaft brushing against them. She could feel the stiffening, subtle ridge along the underside of his shaft. Deeper it went.

She felt his cock growing even as she took it into her. She felt it stiffen, growing harder and smoother. Tastier. For a moment, the tip of his cock touched the roof of her mouth. Instantly, almost panicked, she drew back, just a centimeter, forestalling her gag reflex. She'd gotten careless. She was too eager. 

She willed herself to proceed more slowly, as she pressed forward again, lowering her mouth further onto his shaft. This time, the head of his cock slipped down her throat, along and against her tongue, without touching the roof of her mouth. She relished the thought and feeling of sinking her head onto him, devouring him, having her head thoroughly fucked by him, but under her own control, as she lowered herself further, willfully taking him ever more deeply.

Dan didn't move a muscle. He knew better. If he did, if something went wrong, causing Melanie any discomfort, and it was his fault, at all his fault, then that was it, she would leave him there, bound upside down, alone and deprived, until her temper had subsided, maybe for hours. 

But it wouldn't happen. Melanie didn't worry. She trusted him, as much as he trusted her.

And then it was done. She had his entire cock in her mouth and down her throat. She held his pubic hairs aside, flattened with one hand, to keep them from tickling her lips and face, as she went about massaging the very base of his cock with her lips. Inside, she used her crowded tongue as well as she could on his shaft, tracing the veins along the unyielding sides of it within what little room she had to work. 

She took her time, breathing through her nose, relaxing, enjoying the feeling of success, and control, over both his body, and hers.

Dan emitted a stream of soft, short, restrained, unintentional grunts as he fought to control his entire body, to hold himself still as he enjoyed the exquisite torment of Melanie's artistic and athletic mouth. At the same time, Melanie enjoyed the musky smell of his groin, with her nose almost pressed against his skin, tickled by stray pubic hairs she'd failed to hold aside. She breathed gently, in and out, through her nose, feeling her body calm itself even as her own excitement grew, even as her lips and tongue began to work more frantically, and eagerly.

She listened to a delicate clank from the cuffs above her, as Dan dared to move, just an inch, and then obediently froze. Melanie froze with him, for a moment, ostentatiously waiting, measuring his movements before returning to her pleasing task.

When she couldn't hold it any longer, she began to withdraw, squeezing his shaft tightly with her lips while slowly pulling his cock from her mouth. Dan let out a long, low moan of appreciation, ending in a loud snarl when his cock was finally free. Inside and out, Melanie smiled, as she prepared to take him yet again, more quickly, more aggressively.

His cock was going to rabidly fuck her mouth, her face, her entire head, under her control.

She loved this.

* * *

It seemed like hours. She'd made love to his cock, swallowing it, teasing it, tasting it, torturing it, for as long as Dan could hold back. That was his only assignment, that and staying perfectly still. He had to make it last. He had to hold back. The longer he could restrain himself, she'd learned, the more cum he would give her in the end. That was Melanie's ultimate goal, her favorite reward, a fountain and a bath of her man's uncontrolled love for her.

Her own hand gently pressured her warm, wet pussy. One finger moved in and out, applying constant pressure to her clit, helping to draw her closer to her own orgasm.

Now, after all of her attentions, she felt him stiffen. She heard his breathing become louder and quicker, his restrained moans growing more emotional. Her own hand worked faster on her clit, driving herself closer to orgasm. A guttural moan flowed from deep within her, vibrating her throat against his cock.

She had promised herself she wouldn't do it, that this time she would be with Dan and Dan alone, but now, at the moment of climax, as she prepared herself to take and taste and swallow his sweet blast of cum, she lost her own self control. Her mind wandered, indulging in the thoughts that invaded all of her love making these days.

She imagined her baby brother's thick cock in her mouth. Melanie remembered Michael's cock, it's look, it's size, it's curve. Most of all she remembered his cum, drawn out by their baby sister doing to him what Melanie wished she could do herself. Mouse brought Michael to orgasm, delivering his tantalizingly generous load of incestuous cum to where Mouse, and Melanie, could revel in it.

The cock stiffened further in Melanie's mouth, portending the blast of sweet juice she now not only wanted but needed. She moaned again, more loudly this time, as she withdrew, letting the beautiful cock leave her mouth for just a moment, before descending on it, devouring it totally and completely in a violent, twisting dive.

Michael was her brother. She loved him. She adored him. He was always her awesome baby brother, the boy and then the man she grew up with and protected and nurtured and loved and respected. He was the handsome young man she'd somewhat jealously helped to get dates. He was the man she had politely and discreetly danced with at both of their weddings. He had been the one man she could love and admire platonically, without any distorting intrusion of lust.

Melanie moved quickly now, up and down, fucking the cock with a wild abandon. She needed his cum. She need to taste it and feel it. She needed the hot, wicked sensation of the cock jerking and twitching in her mouth. She needed to feel that last moment of lost restraint, when his pelvis would thrust up at her, trying to force the power of his cock as far into her as he could.

Mouse had shown her how much cum their brother Michael could give to a woman.

So now Dan was gone. It was Michael. In her mind, Melanie held the head of her baby brother's cock in her mouth. She worked it, she ministered to it, she urged it to give her everything she wanted in this one moment, the one thing that would send her over the edge, the one thing that, to her, was the apex of love between a man and a woman, of a man's love for her, and her love for a man.

She urged her brother's cock to fill her mouth with glorious, hot, fulfilling cum. As the cock stiffened, as the grunts and pants grew louder, Melanie knew that he was past the point of no return. She eagerly moved one hand to her breast, grabbing and squeezing, sending jolts of pleasure through her entire torso, driving her own body right to the edge.

Another moan escaped her lips, almost a scream. He moaned loudly with her. She squeezed her pale, full, fleshy breast more tightly, almost violently, twisting and crushing it, eliciting a marvelous explosion of pleasure that seemed to set of further explosions down in her dripping pussy.

Melanie's hand became Michael's in her mind. It groped her ruthlessly. One hand rubbed her clit frantically, the other hand squeezed and massaged her breast violently, while she struggled to keep the cock in her mouth without the use of either. Her head moved frantically, no longer trying to deeply swallow her baby brother's cock, but instead thrusting quickly, fucking him fast, coaxing the cum up and out, waiting for that unbearably exquisite moment when his forbidden cum would satisfy her.

That thought forced a loud moan from her, one that tipped her lover over the edge. Streams of cum caught Melanie at a moment when the cock was half out of her mouth. Some of the cum deliciously hit the inside of her mouth, while a short stream landed on her cheek and chin. Her own orgasm struck in response. She lost control as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her, while her baby brother's cock covered her face and filled her mouth with what she desired most.

Drops hit her face and his belly. A rivulet ran down her cheek. She grinned, laughing, as her body quaked. She rubbed the cock over her face, over the come, while moving what she held in her mouth about with her tongue. Her tongue met the head of the cock to gather more, cleaning it from the head with one long, powerful, sloppy suck. She released it, to slip down to instead gather up all she could from his belly.

One well-manicured finger slowly and intentionally smeared the cum from her face into her mouth. She didn't swallow a drop, not yet. She held it there, savoring it, imagining what it was, her baby brother's delicious, unmatchable gift of forbidden cum.

Her mind floated in a drunken fog of lust.

It was too bad Dan didn't give nearly as much cum to her as Michael did to Mouse, as much cum as her baby brother had to offer. If only Mouse had never let her see that one lure. If only Michael weren't so special in that regard. Melanie didn't want to commit incest. She didn't want her brother. She wasn't wicked, like Mouse. But she wanted his cum.

Mouse didn't even seem to notice the difference. Maybe most women wouldn't. Melanie certainly did.

The fog lifted slowly. Melanie swallowed the cum, not in one gulp, but slowly, as if she were sipping a fine wine. She relished every drop, every sensation. She rubbed his shrinking cock against her face, purring to show her pleasure, while pressing the flesh of her breasts against his ribs, eliciting a few lingering sparks of pleasure.

Dan didn't give her a lot of cum. She often regretted having settled in that respect, when of all things that was so important to her. But Dan had a lot more to give her, in bed and out of bed. He was a good lover, well endowed. He was a good provider and companion. 

It was just that now, with this unexpected, twisted fantasy, with her brother in her mind and his copious cum in her memory, she felt a little bit cheated. After twenty years of competent, proper, dull marital sex, she wanted more.

She would feel a wave of guilt soon, she knew. It happened every time. She'd feel guilt at "cheating" on Dan by imagining herself with someone else. She'd feel guilt at imagining an act of incest. She'd even feel guilt for the fantasy of stealing her own sister's lover, incestuous or not. There would be a lot of guilt to manage later, and for some reason the guilt always lingered long after. 

But right now she glowed. She lay warmly content, nearly satisfied, her head resting on her lover's belly, her tongue tasting and playing with her favorite treat, as small, diminishing crackles of electricity seemed to slowly arc out of her breasts and pussy, coursing through her entire body, the dying sensations of an unconscionable, subsiding orgasm.

"That was unbelievable, Six-pack," Dan intruded. He was never, ever allowed to call her that anywhere but in bed, but here it was like calling her a queen. She glowed at the sound of that name.

Still, she resented the invasion of his voice into her thoughts. She had been clinging to the now shattered image of her brother's cock before her. Dan's voice broke the spell, the fantasy of being with Michael, the feel and taste and pleasure of having her brother's cum in her mouth. 

Now it was Dan's. It was good, marginally satisfying, but not Michael's. She swallowed it in a few quick gulps.

She didn't answer him. It wasn't out of cruelty, or anger, or frustration, or even indifference. It was what she always did, it was part of their game, part of his role as her plaything and her inferior. She left the room, and him, still uncomfortably bound, while she went to have a quiet glass of merlot, alone, while he lay here, uncomfortable, but satisfied. 

She was the queen, after all... Six-Pack.



Mouse was stumbling, only half consciously, in the bluish darkness of her apartment, through what had become a weekend late night ritual for her, taking off her jewelry, washing up, getting ready for bed, and thinking about the guys, or maybe one or two girls, that she might have brought home to take the edge off. Yet Michael never once left her thoughts.

She took off her earrings. She fiddled with the necklace Michael had given her, the mouse reclining on the moon, then reluctantly undid the clasp to place it in its special spot on her dresser. She moved Michael's rings, the engagement ring and the wedding band he had given her for their mock wedding, from her right hand to her left. 

She never took them off. By day she wore them on her right hand, to avoid questions and misconceptions, but she always, always wore them. At night they moved to where they belonged, on her left hand, showing her love for and unbreakable bond to her brother and lover.

Sometimes she even put them on her left hand when going out, ostensibly, to her friends, to keep guys away, but really just to make herself feel better. It made Michael seem closer. It made her feel married to him.

She told herself she didn't need to stay faithful to Michael. He was her brother. Yes, he was her lover, her best, favorite, special, perfect lover. He was the one man in the world she truly wanted. But he couldn't ever be her husband. He couldn't be there forever.

He couldn't even hold her hand in public, at home.

He certainly couldn't take her home to meet his parents.

So they had agreed that they would date other people. They both adamantly insisted it wasn't what they wanted, but they would both do it for each other. They'd make themselves do it, for each other. It was the sane thing to do, the rational thing.

They would still talk, they would still meet, they would still fuck, but they wouldn't even try to be "a couple," at least, not completely. They would only pretend to have what they couldn't have, nothing more. There would be no illusions, and no pain when it inevitably ended. 

At least not for him.

Mouse had only suggested and agreed to the whole thing to make sure that Michael didn't go anywhere.

He would never actually date anyone else. She'd make sure of it. She called him, e-mailed him, texted him. She teased him, and excited him, and, as often as she could, she visited him. She stayed in his mind and his heart. He could date someone, if he could only stop thinking about her, but she wouldn't let that happen. He thought he was free, even if it wasn't what he wanted, but he wasn't even close.

The thing was, though, that Mouse wasn't free, either. She couldn't bring herself to touch another man, or woman, even just for release, just for sex. She wasn't free, and she didn't want to be, either. She didn't want that. But she didn't want "this," either, to be in love with her brother, to want and need him like she'd never needed anyone, all the time knowing that it could never be anything but a sinful, immoral game, and one that eventually had to end.

She felt the emotion welling up again as she stared at her dim reflection in the window, naked and alone, backed by the dark night. Tears were in there somewhere, waiting to seep out. They were always there, awaiting their chance to remind her how she felt these days.

The phone rang.

Mouse looked at the clock. It was just a little past two AM. It was probably Michael, ready to act nonchalant, but transparently jealous, as he tried to check up on her, to see if she was alone. 

Or else it was Melanie.

That part was a bit of a puzzle. After her last trip home, after the bizarre insanity that had gone on amongst the three of them, Mouse figured that Melanie would heave a sigh of relief after she finally left. Melanie would gratefully watch Mouse go, then pretend she'd never been there. Mouse would be safely out of sight and out of mind, and the sooner forgotten, the better. 


Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 01



Melanie had watched in a drunken stupor as her brother and sister fucked like newlyweds. Mouse and Melanie had made alcoholic love to each other. The three siblings had damn near had a threesome when Melanie had watched Mouse artfully, sensuously suck and fuck their brother a second time. 

Mouse still didn't know how Melanie had resisted the desire to join them then. It was what Mouse had expected, and wanted, and intended to happen. Melanie had at least had the audacity to steal a taste of one drop of their brother's (of Mouse's!) precious cum, making a show to Mouse and Michael both of tasting it before she exited the room.

Afterward, Mouse thoroughly expected Mel to simply ignore her little sister as much as she could. They simply wouldn't talk, while Mel would work on Michael, while Mouse was away, to get him to date other women and abandon his sinful little sister. Melanie knew she couldn't have Michael herself. 

So Mouse was sure that Melanie would try to "steal" Michael from her the only way she could, by simply getting another woman to do it for her. Then neither of them could have him.

Admittedly, Melanie didn't really want their brother, not like Mouse. But there was something there, something deeply buried and smoldering and threatening. She didn't know what Mouse knew, she didn't even know it herself, that it was more than just a fun, passing, whimsical fantasy. Mel didn't know how much she lusted after their brother. 

Or, if she did, she'd never, ever admit it to herself, or give in to it. So Melanie would turn that around. Instead of wanting to have him, she would want Mouse to not have him. 

This was another reason for Mouse's seeming willingness to let Michael date. It was a big reason. Mouse would let him do it, even encourage him herself, and so he wouldn't. Let Mel push, and Michael would resist, because it would be his big sister telling him what he should do, and his little sister telling him he could do whatever he wanted, so his choice would be to disobey Melanie. He would honor his unbearable love for his sweet, fun, sexy, little sister while disobeying his intruding, overbearing, manipulative, mothering older sister.

Or so Mouse had thought. 

But Melanie hadn't reacted the way Mouse had expected, at all. Suddenly, Melanie was the big sister Mouse had never really had. Suddenly, they were friends. Mel called all the time, at all hours. She called just to talk. She called to check on Mouse. Hell, she called to ask for advice. Mel actually asked Mouse for advice.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Little."

Mel had taken to calling Mouse "Little," abbreviating "Little Sister." Mouse sort of liked it. Melanie had always thought the nickname "Mouse" to be childish, and said so to anyone and everyone. She thought it was something that the family should have abandoned long ago. And yet she'd come up with this new nickname, one that reaffirmed their bond and their relationship.

"Hi. What's up?"

Mouse always resisted the obvious counterweight of calling Mel "Big." Melanie was close to six feet tall, with an athletic frame that sensitive people termed "big boned." It was a sore point with Mel, a nagging failing that stung her from her youngest years. Calling her "Big" would be pouring salt into a long open wound.

Mouse leaned back onto her bed, relaxing, staring sightlessly into the darkness. That by itself was a big change. Talking to Mel had almost always set her on edge, throughout her entire life. Mouse always had to be on her guard with Mel. She was always afraid of being judged, always poised to counterattack if Mel ever voiced what she was thinking, which was almost always something that Mouse was or could be doing wrong, in her eyes. The thought of relaxing during a conversation with Mel would never even have occurred to Mouse a few months ago.

But not anymore. Now they were sisters, real sisters. Now they were friends. Now they talked.

"Michael misses you."

"Of course he does."

"No, I mean he's pining. It's sort of cute, in his special mopey, forlorn way. But I hate seeing him sad. That surprise visit should come soon."

"I should never have told you," Mouse scolded.

"I won't wreck it. I won't tell him. But he needs it. It would be good for him."

"What have you been up to? How are things working out with Dan? And... your throat exercises?"

Mouse and Melanie talked about sex a lot. It was their favorite subject. Mouse needed no pretense or small talk these days before turning the conversation that way.

"It's good, good. Okay. He still doesn't kiss like..."

Melanie broke the sentence off awkwardly.

She can't make herself say it, Mouse thought, but they'd discussed this once before, after Mel had had a bit to drink. Actually, Mel seemed to have a bit to drink pretty often these days. 

Mel had really liked the way Mouse kissed. She'd always liked kissing. She'd now discovered that she liked kissing women even more. Men were good in bed, but not necessarily for kissing. 

And that one, wild afternoon, she had loved kissing her little sister. She couldn't let it go.

"Your little sister?" Mouse finished for her.

Melanie paused. They'd talked about it once, yes, but it wasn't easy for Mel to discuss sober, especially when Mouse emphasized that they were sisters, which she now did for the sheer thrill, and to annoy Mel. 

For Mel, part of it was the way Mouse herself kissed. Part of it was Mouse's size and build and sexy if slightly exotic, dark, girl next door looks, which all appealed to something deep down in Melanie. Somehow, Mouse was "her type."

But Mouse knew that a big part of it was the forbidden. They were sisters. It was incest. That made it incomparably exciting.

"Yes, but that's never happening again, so please stop bringing it up."

Melanie's voice was annoyed, but with the barest hint of whimsy.

It was true. Mouse did bring it up often. At first she did it to get a rise out of Melanie. Now she did it because she realized that Melanie secretly liked it when Mouse brought it up, no matter how much she protested. Sober, Melanie couldn't say it, but she liked to hear it. She would whine and complain and tell Mouse to stop, but she liked it.

And anyway, this time it was actually Mel that had brought it up, even if she'd tried to disguise the fact.

Mouse obligingly went back to her original line of questioning.

"So your sex life is getting better? Rekindling the flame? Loosening up the throat?"

There was another long silence. Mouse sensed something different tonight.

Normally, Mel loved talking to Mouse about sex. That was what had really happened, the real difference these days. Mel was fourteen years older than Mouse. Hell, Mel was already away at college before Mouse had started kindergarten. Until recently they simply never had much in common. They were always at very different points in their lives, especially in their sex lives.

But after all they'd done recently, the two sisters had finally found some common ground.

Mouse had never had any idea how much Mel enjoyed sex. She had never guessed at how wild Mel's darker side was.

"I'm actually starting to lose control," Mel admitted.

"Meaning?"

"I'm thinking about sex constantly. I'm fantasizing constantly. I'm fucking Dan constantly. I think he's afraid I'm trying to kill him."

"Death by fucking?"

"Death by sucking."

"Oh, yeah, of course."

Another pause. 

Mel was holding something back. Actually, that went without saying. Mel was always, always holding something back. It kept her in control, or at least gave her that illusion. Mouse knew that Mel had her secrets, she always did, and no matter how close they might get, she always would. She still wasn't completely sharing.

"So what's up? Sounds like you're hunting for advice."

Long pause again. This was making Mouse more than nervous. Something was up. But Mel had been asking for advice on sex for a while, now, and Mouse loved playing that role. It was probably harmless. Probably.

"I want to arrange a threesome."

Mel hadn't even finished the sentence when Mouse snapped her reply.

"I am not sharing a bed with you and your husband!"

"No, stupid, not you. Christ, Dan would totally freak. Jesus."

Mel sounded truly disgusted. Mouse actually felt a bit offended at that.

"Michael, then? No way. No fucking way."

"No, stupid. Good God. You think I'd fuck my brother in front of my husband? Ewww. And not you and Michael. I don't even want to fuck Michael alone. Ewww."

Now there was only a short, embarrassed pause.

"I'm sorry, Mouse, I didn't mean that. Michael's good for you. I get that. It's not that gross. For you. But it is for me."

Good, Mouse thought, then scolded herself. 

She wasn't worried about competition from Mel. If anything, she sort of wanted Mel to sleep with Michael, in a back handed kind of way. Not really, but maybe. Perhaps. 

It was all so weird.

"So who?"

"Dan and I and someone. You tell me."

"Dan wants a threesome? Man or woman? Shit, woman, of course. What kind of women does he like?"

"No, I want a threesome. With another woman. I almost did it once in college, and... I just want to actually do it. I can't get the thought out of my mind."

"So you want to know how to broach the subject with Dan?"

"No, that'll be easy. I need help finding another woman to join us. I just don't know how to even begin. How do I find someone that might do it? How do I know if they would do it? How do I even bring the subject up?"

"Oh."

"I was hoping you could make it easy. That you had a friend that was... as open as you are."

"You think I'm such a slut, I just have all of these deviant, sex crazed friends."

"Yes."

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"Ice queen."

"Stop dodging the question. Do you know anyone?"

"No one back home, not any more. Who do you know? You must know somebody wild."

"No one. Not a soul. If I did I wouldn't be asking."

"There must be someone..."

"I live in the suburbs. I'm a mother of college kids. My friends are all mothers of college kids. We're all done with sexual escapades. At least, they are."

"You're the only sex freak in that sleepy little town? I doubt it."

"I'm not a freak."

Mouse held her tongue.

"Even if you find someone, you're sure Dan will go along with it?" Mouse asked after the pause.

"He'll do as he's told," Melanie laughed back. "Although a younger woman would make it easier. And I'd like a younger woman, myself. Not too young. Well, maybe. Thirties. Twenties. An innocent college girl could be fun."

Melanie paused a moment. Mouse didn't interrupt.

"But I'll take what I can get."

"Anything else? Eye color? Hair color? Favorite position?"

"Sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away. You know me. And sex."

"Yeah," Mouse laughed. "Freak. Okay, let me think about it. If I don't know anyone, or someone who knows someone, maybe I can figure out how you and Dan could pick someone up."

"Ewww. I don't want... diseases."

Mouse rolled her eyes.

"Let me think. I can't now, I'm too tired. I'm going to bed."

"Okay, sorry for calling so late. Call me back if you think of something."

"Okay. ‘Night."

"Good night, Little."

Mouse smiled into the darkness, twisting the wedding band around on her finger. Mel had gotten so interesting lately.

* * *

The last mouthful of the martini reached her lips even before Melanie had set the phone down. She smiled, too. Her smile wasn't conceited, or controlling, or wicked. It was happy, and silly, and contented.

She felt a little guilty about hiding her thoughts about Michael from Mouse. She told herself it was no big deal. They were just thoughts, just fantasies. It was nothing Mouse needed to know about. It was better for everyone if she didn't.

Melanie actually missed Little. Talking to her made her feel good, about herself and about life.

Lately, a lot of things were making Melanie feel good. Melanie set the empty glass down, then reached for the bottle to mix herself a third drink.

* * *

Melanie reached across the table to comfortingly touch Michael's hand. It was large and strong, but warm and surprisingly soft. No matter how large and strong the boy had grown, he was always her soft, little brother. The long hairs on his knuckles tickled her fingers, reminding her that he was a man, too. 

He glanced down at her hand on his with an air of detached inspection. 

Michael looked back up into her face, his own eyes focused and serious. She loved the masculine aura he projected when he turned overly serious. It was so incongruous, to her. To her he was always a little boy.

"Michael, listen to me. Please. You two are hurting each other."

Michael looked away. He didn't want to listen to this, of course. He had to be made to listen.

"I'm telling you, Michael. Don't date other women, not even once. It's a mistake. It was stupid to agree. Don't do it. It would hurt Mona too much. And if she ever dated anyone it would hurt you, too, and you know it."

Michael still wouldn't look her in the eye.

"But I don't think she actually ever will, so stop worrying."

Michael stared at her again, with that same air of detached inspection. Melanie didn't know if it was a lack of trust on his part, or if this was something that he simply didn't want to hear, at least not from her. His expression was so cold.

"Please stop interfering."

Melanie withdrew her hand from his.

"You should never have even discussed it. Tell her you won't. Tell her she shouldn't."

"So what are we supposed to do? Where else do we go from here?"

"I just don't want to see you two getting hurt. You lived through enough years of pain with your bitchy ex-wife. You had enough vacant love. And I don't think Mouse has ever had anything but emptiness."

Michael kept staring at her. Mel stared back, unblinking, totally confident and secure in what she was thinking and saying. She knew it sounded strange, coming from her, but she was right.

"Until now, Michael. Until you."

"Have you forgotten that she's our sister, Mel? My sister? Remember? Incest?"

Melanie quickly looked around the restaurant. She knew no one was likely to hear, but the word panicked her. It was so easy to forget where she was when she was talking to Michael. She got too attached, too involved. She got too into him.

Which was why he should listen to her. Mel knew Michael better than Michael knew himself. He had no idea how well Mel knew him, how much attention she'd paid to him throughout their lives.

She hesitated one more moment, to disguise her panic, while still trying to slyly glance around the bar for ease droppers.

"Sh. You don't have to be so open about it. Yes, I remember. Believe me, I remember."

"Why? Why do you want us together, now?"

"Because."

Michael glared at her.

"I'm not the prude you think I am, Michael. I'm not even close."

"It's incest, Mel." 

"Sh. You actually know very little about me, Little Brother. You were always too wrapped up in yourself, and Mouse, to really notice me."

"That's not true."

"Look, I know what it's like to feel that way about someone. I know what it's like to lose control."

"Lose control."

Melanie glared at him, but he was purposely looking away across the bar.

"Michael, you wouldn't be doing this, you and Mouse wouldn't be doing any of this, if there wasn't something there. I'll admit, it scares me. It scares the hell out of me, because it's so wrong. It's such a very bad idea. But I've never seen anything like it. Dan and I had a wild sex life once upon a time. We were unstoppable. But we were nothing like you two."

"It's not just the sex, Mel."

"I know that, Michael. I know that. That's my point. If it were just the sex, the evil, wicked, twisted..."

Mel hesitated. She lowered her voice even as she emphasized the next word.

"...incestuous sex, you would both have gotten bored long ago. It would never have gone this far. The fact is, the thought disgusts me, every time I let myself think about it. So I don't. I don't know how you two can do what you do. But you don't seem to remotely mind, and neither does she."

Michael opened his mouth to retaliate. She didn't allow it.

"In fact, I take that back. It's not that you don't mind. You bask in it. You both wallow in it. You even glorify it. That's Mouse, but it's not you. I expect that from her, not you. You don't enjoy things just because you're not supposed to. Which means to last this long, it's more than that, for you."

She finally paused to let Michael speak. He started to, then halted, choosing instead to take a long, time consuming swig from his beer bottle. Melanie continued.

"And it's more for her, too. I can feel the connection there, Michael. It scares me, but it's there. It's like Dan and I. And it's something I don't think you and your wife ever actually had."

He glared at her again. She was startled by the thud of his bottle being replaced none too gently on the table. She was crossing all sorts of boundaries this time. He always hated reminders of her, and judgements of their marriage. Melanie had never approved, and the way it turned out proved her right. 

The mention of it always, easily made him angry, but she never seemed to learn. 

That stung. She didn't want him to be angry at her. That was one thing she could never, ever take. He didn't get angry often, or easily, but when he did, when it was directed at her, it pained her.

Their whole lives, Melanie had always apologized to Michael. He never once had to say he was sorry to her, because she couldn't stand for one moment having him angry with her.

"Look, Michael, I'm sorry. Let's just drop it. I'm sorry. I just thought you should know how I feel, what I thought. I didn't think you'd react this way."

She expected, feared, that he would rip into her then, for being so intrusive. Instead he abruptly mellowed. 

Even when he angered, he often quickly backed off. Another woman might see that as weakness, but Melanie saw it as a strength. It was even sexy, the way Michael could soften his mood, the way he cared enough about what other people thought and felt to control himself when he could more easily let his own emotions take over and spin out of control.

Michael was just someone that didn't like being angry. He looked down at the label on his bottle, not unexpectedly looking more than a little guiltily.

"I know, Mel. I'm sorry, too. It's just all so very strange. I never expected to live my life like this."

Mel looked softly at his lips, watching the sad words tumble out. She'd never expected it either. No one ever expected to live their lives the way they did, she thought.

8> Organization

Lists. Melanie ran her life with them. She ran a lot of people's lives with them.

To do lists. Shopping lists. Vacation packing lists. Lists of priorities.

Right now she was making a shopping list, a simple, common thing to do. She started with the obvious things she knew they always needed, then added other things that were running low. 

Milk. Bread. Cheese. Butter. Paper towels.

She made a mental list of what she'd make for dinner all week, then added any ingredients they didn't already have to the list.

Chicken. Salmon. Pesto. Sage.

When she got near the end, she stopped to think of things they didn't need, but things that she'd like to get.

Ice cream. Whipped cream. Chocolate sauce. Bailey's Irish Cream.

She needed to go to the liquor store, she realized. They were running low on some things there, too.

Rum. Scotch.

Her emotions fired up just thinking about the liquor. Her darker side quickly enveloped her. Reflecting her own growing frustration with her mundane lifestyle, she added more whimsical items to the list.

A kiss. A girl to kiss. 




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 01



Damn, she thought. She felt like a teenager. Her mind wandered away in a blink, and always to sex, to boys, except they weren't boys anymore, they were men. She wasn't a girl, she was a grown woman. She should be able to control her hormones. Still, she added more to the list.

A girl's kiss. A man's cum. Both at once.

Melanie hesitated just one moment, before adding what she knew she really wanted.

My broth...

Melanie stopped herself mid word. She tore the bottom of the list off, crumbled it in a ball, and dropped it into the garbage disposal, not wishing to take a chance on someone finding it, even torn, crumpled and buried in a waste basket. 

This was getting worse and worse with every long, boring, passing day.

She thought about sex. She visualized it, the hot, silky feel of a man's cum dripping on her face, tickling her lips, held in her mouth, feeling content in the knowledge that she had the skill and the beauty and the sexuality, and the desire, to draw it from a man.

She imagined a girl's lips touching hers, stealing some of the cum from her.

Men didn't kiss the way girls did. Their mouths were large and wide and hungry. They were overpowering, forceful and demanding. Melanie did like that. It made her feel feminine to be kissed like that, by a man, to be irresistibly taken. 

Women were different. She liked the tender, compliant, hesitant touch of a woman's soft, warm lips. She liked feeling that she was the one in control when she was kissing. She liked the thought of a young, tender, pretty woman held firmly in her own embrace, their bodies pressing together, with the naive girl's petite little mouth entirely under Melanie's control. She could almost feel the young beauty shivering in excitement within her grip.

Melanie remembered Little shuddering with an orgasm in her arms. She remembered the soft, warm feel of her eager lips. She remembered Michael crying out as his molten cum decorated Little's lips, inviting the most Melanie to enjoy the most wicked kiss that she could ever imagine.

Melanie stopped her thoughts there. She looked at the liquor cabinet, considering one quick drink to calm her mind, to keep it from racing. She turned a cold stare instead to the bare, sanitized kitchen counter. 

She'd been drinking too much lately. It was causing problems. It had before, for a big part of her life, and now it was again. 

It was also a big part of how she'd gotten to where she was now. It was why she'd watched Michael and Mouse in the first place. It was why she and Mouse had touched, and lost control. 

It was a problem, a habit, a weakness that she needed to get back under control.

In a moment, she'd grabbed what remained of the list, and her keys. She launched out the front door into the sunlight, heading off to do some proper, mature, responsible homemaker shopping, and staying out of trouble.



Assorted photos lay scattered, randomly, overlapping each other at odd angles on the bedspread like so many remnants of a shattered life, like a puddle of moments after a life-shower. Amidst them, Melanie enjoyed Dan's loud groan as she took his cock deeply into her throat yet again. Her lips attentively worked the based of his cock even as she cooly examined one picture lying before her.

She had been sorting through them, organizing them, or so she'd innocently claimed, when Dan slipped into the room. He'd simply stood before her as he unbuckled his belt, eventually exposing an already hard and excited prick in need of love and affection. She loved these random, unexpected demands on her talents, and he knew it. She loved being needed, and treated as if her services were simply always on call, at his whim.

She particularly didn't mind it this time at all, not under the circumstances, with the pictures here spread out around her. She could make unexpectedly good use of him, with them, right now. Rick was just downstairs, hopefully absorbed in a video game. That made it even more exciting.

She kept her eyes focused on one photo as she easily swallowed him whole. It lay inconspicuously atop the others, a slightly faded 8 by 10 of a couple. Michael's eyes smiled back at her from the picture, a much younger Michael, healthy and strong, looking too young and too goofy in a rented tuxedo. He'd had hair on his head, then.

Her own younger, teenage self smiled enchantingly if somewhat awkwardly out at her, posing beside him, embarrassed at her degrading situation. Her prom dress looked awful to her now, garishly overdone, as they always did twenty years later, but she herself looked striking in it. The dress had really made her generous expanse of cleavage look very, very good. 

She had no idea how the boys had resisted that until college. She didn't have to be a steady girlfriend, if she didn't look good on their arm, although that would have been nice. But they could have just played with her.

Michael and Melanie made a cute couple, though.

One masculine hand caressed the broad curve of her hip in a smooth, firm, motion, trying to indirectly urge her into the rhythm he wanted. Dan would have to be patient. She wanted her time, this time, with Michael to last. Still, she compensated him by sucking hard on the head of his dick, while tickling the rim with her tongue, yet with her eyes never once leaving the frozen image of her baby brother.

Yes, Melanie had had to go with her brother to the prom. He was virtually the only guy tall and broad enough to look good at her side. Michael was that tall then, too, even as a pathetic high school freshman. And no one else had asked. Melanie had asked a few boys, and been crushed by their refusals.

Melanie closed her eyes, thinking his name as she lowered her throat to envelop the cock again. Michael. She wondered briefly if she could have tried this then, with her date, her brother, if she knew then what she knew now. Of course she would never have had the nerve, she knew she didn't really even now, but she enjoyed the fantasy.

Melanie slipped her lips back along the smooth sides of the cock, savoring every inch of the journey, imagining the sound of her own name coming from her baby brother's breathless lips. She teased and tasted the cock, momentarily closing her eyes, thinking "Michael" again in her mind. Dan groaned as she twirled her tongue around the head, making her smile at his reaction. Then, taking it all again deeply into her mouth, she sucked as hard as she could.

Michael.

She swallowed him whole, as fast as a striking snake.

Beside the prom picture was a wedding photo, taken with someone's old Kodak instamatic. Melanie studied it calmly, while holding the cock far down her throat. Melanie and Michael mugged, cheek to cheek, for the camera, dancing on her wedding day. He looked handsome and sexy, older, and so much more of a man by then. He was already losing his hair. You could see a lot of her cleavage then, too, in a wedding dress that lifted and squashed and threatened to spill out the flesh of her breasts. What a slut she was, she thought. Why hadn't more men noticed?

Melanie closed her eyes as she rapidly pulled back, just barely, gently scraping his shaft with her teeth, before letting him almost loose, then swallowing him again, over and over, fucking him fast, trying to draw him closer to orgasm. When she could hear the excitement growing in his labored breathing, she slowed again. She opened her eyes to look at the image of Michael's warm eyes shining back at her from above an inviting smile in yet another random photo.

Almost all of the pictures were of Michael. Dan would never notice. He certainly wouldn't attach any meaning to it. She had been intending to tend to her own needs, her own body, all by herself, with the pictures, but this was so much better.

She couldn't have asked Dan for a better time to come in begging for her to service his cock. She let her eyes flit from picture to picture, admiring her brother's features, remembering their times together, while all the time pretending she held her baby brother's cock between her lips, struggling to come into her loving, agile, waiting mouth.

She felt Dan tense. He was almost there. Her brother was almost there. She was doing it. She'd done it.

Both of Dan's hands gripped her head powerfully, pressing her down onto him. She had no fear. He could do as he pleased. After all of the practice she'd had in the last months, after she'd learned she was so naturally good at this, at sucking cock, at deep throating cock, by now she could relax easily. With images of Michael in her mind, with the thought of taking her little brother's cock all the way down her throat, to the very base, it was easy. She even enjoyed the feel of the angry, powerful hands forcing her down onto the cock. She encouraged it. She'd let Michael do that to her.

Michael would never do it that way, she was sure. She was sure that even if she begged, or ordered, him, he couldn't be that harsh. He would be gentle and kind to a fault. But it was her fantasy. She could pretend. He could do that to her, if he wanted. She would certainly let him.

She imagined Michael's hands in her hair, forcing her down onto him, forcing his cock deeply into her throat as he prepared to fill her with hot, incestuous cum. Dan pushed her hard, causing her to lose sight of the one picture she wanted to look at as he came. Melanie struggled, prying Dan's legs apart, frantically moving them aside so that she could see him, her sexy baby brother, staring up at her from a portrait from their parents' recent wedding anniversary. 

They fought like that for a while, Dan angrily forcing her head down onto his cock exactly when and where he wanted, while she struggled herself to position his legs, or her head, to see the picture she desperately wanted to have in her sight. Losing the battle, panicked, she wriggled and moved her body, reaching for the photo, trying desperately to find it before her mouth filled with sweet, hot cum. 

She found the photo, moved it, holding Dan's legs apart so she could see it, all only just in time to listen to Dan's long, low, muffled groan. The cock stiffened, her cock, his cock, Michael's cock, and it filled her with his magic gift of imagined wicked, illegal, incestuous cum as his eyes happily beamed out at her.

* * *

"What's up, Mel?"

Mouse held the cell phone to her ear as her other hand hunted through her bag, pulling out the towel to wipe the sweat from her brow after a long dance session.

"Hi, Little. I was just curious. Did you want some pictures I have of Michael?"

Mouse stopped, forgetting the slimy feel of the sweat, suddenly intrigued.

"Pictures? What kind of pictures?"

"You know, old pictures. Snap shots. Of when he was younger."

"Hell, yes! Can I pick some out when I come visit?"

"I'll send them to you now. All of them. They're just collecting dust here. I haven't even looked at them in years."

"What made you think of them?"

"I was just going through things, getting rid of junk. I couldn't bear throwing them out, but I really don't want to keep them. They're just clutter."

"Which one is the funniest?"

"Of course that's the first thing you want, to abuse the poor boy."

"Of course. Now spill."

"Michael in a tuxedo, as my prom date."

"What? Michael took you to your prom? I never knew that."

"It's not like I ever wanted anyone to know. It was the only way a gawky girl my size was going to get a date. Michael was way too young, too. It was so embarrassing. I would rather that Dad had taken me than Michael."

"You shit. I would have killed to have had Michael take me to my prom."

"Are you kidding? Good God. Come on, you had like three different guys ask you, really hot guys. You couldn't have had a crush on him then."

"I would have killed."

"Bullshit. I don't believe you. It's the most embarrassing thing any girl could endure. Look, I have to run, but I'll send them to you."

"Soon. Overnight them."

Melanie laughed.

"Bye, Little."

"Bye, Mel. Overnight!"

* * *

"A little to the left," she told him.

Michael obediently shifted the heavy picture frame to the left, grunting softly, though more to express his exasperation than due to the awkward weight and dimensions of the damn frame. The decorative beading dug annoyingly into his palms, too. He wasn't enjoying any of this.

"Are you sure Mouse is going to like this?"

Melanie had been working on him for months and months to redecorate the place. She had never liked his ex-wife's tastes to begin with. But now, she said, it was also time to start to eliminate any traces of her, both for him, and for Mouse.

She kept saying he needed to do it to make Mouse feel more welcome and comfortable here.

"Mona will love it. Trust me. Anyway, you're the one that lives here all the time. Do you like it?"

He knew he couldn't, or had no interest in, redecorating a house. He had said that Mouse should be the one helping him, though, not Melanie. Let Mouse pick what Mouse liked, or what she wanted Michael to like. 

Melanie immediately scoffed at that idea, and Michael knew she was right. Mouse's tastes were too outlandish for Michael, and while cute, quirky novelties might look good in a small apartment, they'd make a travesty of a house.

It was better to let Melanie do it.

"No, you know, that's just not the right size for that wall. Take it down. Try the mirror instead."

Michael scowled visibly, while letting out a long, slow, frustrated exhale of breath.

It needed to be done, and it was better to let Melanie do it, but that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

"Look, let's stop for a while," Melanie offered, obviously knowing she was pushing too much.

Without waiting for a response, she moved to sit very properly and stiffly on the edge of the couch. Michael quickly plopped down right beside her. She recoiled, almost imperceptibly, as if he was intruding impolitely into her personal space. He wasn't in the mood to oblige her, to move to alleviate her discomfort. 

He glanced at the pictures Mel had arranged on the coffee table, assorted framed pictures of Mouse and Michael together. They weren't staying there. Mel was just trying to decide which ones she could hang on which walls.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, nodding at the little pile of photos on the table. "Putting pictures of Mouse and I, together, up on the walls?"

"If we scatter in some others, like Dan and me, and the kids, or Mom and Dad, then no one will notice. They'll just be family photos. Lot's of people put up pictures of their family."

"Not me, not of Mouse. If I'd ever done that before, you would have noticed. Mom and Dad will notice."

"They will, but that's okay, because I'll tell them the truth, that I put them up, or rather, I told you exactly what and where to put them up."

Michael dropped it. She was right. And he loved the idea of having Mouse's face all over the place. Just the thought of constantly seeing her beauty and smile lifted his spirits.

"It will be nice to be able see her face more often. More easily."

"You know, you could change that other ways," Melanie offered, straightening one of the pictures, obviously trying to act distracted as she said it. It was the picture of Michael and Mouse with the Chicago skyline behind them.

"I'm not moving to Chicago, if that's what you mean."

"No," Melanie said much too quickly. "No, but you could get her to move back home."

"Melanie, do you have any idea how difficult that would be? Do you know how quickly and easily we'd get caught?"

"You just have to show better judgement, and some restraint. You could do it."

"No."

"You'd both be happier."

"Melanie, no. I can't believe you think that would be a good idea. I'm not considering it."

"You know you already have."

Michael got up quickly.

"Let's go, we have more to do. I want to get it over with."

"It would be a lot better than just a picture of her," was the last thing that Melanie said, getting in the last word, before dropping the subject.

* * *

Melanie lay awake as Dan snored uproariously. Her lack of sleep wasn't his fault, but she'd still blame it on him when she was cranky tomorrow. The ceiling needed painting. She could tell, even in the dark.

Her mind raced. It had been doing that a lot, lately. Sleep never came easily anymore.

With the large, blank canvas of the ceiling in her view, she thought of all of the pictures of her and Michael, and Michael and Mouse.

She wasn't sure if she was doing the right thing. Maybe she should leave them alone. They'd probably drift apart, given time. Mona would find someone eventually, maybe no one perfect, maybe no one with the magnetic pull of the one man she really should never even kiss, but at least someone good enough. 

But Michael probably wouldn't. He would be, and stay, miserable and lonely.

And then there was Melanie herself. Michael was turning into too much of a temptation. He'd always held an attraction for her. It had never been overtly sexual. He was just cuddly. He was just always there. He was just hers. She'd must have fantasized about him some, sexually, back when she was in high school, but she couldn't even remember having done it. 

Every woman must do something like that, at least once, Melanie told herself. It was natural, as long as it had its limits. As long as one didn't try to act on the fantasy.

But now she couldn't stop. Every time she saw him, he was just her brother. She was fine. She even tried thinking about kissing him, or seducing him, on occasion, in his presence. Whenever she did she was totally revolted by the idea. She couldn't bring herself to really even think of it around him.

So why was she worried?

Because at night, in the dark, naked in a bed, after a drink, or during or after sex, whenever there was a hard, naked cock around, it all came out. It swamped her. She did want him. She would touch him. She would kiss him. If she ever had the chance, if the situation were ever right, she knew she would cross the line.

In the right place, in the right mood, at the right time, she'd do the wrong thing.

So she had to make the line wider. She had to make it harder. She had to do it for all of them.

Mouse and Michael had to stay together. Mouse had to move back home, and, if she could work it, live with him, at least for a while, at least until Melanie had outgrown this phase.

Mona probably deserved better than a fling with her much older brother. She deserved a man that could be a husband and could give her a family. It was the last thing Mouse wanted, at the moment, but eventually she would.

But for now, for a while, Michael was good for her. Maybe he'd teach her what she needed to know to get there.

Michael definitely needed Mouse. It was a shame it could never last, because otherwise Mona could probably keep him happy until the end of his days. He really didn't want or need anything more. As sinful and wrong as it would be, it seemed like it was his one and only way to end his loneliness.

A guy like Michael wasn't likely to find true love after the age of forty. At least, not twice, Mel admitted dourly.

So Mouse needed Michael, for a while. Michael needed Mouse. Melanie needed Michael to need Mouse, just to keep Mel from ruining all of their lives. She'd almost ruined her own once before, after college. It had taken quite a while to sort herself out. Having come this far, having built everything she and Dan now had, she didn't need to make a mess of things.

Melanie rolled on her side, mind racing, trying to think good thoughts, trying not to let her mind wander to various aspects of her brother's tasty physical charms, teasing her like a very sinful box of assorted chocolates.






Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 02



Book 5: Mouse's Rival

Chapter 2



Melanie sensed Michael looking at her through the small crowd, from across the room, like a child spying on adults through a keyhole. It was really nothing unusual. He'd been doing it, and she'd been noticing, since they were adolescents. She'd never ascribed any lust to his less than subtle ogling. He was just her sweet, clumsy, awkward baby brother. 

Yet it had always made her feel sexy. In high school, he was sadly the only boy that made her feel sexy. He never told her that she was, he never put it into words, but this was better. It was more sincere this way. His ill concealed stares were an unintentional, unconscious, unambiguous compliment.

He'd been doing it for decades now. Of course, before, she hadn't watched him rabidly and quite effectively fuck Mouse. Before now, he'd simply been her innocent little brother.

Melanie brought the drink to her mouth again as she listened to Kate's musical, piping voice enthusiastically describing her recent vacation to Mexico. She scolded herself for letting her attention wander away from pretty, enticing, little Kate. She had plans for Kate.

"You should have seen the bathing suits some women wore," the little blond laughed, her captivating green eyes wide in mock wonder. "They were wild, absolutely wild. Way beyond skimpy and revealing, but they had the bodies for them. I don't. My body's not bad, but I'm too tiny and pale and slight. I couldn't pull it off. You could, though."

Kate's eyes strayed down Mel's body as she finished. Kate tore them away, looking suddenly across the room, clearly embarrassed by her brazenness.

Mel happily accepted the hesitant, awkwardly delivered compliment in silence. Kate certainly acted interested.

"Oh, I think you could, too," Mel said. "You have a lot of sex appeal. We should escape the suburbs and go together, sometime, just to find out."

Even as she said it, Melanie's mind inexplicably wandered right back to Michael. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that he was still looking at her.

This time, Michael's furtive gaze wasn't merely making Melanie warm. She felt her whole body reacting in pleasant ways. The sensations made her want to make herself instantly even more attractive to him. She did what she'd often done, inhaling deeply, though not too overtly, sucking in her stomach and expanding her chest. 

Mel felt she had a great body, especially for a fourty-four year old woman. At just under six feet tall, she commanded the room. She had broad shoulders and well matched hips, with a generous bust, but a trim waistline. She worked hard at keeping her stomach as flat as she reasonably could, especially after reaching forty.  The result gave her a truly curvaceous, hourglass figure, the kind that made real men crazy. 

In a way, she looked like a larger than life playboy model. She was a feminine amazon with an extra dose of feminine. She knew she'd been a perfect fantasy woman to some men, men that weren't afraid of her size. She wasn't petite or dainty or cute, but she was most definitely female.

She wished that Michael would see her that way, not just beautiful but sexy, but she knew his tastes leaned toward the cute and childishly petite, like Mouse. No, not just like Mouse, but Mouse herself.

His tastes, Mel thought to herself, in fact, leaned towards a woman like Kate, the woman in whom Melanie was now making every effort to show a flattering, flirting and almost inappropriate interest. This whole party was actually for Kate. Melanie reluctantly wrenched her mind from her sexy baby brother, to give her full attentions to the cute little blond before her.

"The weather is so nice in the Maya Riviera. Even when it's raining. The air is warm and clean."

The party was really just a small get together, just women Mel knew, with a few men to keep it interesting. Dan was away with Rick for the weekend, looking at colleges, so she had the house all to herself for her soiree, and for any adventure that might develop from it. At least, the plan was that an adventure would develop, a brief, pleasant episode that might naturally and easily lead into an eventual threesome with Dan.

She'd only invited Michael because she felt sorry for him. She didn't really want the distraction, but she couldn't stand the thought of enjoying the party, and the challenge she'd set for herself, while Michael moped around at home. He could miss Mouse here as easily as he could alone. 

Maybe here he would at least socialize a bit. She knew he'd never meet anyone he was attracted to, not with Mouse on his mind and interwoven into his soul, but he could at least talk to a few women.

The party was mostly women. Attractive women.

Too, he might notice Melanie in action. He might realize that there was a side of his big sister that would shock, and perhaps excite, him. She wanted to show off in front of him. Let Michael see her seduce another woman. Let Michael learn that his older sister had her wild, sexual side, too.

Kate paused a moment as she delicately sipped her drink. Mel watched the glass touch Kate's small mouth, as the woman's glossy lips puckered enticingly to suck in just a small taste of her Black Mexican. Mel took a good swig of her own rum and coke, never letting her gaze wander from Kate's tasty little mouth.

Kate was a friend of a friend of a friend of Mouse's. She really didn't know what the connection was. She just knew that Mouse had given her the woman's number. She was new in the area, less than twenty minutes away. She didn't know anyone else, so she was looking for company, and friends. And, according to Mouse's connections, she had appropriately similar interests.

Under Mel's instructions, Kate wasn't told what Mel wanted her for. Mel wanted to try her hand at seduction. It was a gamble, but life had gotten too easy for Mel. She needed the distraction. She needed something that was going to take effort, and take her mind off of other, more dangerous opportunities. 

She just wanted to know that the woman might be receptive to the idea. Mel had been nervous as hell calling the woman, but Kate was so bubbly and friendly, she had made it easy.

Kate was like a blond Mouse. She was petite, slightly freckled, lively, outgoing, happy, vibrant and alluring. She had long, straight, very blonde hair. A catty woman would have thought it dyed if her eyebrows didn't match. They weren't quite as blonde as her hair, but could at best be called a very light brown. Mel had no doubt the woman's pubic hairs matched, too. She had a piping, squeaky voice that would have been annoying if it weren't such a turn on.

Melanie knew a bit about Kate by now. She was single and young, at least to Mel, in her early thirties. She'd been married, and then very quickly divorced, once. She worked tending bar in a place at the edge of town. She'd moved here recently, completely alone, just to get away from her past lives. She showed no regrets. She didn't act like someone running from anything. Like Mouse, she was someone that was always more running to something, even if she had no idea what or where it was.

Kate made a funny comment that Mel missed by being too deep in her own thoughts, and followed it immediately with a cute, high pitched little giggle. Mel could enjoy lots of giggles like that, she thought, if she could just get Kate interested, and if Kate was open to that sort of thing.

And so far there was no reason to think that Kate, who was so like Mouse, wouldn't be interested.



Mouse could hear the party going on in the background.

"You have to come, Mona. Come visit Michael, now."

Mouse couldn't believe Melanie was pushing this hard for a spontaneous, immediate visit. It just didn't make sense. She should be keeping Mouse away.

"Are you having a party?"

"What? Yes, yes, just a little thing."

"God, you and Dan never stop these days with the parties."

"Dan's not here. It's just a little something I threw together because I was bored. Actually, there's something else, but I don't want to get into it now. Listen to me. Little, please, you have to trust me on this. He needs you."

"Why are you calling me now, in the middle of a party?"

"Michael's here. There are tons of women here, and yet he looks miserable."

Mouse bit her lip.

"Why did you invite him?"

"I just felt sorry for him, sitting around alone. I thought it would give him something to do."

"Or someone to meet."

"No, Mouse. It's not like that."

"Anything you say, Sis," Mouse replied in her best, sweet, childlike voice.

Mel was instantly angry.

"Mouse, stop acting like the innocent, hurt little girl. Drop the phony act. I told you, it's not like that."

"Anything you say, ‚'Six-Pack,'" was Mouse's quick, nasty reply.

She immediately regretted saying it. That nickname hurt deeply, Mouse knew. Melanie hated being almost six feet tall. Since high school, she'd always been treated like one of the boys because of her height, despite her obvious curves. It was one of those painful memories for Mel, one of those things that shaped your character and your self image, no matter how much you didn't want it to, and no matter how much you told yourself it didn't matter. 

When the nickname "Six-Pack" was thrust on her at college, it was one of the few things that seemed to rattle Mel to her core. 

Mouse had never really known about it, until they'd both opened up to each other. It was the first bit of weakness that Mel had ever shown to Mouse, describing her disgust at that nickname. It was the first sign that anything, ever, had really unsettled Melanie. When her big sister had first talked about it, Mouse thought she could hear Mel crying. And it was all told to Mouse in confidence, a gesture of sisterly trust.

Mouse chewed her lip as the silence on the other end grew. She nervously fiddled with Michael's ring on her finger.

"I'm sorry, Mel, that was cruel of me. I'm... sorry..." she finished lamely.

"Look, I've got to go, I've got a party to host," Melanie answered, but her voice lacked the ice that Mouse expected to hear. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay, bye."

"Michael needs you."

Before Mouse could reply, the line went dead.

Mouse closed her cell phone, totally bewildered by what had just transpired, wondering what she was missing.

* * *

Mouse looked down at the rings on her left hand, as she spun the wedding band around her finger. She sat alone, on a stool, at the bar. Tania, Jeff and Alicia, with her own latest toy in tow, were supposed to be here an hour ago. Every twenty minutes she got a text from them saying "just ten more minutes."

Mouse fumed.

Sitting there, alone, she felt like she had a neon sign hovering over her, saying "Pick Up Here." She'd had to move the rings to keep the guys from bugging her. Every two seconds it was another drink "from that guy over there," or a stupid line, or a request for a dance. Good God, she thought. She hoped she'd never have to date again.

"Hi. You look bored."

Mouse turned to glare at the guy with as much disgust as she could cram into her face. Even with the rings in plain sight, the asshole talked to her.

All expression drained from her face when she stared into his eyes. They were the most disarming eyes she'd ever seen. He was an older man, maybe forty five or even fifty. His features and expression looked young and vibrant, but were contradicted by a sea of unkempt gray hair and cute, deep, long crows feet that wrinkled as he smiled.

She looked quickly away, back down at her hands, embarrassed by her own gut reaction.

"Don't worry about me," he continued. "I'm harmless."

In testimony to the statement, he flashed his own wedding band at her. Mouse was shocked at herself when the sight of it irked her.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Mouse asked.

"Me? You buy me a drink? That's a pleasant switch. But I already have one."

"I'll buy your next. I could use the company. The protection. It will keep you here for a while."

"You looked like you could use a chaperone. And I'm staying for a while, with or without a drink from you, unless you ask me to leave."

He smiled at her the whole time. She hadn't felt this comfortable with a guy since things had started with Michael. He brought up something pleasant inside her. She looked at his wedding band again, then considered his age, and decided she must have a self destructive streak so wide it was visible from space.

But this guy would make a great father. If she had kids, this was the kind of guy she'd pick. He might be a bit too old, but that was what she wanted, someone that would treat her like a child, sometimes, or inadvertently make her feel like a child, at least, someone she could just naturally defer to, whenever she wanted to stop being the female Lone Ranger. 

She wanted someone warm, and old enough to be entirely comfortable with who he was. She wanted someone that was plain and simply self confident, without instead broadcasting arrogance to cover for their mountain of insecurities. 

She wanted less testosterone and more masculinity.

"Paul."

"What? Oh, sorry. I'm Mona."

Mouse instinctively, invitingly smiled at him as she said her name, then looked away, emabarrassed. She waited just one moment before continuing, without making eye contact.

"So where's your wife?"

Mouse bit her own lower lip at the bite in the question. She hadn't really intended to say it. It just came out.

"You're not supposed to ask that so soon."

"Why not?"

He paused for a long while, seemingly arguing silently with himself.

"She's gone. Passed away last year."

"I'm so sorry."

She was, too. She immediately hurt for the man. She couldn't imagine actually losing Michael that way. The pain of it would kill her.

"You still wear your ring," Mouse said.

"Yeah. I think I always will. I miss her."

Mouse didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything.

"I'm still harmless, though. Really."

Mouse looked down into her drink, trying to decide if she really wanted him to be harmless or not.



The party was thinning out. The night slipped closer and closer towards tomorrow. Michael had, unusually, had much too much to drink. As was his way with liquor, it mostly made him sleepy. Melanie guided him awkwardly to Doug's empty room, let him slump onto the bed, and took his keys with her so he wouldn't even think of driving if he awoke before dawn. 

She'd never seen Michael actually drunk before. It wasn't sexy, or masculine, or even humorous. It was just a bother, particularly tonight.

Melanie chewed her lip as she stood over him at the edge of the bed. She should get him undressed, to make him more comfortable, she knew.

The thought of it frightened her, and she knew why.

"You need any help?" Kate's voice drifted into the room from the edge of the top of the stairs.

That solved the problem for Mel. In a moment she was out in the hallway, leaving Michael lying there exactly as he was. She swayed unexpectedly and bumped into the door jamb on the way out of the room, while scolding herself for even thinking of undressing Michael. Her shoulder tingled momentarily where she'd bruised it. The pain subsided quickly enough, replaced by the pleasant tingle of the rum spinning through her own thoughts.

She beamed at Kate, while nervously fiddling with the pendant hanging between her breasts. The feel of the tips of her fingernails on the exposed flesh of her bosom was both calming and exciting. It settled her down, focusing her mind. On Kate.

"He's fine, he'll just sleep here tonight."

Kate seemed a bit downcast at this, which lifted Mel's spirits. She'd never expected to hit it off so well with Kate. She couldn't believe they'd actually been flirting with each other. She kept telling herself it was just wishful thinking. There was no way that she could know if Kate even considered other women appealing, let alone a woman Mel's age, let alone Mel herself. Yet it seemed to be happening.

Could Kate really be disappointed that maybe she couldn't spend the night, because Mel's brother was now staying in the house?

But the look only lasted a moment. Kate was quickly smiling at her.

"Well, come down then. A bunch of people are saying they have to go, and they're looking for you."

Kate reached out with one hand to lead Melanie downstairs. Her touch was warm and very, very gentle, almost as if she were afraid to actually hold Mel's hand.

The whole situation was odd, Mel thought. Physical contact with unfamiliar people was normally something Mel shied away from. Now it was like a drug. She craved it. 

But here was Kate, reaching out after only knowing Mel for one evening. Mel squeezed her hand tightly, feeling the alcohol taking some control as she purposely brushed one breast against Kate's shoulder on the way down the stairs.

* * *

It didn't take long before everyone was gone, and it was only Kate and Mel talking near the door, with Michael out cold upstairs. Melanie was trying to think of a way of guiding Kate toward the couch. She was moving too fast, she knew, but an alcohol fueled lust pushed her relentlessly.

She was also now terrified of being left alone in the house with Michael.

Mel let one hand reach out to slip through one side of Kate's long hair, gently brushing her ear lobe on the way down.

"Do you straighten your hair, or is it natural?"

The words came out a bit slurred. Melanie fought for self control, to hide the fog she was feeling.

Kate hesitated, seemingly put off by the contact, now that they were alone. She hadn't seemed to mind the occasional, furtive touch before now.

"I straighten it a bit. Not a lot. I tried a perm once. What a disaster that was! I looked like Shirley Temple on steroids."

She giggled again in that high musical voice of hers, sending a thrill through Melanie. Mel had never intended to move this quickly. She'd planned on taking weeks to get to know Kate, to feel her out, to be patient and careful and always in control. Tonight was supposed to be just flirting and getting a sense of their chemistry.

But Kate was too likable, and too responsive. She was too physical, too. She touched and liked to be touched.

And Melanie was too driven by lust. Too damn horny, she thought. Too horny.

"Well, look, I have to go. Thank you so much for inviting me," Kate said, smiling, "I've been so lucky to have met you. I was afraid I'd be here for months and months without any friends."

Mel hesitated, chewing on the idea of asking her to spend the night. She wished that Kate had gotten drunk, so she'd have an excuse, but Kate was in complete control of herself. She hadn't even finished the one drink she'd started the night with.

"Are you sure you can drive?" Mel asked, hoping, knowing it was a silly thing to say.

"Yeah. I learned long ago I can't hold my liquor, so I don't try. I'm fine, I barely drank anything."

Mel made a mental note of that. Okay, fine, she'd be patient. She leaned against the door herself. She realized now, without the support, she had felt like she was swaying. She let her head rest against it, too, but her temple hit the wood a bit harder than she'd intended. It didn't hurt, but she now felt like she was swimming in the air, and needed a raft to cling to.

She smiled at the silly image of floating on the wooden door in the midst of a rocking ocean, with Kate swimming along in the water beside her.

After a long moment, she realized Kate was just smiling at her, waiting for her to say something. Melanie had sort of blanked out for a moment. She tried to recover, to hide the awkward pause, along with her drunken haze.

"Okay, look, you have my number," she told Kate. "If you want to meet for lunch sometime, I have an easy schedule."




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 02



"I'd like that, we should."

"Okay. Drive safely."

"Yes, mom," Kate laughed, embarrassing Mel. Why was she always the mom with everyone?

The door closed, and Melanie was left alone.

With Michael.

* * *

Mel changed slowly and methodically, trying to prolong the combination of excitement, intoxication and exhaustion she felt. She couldn't believe she'd let Kate leave her in such a state. She put on a long, sheer nightgown, something sexy she often wore for Dan. It hid any unflattering details, while silhouetting the overall pleasing curves of her body. 

She stood before her full length mirror, wondering how much longer her looks would last. The thought had begun preying on her when she'd reached forty, and every year closer to fifty the worry grew. Too much of her own self image was wrapped up in being perfect at everything, she knew. She wasn't supposed to have any flaws.

She turned a bit to the side, admiring the curve of her own breasts. Gravity was far from winning. But fifty was coming at her far too fast, and she'd spent too many of her "good" years all bottled up in housewife and mother mode. She'd been wasting a damn good body, she thought to herself. She should have used it more.

Melanie sat down on the edge of the bed, at first almost missing and falling. She recovered, sat upright with exaggerated stiffness, and swallowed the entire last half glass of her rum and coke. After planting the glass on the nightstand with a heavier clink than she'd intended, she turned off the light to ease back onto the pillow in the dark, her head swimming.

She tried to let her mind go, but despite the alcohol it raced. She thought about Kate, her various smiles and giggles and touches. She remembered the allure of Kates lips and her eyes, and the feel of Kate's smooth, soft hair sliding through her fingers at the door.

The young woman would be a pleasant distraction, a very pleasant use of Mel's good body, and one she was sure that Dan would enjoy with her. Dan had talked about threesomes often when they were dating, once he had discovered Melanie's wild, sexual nature, and once he knew it wouldn't offend her. After marriage that had all unexpectedly faded. Dan had never mentioned it again.

Mel imagined how it would go. It would be nice if Kate were shy and nervous, so that Mel could lead her along, but that didn't seem to fit with Kate.

Still, Kate and Mel would get things started, putting on a show for Dan. Maybe Kate would be the aggressor, and Mel, incongruously, would act timid and uncertain. Mel began to imagine the words and looks they'd exchange, at first gentle and probing, but quickly growing more confident and fevered. Mel didn't feign an awkward shyness for long, even within her own fantasy. She was hungry, and she would show it.

While she imagined things, Mel touched herself. Her body quickly responded, keyed up, as always, by the rum coursing through her bloodstream. Just a quick, physical release, she told herself, then she'd drift off to sleep, exhausted. She let both hands start by kneading her breasts, imagining Kate's attentions there. Sparks ignited her body, quickly spreading a wildfire throughout her.

* * *

It wasn't long before Mel was standing at the door down the hall, looking at Michael. She'd already been by once, purportedly to see how sound asleep he was. He hadn't budged or blinked as she had finally succumbed to the urge to remove his shoes and unbutton his shirt. She played for quite a while with the hairs on his chest, even taking the bold, if only playful step of very quickly kissing, then briefly sucking, on one nipple as she ran the other hand through his chest hair. 

Her heart raced as she did it. She silently scolded herself, squinting her eyes closed hard as she felt his nipple pressing back against her tongue, while hating herself for indulging in the sinful pleasure, for taking advantage of his predicament. If he awoke, she would die. 

It was a safe little adventure. He hadn't even stirred. He was completely knocked out.

Now, at his door again, she held four pairs of handcuffs, with long, shining, large linked chains. They were just a part of a rather large collection she'd acquired, both long ago and more recently, for use on Dan.

She had lain in bed, struggling with her body and her fantasies, imagining this, thinking it through, even as the last rum and coke she had finished flooded her bloodstream, completely overpowering her mind and driving her desires. It didn't take her long to ask herself why it was only a fantasy. This wasn't an opportunity she was likely to ever have again.

She slipped so quickly from timid little adventure to something far more wicked.

A long inhale of breath helped to prolong the start, but nothing occurred to dissuade her. It was now or never, and she didn't think she would let it be never. She'd been kidding herself all along by thinking it could be never, that the fantasy and the silent play acting with Dan would ever be enough.

Melanie set about the task of undressing her brother completely, except for his socks. She carefully kept her gaze away from his naked body, away from his cock, as if she really were simply his shy big sister helpfully preparing him for bed in a drunken stupor, his and hers.

Then, fumbling, she moved about the bed, firmly cuffing him, spread eagled, face up, naked, exposed, and desirable. She sat beside him for a while, caressing his body, running gentle fingers through the copious hair on his legs, arms, chest and belly. She let one finger pirouette it's way in tiny circlets down his abdomen toward his groin. She played with the long pubic hairs surrounding his cock, teasing herself by letting one hand wander so close to her brother's cock, within inches, while innocently playing only with his hair.

With any luck, he would stay asleep and never even know. Melanie would be disappointed if she couldn't even get him hard, but elated if she could bring him to orgasm, enjoying the forbidden act, and his forbidden, unintended gift to her, without him or anyone else every knowing. The thought of seeing, touching tasting and enjoying her brother's come sent waves of fire through her wet pussy.

But if he woke up, if that's what it took, he wouldn't have to feel any guilt. He was chained to the bed, and drunk. Nothing that was about to happen would be his fault in any way. Melanie was in complete control, or so she told herself.



It's just another cock, she told herself. It lay, surprisingly small, sagging and wrinkled, flopped against his groin just inches from her face. Her head rested on Michael's stomach. Whenever she shifted slightly, the hairs on his belly and groin tickled her cheeks and ears. She didn't move much. Moving made her dizzy.

It's just another cock they don't want you to enjoy, just like all the others, she reasoned.

She lay there for some time, staring at it, and him. She turned briefly to look back at his calm, sleeping face. She marveled at all the hair on his body. She'd grown up with that, with two men, father and brother, covered from head to toe in thick, dark hair. To her it was normal, masculine and sexy. 

Too little hair on a man was repulsive. There was no such thing as too much.

One finger, it's nail long, filed, painted and polished, stretched out to trace a delicate path up along the soft, pliant flesh of his now small cock.

She wanted to make it hard, and big. She ached to make her brother's cock come to life for her.

Melanie hesitated one moment longer, then moved the cock completely into her mouth. She held it there, sucking hard. She moved her tongue around it, as she relaxed, becoming comfortable with the idea.

Without thinking, one hand almost painfully rubbed the area around her clit. The excitement was incomparable, beyond anything she'd experienced by merely imagining this.

It was more than just another cock.

* * *

Melanie could feel Michael awakening. His cock was hard now, already stiff and long and thick in her hands and her mouth.

She felt an arousing guilt. A part of her really wanted to cry, even as the rest of her reveled in the sensation of sin and pure evil. Her brother's cock was deep down her throat. It was the most sinful thing she'd ever done, an act of shame, and act for which she could never atone. One small tear welled at the inner corner of her eye, as she moaned softly against his cock in a moment of incomparable, erotic pleasure.

His cock was thick, smooth, wide, long, filling, even choking. Melanie almost tried to gag, in love with the idea of choking on her sweet baby brother's cock. One long nailed finger buried itself in her pussy, wiggling around, triggering amazing sensations as her bother's cock stretched her lips.

Michael stirred. He shifted slightly. He began to writhe, sliding different parts of his body across the sheets with a cottony scrape, a leg, an arm, is ass, while groaning softly, intermittently in his sleep.

She kept her head turned away from him, so he couldn't see her face, and so she couldn't see his, if his eyes opened. She tensed, waiting for the inevitable, but she couldn't stop. Her baby brother's thick cock was too hard and satisfying in her busy hands and mouth.

"Melanie?" he said groggily. "Melanie? Melanie, stop. Please stop."

The chains clanked as he feebly, half asleep, tried to move his hands.

She ignored him completely. She felt another small tear forming as he asked her to stop, but she ignored him, instead taking her baby brother's cock completely into her mouth and down her throat in one swift, over eager motion. She might have choked, another time, trying to take him so spontaneously, but not now. She was too drunk, too practiced, and too intent.

"Mel..."

She released him with her mouth, closing her eyes, focusing now on the feel of the hard, silky thickness of his cock in her hand.

"I'm sorry, Michael. I'm so sorry. I am. But I can't stop."

Then his cock was in her mouth again. He'd started to protest. He'd gotten the first sounds of her name out as she descended on him with the fire of a big sister's experienced, loving mouth. His words died in his own throat as his cock came alive in hers.

She lowered herself onto him three times in succession, each time taking his cock all the way down her throat, so her lips kissed the pubic hairs at its base. She did it three quick, satisfying, times, frantically fucking her brother's cock with the hot, wet flesh of his big sister's mouth and throat, before releasing him again.

She felt tears welling in both eyes now. The guilt was strong. The feeling of sin was strong. Part of her didn't know how Mouse did it, how she could commit such a sinful, universally reviled act. It was hard, it was painful, and yet she couldn't stop. Melanie knew better, but she couldn't stop.

"I'm sorry, Michael," she whimpered to him. Even the whimper came out slurred. She fought back the drunken fog, and the tears, before she continued. All the while her lips and tongue frantically raced over his cock, frenetically wetting and tasting every inch she could, as if she might run out of time.

"I won't hurt you, Michael. I promise, I won't hurt you. But I have to. Your cock is here and I have to. I'm sorry."

"Please..."

The word was lost in the recesses of Melanie's mind as soon as his cock was inside her again. She held it deep down her throat, then dared to move her head around, not up and down, but side to side, half twisting, moving his cock inside her any way she could without letting an inch of it free.

"Melanie, please stop."

She pulled back, reluctantly, to speak to him again, to sooth the poor, tortured boy.

"Sh, Michael, sh. Be still. Sh. Melanie will make it all right. Sh."

"Mel..."

His words cut off again, replaced by stifled moans, as he endured, but now clearly enjoyed what she was doing to him. He liked it. She knew he liked it. With that thought in her mind, she redoubled her attack. She fed on him, hungrily trying to bring her baby brother to orgasm, to draw his cum into her waiting, loving mouth.

* * *

Michael was in shock as he felt his big sister assaulting his cock. He didn't want to enjoy it. He didn't want it to excite him. But it did. God help him, it did, and she did.

The trumpeting sound of Melanie's rapturous, hungry moans stunned Michael. His big sister had a bedroom demeanor that surprised and shocked him. Only Mouse, with all of her purposely incestuous talk, came close to making the noises that Melanie made. Except that almost all of Melanie's sounds were incoherent, made with his cock constantly in her mouth and down her surprisingly talented throat.

She moaned loudly. He could feel the moans in his cock. It vibrated with the feel of her moans coursing through it, like a pipe in a church organ. The feeling was exquisite. Even as he fought to control his own desires, he prayed for her to moan again for him.

Michael tried not to enjoy the feel of her soft, large breasts pressing against the side of his hip. He looked down at the top of her head, held momentarily steady, holding his rigid cock stabbed deep down into her throat. He glanced up a the cuffs again, hoping that this time, feeling a little less drunk and a little more alert, that he'd see a way out. 

He looked back down in frustration as Melanie released his cock from her burning mouth. He half stifled a moan of pleasure as she descended on him again. His eyes squinted closed.

He'd never wanted this. He certainly had considered it, creating fantasies, long before he and Mouse had discovered each other, but he had stopped wanting it, and certainly didn't now.

He told himself this even as he visualized himself coming for Melanie, pouring incestuous, sexual love into her mouth. He languished in the sinful feel of his big sister's mouth on his cock, losing himself, and his will to do anything but succumb to the pleasure. 

Her body, her sounds, her lips, her tongue, her style were all so different from Mouse. His cock came alive within her throat.

Melanie stopped for a moment, rolling over to face him while holding his cock in one hand. She gazed at him in a cloudy stupor, her angular, exquisite face just inches from his hard, glistening cock, her expression cloaked with a drunken, lust filled fog. 

She was so beautiful.

"Your cock is so wonderful, Michael. Almost as wonderful as your cum will be."

The words came out as a half whimper, like a guilty admission.

"I'm sorry, but I need your cum. I love cum, Michael. I'm sorry I love cum." 

Her tongue, glistening, flicked out to trace the ridge of his cock, near the base. Her eyes, dark, pupils dilated wide and black, were locked on his.

"I don't want you to despise me, Michael. I want you to respect me. But I love cum."

She seemed slightly more sober now, more coherent. Her eyes were warm, but stern and determined.

"I really love it, Michael. Even yours. Especially yours. I'm going to love tasting every drop of your cum, Michael. I'm going to play with it in my mouth. I'm going to savor it. I want you to watch me take it, too, Michael. I want you to see how much love I have for all of the cum you can give to me."

As she spoke, she rubbed his cock hard across her face. Her lips reached out to kiss it, even as she spoke. She seemed to be battling with herself to hold her lips back long enough to finish her words. She kissed and licked his cock throughout her declaration, barely restraining herself long enough to finish. 

She held his cock alongside her nose, peaking past it with smoldering eyes. He recognized that nose. It was hers. It was his. It was the family nose. Melanie looked so much like him. They were so alike in so many ways. There was no forgetting that she was his sister.

"I'm so sorry, Michael. I have to. You have to understand. You have to give me all of your cum. All of it."

Then the burning, enslaving, impossible to ignore feel of his big sister's mouth was on him again.

* * *

Michael was lasting forever, and Melanie was loving it. She didn't know if it was the alcohol left in his system, or if he was actively fighting her, trying not to come. She liked that thought. She liked the idea of him fighting to hold back, resisting her, trying to defy his big sister as she labored to please him, urging the cum up out of his cock like a witch calling forth a demon from hell. She loved the thought that, no matter how hard he fought, he would come for her.

He couldn't resist forever, and he did love it. The stiffness of his cock betrayed him. The more he resisted, the more generous her brother's gift to her would be. Melanie was driving herself insane, imagining how much cum her baby brother was going to give to her.

Melanie let his cock slip from her mouth to speak to him. Her voice was raspy, her throat burned by the alcohol, and it's rasping, too aggressive forays onto his thick cock.

"In college, I had a nickname, Michael. I hated it, back then."

Melanie paused to take him into her mouth again. She couldn't keep his cock out of her mouth for long. It felt and tasted too good. She held it in her hot mouth a while before making herself pause, eventually, to continue telling to her brother who and what she really was.

"They called me ‘Six-Pack', Michael. You know that. I cried to you about it. You thought it was because I was so close to six feet tall, or because I was stacked. Everyone thought that."

She paused again, so she could swallow him whole, marveling in the sweet, guttural sound of the suppressed groan she drew from him. She wished he would let loose. She wished he would stop fighting her.

"The truth was, I got too drunk at a frat party. I always did, Michael. I got drunk a lot. And I always got into trouble with men when I was drunk." 

She tried hard not to slur the words, to hide how drunk she still felt right now. In the recesses of her mind it occurred to her that she might have a real problem with alcohol. The humor in that thought made her giggle, as she held her brother's cock gently in one hand, just millimeters from her lips. Her tongue licked the length of his shaft. 

"I got very drunk at a party. Hell, I got very drunk at every party. But this one party I got so drunk that I just ripped at a guys pants in front of everyone. He was so cute. I couldn't wait. I didn't ask. I took what I wanted. I sucked him off in front of all the others, right in the common room."

As if to demonstrate, she descended on him again. He writhed beneath her, tensing every muscle in his body, while groaning loudly. Melanie smiled as his body finally relaxed, panting, but only when she had released his cock from its incestuous prison.

"I was embarrassed at first, but I couldn't stop. And I liked the fact that they were all watching me. I loved the attention. They cheered me on. It was demeaning, degrading, but I loved the catcalls, I loved the encouragement, I loved the sound of shock mixed with pure lust and desire in their voices. I can still hear the cheers that erupted when he finally came in my mouth and on my face and hair, in front of all of them."

"Melanie, don't tell me this."

His plea stung her unexpected. The sound of his voice, his words, took her out of the moment. For that one instance, she was his big sister, and he her baby brother, and they were mature, rational adults, not engaged in a sinful, incestuous rape.

But she had to continue. After all these years she had to tell someone. She had to tell him. But first, she silenced him by taking his cock again deeply down her throat. This time his hips bucked up off of the mattress, gently, subtly, restrained, but very obviously fucking her mouth.

She enjoyed the feel of his actions, his willing involvement, before pulling her mouth from him. She held his cock to her face, marveling at how much harder it was than Dan's, enjoying the silky feel of its taut skin. She kissed and licked it, then held it tightly again to her cheek. Right now, it was her cock, not her brother's, hers.




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 02



"When I had finished, when he came, I eagerly showed them all how much I loved the taste and feel of his cum. As I did it, another guy came to me. I looked up at him, with cum on my face, as I did what he obviously wanted and ripped at his pants. I attacked him. The cheering continued, and I became a rapid animal for him, like I am for you now."

She attacked him once more. Michael's groans were loud and unrestrained this time, echoing off of the walls, filling the whole house as they turned into wails. His hips bucked hard now, no longer disguising the pleasure he was feeling. Melanie gagged as his cock rammed into her tonsils. She pulled back, just long enough to recover, then took him again, to show he hadn't hurt her. His motions subsided, so she let her own neck and head do the fucking, before pulling away again.

A spider's thread of saliva connected her mouth to the head of his cock. His entire cock glistened with her spit. She pondered it for a moment, before pulling away just enough to break the strand.

"They cheered, and I sucked, and they cheered. But as it went on, they became more subdued. They all began to realize that any one of them could be next. All of them. I was coming for all of them."

Melanie giggled briefly.

"Or rather, they were all coming for me."

Melanie took Michael's cock into her mouth again, running her tongue over it, closing her eyes, moving it around, savoring the feel of it and letting Michael see the calm rapture on her face. After a moment she released him again.

"I don't want to know this, Mel."

His tone was slightly pained, but obviously pleasured, too. She ignored him easily this time.

"I sucked the second guy patiently and hungrily until he came. His name was Jim. I remember that much. His name is the only one I remember. After him, I sucked off a third, I don't know who. I kept going until I'd done all six of them, tasting and swallowing every drop of cum those six delicious, young studs could give me."

Melanie devoured Michael again, abruptly taking his cock all the way down her throat, until her lips touched the flesh of his groin. He moaned loudly throughout her descent. She did it so easily, now. It just happened. She was so relaxed with Michael, it stunned her. He could do anything, move anywhere, any way, and she felt she could keep his cock deep down her throat without a touch of panic.

As his hips lifted from the mattress this time, shoving his cock up into her throat, she let one hand slip under his ass, feeling the muscles bunched there beneath the thin layer of sexy hair. Baby brother's ass felt hard and sexy and evil in her hand. She pressed hard, helping him to force his cock into her.

She pulled back smoothly, sucking hard as she did so, releasing his cock head with a loud, slurping pop. She eyed him wickedly from behind it, grinning and leering with his prick held beside her long, angular nose, their family nose.

"I came myself every time they did, too. Each orgasm was more intense than the last, as my face and hair and tits became covered. It took a lot to cover me, Michael. I need a lot of cum."

She stopped to kiss the head of his cock. She stared at it a moment, then looked up straight into her brother's eyes. She'd finally lost her fear. She'd said she was sorry, but she wasn't anymore. Now he knew.

"Six-Pack Castillo," she said proudly, then she descended on his cock again with renewed vigor.

* * *

Michael squeezed his eyes tightly shut. For a moment, he tried to think of Mouse, but when he did, the guilt of his predicament overwhelmed him. Instead he pictured Melanie. He pictured her sitting at the dinner table, with her husband and children seated around her, a prim and proper queen reigning over her subjects. He pictured her looking at him.

Her mouth was magnificent on his cock. When she buried him deeply inside her, with one hand under his ass, clawing at him, and the other cupping his balls, he felt like he was in heaven. He ached to give her what she said she wanted. He longed to fill her with her brother's come.

If he could come for Mouse, he could come for her. She'd always been so kind to him, so caring and protective. She was his loving big sister.

Her mouth moved suddenly, pulling back and sucking hard on his cock's head, as her tongue twirled about it. The tickling, teasing sensation sent him over the edge. He thrust his hips up into the air as he shouted her name. He had to get his cock in her throat again.

She was his loving big sister. He could come for her. He wanted to come for her. He didn't want to cheat on Mouse. Her name stayed in his head the whole time.

The come built in his balls. He felt his cock and balls tighten, tensing as if they were holding back a bucking bronco at a rodeo.

Then it let loose. The cum swelled his cock as it burst forth, his cock twitching and jerking, the come spraying where ever it might, landing and going he knew not where. All that he knew was that his beautiful big sister wanted it, and her mouth had earned it, her loving, sensuous, evil mouth had sucked the come up and out of her brother's cock.

The calming release, after what seemed like hours of fighting it, washed over him like night falling over the land.

* * *

Eyes closed, Melanie let the sticky liquid of her brother's cum seep out the corners of her mouth and down his cock. She was lost in a torrent of sensations of taste and feel and and sound and inner feelings, and other things, wicked things, emotional things. She pulled back, hovering inches from the wonderful cock in her shameful hand, watching the cum run down its sides, as she savored the flavor of what had been able to catch, still in her mouth. 

She wouldn't swallow a drop. Not yet. It had taken long enough, and now she was going to wallow in it.

He'd surpassed all of her expectations. The poor boy, or the poor man, she thought, correcting herself, must have gone for weeks without release. And he'd held out with her for so, so long. She'd started to fear that he was too tired, or drunk, or guilt ridden to come for her.

But he had, more than she'd ever seen, more than she'd seen him come before. She reveled in the torrent of cum that fountained from his dancing, jerking cock.

Now she listened to Michael's heavy, labored breathing as he struggled to recover from the experience. He'd bucked and moved wildly at the end, challenging Melanie in ways she'd never imagined. Sweat glistened on his belly. 

He hadn't stopped her, though, and he could never completely claim he hadn't thoroughly enjoyed it. She would let him, but she'd know it wasn't true.

As the first drop of cum slithered its way down his shaft toward the base of his still hard prick, she flicked it with the very tip of her outstretched tongue, like a snake sensing a meal. On a whim, she used her tongue to smear the rivulet back up the side of his shaft. 

She repeated the act with another long stream running down the other side. In a whimsical moment, she dumped the generous gulp of the cum that she'd been holding treasured in her mouth out and onto his cock head, then set about it all with her tongue as a brush, using his cum as paint, and his cock as a canvas, leisurely and artfully spreading the cum to decorate his entire large, thick prick.

"Your cock is magic, Baby Brother," she told him. Her voice was raspy, and higher pitched than usual.

She didn't say she was sorry this time. He didn't protest.

It was a game she played for a long, long time. The tip of her tongue smeared the cum all over his wonderful shaft and head, leaving no part untouched, making his pole glisten and gleam from top to bottom, all around its circumference. 

The slick feel and tangy taste of the liquid tingled on the very tip of her tongue. She loved the mere thought of it, the idea of the utterly horrific sex act in which she was engaged, gleefully smearing her own brother's cock with his cum, with her tongue.

She smiled wickedly as she did it, occasionally looking up into Michael's passive, but satisfied face. He kept his eyes closed, mostly. When his gaze did meet hers, she let her own eyes twinkle with love, then cloud with lust, before she'd fall on his cock again with her mouth, purring loudly and contentedly.

"Your cum is magic, Baby Brother. Magic, baby brother cum."

She wasn't going to be Mouse, at first. She wasn't going to remind him of who she was, who they were. She wasn't going to sprinkle their love making with incestuous words to remind them of the vile nature of their deeds. But now that she was here, now that she'd fallen into a horrific, unplanned act of incest, it excited her, too, immensely and beyond all imagining. She didn't completely understand until now, but now there were no limits.

It was incomparable fun.

"Your sisters love your cum, Michael," she said huskily, smiling. "We have to love your cock and your cum. I'm sorry, Michael. Baby brother. You make us both love it. Any sister of yours would love it and need it."

The handcuffs rattled as Michael tried to move. Whether to free himself, or to push her away, or to grab her and force his cock back into her throat in his excitement, she didn't know. She didn't entirely care.

"Stay still, Baby Brother. You're not going anywhere. I'm sorry, but you're not going anywhere."

She wasn't sorry at all, now, really.

And then she was on him again, relishing the intoxicating taste of her brother's cock covered with her brother's cum, drunkenly marveling at how much of it there was, how warm and salty and fulfilling it was, and how sinful and content it made her feel. 

She hadn't felt like this since her college days, not even close. She hadn't felt like this since she had first been called a cum slut to her face, in front of a roomful of men and women, and had actually, unexpectedly beamed inside at the words, not insulted, but flattered, wearing them like a crown.

And now the crown had another jewel to decorate it, a bright, glittering, incestuous jewel shimmering at the very forefront.

There was nothing in the world, Melanie thought, like the taste and feel of her brother's cum.

* * *

With time, Melanie realized that Michael had stayed hard. He was still excited. She also realized that there was more she needed to do. She wasn't sated yet. She had thought she would be, that sucking him and winning and seeing and tasting her darling little brother's cum was all that she needed. It wasn't. There had to be more.

Michael's still half stiff shaft was painted with his own cum, but not hers, and while she loved the taste, and hungered to gather and swallow it all, she fought the urge. She wanted to know that she had her brother's cum in her pussy. She wanted to feel his cock inside her. She needed that last, filling act of incest to complete her twisted view of herself.

Melanie looked up at Michael. His eyes were closed as if in a trance. She waited patiently, frozen there, until he looked back at her through half closed lids. When he did, she smiled at him knowingly, not unkindly, but not in friendship. It was the smile of a predator.

With her baby brother's eyes locked on hers, Melanie rose up, keeping his slippery cock gripped between a thumb and forefinger. She moved smoothly and powerfully up to straddle him. As silent as he was, she could tell that the look in his face was screaming for her to stop. 

She ignored it. She breathed in to expand her chest, to make sure Michael remembered her tits. He reacted perfectly. His gaze instantly dropped from her eyes to take her body in.

She wished, she even briefly considered, releasing his bonds so that he could touch her. The feel of her brother's strong hands on her large, sensitive breasts as she rode him would have been heaven. But she knew she couldn't. Even if he didn't use his freedom to leave, if he stayed and made love to her of his own volition, then he would feel the guilt later. It would be his fault; adultery with Melanie, incest with Melanie, cheating on Mouse, all of it.

This way was best. This way kept him safe.

So she satisfied herself by watching him lustily watching her tits, as she lowered herself gently, easily and willingly onto her adorable baby brother's thick, long, slick, filling, stretching, sinful cock.

* * *

Michael lay fascinated, overcome with intoxicating sensations, feeling the soft friction on his slippery cock as it glided in and out of his sister. It had been growing flaccid, but somehow now it had found new life in his sister's hot, bathing cunt.

He watched Melanie the whole time. She was continuously squeezing her large tits roughly in her own hands as she rode him. The flesh of them collapsed and twisted under her own grip. She pinched her nipples, letting him see how hard they were. He was actually jealous of her.

She caught him staring at her.

"You've always loved your big sister's tits, Michael. I know it. I've always known it."

MIchael glanced quickly at Mel's face, but in a moment of bizarre embarrassment, as if he were a sixteen year old caught staring inappropriately, he couldn't return her accusing gaze.

She'd caught him often enough before, but never said it out loud, and he'd never admitted it.

Melanie lowered her body toward his, her face moving closer to his. He froze then, panicked that she was going to kiss him. For some reason, even with Melanie riding his cock, with his masculinity buried inside her, with his own cum already in her mouth and in her cunt, even with all of this, the thought of kissing his older sister repulsed him.

She sensed it, or felt the same thing, because in the end she quickly kissed his nose, then his cheeks and chin, before grabbing his head in one hand and forcefully guiding his mouth to one voluptuous breast.

His eyes quickly closed. Before he could completely enjoy the sensation, a loud wail erupted from her mouth above his head. The scream trailed off as she forcibly pressed his face into the flesh of her breast, where her cool skin, exposed above the fabric of her chemise, brushed against his cheek and nose and brow.

Michael let his mouth open, taking that beautiful, long desired tit into his mouth. He tasted the hard nipple through the shear fabric, then lost himself in the moment as Melanie screamed again.

"Oh, God, Michael, Baby Brother, yes, suck it, suck my tits baby, Good God, yes..."

Michael found that while he tended eagerly to her fabulous breasts, Melanie never quieted. She couldn't find peace with his cock inside her and his mouth on her marvelous, fulfilling tits.

* * *

The violence of Michael's thrusts caught Melanie off guard. There weren't many men strong enough to lift her from a mattress, but Michael did it easily and repeatedly. He drove his forbidden cock deeply into her as he lifted her, screaming and begging incoherently, into the air.

Melanie felt like she couldn't breath. She felt like her thundering heart was being driven out of her chest by his cock. Her entire body tightened as a long, loud, ceaseless wail escaped her throat, punctuated only by a slight stutter every time he drove his cock up into her again.

In one brief moment of clarity, she screamed aloud to him.

"My God, Michael, it's good. My baby brother's cock is so good."

The words shocked as they left her lips. They had shocked her every time she'd thought them, but she couldn't stop. She couldn't hide it. She had never meant to say anything like it. She was terrified, too, that Michael would stop, having been called to his senses by her fearless announcement of their act. Her act.

Incest. Fucking her baby brother. Sucking and fucking and raping her baby brother and then shamelessly begging him for more. More little brother cock.

Incest.

My God, she thought, I love what I can't have. I love the only cock I should never have.

She screamed again.

Michael hadn't slowed when she'd said it. If anything, he thrust up into her harder, driving a wide, wicked smile onto her lips. The chains and hand cuffs rattled ceaselessly as he struggled to thrust up into her ever more deeply. 

Melanie's little brother was giving her everything she'd ever wanted and needed from a man, from him, even if she'd never known how much she wanted it. Melanie grabbed and squeezed her own breasts as she rode her brother to the single most intense orgasm she'd ever had in her life. 

She screamed.

She didn't know if he came again, although it certainly sounded like he did. By the end, he was moaning and thrusting as hard as he could. By the end, he loved it, too, whether he wanted to or not, and whether he would ever admit to it or not.

She screamed and kept on screaming.

* * *

As Melanie panted and sweated on top of him, seemingly lost in a thoughtless mist of the aftermath of her orgasm, Michael leaned as far forward as his restraints would allow, to plant a series of kisses on the bare flesh of her breasts. When he took a nipple, and as much of the surrounding tit as he could, completely into his mouth, she let out another unexpected scream.

Her satisfyingly responsive screams continued for as long as Michael attended to her breasts. Whenever he would stop, she would recover, panting and shuddering until she was, after a fashion, still.

When he returned to her breasts, she would scream again, while pressing them into his face and grinding her hips against his, seemingly trying to milk, impossibly, even more penetration and cum from his now exhausted cock.

He played with her for as long as he could. It wasn't like he could go anywhere else.

* * *

Oh. My. Fucking. God. That was all Melanie could think for a while, as her body heaved around her. She panted, sweated, even shuddered occasionally. She was overcome with a motherly feeling of love for her brother, showing it by smothering his face with kisses. She couldn't kiss him on the lips, she couldn't bring herself to do that. She could tell the thought of it repulsed him, too.

Instead she showed him a mixture of love and lust by fluttering relentless kisses all over his face and forehead and neck and shoulders.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

Melanie had lost it. She'd found it for one year, her first years in college, but she didn't know what it was, then, and so she'd lost it. She kept trying new things, kept hunting for it, but she'd lost it and couldn't find it.

She'd found it now.

It was a feeling. When she'd first let loose at college she'd had it. With every new sexual adventure, those first two wonderful years, she'd felt it. She didn't recognize it, she didn't know what it was, but it was such a high, it was such an unbelievable feeling of exhilaration that she couldn't stop herself.  It turned her into a total, drunken slut, and she loved it.

Melanie had one guy, then another. She had two at once. She let herself be seduced and taken by guy after guy after guy, young, old, short, fat, anyone. She had sex in crazy places, not just public places, but crazy public places, like the middle of the quad at sunset, just before the next wave of classes was due to release an army of students. She sucked a professor dry in the lecture hall just before class. She gave handjobs under blankets at football games. 

It was always a race to make them come for her before they were caught.

Melanie had done everything she could throughout college, usually pumped full of welcome liquor to loosen her inhibitions and fire her lust, always trying to recapture that diminishing feeling of ultimate release and pleasure.

Melanie pressed her tits hard into Michael's chest as she nuzzled his sweaty neck, delighting in the electric charge it all sent through her. She eased back, so the hairs on her sweet brother's delightfully masculine chest just barely tickled and caressed the flesh of her breasts, accenting the feelings. She couldn't resist grinding her hips down onto her brother's now shrinking cock, then emitting a long, low moan so her darling brother knew what he was still doing to her. 




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 03



Book 5: Mouse's Rival

Chapter 3



Melanie felt awful. Her stomach hurt. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt.

And her soul hurt.

In the stabbing light of the morning, it was all so obviously wrong. It was incest. It was repugnant and repulsive. The thought of it made her sick. In fact, she thought she might physically be sick. Again. She'd already completely, uncontrollably purged everything from her stomach, food, the alcohol, Michael's gift, everything. But she still felt physically ill.

She at least had the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the racket she was making, as she heaved, until she later discovered that Michael had already left. He himself had had the self control and the good grace to awaken, dress, and silently retreat from the house, leaving Melanie alone to face herself.

Now, today, Melanie felt as badly as she had the morning after losing her virginity. That was supposed to have been a night of romance and passion, with a perfect enough guy, followed by a morning of breakfast and companionship. 

It was a painful disaster.

She was hardly silly enough to hold out for "the one," but it should have been better than choosing the first guy at a frat party to make a grab for her tits. She'd gotten drunk, lost control, and dove in far too quickly and easily. She didn't remember it clearly, but she knows she never remotely protested.

That next day, in the painful morning light, she'd woken up in her dorm with a hangover. Her roommate was out. She didn't know how she'd gotten home. She didn't remember that part. Her head had hurt, her stomach had hurt, her heart had hurt and her soul had hurt. 

There was no one there with her, no one to share the morning after, no companionship, only a gaping loneliness and a sense of loss, a feeling that she'd done something irrevocable, that she'd let something go that could never come back. 

Meanwhile, her own memories of sex were dirty. Sex was all fluids and smells. It was saliva and cum, her cum, his cum, and other unclean things. It wasn't romantic. Apart from the feelings in the heat of the moment, it was foul.

If it weren't for the overpowering urges and powerful sensations, no one would ever do it.

Melanie smiled sourly at her silliness then. That attitude hadn't lasted long.

She wondered briefly if, twenty years from now, she'd be smiling again at this sad memory.

* * *

Melanie had dressed primly. Feeling physically, if not emotionally, better, she sat upright at the kitchen table. To confirm, or assuage, her guilt, Melanie did what she always did. She made a list.

     Tried, and failed, to seduce a strange, young woman.

     Cheated on husband.

     Made brother cheat on his lover.

     Raped a man.

     Committed incest.

     Raped my brother.

Then she added one more item.

     Loved it.

So that was it. Short, simple, organized.

It was no surprise that making the list didn't change her mood at all.

As a last recourse, trying to shake the burden of her guilt and sorrow, Melanie did the same thing she'd done the morning after ignominiously and embarrassingly losing her virginity.

She put her head in her hands and cried.

* * *

He should feel hungover, but he didn't. He was in pain, but it was hard to separate the physical after effects of his drinking from the reaction he had to what had happened.

Michael drove past Melanie's house for the third time. He wanted desperately to talk to her. He wanted to talk to Mouse. They seemed to be the only two people in the world he had left to talk to about something like this. And he couldn't talk to either of them, about this. He couldn't talk to anyone about this.

Each time he repeated that line of thinking, it made him that much more angry at Melanie. He pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, a short, sharp thrust intended to break something, somewhere. It hurt, for a moment.

She'd violated him in ways she couldn't even imagine, but worst of all was by taking herself away from him as a friend. She took herself away from him as his big sister, the friend he could go to with his troubles.

That wasn't fair, he thought, making a half hearted effort to calm himself. There were a lot of things he had never told Melanie. He'd certainly never told her about Mouse, or talked to her about Mouse, until Mouse herself got things started.

But she was a confidant, now. She was his big sister, more now, since his forbidden relationship with Mouse, than ever before. And because of that, he needed her now more than ever before. He'd never realized how much he needed his big sister.

She was his friend. She was one of very, very few people in the world that he trusted to look out for him. She'd helped him so much through his failing marriage, and painful divorce. She was one of the few people that made Michael feel less alone against the world, and more secure.

She'd destroyed that in a single, drunken night.

Be honest, he thought, be fair. He was just deflecting. He felt guilty himself, so he was looking for ways to make Melanie into the villain. He'd enjoyed it. He didn't ask for it, he had protested, feebly, but he could have done more. He had enjoyed it far more than he wanted to admit. 

The foggy memory of her mouth on his cock suddenly, unexpectedly excited him.

Melanie was the villain. Or, at least, he wasn't as evil as she.

Michael took a right turn, heading toward the park in Melanie's neighborhood, the one where he used to meet his nephews for pick up basketball games. He wished he had a ball in the car, to work off his frustrations. He was relieved that Melanie's sons couldn't possibly be there, that they were away from home. Seeing them would be awkward.

What had gotten into Melanie?

Michael parked beside the chain link fence. The court baked quite innocently in the sun on the other side, just out of reach. 

He tried to slow his racing thoughts. He tried to calm himself by picturing Mouse's face, smiling cutely, adoringly up at him with that look that only she had. It made him feel strong and wanted and special. It made him feel both loving and loved.

When he closed his eyes, he could feel Melanie's hot, feverish mouth descending smoothly and unstoppably down onto his cock, as her cool, soft, fleshy breasts pressed into his thigh. He felt it all as if he were still there. His cock, embarrassingly, came instantly to life at the memory. 

It was calling him a hypocrite.

Melanie was too much of a woman, to Michael. She always had been. Mouse was cute, and vibrant, and young. She was feminine and irresistible, in a girlish, vigorous, youthful way. She was his perfect girl.

Melanie was feminine, too, and so beautiful to Michael, but she was a woman, not a girl. Melanie was the epitome of a woman to Michael, strong, curvaceous, calm, reserved, and always, always attractive. She didn't have perfect features or hair, or even a perfect body. She had a pleasing face, with a well defined chin and cheeks and intelligent eyes and soft enough looking lips, and a constant, unflappable air of femininity, all continually drawing his eyes away from her very shapely woman's body.

Sex with Melanie would be so good, Michael had always imagined. She was a woman that could easily please him, and that he would give anything to please as well. It could never be, but if it was, it would be good.

And it had been good. And he had pleased her, immensely, or so it seemed.

His heel hit the steering wheel again. He was so fucking angry with her.

He shouldn't have enjoyed it. She shouldn't have put him in this position.

The anger welled up again. If she had tried to seduce him, if he weren't drunk, if he weren't chained, if he'd been given a choice, he knew he would have refused. He might have hurt her with his rebuttal, but he would have rejected her, he was sure of it. The fact that he enjoyed it, when forced, when raped, didn't change the fact that it wasn't his choice.

Where had it come from? She'd given him no clue. She'd never come onto him in any way. If anything, she touched him less, or when she did it was more sisterly. She'd never betrayed her lust with any expression, any lingering glance, any comment or hint of interest. If she had, he could have rebuffed her, and it might never have happened.

Even when she'd watched him with Mouse, when he'd entertained the idea of ravishing and being pleasured by both of his sisters at once, as Mouse's cock worked artfully and delicately on his cock, even as Melanie had watched and Michael had silently urged her to join them, she hadn't budged, or even shown a sign that she would ever do so.

What had made her do it?

He had to talk to her. He knew he had to talk to her. But he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He had to talk to Mouse. He couldn't bring himself to do that either. He couldn't imagine ever telling her what had happened. He hoped to god that Melanie never did.

Michael lurched the car angrily back onto the street. Now he was an only child. He had no sisters, no siblings. He had one true love that could never really be. He had another woman, a life long friend, and ex-sister, lusting after him, and teasing him by reminding him of his own forbidden, if transient, lust for her.

He had problems.

* * *

"Wow, Mel, you sound awful. How long did that party last?"

Mouse's tone of voice was annoyingly alert and happy.

"Late. And I couldn't sleep."

"You sound upset. Is everything okay?"

Mel tried not to hesitate, but did.

"Yes. Fine."

"Okay, that was the lamest ‘fine' I've ever heard. Come on. Let me help. What's bugging you?"

"Nothing. I'm just worried about you and Michael."

"I don't want to discuss that again. Leave it alone. I think he should date other people. I think I should. I don't want to end it. I won't leave him, I won't hurt him. But I think we have to be realistic."

"That's not what I meant."

Mel was glad that Mona had immediately started a fight. Mouse's anger angered Melanie. Anger was good. It subdued the guilt.

"Listen for a moment, before you talk, Mona."

She had started to call her Little again. She'd cut it off. It felt wrong.

Melanie allowed a long pause, to be certain that Mona was listening, before she continued.

"Did you, after the first time with Michael, did you feel guilty about it? About what you'd done?"

"No."

She'd said it without the slightest hesitation, almost before Melanie had finished speaking.

"Not at all?"

"No."

"But you'd just fucked your own brother. It was illegal, immoral. It had to be hard to do. You must have been having doubts while you did it."

"No."

"Mona, be honest."

"I am being honest! I'd spent my whole life making him feel miserable. He was miserable. I gave him one night, what I thought would only be one night, of incredible joy and pleasure. I finally made my brother feel good, and you think I should have felt guilty?"

"No, Mona, no, that's not it. I'm not saying you should have felt guilty. I just want to understand. And I don't. I don't see how you couldn't feel guilty about it, or worried about him, worried that you'd fucked him up or driven him further away."

"Did I?"

Melanie didn't answer. She wanted to say yes, out of spite, because she was sure that that was what she herself had done. But she'd been admitting for quite a while now that they were good for each other, that Mouse was good for Michael. She couldn't push this very far.

"No. At least, I don't think so. I don't know."

"It just never felt entirely like incest to me. No, that's not right. It just didn't feel like everyone says incest is supposed to feel. It felt wicked, but it felt very, very right. Look, how did you feel to you, with us, after you and I...?"

"That's not the same."

"Why not?"

"It just wasn't. You're not a guy. It was just, I don't know, it was just fun. It was harmless."

"So why are Michael and I different?"

Melanie hesitated.

"I don't know. He's a guy. I can't explain it. It just seems different." 

"Look, Mel, stop beating around the bush. What's bugging you?"

"When are you coming to see him?"

"Okay, that's twice in twelve hours that you asked that. Soon. Next weekend. Tomorrow. Why?"

"He just needs you. But maybe not that soon."

Mel froze. She hoped that sounded casual enough. The last thing she needed was to have Mouse back before she could talk to Michael. She was a fool to bring it up.

She was a mess. This whole conversation was a mistake. She should have waited. She shouldn't have been so damned needy. It was another mistake to add to the growing list.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm really hung over. I shouldn't have called."

"You've been drinking too much, lately, Mel."

"I have not. Don't mother me. Little."

Melanie inhaled deeply, once, trying to suck that last word back into her mouth.

"I'm sorry. I really am hung over. My head aches. I way over did it. Maybe you're right. Maybe I should try to tone it down a little."

Or a lot.

Before Mouse could accept the apology, Melanie raced to end the awkward conversation.

"I have to go. I'll call you later. Don't call Michael. He looked more hung over than I feel."

"Michael? He barely drinks."

"He did last night. He had to spend the night here, in Doug's room. I wouldn't let him drive home. I'm sure by now he's sleeping again. In his own bed."

Okay, that was even more awkward. She had to end this call before she really blew it.

"Okay," Mouse said, making it easy on her. "I'm really busy all weekend anyway. The girls have plans, and I got another order for a custom wedding gown. That little experiment is turning into a lucrative business on the side."

"Good, good, I'm glad. Look, I'll call you, later, too. When the hangover is gone."

"Okay. Later."

"Bye."

* * *

"Hey, honey. Mel said you're pretty fucked up."

Mouse grimaced at the ensuing silence. She was getting tired of all of these long, unexpected pauses in phone conversations.

"She said that."

"Yes. You two apparently decided to drink like college kids again. She said you were badly hung over. You want me to call back another time?"

"No, no, it's good to hear your voice. It makes me feel better."

"That's sweet. She told me not to call, but I had to."

"She said that."

"You're repeating yourself."

"Yeah, well, it was a weird party."

"She said there were a lot of women there. Did you meet anyone? Anyone cute?"

"Mouse, stop."

"I'm just asking."

"And you know damn well that if I had I'd be as embarrassed as hell to talk to you about it."

"Yes, and instead you just got mad, and you told me to shut up right away, so I know you didn't meet anyone, and you're still all mine."

And there it was, another fucking, long pause.

"If you're staying silent just to get a rise out of me, Michael, dear, it's working. I'm now officially jealous. Your sweet little sister loves you, and she wants to kiss you and hold you and do dirty things to you. Okay? You made me say it. Your sister wants to fuck you. Or rather, she wants you to fuck her. Hard."

"I know, Mouse. Look, I love you. Okay? I do, I honestly do. I love you. I don't say it enough. I love you."

"And you can't live without me and you don't even notice all of the other women on the planet because visions of me fill your every waking moment."

"Yes."

"And you're getting horny just talking to me, and you want me to fly out there right now."

During this next uncomfortable silence, Mouse told herself that if there was one more moment like this one, she was going to fly home and bash both Michael and Melanie in the heads.

"Mouse, I'm really not feeling well. I'm out trying to do things, run some errands, and I think it was a mistake. I need to head home and lie down."

"Yeah, Mel thought you'd be home, sleeping. What do you have to do on a Sunday morning, anyway, with a hangover?"

"Just things."

"Okay, shit head. If you don't want to talk, fine. I'm going to my room, to think about you, and touch myself. Okay?"

She could hear him smiling this time. This silence was okay, as long as it was because he was smiling.

"Okay. You do that. If I feel better, later, I may do the same."

"You better. And call me. I love you."

"I love you, too."



He hated going to bars alone, but it seemed like the best way to kill some time out of the house, away from any chance of being cornered by Melanie. He damn well hoped she was looking for him. He didn't want to be found, but she better fucking well be trying.

Michael wandered in feeling conspicuous and self conscious. He picked a dark corner of the bar without a soul around, then plopped onto a stool to wait for the bartender to notice him. She was all the way across the bar, with her back to him, washing glasses and laughing with three guys drinking beers.

She was a tiny blond number with quite a cute little ass, all bundled up in a very tight pair of faded jeans.

She had a powerful laugh, too. Even with her back to him he could hear it. It was musical, like Mouse's. The bartender tossed her head back for another full bodied laugh, and Michael felt his sullen mood lift just a bit.

One of the men nodded his way, so the bartender turned quickly, finally noticing him.

It was Kate, from the party. That abrupt, unexpected reminder soured his mood right away.

She strode over to him, with a delicate but quick little glide, smiling all the way.

"Hi."

She remembered him. That made Michael feel good, too. He'd noticed her at the party, and purposely tried to stay away from her. That wasn't too hard, since Mel had pretty much monopolized the girl's time. Michael had instead wasted the evening covertly watching the two attractive women together.

Kate was staring at him expectantly, as Michael realized he hadn't yet replied.

"Hi. Do you remember me?"

Kate's smile widened. It was warm, disarming, and inviting.

"Of course I do. There weren't a lot of attractive men at that party."

She looked down and blushed a bit, as if she hadn't intended to say that, which saved Michael from letting her see the same embarrassment broadcast on his own face. She recovered fast enough, though.

"What would you like?"

"Just a beer. Something imported. Surprise me."

"Coming right up," she said, quickly becoming the efficient bartender.

* * *

The bar was busy, so Kate didn't talk to him much, but she did some. She asked a lot of questions about him, and Mel, too. She seemed interested in everything, and was definitely flirting. At first, Michael had enjoyed the attention. She was a warm, open, lively person.

She made him think of Mouse.

That made him feel guilty. He felt bad about opening up to another woman, and worse yet for feeling an attraction to her. It also made him miss Mouse that much more. Michael was grateful whenever Kate scurried off to tend to another customer, or at least when she turned the conversation toward Mel. He didn't quite understand the line of questioning. She had an unusually keen interest in Mel.

It was as if Kate had a hidden agenda with her. It was like she was being considered as a roommate, or a business partner.

He had no idea what it could be, and he didn't really care. It just made him feel less uncomfortable when Kate was interrogating him about his big sister, instead of locking her pretty green eyes on his and showing a disconcerting interest in him.

It felt good, but it felt bad.

After a while, when Kate was at the other end of the bar serving another customer, Michael left some bills, including a very large tip, and quickly and inconspicuously spirited himself out the door and into the clear, lonely, night air.




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 03





Melanie hadn't seen or talked to Michael in three weeks. She hadn't expected anything different, and she only had herself to blame. If she'd destroyed her relationship with him, it was her own foolish, childish fault.

She and Dan weren't talking either, right now, the result of another of many recent arguments. Melanie started them all, which was foolish, because it had been Melanie that had cheated on Dan, not the other way.

She hadn't had a drink in three weeks, either.

Melanie was tense. She felt like a terrorist, waiting for her turn to explode in a crowd. She knew she had to give Michael space, but it was getting to be too much. It preyed on her. She had to find a way to talk to him.

She'd tried to call a few times, but he wouldn't answer. She even tried to trick him once, using the phone from the bar where Kate worked, so he wouldn't recognize the number.

He'd hung up on her as soon as he'd heard her voice.

Melanie considered calling Mouse, but that frightened her, too. She hadn't talked to Mouse since that night, either.

She wondered what Michael had told her, if he had told her anything.

Everything was a mess.

* * *

She'd taken to carrying the list with her. She pulled it out again, and grabbed a pen.

     Tried, and failed, to seduce a strange, young woman.

     Cheated on husband.

     Made brother cheat on his lover.

     Raped a man.

     Committed incest.

     Raped my brother.

     Loved it

She considered it all for the umpteenth time.

She put a check mark next to number 2, then crossed the whole line out. That had nothing to do with anything. She loved Dan, but more importantly, this didn't have anything to do with him.

She crossed out number 1 and number 3. They had nothing to do with it, either.

Same with number 4. A thick black line went through it.

That left only three on the list. She crossed out the word "raped," but left the rest of the line. She underlined the word "committed," twice, then crossed that word out, too.

Incest. Brother. Loved it.

She folded the list up more tightly than necessary and buried the scrap of paper in her purse.

* * *

"How did you quit before?"

Mouse made certain that her tone was soft, but she couldn't hide the fact that she was incredulous. She'd never heard Melanie cry. She still couldn't quite figure out why she was crying.

The whole conversation so far was very, very weird.

"It just happened. The kids came. Life got crazy. I barely had the time or privacy to put a tampon in, let alone have sex, let alone get drunk and have wild sex. And I was always so exhausted, I really didn't even want to."

"So you quit by default."

"I didn't quit, obviously. I just went to sleep."

"But it's been so long. More than twenty years. What happened?"

"I don't know. I mean, I just woke up. It woke up. You woke it up."

Mouse didn't like Melanie turning it all on her, even if it was probably true. Mouse wasn't good at accepting responsibility. She knew that about herself, and she actually took some pride in it.

"So you woke up, or I woke up, your darker side. A fun side. So is that entirely a bad thing? So you're experimenting. You're having adventures again. It should make you feel young. Go with it."

"I'm not young, Mona, no matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise. And it's going to get me into trouble. It's getting me into trouble. It's gotten me into trouble."

That didn't sound good, but it couldn't be that bad, not with dear, old, Melanie. She was over reacting. But she hadn't yet said what type of trouble. The whole, twisted, confusing conversation was driving Mouse nuts.

"So back off on the threesome with Dan, Mel. Just stop rushing. Just take it easy a bit. You don't have to quit having sex and join a convent."

"You don't understand, Mona. I've already messed things up."

Melanie sobbed almost imperceptibly. She stifled it, and the connection wasn't good to begin with. Mouse hated talking on cell phones. She liked to see a person's eyes when she talked. She certainly didn't like having the emotion washed from their voice by random static and a tinny little speaker.

Especially during conversations like this, she thought. This whole thing was becoming very unsettling. Melanie was never out of control like this.

"Is Dan mad? Jealous? Did he catch you with someone? Is your marriage in trouble? Give me a hint."

Mouse listed the obvious, simple, likely and therefore unlikely things. She knew, or rather she wholly suspected, that it would be something out of the ordinary. Her worst fear was that it had to do with Michael. 

She'd already told herself that an encounter between Melanie and Michael was likely, but it wouldn't hurt her relationship with him. She had a real, loving, strong relationship with their brother. Anything that happened between him and Mel would be transitory, and would probably just drive him more strongly back to Mouse.

Yet as much as she'd convinced herself that it was inevitable, and that it might actually be good, now she cringed. If something had happened, she didn't want to know.

She'd kill Michael for it, and she didn't want to know about it.

"No," Mel said, after a long silence. "Maybe. I don't know. I can't talk about it. I thought I could, but I can't."

"How's Michael?"

Mouse tried to make it sound like she was just changing the subject. Melanie's extended silence let Mouse know the question was too transparent, and also that she may be right in her fears.

"We haven't spoken in a while. Weeks."

Weeks. Michael had been acting strangely for weeks, too. It all clicked.

"Look, Mel, I'm sorry, I know you need me, but I have to run. Can I call you later?"

"No. Maybe. Yes. I'll call you."

"Okay. Relax. Whatever it is, it's not as bad as you think. Take it from me. I get into trouble all the time, because I know it's never as bad as it seemed it would be. And lots of times it turns out to be fun."

"Not this time."

"Maybe. You never know. Trust me."

"Yeah. Trust."

Melanie accented and lingered on that last word like it was something that had never existed, something mythological. That settled it.

"Okay, gotta go. Bye."

"Bye."

Mouse was seething with anger before she had set the phone down. Weeks. Michael should have been the one to tell her, and a lot sooner.

She left a curt message on Michael's voice mail, then immediately regretted it.

* * *

Melanie could hear the change in Mouse's tone as soon as she brought up Michael, as soon as she'd very obviously figured it all out. Mouse was never subtle. She couldn't hide anything. Obviously Melanie couldn't, either, she thought sourly to herself.

By the end of the call, Mouse was obviously furious.

She had every right to be. Melanie had fucked everything up, badly. The tears started to come back.

A door slammed downstairs as Rick came home from school. Melanie composed herself. She had to. She strode into the bathroom to erase all physical traces of her traumas, then glided down the stairs to greet her young son.

* * *

"I just got off the phone with Melanie. Fucking call me. Bastard."

Even swearing in anger, and digitally distorted on voice mail, Mouse's voice was musical. Michael tried to think of any number of ways to avoid returning Mouse's call. He had none.

* * *

His voice sounded the whole time as if it were coming from a distance, as if he were trying to hold the phone away from his face, in fear, as he talked. Mouse knew she was probably imagining it.

Long before Michael had finished the story, Mouse had forgiven him. Melanie had obviously really, really lost it. The whole thing was way more crazy than whatever Mouse had really been expecting all along. In a way, she only had herself to blame. She had merrily started everything, then made it worse, playing sinful games with everyone.

It would have been so easy to just keep her relationship with Michael a secret. It should have stayed their secret.

Surprisingly, none of it scared Mouse, now that it had happened. Melanie didn't scare her. Her big sister was harmless in all of this. If anything, she'd suddenly become a victim. She was married. Her morals and righteous attitude and her own self image tied her in knots. 

She could never actually do much more than this with Michael. Mouse was a little shocked that Melanie had found it in herself to go this far, this abruptly.

But in the end, Michael belonged to Mouse, and Melanie knew it.

Mouse was actually more than a little ashamed to admit, too, that the whole, sordid story was something of a turn on. She wondered how Melanie had experienced it, how she would tell it. She also wondered how Michael really felt, what he'd left out, how much he'd enjoyed it, and which parts. She'd find that out eventually, she knew.

The image of Michael fucking Melanie, of Melanie riding his cock with abandon, was shockingly arousing.

For now, though, she mostly felt sorry for them both, but not so sorry that she was going to let Michael easily of the hook. He still had to pay a heavy price.

"So this is all a reason to treat your sister like dirt. Pig."

Mouse made her voice sound disgusted with him. She pictured his spirits dropping from simply anxious and depressed to mortified and resigned.

"I'm sorry, Mouse, I really am. I didn't..."

"Not me, shithead. Mel."

"Mel? Mel?" he asked, his voice rising by a decibel and an octave each time.

"Mel?" he repeated.

"Yes, Mel, your sister, your big sister, the one that feels like shit right now, the one that is struggling with a horrible problem that you're making even worse and more hurtful because you're selfish and self centered and cowardly."

In the ensuing silence Mouse could hear Michael's mixed expression of shock, dismay, confusion and fear. It was a cumulative masterpiece of simultaneous performance theater. Mouse couldn't have engineered anything more satisfying.

After only a moment, Mouse immediately regretted the game she was playing with Michael's feelings. He was so damned vulnerable.

"I'm sorry," she added.

"You're sorry?"

In her mind, Mouse buried her head in his shoulder.

"Yes, I'm sorry. You're both in trouble here, you're both hurting, and I'm playing games with you. I'm sorry."

"You're playing games with me? Fuck, everyone is playing games with me. Mel raped me."

"Mel didn't rape you."

"Handcuffs don't count? Alcohol? I struggled."

"Oh, I'm sure you did. At first, or at least enough for show. And I suppose the erection was just from a wet dream about me."

She would totally lose it if Michael even tried to wriggle out of this. Mouse didn't even give him a chance to make the mistake of trying.

"Look," she continued. "Forget all that. Mel has..."

Mouse was going to say problems, but she certainly didn't like the implications behind that word. If Mel, of the three of them, had problems, then they all had big, big problems. And they did, but that didn't mean the Mouse needed to call attention to it. 

"Mel has differences. Things I never suspected. I fucked her up. I fucked us all up."

"You did no such thing, Mouse. If anyone has fucked things up, it's been me. I've been along for the ride for too long. It's time I straightened a lot of things out."

Mouse's heart felt like it stopped in panic. Her blood turned to stone in her veins. She frantically looked for a way to change the course of the conversation, suddenly afraid of what Michael was going to say or do now. Maybe she wasn't as in control of everything, of him, as she thought.

"Okay, stop, Michael. Stop there. You're not a woman. You don't get it. Look, just stop ignoring Mel. You know her. She already felt guilty as hell before she had even started. She needs your support. I need your support, too. We all need each other."

Okay, that sounded weird. Mel would always have said that Michael needed her, but neither of them ever needed Mouse, and Mouse never needed anybody, before she had Michael, and Melanie never, ever needed either of them. They were a family, but there had always been a lot of fractures, and a lot of independence.

"Okay, Mouse, okay. I'll call her."

"See her."

"Mouse..."

"See her."

"Okay, I'll see her."

"But first, tell me the story again. But this time, don't pretend you didn't like it. I want to hear all the details, as if I were there."

"Mouse..."

"Please?"

So Michael told her the story again, more properly. By the end, Mouse was wishing that she'd actually been there to watch. It would only have been fair, after all.

* * *

Michael hid his anger at Mouse, which was bad, because it let the anger grow with every word of the story. Mouse had no idea how this had affected him. She said she did, she said she cared. She did care. But she didn't really understand, and she didn't seem to care nearly so much about him as simply keeping him.

She cared about having fun with him. She cared about having sex with him. She cared about her exciting, irrepressible, incestuous drives.

But Michael was starting to wonder how much she really understood and cared about him.



Michael stepped into the dark bar. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the change in lighting, as the skin of his face was struck my the cool, damp, slightly musty air. It felt good compared with the hot, dry, stifling air of the sun baked parking lot.

He stood at the door for a moment, letting his eyes adjust, looking for Kate. He finally had someone he could talk to in her, someone that made him feel at ease, and a little less lonely. He couldn't actually talk to her about his problems, not overtly. Everything had to be disguised in half truths. But she listened, and she smiled, and he relaxed.

She had very pretty, welcoming eyes, and a warming smile.

She hovered behind the far corner of the bar, distractedly washing a class while at the same time talking to a tall, curvy, seemingly attractive woman sitting opposite her. The woman finished her drink, then put the glass down on the bar. She noticed him in that moment.

It was Melanie.

Michael hovered at the door. It was too late to back out, but there was no way he was going over there.

* * *

Melanie glanced at him again, wondering how long he was going to stand there. It took all of her will power to battle the urge to run to him now, but she didn't want him to come over quite yet. Not until she learned more from Kate.

"He talks about your sister a lot. I guess he really doesn't like the guy she's dating. Michael says he's too old for her, and he thinks he'll never have the courage to marry her and make her happy."

"He said that."

As she so often did, Melanie delivered the question as a statement.

"Yeah. I don't know about the too old part, though, myself. I love older men."

Kate held Melanie's eyes with her own, twinkling mischievously. 

Melanie could hear her thinking what she thought went unspoken, that she liked older women, too. It made Melanie uncomfortable now. She wouldn't look shyly away, not immediately, but after staring back unblinking into Kate's eyes for a few beats of a song, she conveniently used a glance over at Michael as an excuse to look away.

She didn't know how to tell Kate that she'd lost interest, at least for now. She didn't want to blow Kate off, and Kate was turning out to be a surprisingly good friend. But the sexual tension had to end. Melanie was in another place, now. Kate was the last complication she needed.

She turned toward Michael as if concerned.

Michael was looking right at them, still hesitating at the door. The poor boy was really trapped. Three voracious female vampires had him at every twist and turn, two sisters and a woman that acted like she should be at least a close cousin.

One vampire, Melanie corrected to herself, just one sister-vampire. Kate and Mona were lovable, vibrant women. Melanie was the only monster in the brood.

* * *

Michael finally settled on a strategy, purposefully sitting on a stool at a tall round table, along one wall. At first he'd intended to turn his back to Melanie, but he realized he wanted to watch them talking, and to see her approaching, when she ultimately did.

He realized belatedly that he still had to get a drink from the bar. He went to the end farthest from Melanie

Kate came to him quickly, smiling.

"What'll it be, friend?"

Michael smiled back. He tried to disguise the smile, to keep it from seeming as warm as it felt. He felt embarrassed by his pleased reaction to Kate's greeting, with Melanie watching.

"The usual."

"One random imported beer, coming up."

Kate drew the beer from the tap, then carried it to him. She stopped short of setting it in front of him.

"Are you going to sit with your sister, or do you want it here?"

Michael grew annoyed. She must know he was avoiding Mel, even if she didn't know the reason. She was just trying to manipulate him, like all of the other women in his life.

"Thanks, I'll just take it, please."

He didn't mask his annoyance, although, for her part, Kate never flinched or lost her smile.

* * *

It didn't take long for Mel to come over. She simply sat opposite him, while he tried as hard as he could to avoid eye contact.

"I thought you would talk to me by now, but you're not."

"I will. Just give me time."

"How much more time?"

"That's hardly a question you get to ask."

"Michael, please, this is killing me."

"So Mouse said."

"Please."

Michael finally looked her in the eye, tortured into it by her tone of voice. He didn't need anything more to feel guilty about, yet there it was.

"This isn't the right place. Or time."

Michael glanced at Kate, who seemed to be obliviously scuttling around, doing meaningful bartender things that needed to be done.

"No, it's not, I agree."

"Look, I'll call you, I promise."

"No. No phone calls. I want to talk face to face."

"No."

"You don't trust me?"

Michael looked at her. It was a hard question. The honest answer was no, he didn't trust her. But he could never say that.

Michael spun his glass in circles in front of him. He took his time.

When he couldn't think of anything he actually wanted to say, he just got up and walked out, leaving her there with his barely touched mug of random, imported beer.

* * *

Mouse's wildest friend, Tania, cowered at the edge of the group, as far away as she could get without drawing attention to herself, as if it were contagious. Mouse smiled inwardly, wondering if Tania thought the attraction to a baby might be contagious, or actually having a baby itself.

At the other extreme, Alicia, the proud aunt, wouldn't surrender the creature. She embarrassed herself with idiot grins, and coos and giggles and other demeaning acts.

Mouse hovered somewhere in between, tugged in both directions.

The baby was cute. She wanted desperately to hold it, and that thought frightened her, not the thought of holding the baby, but the thought of actually wanting to hold the baby.

She'd gone for years and years without even noticing the little noise makers. So why was there a baby every place she went, now?

This was supposed to be just a quick stopover at Alicia's sister's house, a chance for Alicia to hold the baby for a moment in the midst of a road trip for the three of them to do some river boat gambling. It was an old fashioned road trip for three wild and crazy girls to get wild and crazy, in a place where Mouse wouldn't be at all tempted by any attractive man she met, because it was too far from home to develop into anything.




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 03



Mouse froze as Alicia walked toward her. She was going to have to hold the damn, cute, thing, she knew it. She knew it, and she waited impatiently for Alicia to insist.



"I'll see you there, then. 3 PM. Okay. Bye."

"Who was that?"

Doug asked the question with thinly veiled suspicion, which made Melanie both angry and nervous. 

When Doug had been in eighth grade, Melanie and Dan were having problems. They fought constantly. They never touched, they never kissed. Everything, absolutely everything, was a battle between their different ways of managing their lives. They had to manage kids, finances, incomes, the household, their friends, and their lives together.

Melanie and Dan got caught going in two different directions on a one way street. They collided, they fumed, they fought. And the kids saw it all.

With time, things settled down. With some quiet, secret counseling, Melanie and Dan had found some middle ground. As the kids got older, they had found time to spend with each other. She thought it could never happen, but eventually they even rekindled the old flame. They both became interested in affection, and sex, and each other, again.

Yet since then, Doug had always worried that his mother and father would divorce. It usually seemed to be based on the idea that his attractive mother wasn't getting enough attention at home, and so would go looking elsewhere. It almost seemed that the more mature Doug became, that the more he learned about sex, the more he thought that that was what his voluptuous mother was looking for.

So now, while Melanie was making a simple, private lunch date with Kate, Doug guessed that she was having an affair.

"Just a friend," Mel answered, annoyed.

Doug scowled, but held his tongue. He was being silly. Dan and Rick were away again, visiting schools. Why in the world would Melanie have asked Doug to come home for the weekend if she were having an affair? So she could get caught by her son?

"I won't be out long. It's just my friend Kate. You jealous because I'm not having one little drink with you?"

Doug smiled grimly into the sports section as a typical, male, silent response.

"You'll have the place to yourself for just a short while. Not long enough to get into trouble," Melanie added.

"What about you? I thought you quit drinking."

"I did. I'll probably have a Shirley Temple or a coke."

"Yeah, right."

"Don't be fresh."

Doug looked at her uncertainly, so she smiled back to set him at ease. Mel felt most comfortable with her daughter Jenn, but of all of her three children, she liked Doug the best. She tried to tell herself that it wasn't just because he was the first, the oldest. She felt a real connection with Doug, with the way he behaved and the way he looked at things. Sometimes she wished that Dan were more like Doug.

"Well, I'm not getting into any trouble. I'm bored to tears here."

The fact was, she had asked Doug to come to keep her out of trouble. There would be no house parties this time. There would be no drinking to excess. There would certainly be no incestuous liaisons with her brother.

Doug's presence would keep her in line.

Melanie had actually begged Jennifer to come home as well. She figured between the two of them, she'd have no room to fuck up. Jenn said she had other plans. Melanie wondered, a little worried, if Jenn was enjoying the same sort of college experience that Mel had indulged in.

"You look pale," she told Doug. "Now that the days are getting warmer, you should take advantage of the deck to get some sun and some color. Not too much, just some. I've got a headache. I'm going to take a nap for a while before I meet Kate."

Melanie headed upstairs. 

* * *

Once in her room, Melanie stole a quick drink from the bottle of scotch she and Dan kept in the room, to calm her down and help her relax.

Doug was initially going to bring his friend Washington. Washington was an intelligent, slightly built black boy. He wore glasses, making him look bookish. His manner of speaking was bookish, too, almost overly articulate. The boy was very, very smart.

Mel was disappointed when Washington had chosen not to come. Her obvious disappointment ultimately made her glad that he had cancelled. She'd had enough fantasies about the boy to know he was another chance at trouble for her.

In college, Mel had never indulged her fantasies about black men. There was a fairly large african american population at her college back then, but they tended to keep to themselves. The student population was much more self segregated. They had black fraternities, black parties, black lunch tables. Everyone was cordial and artificially integrated, but it wasn't real. Everyone knew it should be. The civil rights movement had begun long ago.

But it wasn't that easy. The two groups weren't comfortable with each other. They were very clearly separate groups, and they just didn't mix.

Mel had always regretted that.

* * *

Melanie was so close. Her body ached. Her spirit ached for the release. She was so close. In her mind, Washington's stiff, young black cock filled her mouth. His ecstatic moans filled her ears. His inexperienced, frantic hands clawed at her hair.

She was so close. Her own hands twisted her nipples ruthlessly. She dug three fingers deeply into herself, feeling her own slippery wet juices all over her fingers, all over the insides of her thighs, covering her hands, everywhere.

She was so close. She imagined him coming, covering her face with blasts of wet, hot cum. She let his big, black cock slip out of her mouth to bathe herself in his shower of male seed. She looked at his muscular, glistening black thighs. She studied his pinkish black cock up close, watching it jerk as it threw streams of cum straight at her eyes. She heard his loud, animal grunts as he came for her.

She was so close, but Melanie couldn't get over the edge.

She pictured Doug walking in, a look of expectant fear on his face. He'd know what he would discover, having heard the commotion through the door. He'd heard the sounds his his young, black friend sucked hard and dry by his own mother. He'd guessed what he find. He knew he should stay away, but he couldn't.

He would barge in to see his beautiful mother, fully clothed, lying across his friend's belly. His friend's jeans and boxers were pulled down to his ankles. A big, hard, black cock rested right across his mother's cheek, surrounded by huge gobs of cum. The combined look of rapture and embarrassment on his mother's face was startling.

He saw his mother. He knew what she'd done. He knew what his mother liked. He knew what she was.

Mel would be mortified if it happened, if her son discovered her reveling in his friend's dark black cock and shiny white cum.

Mel came. With the image of her son's shocked expression frozen in her mind, herself debased and caught, Mel came in a single, wrenching wave, followed quickly by another even more powerful climax. She worked her own clit frantically as she felt her tits exploding with electric sensations. Her entire body rocked with the image of her son's face in her mind, staring in awe at his whorish mother.

Regaining her composure, she locked her eyes on Doug's as she devilishly let him watch her licking the cum from the black cock lying against her face. She let him see his beautiful mother enslaved by a huge, young black cock. She closed her eyes, visibly relishing the taste of the cum as her son watched.

The sensations in her body slowly subsided as Melanie settled, amazingly relaxed, into the imagery and feeling of having been caught, so wickedly degraded, by her own son.

* * *

Melanie awoke in a fog. She rolled over to glance at the clock.

3:37 PM.

Good God.

Melanie fumbled frantically for her cell phone. There were several text messages. She'd accidentally left it on "silent," so it hadn't awakened her. She went straight to the most recent text.

"Can't wait any longer," was all it said. It was sent at 3:23.

Shit.

Melanie looked angrily at the bottle of scotch, then knew that the alcohol wasn't entirely to blame. She hadn't been sleeping well. She'd been living in a state of constant tension and stress for weeks. She'd been doing everything wrong, and paying the price, feeling tired and spent all the time.

She reached lazily over to take another drink, as she realized that the affects of the first two were still in her system. As she sipped the scotch, she remembered the beauty of the orgasm that had finally driven her into a peaceful slumber. Her lips curled ever so slightly at the memory.

The thing was, as wrenching and exhausting as the orgasm had been, she was far from sated.

Washington's young, black cock would be so, so good, if she could actually get hold of it. Any young cock would do, but that buck's deliciously sinful black prick would be a wicked treat. It had certainly done the trick in her fantasy.

She conveniently avoided the memory of her son in the whole montage.

* * *

Melanie wandered into Doug's room, not really knowing why. She wasn't really thinking now. She was just feeling, and floating, and experiencing. She looked around at his old high school trappings. This was really just a shed for him now, a bed and a place to sack out when using his childhood home as a place to sleep. He was finishing college now, moving on to law school. This was all a part of his past, not his present or his future.

Doug was a man now. She couldn't even think the words "little boy" any more. This wasn't really his room any more. It was more of a large closet full of memories. It was an old toy chest, left ignored after the boy had outgrown toys.

Melanie wandered over to look out the window, to take in the image of their perfectly manicured back yard, part of the personal queendom over which she'd held dominion for the past twenty years. Her queendom that was fading away.

Right below, if Melanie leaned close to the glass, she could see Doug sunbathing on the deck, lying comfortably in the heat on a cushioned recliner. She smiled warmly at his relaxed comfort, imagining that he had is iPod turned up far too loudly again, enjoying the warmth of the sun, his music, and the simple joys of life and youth.

Melanie admired his body for a moment. He had definitely grown into a fine young man. He was really beyond fine. He had good muscles, like his father, but they were better toned and well defined than Dan's had ever been, even in his own youth. Doug's body glistened enticingly in the sun with a mix of suntan oil and sweat.

Melanie realized with a start that he was naked, not just in a skimpy suit, but completely naked.

He was more than naked. He was jerking off.

Melanie lurched back from the window in surprise. Doug knew she was supposed to have left for drinks at 3 PM. He must have assumed that she had, and that he had the house to himself.

Melanie, recovering her composure, eased up to the window, leaning her forehead against the cool glass to watch. It was harmless enough. She was his mother, after all. She was curious, too.

It was hard to see from this distance and angle. The window was clouded with dirt and dust, too. She scolded herself for not washing these windows more often.

His body was nice. His cock was very nice. It wasn't as large or thick as Dan's, but it wasn't a toy. Looking at both, gleaming body and stiff cock, together, was more than nice. Melanie felt her body reacting to the sight.

Melanie backed away again, feeling a tinge of guilt. She'd never actually do anything with Doug. There was no way. She couldn't hurt him like that. Michael was bad enough. Mouse was bad enough. There was no way she was going to hurt her son that way.

But that didn't mean she couldn't watch for a while.

She needed a closer look, just a good peek, and then she'd be done. She would check him out for a moment, then get out to try to find Kate, to apologize, and to keep Doug from knowing she hadn't left on time.

She moved quickly to the door, half gliding down the stairs, almost hurried in her eagerness, but also very consciously careful, in her foggy state, not to stumble and fall. Walking down the stairs took more concentration than it should, she thought distractedly. 

Once she approached the family room, with the sliding door to the porch, she slowed down, moving carefully and smoothly, or so she hoped, to be sure not to draw his attention.

Melanie was pleased to find that by leaning against the door frame just inside the room she had an excellent view of most of Doug's body, including his cock along with the strong, muscular arm and hand that worked it. Doug wouldn't notice her unless he stood up and turned. It was very similar to the angle she had used to watch Michael fuck Mouse that first time, she realized.

That thought made her hesitate. Her guilt weighed on her further. She knew this wasn't something she should do. She knew she shouldn't indulge this whim. But it was all so harmless, and easy. She wasn't going to do anything. She was just going to watch.

The rational, mature part of Melanie, the part that was always in control, told her that it wasn't that simple. It was never that simple. The easy thing was always a trap. She was making a mistake, again, and she knew it. 

But that part of Melanie had been quite numbed by the scotch, while another, sinful part was fueled by it. And his thick, young cock did look so tempting.

* * *

It didn't take long for Melanie to touch herself. She was gentle with herself, for now, lightly circling her nipple with one long nail, matching Doug's rhythm as he moved his hand over his cock with a slow, deliberate glide. His cock glistened in the sunlight with very liberally applied suntan oil. The boy had prepared himself nicely, Melanie thought. The image was exquisite.

Melanie immediately surrendered to her thoughts, imagining herself at his side, on her knees. She didn't waste time with how or why she was there. She simply was. He didn't retreat, he didn't run or even startle. He was appropriately shy and apprehensive. He'd never been naked in front of his mother, not as an adult, certainly not with an impossible to ignore erection gripped firmly in one hand.

* * *

His cock was irresistible. He wouldn't run, Melanie imagined. He'd stop, of course. His hand would jerk away, to rest innocently at his side, a ridiculously, as if he hadn't been doing anything at all. But his cock would still be there, excitingly and undeniably hard before her, standing almost upright, like a well disciplined if drunken soldier.

He would stare at her, in panic. She'd avoid his eyes. She'd avoid making him uncomfortable. Uneasy.

She could study him for a while, nothing more. She would just stay there beside him. She would just look at him, not into his eyes, not at his face, just at his body, blatantly admiring it as it gleamed with oil in the hot rays of the sun. She could look at his hard, young cock, gleaming too, yearning for release, aching for the touch of a tender, experienced hand, providing him with the release the poor boy so wanted and needed.

She could reach out to him. With the slightest, most gentle touch, she could place her hand on his own, to guide it hesitatingly back to his cock. She'd let him know it was okay. There was nothing wrong. She'd help him. She'd ease her son's hand back to his cock, so he could stroke himself, for his pleasure, and for her, for her pleasure.

She kept her hand resting ever so lightly on his, after that. His own hand moved smoothly, slowly, gently up and down the length of his shaft. Her hand stayed with his, always in contact, a gesture of affection and encouragement. She touched only the back of his hand, nothing more. Even that was a feather touch, a whisper of air across the skin on the back of his hand. His hand did the same to his cock, touching it only lightly, almost afraid to squeeze it too hard, too obviously, in front of his mother.

Together they easily stroked his cock, even though she never touched anything more than the back of his hand.

His prick shimmered in the sun under a thick coat of coconut oil. The scent of it was strong, permeating the warm air while overpowering the musky, sweaty smell of his groin. The oil let his hand move so effortlessly up and down his shaft, free of all resistance or restraint.

They did this, together, for a long, quiet time. There was no hurry. Melanie was in no hurry. Doug was too shy and nervous to be in a hurry. She helped him, applying only the most subtle pressure, to keep moving his hand up and down his hard, beautifully smooth, stiff cock.

Occasionally, shyly, Melanie glanced up at him. If he was looking at her, which he did often, she quickly looked away. She couldn't look him in the eye. She couldn't let him see her looking at him. She couldn't let her son see the lust in her face. 

When his gaze fell to her body, or to her hand touching his own, ever so close to his forbidden cock, then she could look. The she studied his face. His features were sharp and angular, like hers. It had the overlarge family nose, but his was even larger, with a pronounced bump in the middle. Most women probably hated that. To Melanie, it was attractive, and it made him all the more a part of her.

His face held an expression of calm tension. She wished she could ease it, that she could help him to relax.

Her eyes strayed down toward his chest and abdomen, admiring the youthful ripples and ridges of the muscles. One motherly hand reached out to touch him, again, ever so gently, tracing the lines and curves of his sinews.

The moment he looked her way, the hand on his body froze. Her eyes fell, dropping to the ground, then looking off, not at him, not at his body. She felt foolish when she did so. He was young. She was experienced, and always in control. She should be able to do as she pleased, without hesitation.

His free hand moved to hers, on his chest, urging her to continue, just as she urged him to stroke himself faster.

She couldn't look away for long. Her eyes were constantly, irresistibly drawn to his cock, his young, hard, delicious cock. The desire to touch it herself grew stronger.

His own eyes were visibly drawn to her breasts. It thrilled her to know he stared at them, that he was admiring them. They came to life without even a touch. She felt waves of pleasure building inside them, just at the thought of his gaze.

It was all taking so long. He'd been stroking himself now for too long, always with her guidance, at the pace she dictated, but it was taking too long. He was nervous and unsure.

Melanie knew what he wanted, what would help. She reluctantly, slowly drew back the hand exploring his body, using it instead to undo the top button on her blouse, and then the next, and then the next. Always keeping the one hand touching his, close to his cock, she used the other to push her blouse first off of one shoulder, then the other. It fell part way down, to rest across her back, sleeves bunched at her elbows, baring her shoulders and the tops of her breasts.

Her other hand had never strayed from his cock. It couldn't.

His eyes were now locked on her breasts, on the flesh exposed above the lace of her bra. She looked at his face then. It was filled with a longing that sent shivers through her. 

One hand, and then, ever so reluctantly, the other, slipped awkwardly together up her back to find the clasp of her bra. She arched her back, thrusting her breasts forward, to more easily undo the clasp. Doug's eyes widened amidst an expression frozen in unexpected tension.

In a moment she had released it. Her bra slipped easily to the ground, letting her full, fleshy breasts free.

She panicked, then. He was young. He was used to younger, firmer tits than hers. He would be disappointed.




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 04



Book 5: Mouse's Rival



Chapter 4



Melanie was able to restrain herself all the way until the next Sunday, bothered by the memory of what she'd been envisioning with her too masculine son Doug. It was even after noon that day before she had her first drink. She was dressed, very properly, in a skirt and a loose fitting blouse with a high collar, buttoned all the way up to her neck, when she had her first glass of scotch, and her second. Dan was away on business for another week. Rick was out with his friends.

Doug was home with her again.

She looked at him, over her third glass, sprawled on the couch, his limbs irreverently tossed helter skelter about the couch back and coffee table both. He was so large he just couldn't fit properly on a normal, human sofa. He had a pile of thick text books and worn notebooks strewn about, on the couch and coffee table top, the common tools of a student studying for finals.

He'd said the class was a joke, that he was wasting his time by studying, but he had nothing better to do.

Melanie studied his body. When she closed her eyes, she could see him again on the deck, on the recliner. His clothes were gone and she could admire the fine tone and timber of his body.

She wondered if he ever noticed hers. In high school, the young boys never noticed her breasts, but in college they did. She'd become quite adept at helping them to notice her tits, when she wanted.

She couldn't actually do anything with her own son, but she wondered if she could excite him.

Melanie's fingers were distractedly, almost imperceptibly tickling the tops of her breasts, through the fabric of her blouse. She hadn't even realized it. If she'd been wearing a necklace she would have been fingering that, instead.

Doug wasn't looking as she undid the top most buttons of her blouse, just one button further than she should have gone. The flesh colored lace at the edge of her bra was just barely visible, from the right angles. The flesh of her breasts above it was plainly visible. She undid one more button, but made sure that the folds of the blouse stayed together, hiding the indiscretion. She pulled her bra down slightly, too, just exposing the top edges of her wide, round aureolas.

She wasn't going to be bad. It was just harmless fun. She'd just tease the dear boy. Nothing was going to happen. She wasn't that foolish. She knew that. She hadn't done anything the last time, had she? She'd over reacted to the whole thing. She was thinking more clearly now, she thought, as she took another sip of her drink and then set it down on a sofa table.

Melanie calmly strode over to the space between the couch and the coffee table. She carefully and primly slid a pile of books aside, to make a place to sit on the edge of the coffee table itself. She did so very properly, with her knees held tightly together and angled to one side.

Doug didn't even glance at her. He was absorbed in his studying, and probably silently annoyed that she was intruding.

"I haven't been to college in so long, I've forgotten what studying is like."

She leaned forward, putting her head above his, trying to peer at the pages of the book he held in front of his face. The posture put the opening in her blouse just a foot from his eyes, very unabashedly exposing the tops of her breasts. The boy would have to bury his face in the back of the couch to avoid looking. The top of his hair just barely tickled her ear and the side of her neck. She couldn't see his eyes, so he was free to look as much as he wished.

She stayed there a while, reading several lines from the page out loud, to set him at ease with his sudden predicament, or opportunity. She let him feel he had some time. She continued for a while, letting his eyes, hopefully, linger, letting him get comfortable.

She pulled slowly back as she finished reciting the last sentence, giving him time to recover, to hide is voyeurism. Sitting ramrod straight now, thrusting her chest out, accentuating her size as much as she could, she smiled warmly at him, just a mother sharing a proud moment with her cherished son. 

She could see by the flush and confusion on the boy's face that he had been looking. It seemed to her that he was having a hard time keeping his eyes from drifting back down. His mouth was ever so slightly open, it's slackness hinting that his thoughts, and probably his heart, were racing. He kept his own big, excited brown eyes locked on hers, as if he were afraid that they would fall to her chest, and he'd be caught staring. 

Maybe it was her imagination. So why stop here?

She leaned in again, in the exact same way, using one finger to turn the pages for him, as if she were hunting for a particular passage. She picked a section at random, and began reading again. She read slowly and evenly, in a soft, calming, unhurried tone of voice. Let him get comfortable again. Let him enjoy the view.

This time she stopped abruptly, in mid sentence, very suddenly pulling back and looking down, just quickly enough, leaving her breasts there but trying to catch him in the act, to catch him staring, and to enjoy any expression of lust she could catch on his face.

Melanie immediately looked back at the pages of the book, smoothly she hoped, to let him think she hadn't noticed, yet frantic to hide her grin, hiding the pleasure of perfect success she felt upon seeing that she had him, that he was loving every moment of this. She was also, tacitly, letting his gaze return to her flesh.

She turned the page again. Before doing so, she put her hand on his, to help hold the book. He seemed, almost imperceptibly, to flinch at her touch, at first. His hands were startlingly warm. She could almost feel the blood coursing through is veins, faster and more urgently than usual.

She applied a gentle, unassuming pressure to his hand, enjoying the heat of the smooth contact, while easing the book lower, presumably for a better view of the page. Instead, she let her own glance stay straight ahead, as the book descended, and his knees and then crotch came into view.

The sight of the bulge in his shorts made her heart stop. His cock was straining to pop loose from the confines of his clothes. One sight of his dear mother's breasts, her own nipples flushed with raw, sexual excitement, had driven the boy to the brink. Her own eyes fogged over as she vividly remembered the image of that stiff, naked, precious cock, tensing and jerking, then delivering a river of cum up and out and over his delicious, gleaming torso.

Her mind swam with the liquor. Her last drink was starting to kick in, now. She had to be careful.

Without thinking, as if someone else were in her body, she stood now. As she stood, she held his hand tightly, drawing him up from the couch, to stand in front of her.

"I'm so proud of you, Baby," she told him, while falling into his young, dark, excited eyes.

She let her hands slip under his arms, around his waist. She rested her head on his shoulder as she pulled him close, into a motherly embrace.

"I love you. I love everything you've ever done," she breathed straight into his ear.

Her own breasts tingled with pleasure as they pressed flat against his firm chest. With her own hands in the small of his back, she hugged him tightly, pulling him into her, delightfully pulling his hips to hers. The feel of his bulge pressing against her loins made her instantly wet, or more wet than she already was. She felt as if her pussy was on fire.

She thought she'd never wanted a cock in her so badly in her whole life.

Doug's hands rested timidly on her shoulder blades, holding her, but applying no pressure, as if he were afraid of the contact. Eventually, his fingers moved. The pressure became more firm, while his finger tips traced very small, almost imperceptible but pleasing paths over her back.

Melanie's own hands began to massage his lower back, rubbing more insistently, working their way slightly lower. She hesitated, in her mind, even as her hands continued to move.

Did she have the nerve? Could she let her hands fall farther down, to the top of his tense, muscular ass. Could she get away with it? Could she pull him more firmly, pull his bulge more firmly against her own rebelling, pleading body?

"Mom..." he said, his voice a husky whisper.

The sound of the word thrilled her. It sent shivers down her spine. His voice was so sexy, so masculine and mature, but at the same time submissive and hesitant.

At the same time, the word, that one word, shocked her into consciousness. Her mind raced with other words and thoughts. Incest. Her son. Her husband. Her mistakes. Her failures.

She tried to step back, not too quickly, trying not to seem panicked, but she tried to break the contact. The back of one calf struck the edge of the coffee table with a painful stab. She would have fallen, if his strong arms weren't there to catch her, to hold her up.

As it was, she wound up leaning away from him, her breasts no longer plastered against his chest, but instead exposed by a blouse that she now realized she'd opened much too far for a discrete game of hide and peek. Meanwhile, in her pose, her hips were now thrust that much more firmly against his. The huge, hard bulge at his crotch was now driven hard against hers, as if trying to tear through his pants and her skirt, both, to immediately join them in an incestuous union.

Melanie could feel the blush rising in her face. She looked away to hide it, frightened, moving her hands to his shoulders, pulling herself upright and then quickly pushing him away with that same gentle touch she had used to move the book out of her line of sight.

"Ow," she said, more as an excuse to break the mood than as an expression of her pain.

She stumbled awkwardly to the side as he apologized, moving out of her way, giving her room, obviously embarrassed. He sat on the couch, covertly lifting one leg up, bent at the knee, to hide his now obvious erection.

Melanie stole a discrete glance that way, then tore her eyes from it, turning away to go look out the window. She stood there, composing herself, afraid to turn around.

"It's okay," she said. "It just stings. It'll pass."

She felt a tear coming to her eye, along with the emotional impact, the guilt, at what she'd just been doing, and where she was heading.

When she turned around, Doug had returned to studying, his face very, very intently staring unseeing at his book on the coffee table. A notebook was modestly draped on his lap, over his crotch.

Neither made eye contact with the other as Melanie coasted out of the room, afraid of saying another word.

* * *

Most of the day passed, with Melanie hiding in her room, dealing with guilt and shame. Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts, fantasies and outcomes, both good and bad, that could change her entire life.

The alcohol slowly wore off, letting her think more clearly, but also letting her feel more strongly. Her sense of guilt increased a thousand fold.

She had no idea how much damage she'd done to those she loved.

Doug yelled up that he was going out. As soon as she heard the door close, Melanie finally let loose. She didn't cry often. None of the women in their family did. They were strong.

She poured decades of emotion out in tears and sobs, trying to empty herself of whatever darkness was driving her to unspeakable depths.





Mouse couldn't remember actually seeing Melanie cry, let alone hearing her sob. The sobs came so quickly and uncontrollably that Melanie couldn't finish sentences. Mouse had no clue what was going on. It was making her panic. Her heart raced, while her mind tried to beat it, conjuring the worst possible tragedies that might cause Melanie to behave like this.

"What's wrong? Calm down, what's wrong."

"I'm so sorry, Mona..."

"What? What's happened?"

"It's Michael."

"What's happened to him. Oh, God, what is it?"

"I happened to him, Mona. I happened."

Mouse waited for the next sob to subside, and for Melanie to continue.

"I hurt him. I hurt him, and I hurt you."

"Melanie, calm down. Take a deep breath. It can't be that bad. He's your brother. You love him."

"That's the God damn Fucking point!"

"What's the point?"

"He's my brother!"

Oh.

Mouse's heart slowed down, as she stopped worrying that something more had happened to her love, something physical and painful and God help her permanent, something that might steal him from her.

But Melanie didn't know that Mouse already knew about them, about what they'd done.

Mouse got angry. If he'd fucked her again she was going to kill him.

Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe Michael had simply finally gotten the courage to let Mel talk to him, and it had all gone wrong.

Maybe Mouse should stop guessing and ask questions, if Mel could answer without sobbing.

"Mel, calm down. It's annoying. Speak clearly."

There was a brief pause before the inevitable explosion.

"It's annoying? It's. Annoying?"

"You have no idea how annoying."

"Mouse, I fucked Michael. Did you here me? I fucked Michael. I fucked our brother. I fucked your lover. I didn't just fuck him, I raped him. I got him drunk, I got us both ripping drunk, and I chained him to Doug's bed, and I fucked him as hard and long as I could. I fucked our brother, Mouse. Our brother. Your brother."

Melanie emphasized the final words, making it clear that she recognized an unspoken degree of possession of Michael by Mouse, one that Melanie didn't, or shouldn't, share.

Mouse could almost hear the word "brother" being replaced by the word "lover."

"Mel, listen. I know. Michael told me. A while ago. He should have talked to you by now."

Melanie was silent. Mouse wasn't sure which of a thousand things she could be thinking. She could be angry that Mouse knew and hadn't let on. She could be angry at Michael for not speaking with her. Or she could still just be confused and angry with herself, and unsure of what was going to happen next.

"I know, Mel, and it bugs me, but not as much as you'd think. I know you're never going to steal him. It wouldn't work, with the two of you, and neither of you would hurt me that way, and anyway you're married, happily if distractedly married. And anyway, you think incest is 'ewww'."

That got a muffled chuckle out of Melanie, and a sniffle.

"The thing is, Mel, you've been beating yourself up when you shouldn't, entirely. I mean, you're an incestuous whore, like me..."

Melanie didn't laugh at that.

"Well, sort of like me. And I'm not saying you should have done it. But it's done. It's over. You have to deal with it. You and Michael have to deal with it. Don't let him dodge you any more. Stop being nice about it. Corner him. Yell at him. Make the shit head listen, and talk it out, and find some peace."

"But there's more," Melanie interrupted.

"More?"

If she'd fucked him again, Mouse would kill them both. She would.

"I liked it. I didn't... I felt guilty and shameful as all hell, I made myself sick, and I felt sick for a week. I was scared to see him, and I know I've changed our relationship forever. I know I fucked things up, for you and him and me and him and you and I, but I still did it, and I still liked it. I liked it."

"What's not to like?" Mouse asked, trying to sound flip. It came out flat. She decided to shut up.

"Not Michael," Melanie said. "I mean, yes, Michael, he was good. I don't mean that. I do. I mean, Michael was good, but he didn't try to be..."

Mouse waited, giving Melanie a chance to start over.

"I liked it. I liked committing incest. I liked raping him, taking him against his will. I liked the evil, wicked feeling of it all."

Mouse waited some more. This was all familiar to her. She knew exactly how it felt, and how much she herself enjoyed it.

"But then I went too far."

Here it was. Mouse waited, impatiently this time.

"I tried to fuck Doug."

"You what?"

Mouse was in shock.

"Oh, God, Mel. Doug? Your son?"

"My son. My adorable, perfect, innocent son."

"What happened? What did you do? What did he do?"

"We didn't do anything. He certainly didn't do anything. I did. I did too much, but I came to my senses in time."

"Go on."

"I just teased him. I got drunk again. I got fucking drunk, and..."

Mel tailed off as the words threatened to turn into another sob. She choked it off, pausing to take an audible, deep breath.

Mouse silently listened to Melanie recount the entire story, all of it, the way she'd fantasized about Michael, the way she'd tried to keep him away in real life, the way she'd lost control, the way she'd found Doug, naked, on the deck, what she'd done then, and what she'd just done now. 

Melanie wasn't kind to herself. She obviously didn't sugar coat anything. She told Mouse everything, apparently not leaving anything out, willingly answering every question Mouse had, as if giving an honest, unfettered answer was part of her penance.

As she spoke, she calmed. At certain points she would sob, or lose her breath, or need to pause, but as the conversation went on, as she was able to talk it out, she calmed herself.

"Look, Doug has a few more weeks of school, right?"

"Yes."

"So let him go. Let him stay away, and the memory will fade. You didn't do much. If you don't do any more, it will be a memory he might treasure for years, and one he'll eventually think he imagined. Just give him time. Stay away, and give him time."

"Is two weeks enough time? He graduates soon, and then he'll be home."

"Get him his own apartment. Right away. The expense will be part of your punishment."

"Yeah, okay. Look, I'm not that worried about Doug. I'm worried about me, about what else I might do. That I might try again. And I'm worried about Michael, that I've already destroyed him."

"Stop being silly. You need to give Michael more credit. He's stronger than that."

"So why won't he speak to me?"

"Because he's probably as scared and torn as you are. I happen to know that he enjoyed it. He didn't want to do it. He won't do it again. But he liked it, and that scares him."

Melanie was utterly silent on the other end of the phone. Mouse continued.

"It should have happened another way, maybe. It's poison for both of you, the way it happened and the way it ended. And the way you're both dealing with it, or rather, not dealing with it."

Melanie stayed unusually silent. Mouse couldn't remember ever getting in this many words and thoughts without interruption and correction or contradiction from her big sister.

"You haven't destroyed anything, Mel. Can I tell you what I think you should do?"

Melanie listened, while Mouse told her. To Mouse's surprise, Melanie agreed.

* * *

Mouse wasn't entirely comfortable with all of this herself, even though she'd already decided that this had to be done, even before Melanie's unexpected emotional collapse.

The thing was, Mouse had spent her entire life overshadowed by her big sister. She was enthralled by her, yes, but also bullied by her in the guise of care and guidance. She was frightened of her. And she was jealous of her.

That was the biggest problem. She was jealous of Melanie. Part of that jealousy was sheer, childish silliness. Melanie could drive a real car back when Mouse could only ride a bike. Melanie had a wedding when Mouse was too young to even kiss a boy. Melanie had growing children when Mouse was lucky to be getting dates.

And Mouse still hadn't equaled her on that score.

Most of all, Mouse was jealous of her big sister's relationship with Michael. Their brother had always been so much closer to Melanie than to Mouse. He was closer in age, height, distance, experiences, personality, everything. Mouse had always fought with him, keeping him at arms length. It was her own fault. But even if she hadn't, he and Melanie were always too close.




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 04



But when he'd seduced her, when they became lovers, that all changed. Mouse was the special one. Mouse was closer to him, by far. Melanie was always there, hovering, threatening, but Mouse had him. Even if Melanie didn't actually want him as a lover, it didn't matter, because Mouse did, and she had him, and she became closer. She had won.

Her whole life she'd been jealous of Melanie. And it had taken her until now to realize that Melanie had never been a threat. She had to see Melanie in ruin before she realized that she had nothing to fear from her.

Melanie was actually too close to Michael to ever have what he and Mouse had. Mel's entire life itself was its own twisted maze. She could never be a threat to Mouse. Melanie and Michael would never have what she had with him. Melanie would never even try.

In a sordid way, she had tried, and the result was that she'd driven Michael away. She didn't get him, and she'd lost what they had.

That needed mending. Michael still needed Melanie. He couldn't afford to lose Melanie as a sister, a real sister. Mouse owed that to him.

And Melanie needed Michael, and her own sanity. Mouse owed that to her. After years of feeling jealous and bullied and overshadowed, Mouse had finally come to realize that Melanie needed her, too, and Michael, and Mouse owed her something. Mouse had a responsibility to her big sister.

Melanie wasn't a threat. Mouse kept telling herself that. Melanie was not a threat.

She took a deep breath, and did what she liked to do, what came naturally to her. She took an unnatural risk.

* * *

"Okay, Michael, this is going to sound weird."

"As opposed to everything else?"

"Yes. Even weirder."

"What is it?"

"You have to make love to Melanie."

"I am not fucking my big sister, Mouse. Not again."

"Not fuck, make love. And yes you are."

"Mouse, no way. No. I. Am. Not."

"Shut up, dork, and listen. You guys are going to have these memories for the rest of your lives, painful, twisted, memories of something you never wanted to happen. But it did, and you have to live with it."

"That's right. We have to grow up and live with it."

"No you don't, not entirely. Trust me, I know what it's like to live with something like this your whole life, always eating at you. It affects every decision you make. You can't get it out of your head."

"Mouse..."

"Shut up. I lived for years with the guilt and remorse that I felt for what I wanted, but I couldn't have. I wanted something that everyone said was horribly wrong and evil. I couldn't tell anyone, not even you, especially not you. I kept it bottled up, and it made it a million times worse. I wanted you so badly, and it ate away at my life. It poisoned every relationship I ever had, especially my relationship with you."

"This is different."

"Yes and no."

"Mouse, you never actually did anything back then. You wanted to, but didn't. Things got better when you did. I didn't want to, but did, and now things are fucked up."

"Liar."

"Mouse!"

"Well, you're a liar. You did want to. Maybe you wouldn't have, but you wanted to. And the fact is that you did, and now you both have to live with it, and its going to make things very awkward for a long, long time. No matter what you say to each other, no matter how you act, it's always going to be in your mind, it's always going to hurt both of you. It's going to fuck you both up."

"So how does fucking Melanie again make that any better."

"Not fucking, making love."

"How?"

"By doing it right, how and when you both want to. Go into it with your eyes open, both of you. Say yes, it would be wrong to do, it would have been wrong to do, but because of this, because of what you did do, then this one time, it's right. Make yourselves do it right. Make it beautiful."

"And then? After we've done it? What, we all live happily ever after?"

"No. Then you make sure you don't mess it up again. You prove to yourselves, and to me, that it was just something that happened, by never doing it again."

"I can't believe you're telling me to do this."

"You know I'm right."

"I know you're crazy."

"You know you love me."

"Yes, I love you."

"And I'm right."

"And I love you."

"And I'm right."

"I'll think about it. I don't even know when we could. Doug is around. I don't know when Dan will be away again. We probably can't even work it out."

"I think your doorbell is going to ring right about now."

"Oh, shit, no, Mouse."

"Yes. Goodbye. Dork."

"Mouse..."

Mouse snapped the phone closed. She very purposely didn't run to her dresser, where she didn't frantically look for a clean leotard. Not nearly as quickly as she could have, she changed, to go to the studio to dance not too frenetically. It was the only thing that was going to keep her mind from entirely focusing on what would be happening hundreds of miles away.

Mouse had to dance.





Melanie was a mess. The woman that was always, always clean and neat and presentable and beautiful, was a mess.

Her mascara was streaked and smeared around her eyes from wet tears, black smudges on pale skin. He'd never realized how much eyeliner she wore, until now. Without it, her eyes looked smaller, but more natural, less sexy, but more real.

Some locks of hair were out of place, though she couldn't be said to be entirely disheveled. She'd never let herself go that far. Her eyes were not quite puffy and red, but Michael could see that she'd been crying, hard. Her expression was blank and stern and tired and frightened, all at once.

Her clothes were still neat and proper. She had a high collar which she had, strangely, buttoned all the way up to the neck, to the very last button, on a very hot day. Michael considerately avoided looking to see if there were any perspiration stains. It somehow seemed like an intrusion, a violation of her privacy when she was vulnerable, like sneaking a peek when she was getting dressed or undressed, which he had certainly tried to do when they were younger.

"Hi."

He tried to sound at ease, and comforting, but it came out flat. It wasn't that he felt that way, entirely. Or maybe he did. He didn't really know how he felt. He certainly wasn't trying to make her feel even worse.

It was just all so awkward.

She smiled at him, a small, tired, grimace of a smile, the kind of smile that says "I had that coming, it's no more than I deserve."

Michael silently stepped aside. He started belatedly to ask her in, but she was already past him, moving slowly but determinedly, almost trance like, towards his den and his leather sofa.

She stopped once she got there, to stare at it as if it were a torture device, an iron maiden or a rack in some fateful dungeon.

Michael placed his hand on her back, expecting her to cringe. She didn't react. He lovingly caressed her back, briefly, then applied a gentle pressure, urging her forward onto the couch. Once he started her moving, she stepped quickly to it and then to the farthest end, sitting on very edge, knees together, hands clasped together, eyes facing forward and down.

Michael sat close beside her, trying to signal a comfort with her that neither of them felt.

"Michael, please. Just... please."

He clumsily sideslipped away from her, more than willing himself to give her more space. He made himself move his left hand to the back of her neck, though, trying to create some contact with her, to show her it wasn't all that awkward for him, or at least that it didn't need to be. It was something akin to very carefully peeling back the edge of a band aid, afraid to pull to hard or too suddenly, but knowing that it needed to be done. 

Once there, he played shyly with the hair at the back of her head, occasionally, randomly caressing the nape of her neck with the most meager touch of a single knuckle.

Melanie breathed deeply, seeming to relax, at last, under his touch. Her eyes closed as she appeared to gather herself.

* * *

"I'm not fucking you, Michael."

Without even glancing over at him, with her eyes locked straight ahead on the far wall, she could still tell that Michael looked shocked. She didn't mean to be so course, or to come at him so hard, but she was cold and numb herself.

His knuckle froze in place against the back of her neck. She froze with him, willing him to continue with his gentle, loving touch. As harsh as she was, as much as she wanted to order him to stop, she needed him to continue.

As if he read her mind, the pause was only momentary. The soothing feel of his touch calmed her, and warmed her.

"I'm not," she continued. "I don't care what Mouse says. And I know you don't want to, either. I agreed, but I was being stupid. I wasn't thinking straight. It would be a big mistake."

"Good. I'm glad we agree."

A part of Melanie sank as he said it. She could feel herself deflating. She was afraid that he noticed.

At that moment, she felt ready to break down again. She turned to him, burying her head in his shoulder. A barely stifled, unwanted sob escaped her.

His large, strong hands were instantly on her shoulders, drawing her in, while shielding her, too. She collapsed into him, tunneled into him, hiding from the world, and from herself, and mostly from him, in his house and his chest and his arms.

She stayed there for too long, crying into him, trying to let all of it out. She'd thought she'd done that before. She'd thought she was finished before she even came over, before she left her own room.

She was wrong.

* * *

Michael's own spirit was torn and tattered by the time she stopped crying. He was beginning to feel cruel. He realized now how much damage he had done by ignoring her for so long, even after Mouse had told him to talk to her, even after she'd told him how much Melanie was hurting.

But he had to be spoiled and selfish. He had to be the rotten little brother again. Let Melanie be the big sister. Let her shoulder the load. Let her be the mother, and pamper and coddle him and his emotions.

He felt like a shit.

Unexpectedly, a muffled laugh stuttered into his chest, just before Melanie draw back.

"I think I got mascara all over your shirt," she said, sniffling and dabbing uselessly at the black marks now smeared on his chest.

He eyed them for a moment, then glanced at her. She wouldn't look him in the eye. Her gaze stayed focused on his chest. After crying, she looked even worse than before. Now her eyes were very red and puffy. He looked around for tissues, knowing there were none.

He spied her oversized handbag on the table, reached, grabbed it and handed it to her. She gratefully took it, hunting immediately through it for what she needed, finding a tissue easily and quickly. The opened handbag was then tossed, unceremoniously, onto the table with a thud.

Michael looked into her face, waiting for her to look back. She finally did. She looked straight into his eyes. She'd recovered some, now. She looked empty. There was little emotion in her face. It had all drained away, into his chest. There was nothing left in her eyes but questions.

He smiled softly at her. With his thumb, he worked to smear the odd patches of mascara from her face, succeeding only in making things worse. As he did so, her expression clouded with an odd concern.

* * *

He was so handsome. Melanie tried not to think it, partly because she knew it wasn't true. He wasn't at all handsome, and really never had been. His nose was too large, with a pronounced bump. His eyebrows were on the bushy side. He was bald. He had a nice, firm, square jaw, but his lips were too small and thin. His eyes were so warm, so dark and warm and giving, but they were maybe too close together.

He was still handsome, to her.

He was still her darling baby brother. He needed her, he'd always needed her, yet here she was, needing him, and here he was, for her.

Which was a silly, stupid line of thought. She needed him because she'd abused him. She needed him because she'd raped him, embarrassing them both.

She owed him.

Melanie leaned up and forward to kiss him politely on the cheek.

* * *

As her lips approached him, he froze again. He was so terrified of doing the wrong thing, of hurting her worse. He didn't want her to feel unwanted. Hell, he did want her, no matter how many times he told himself otherwise.

He had Mouse's permission. Hell, he had her direct orders.

Melanie wanted him. She'd shown it. She'd said it to Mouse. She denied it now, of course. She had to deny it. She'd always have to deny it, even after they separated again. That was part of the game. That was part of how she'd manage her own guilt.

He didn't know how he was going to manage his guilt. He didn't think that far. He just turned his lips to hers, to return her kiss.

* * *

Melanie's eyes opened in shock. She'd only intended to give him a loving peck. She had thoroughly intended to stay as far from his lips as she could. But, after she'd closed her eyes, there they were, in the way, pressing against hers.

She mentally raped herself, inside, feeling guilty, even as she thought about how warm and soft his lips were. She fell quickly into enjoying how tenderly he kissed. His kiss was just a gentle, subtle touch, with slight, shy movements of his lips, calmly probing and massaging, not too eager, not too harsh, not harsh at all.

Melanie startled herself as she realized that he kissed like Mouse. The thought should have made her pull back, but instead she fell into him more. She kissed him back, harder, like she would with Mouse. She took control, like she so often did, with everyone, but especially with him, with her baby brother.

She helped him along.

She moved her lips over his, planting soft, lingering kisses, letting him know that it was okay, that she liked it. Her kisses became more eager, openly showing him her own growing excitement. Her kisses covered more and more of his warm, inviting lips.

She placed her lips fully against his. She opened her mouth to him, at first inviting his tongue in, then reaching out with her own to find his when he hesitated.

His hands moved into her hair. She feared she'd pushed too far, too fast, when she'd never intended to push anywhere at all. She feared that he was now panicking, ready to push her away. Instead he held her head firmly in place, keeping her lips locked on his as his tongue came out to dance electrically with hers.

* * *

Mouse spun and twisted and jumped. No amount of energy was too much. No movement was too fast, or inappropriate, or ill timed. She moved. She moved and moved and moved.

As fast as she could, her body spun and twisted and jumped and moved, trying to keep her mind too busy to think about Michael and Melanie together.

* * *

Melanie's hands were warm and soft, resting delicately on his chest as they kissed. Her finger nails moved randomly as her fingers flexed, as if energized by the feel of his lips on hers.

She kissed just like he would have expected, Michael thought wryly to himself. She had to be in control.

He liked the way she kissed. He realized now that she hadn't kissed him at all that night. The whole night they'd been together, with all of the things she'd done to, no, with him, with all of the things they'd done, during that whole night she had never kissed him, or even tried.

He took one long moment, enjoying the soft, eager, controlling, probing, guiding press of her lips. He took one long moment to thoroughly relax under her control, enjoying it, before breaking her spell.

As if to thwart her own self image, he let one large, strong hand grip her shoulder, using it to pull her body firmly against his, to pull her soft, wonderfully large breasts against his own chest, as he widened his mouth, driving his own thick tongue into her, pushing her tongue aside.

He could feel her melting into him. Big sister was going to learn that little brother was a man, now.

* * *

Melanie could feel herself losing control, like a small bird fluttering in the strong gusts of an oncoming storm. Her breasts tingled and threatened to explode, mashed hard as they were against Michael's wooden chest, forced there by his unbreakable, masculine, iron grip. Melanie could feel her mind spinning as her pussy grew first warm, then hot, and wet, and hungry.

His mouth was warm and inviting and loving and exciting, wet and tender and wild, all at once.

Fighting to keep her composure, she shifted her own mouth to the side, exploring his neck with hers.

"I don't want to do this, Michael. I don't," she lied breathlessly.

"Neither do I."

"I'm only doing it because Mouse told us, too."

"Yes..."

"We'd never hurt Mouse."

Michael stiffened in her arms at the mentions of Mouse. 

"You never will, Michael, don't be afraid. I know we shouldn't do this. I know it's crazy. It's not the way to solve my problems."

She stopped talking to kiss his neck again, to explore his neck and the underside of his chin and his cheek and his lips and his nose and his cheek, all with her lips and the tip of her tongue, all teasing and tasting and touching. 

While she did so she took his hand firmly with hers. She reached up to her shoulder with her own hand, to find his, to pry it away. She pried it off of her shoulder to guide it down, to place it, gently, against her breast, and then to hold it there as she leaned into him, pressing her tortured, tingling, full breast into his large, strong hand.

Melanie moaned loudly as he did just the right thing, squeezing it hard, not too hard, but massaging it with just enough strength, just the right mix of eagerness and tenderness, to send her over the edge. She moaned loudly as her breast exploded with a thousand different sensations, all pleasurable, set off by her baby brother's wide, strong hand.

"I need you, Michael. I need you. I need to be a woman, for you."

For her magnificent baby brother.

Then her mouth was on his again, not letting him agree or protest, not letting him complicate things with further words.

* * *

The sweat streamed down Mouse's temples, tickling evidence that she'd been exerting herself even more strenuously than normal. She paused for a moment, considering the thought. Then her mind flitted back to Michael, with Melanie. The image zoomed into her mind's eye, filling her vision like a movie screen.

She immediately resumed her dance, with redoubled vigor, trying to quiet her overactive mind.

* * *

Her breast was so full in his hands. It had been years, if ever, since he'd been with a woman whose breast fit so well in his grasp. She enjoyed his touch so much, too. He didn't need to be gentle. She didn't want him to be gentle. He could tell by her gasps and moans that the more brusquely he fondled her, the more she enjoyed it.

The rush of having her press herself into him, trying to force more contact, pushed his own excitement forward, and his inhibitions back.

Michael frantically fumbled at the buttons of her blouse. Her own hand found his, softly urging it back to her breast, after which she quickly worked on the blouse herself, eager to give her flesh to him.

As soon as her blouse was open enough, she impatiently moved his hand to the opening, then back underneath the cloth. He let his own fingers push beneath the tight, stiff fabric of the bra. The curve of her soft breast yielded easily, giving way, giving his fingers room.

Abruptly, she had snapped free the front clasp of the bra. It fell away, exposing her completely to his hungry hand. He felt the heat and hard excitement of her wide nipple just brush against his palm in the short moment before he cupped her entire tit and squeezed, drawing a loud, sharp gasp from her throat.

It only took Michael a moment to push her back, to get his second hand on her left breast, then to push her further, straining to reach her tits with his mouth. As she realized what he was doing, she relaxed. Her hands moved to the back of his skull, where her fingers danced an excited, random pattern all over his bald scalp, then suddenly tightened, pulling him toward the very spot they both wanted his mouth to be.




Mouse Bk. 05 Ch. 04



* * *

Her brother's wet mouth descended on her nipple like a lava flow. The damp heat of it made her shiver unexpectedly, as she arched her back, helping to drive as much of her tit into his mouth as he could manage. His mouth opened wide, pleasing Melanie by taking so very much, as much as possibly he could. Where his lips couldn't reach, his large, powerful hand and fingers cupped and squeezed her breast at the base.

"Good God, Michael, baby, yes. Suck my tit. Suck Melanie's tit. Suck it good, Baby."

Baby brother. She was afraid to say it out loud, but not in her head. Not this time. She wasn't hiding from what she was doing. Her magnificent baby brother was going to be a man for her, and she was a woman for him. She was going to feed him her tits, and he would feed her his cock, before he filled her to the brim and spread her as a woman beneath his huge, crushing frame.

Michael hummed contentedly with her flesh in his mouth, painting a smile onto Melanie's face with the rapturous sound. He squeezed her breasts together, into each other, then quickly moved his mouth from the right to the left, sucking hard, letting her feel the edges of his teeth, before going back to the first.

Melanie tickled and grabbed and scratched at the back of his bald skull with both of her hands, showing him how much he was pleasuring her, and threatening to leave embarrassing, damning marks.

"That's it, Baby. Don't be gentle. Take what you want. Take everything you want, right now, take it..."

* * *

Michael listened to Melanie's instructions as he sucked as hard as he could, figuring out what Melanie liked, what drove her closer and closer to the heights of pleasure. Inwardly, he smiled, laughing at her need to maintain control, even now.

Her hands raced over his scalp, holding him to her breast. The touch tickled at times. Other moments, she tensed unexpectedly, letting out a low moan, and digging her fingers painfully into his skull. He didn't mind.

Her hands wandered then, down his back, then up again and under his chest. She reached down to his crotch, where she fumbled under his weight with the clasp of his belt. He raised himself, at first, to make it easier. He took his time, enjoying her breasts in his face as she struggled to free his straining cock.

Then her hand was in his pants. She reached in to grab his cock at first like it was the handle of a broom to be pulled from a closet. She wasn't gentle, like Mouse. Mouse took her time, holding it gently, caressing it like a favorite pet, trying to calm its fears or make it purr. Melanie grabbed and pulled, as if it were a lever to open a door to a room full of sinful pleasures, as if she wanted to own it, to make it her own.

At first, Michael groaned in shock and expected pain at the force of her tug. He was surprised at how good it felt, instead. She didn't relax her grip, or stop pulling, though. He was forced to move with her, to slide up and forward, eventually moving off of the sofa, as she dragged his cock unstoppably to her mouth.

* * *

Melanie lay on her side, propped on one elbow, looking up with a smile at her baby brother as she licked and kissed his cock. She kept her eyes locked on his, letting him see the pleasure in her face as she indulged her favorite hobby, and months of fantasies about just this. She kissed and licked, sucked and slurped, loudly and always smiling.

His pants had by now fallen to the floor. He interrupted her for one brief moment as he kicked his shoes off and stepped out of them. She let one hand caress his thick, hairy thigh and ass as her mouth went back to work.

She didn't swallow him, yet. She treated his cock like a popsicle, working every side, up and down the length, as if she needed to keep it from melting all over the hand that held it.

She loved looking at his own face looking down at hers. He hadn't that night. He'd kept his eyes closed, or on the ceiling, mostly, as if he were pretending to be somewhere else, or with someone else.

Not now. He stared right into her eyes, watching his big sister make slow, careful, generous love to his cock with her mouth. She was sure he would prefer to have Mouse there, with him, now, but he didn't mind that it was Melanie. For now, this once, he could be with Melanie, and love it.

She hummed appreciatively with his cock against both of her lips, letting her close her own eyes just this once, as a test. When she opened them, he'd passed. He was still staring down at her, with passion and pleasure swirling in his eyes.

"Suck it, Melanie. Show me how much you've wanted to suck your brother's cock."

At his words, Melanie attacked him with renewed vigor. She descended on him as deeply and quickly as she could, groaning loudly, and looking up at him when she could, to watch him enjoying it.

"That's it, Big Sister. Show me how much you've always wanted this cock."

Smiling, Melanie moved one hand to her own breast, squeezing it slowly, but deeply, to evoke the pleasures any touch there brought. The act drew Michael's attention. His eyes snapped to her breast, and filled then with a visible longing.

He'd always, always loved her tits. She'd teased him long enough, throughout their long lives. To tease him further, yet give him more than he ever expected, Melanie eased herself up, while guiding his cock down, towards her nipple, like an artist ready to paint a canvas with a brush.

* * *

Mouse glanced at the clock as she moved. The next class would be coming in, soon, and she'd be evicted.

She tried to dance for Michael. She tried to pretend he was there, with her, instead of with Melanie. Or, maybe, that he was with Melanie, but he could see her in his mind. If she could dance well enough, if she could be beautiful and seductive enough in her movements, he would see her and be with her, even now.

If she could dance with all of the love and jealousy she felt, then he'd find a way to be with her.

* * *

Michael watched in fascination as Mel rubbed the head of his cock over her large, pale aureola, then flicked his shaft over her erect, protruding nipple. He let her play for only a moment before he moved, quickly for such a large man, to position his cock directly between her large, cushiony tits.

She laughed when he did so, seeing what he wanted. She fell quickly onto her back, smiling and giggling, then arched her back to lift her breasts further up to him in offering. Her hands found each of his hard, muscular thighs, digging into them with her fingers as he slipped his cock into the deep canyon between her breasts.

She pulled her hands back to squeeze her tits onto and around his cock, covering it completely in the joys of her cool flesh. All the while she smiled playfully up at him.

"You like that, Baby Brother? How long have you wanted to do this to your big sister's titties? Tell me. Don't lie. I want to know."

Michael didn't answer. Instead they both looked down to watch his cock slide back and forth, fucking her delicious tits with a slow, soft motion. It wasn't so much exciting for Michael, it wasn't so much fucking, as it was simply pleasurable, a gratifying, sweet, calming sensation covering his cock and filling his thoughts.

It felt like soft, unconditional, undemanding love. He felt like he could stay there, doing this, for hour after hour. In fact, he really had no idea how long he had been at it when he realized that Melanie had already loosened her skirt, and had her own hand working feverishly down inside the waistband.

Her first loud, excited, repeated moans brought his own awareness out of his own consuming self indulgence, and back to her own obvious needs and desires.

* * *

Melanie had finally been forced to close her eyes. She tried to keep them open. She tried to watch her not so handsome and yet so desirable large baby brother calmly, unstoppably lost in the act of smoothly fucking her tits. 

She found her clit with her fingers and rubbed. She tried to lift her hips, to get two fingers into herself, but it was awkward. She rubbed instead, while focusing on the feel of his smooth, hard cock sliding back and forth, tugging at her breasts. She pictured all of the times she could remember, or imagine remembering, one after another, that she'd caught him looking, or made him look.

She smiled to herself, replacing those simple, innocent moments with the image of her brother coming for her now, shooting wave after wave of cum on her tits and her neck and her face. He could bathe her in it, while she glowed up at him, beaming with the desire to have her sweet baby brother cover her like an animal, totally out of control, with his sweet, wet, hot liquid lust.

She knew she was moaning. She knew she was loud. She was too lost in her own world of sensations and expectations to really be aware of what she was doing.

She panicked when he pulled his cock away.

* * *

It only took a moment. Her sounds had driven him close to the edge. She was so different from Mouse. She was so forceful and physical all of the time, both in her touch, and her sounds. She wailed and moaned and groaned, where Mouse chirped and purred and sang. She grabbed and clawed and writhed, where Mouse teased and tickled and clung.

He loved Mouse all the more, he loved her sounds. He could come just listening to her. But here, with Melanie, the difference drove him, too. He was commanded by the loud, unrestrained lust with which she expressed her pent up desire for his cock.

He had to fuck her.

* * *

Mouse toweled the sweat from her face, trying not to glare at the students streaming onto her dance floor. A few of them glanced her way, perhaps wondering who she was and why she was there, or how she'd learned to dance so well.

You have to feel the dance, she wanted to tell them. You have to feel what you're doing in your heart, so the dance is true, and you are true to the dance.

Mouse tried to look out the window, to find something to focus on. Her mind went back to Michael.

In frustration, she stuffed her towel into her bag, forcefully grabbed the straps, and snapped it up with her to head towards the stairs.

* * *

Michael reached, fast and furious, under her skirt to grab her hips. His strong forearms almost tore her loosened skirt as he tried to force it indelicately up to her waist. He easily lifted her ass from the sofa to fold the skirt up behind her, while she hurriedly worked to help him, knowing now what he wanted, and wanting it too.

"Are you going to fuck me, now, Michael? Do you want to fuck your big sister now?"

Michael was silent, but his eyes blazed his answer back into hers. Melanie looked down at his cock, seeing it poised to join with her, ready to take her and to take its pleasure from her. She hurriedly opened his shirt. His hairy chest and stomach hovered over hers, almost more like a beast than a man. Her hands ran through the hair on his chest, and his sides and his back.

As she stroked his body in anticipation, she started to repeat two words, softly, quickly, over and over, like a prayer recited repeatedly to try to calm herself, to keep her from panicking and reeling from what was about to happen.

"Baby brother... baby brother... baby brother... baby brother..."

She felt his one hand pulling her panties aside, not even bothering to pull them off, as his hips swung down against hers and his thick, filling cock plunged into her in one long, fast, irresistible stroke.

She screamed.

"Fuck, yes, Big Sister. Fucking, yes."

Her entire body tensed as he entered her. She felt her whole body expand with his presence inside her, as her body cried out for yet more. She lifted her knees, opening herself to him. She clawed at is back and his ass, trying to pull him more deeply in. Her pussy grabbed at his cock, her ass lifted to grind her ass cheeks against his thighs, doing anything she could to get more of his fabulous, forbidden cock into her.

"Baby brother, baby brother, baby brother..."

He rammed into her, over and over again, hard and fast and deep. She barely felt the motion and the friction. All that she could consciously feel was his cock inside her, constantly, completely inside her, even though she he was moving it in and out, inexorably fast and furious.

"Fuck, yes, Melanie. Fuck, yes. Fuck, yes."

Her body slipped by inches, along the leather sofa, moving over a layer of sweat, driven by his powerful strokes. Her back was drenched by perspiration, almost as slickly wet as her fevered pussy. 

Her fevered cunt. Mouse called it a cunt. Her incestuous, fevered cunt.

Melanie continued repeating her litany. She reached behind Michael and pulled him down into her, trying to crush herself under his body, trying to feel his hairy chest mashing her tits into her chest, and her body into the sofa beneath her.

"Baby brother, baby brother, baby brother..."

The words faded as she lost herself under his massive, masculine form.

"Fucking, yes, Melanie. Fucking, fucking, fucking yes..."

* * *

Michael looked at his beautiful older sister's face. Her eyes were clenched shut. Her face was contorted in a death mask, her life only betrayed by the constant wail that came from deep in her throat as he unceasingly fucked her.

Michael watched her for a long time, enjoying the pleasure she was experiencing, and her beauty, and the simple, feminine feel of her breasts pushing into his chest.

Her fingers clawed relentlessly, scratching at his ass cheeks. They were the only part of her that moved beneath him.

"Take my fucking cock, Melanie. Take my fucking cock..."

* * *

She wanted him to come on her. She wanted to beg him to pull out and come on her, to cover his big sister with her little brother's cum. She wanted him to come on her tits, come on her face, come on her lips. She wanted her baby brother to dominate her, totally, completely, sexually, to fuck her and then to cover her in a powerful flood of cum.

She wanted to beg him, to scream it, even to demand it, but she couldn't form coherent words.

As clear as the image was in her mind, it only came out as one long scream.

* * *

Michael felt the orgasm building. Before he lost control, he lowered his lips to her open mouth. He tried to plant a series of small, loving kisses just on her upper lip, just as he came, but when she felt his mouth on hers she attacked him. Her own mouth opened wide, joining with his. Her tongue snaked out, shoving against his.

Her screams increased. He knew she was close. The thought, and her sounds, brought him closer, too. He felt his cock grow and stiffen in the building, blinding moment before orgasm.

She screamed louder than ever. Their lips, still together, slipped ever so slightly apart, and when they did the sound of the scream filled the room, a thousand times more loudly than he thought a woman could ever scream. 

His own fevered, powerful groan mixed with hers.

He flooded his big sister with a tremendous blast of cum. His cock exploded inside her. The stream of his cum and her passionate scream continued, together, for a short eternity.

* * *

They couldn't know it. They never would know it, because they would never discuss it, but they experienced their separate and shared climaxes in very much the same way. At once, for each, it was both exhilarating, and freeing, and something else both more and less primal. 

On one level, it compared with the simple pleasure of scratching a long bothersome itch, of relieving a discomfort that had gone on for far too long. In one both momentous and foggy moment, each had fulfilled a long repressed desire with a violent, wrenching storm of sensations.

On another level, it was a release, an escape from the burden that each had been carrying for the last month. It freed them from the memory of their first encounter, from the twisted way that joining had evolved, wiping it away completely by replacing it with a simpler memory of a more loving, shared cusp of feelings and sensations.

It was good by itself, too, not great, but good. It was intense, and passionate, and draining, that one long moment when the soul writhes and screams in pleasure within the body, and the two, body and soul, seem separate and distant within one's self, yet inextricably, unfathomably tangled, with each other, and with another tangled body and soul. 

But that part, the mind numbing climax, was over fast enough. The memory of it faded, while the feeling of freedom, almost graduation and maturation, remained long after.

* * *

Mouse stood on the street, in the sun, as dozens of people cruised by, living their complicated, intricate little lives. They all had places to go, things to do, things to be. They all had to be someone, all by themselves, and someone for other people, too.

Everyone had someone. Everyone had to fit in somewhere.

They had to be finished, by now, she thought. It had to be over.

She hoped she was right about suggesting this. She hoped this wasn't all a big mistake. She hoped she hadn't made her own life a thousand times worse by being too bold, too wild, and too... Mouse-ish.

Mouse walked up the street towards her apartment, wondering if she was ever going to figure out how she fit in, the way everyone else seemed to so easily and naturally do.

* * *

"Michael, tell me you love me."

"I love you."

Like a sister, Melanie thought. She could hear it in the way he said it. He meant it, but he meant it that way.

"I love you, too."

Like a brother. She was no different. They loved each other, they did. And this didn't hurt, not this time. This time, they'd done it right. It was good. It was wrong, but good and right. It was something that should never, ever have, happened, but now it had and it was good.

She felt no guilt. None at all. None now, and none left over from before. She felt good. That realization came with a sense of both wonder and relief. She felt good.

"I do love you, Mel."

But not like Mouse. She'd heard him say it to Mouse. She'd heard the way the words left his lips, not just what he said, or how he said it, but what he meant. When he said it to her, his big sister, or she to him, it was so flat. It was one dimensional.

When he said it to Mouse, when Mouse said it to him, it was so much more. At times, she was jealous. It seemed to be more than when she said it to Dan, or Dan to her, or anyone to anyone, ever.

"You love Mouse."

"Yes, I love Mouse."

There. There it was again. She could hear it. She could more than hear it. Mouse wasn't even here, he wasn't saying it to her, and yet she could hear it.

Melanie gathered her clothes to go. They didn't say another word, until another normal day came by tomorrow, and everything had changed, but it was all good.



Melanie made another list. She titled this one. "Dr. J. and Mr. H."

"Wife, Mother, Sister," she wrote.

She left a large space, then added, on another line, "Slut."

Beneath the first line she made a short list: Patient, Caring, Concerned, Involved, Dependable, Disciplined.

Beneath the second she made another short list: Drunken, Fearless, Immoral, Hungry, Sexual.

She looked at the top list. It was too complimentary. It was dishonest. She added to it.

Repressed. Contrived. Distorted. Dishonest. Fake.

She looked at the bottom of the list, considering what to add to keep things in balance.

Dangerous. Guilty. Insatiable. Untrustworthy.

Sick. Twisted. Perverse. Criminal.

She wrote the word "Hopeless" on the bottom, then just stared at it, while she considered how to merge her two halves into something whole.

As Dan came into the bedroom, she opened the drawer of the nightstand to hurriedly put her list away. Dan misinterpreted it as eagerness for something else.

"Honey, I'm sorry. I'm so tired from traveling. I've only been home an hour, I know, but I have to sleep. I won't be any good for you tonight, and I want to be good for you."