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Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 01

By: Rob_mDear



Book 6: Mouse Trapped

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



"Honey, where the hell is my travel razor?"

"I don't know. When did you have it last?"

"Whenever I went some where. When the hell was that?"

"I don't know. Ages ago. Where did you usually pack it?"

The shouting voices floated into the room from a distance, as Mouse struggled to silence herself, while her dear brother Michael tortured her clit with his loving, powerful, talented tongue. At times, his whole, large mouth would clamp down around her clit, sucking hard on it and all of the tender flesh around it. A thick, masculine finger would invade her, adding it's presence to her delight, pressing rhythmically on the slickly wet, sensitive flesh inside and behind her clit.

Then his tongue would descend on her, making rapid, loving circles around her large, swollen clitoris. Whenever Michael did that, Mouse bit back hard on her lip, fighting back a high pitched yelp. It usually came out anyway. It did this time, much more loudly than she could afford.

"Sh. Mom and Dad will hear you," Michael scolded.

Mouse put one hand behind his bald head, pulling him forward, hard against her, forcing his mouth back onto his sister's clean shaven cunt. He hummed appreciatively into her. She rewarded him with a soft laugh.

"That's it, Big Brother. Make me come before Mom and Dad find us, before they find out what you do to your sweet little sister."

Michael attacked her with renewed vigor. Mouse succeeded in stifling most of the yelp this time. She felt tingles and warmth and shocks and a thousand other sensations under his assault. She shuddered momentarily with what might have been a mini orgasm, or perhaps just her body warning her that something bigger was coming.

Mouse squeezed her eyes tightly shut, focusing on the feel of her brother worshiping her, and her body.

"Where is the small bag? I can't find it. I bet the razor is there."

"So go look for it, you big lunk. I'm busy. I can't decide which dresses I should bring. Do you still like the red one?"

Mouse moved one foot into the kitchen sink, spreading her legs wider for her lover. The other dangled over the edge of the countertop, the foot dangling in the air above the floor. Michael's hands held her thighs firmly, keeping her pinned in place, until one moved to simultaneously press two thick fingers into her already slick pussy and ass, one each.

The dual penetration shot a blast of fire through her belly, up into her breasts and down into her legs. She bucked her hips, forward and back, moving Michael inside her, doubling and tripling the strength of the sensations, pushing her closer and closer to a special, concentrated release that only Michael's tongue and mouth had ever given her.

Fighting down what would certainly be a long, low growl, she leaned quickly back, banging her head with a clunk on the edge of the cabinet above the counter. She barely noticed the pain, but it forced a sound from her, not a mere growl, but a long, soft, high pitched squeal. Once it started, she couldn't stop it.

"You little slut," Michael said into her cunt, barely removing his lips from her to form the words.

Mouse laughed again, a light, high pitched, musical sound.

"Fuck me, Michael."

"No."

"Please, Michael. Fuck your sweet baby sister."

"No. Mom and Dad will catch us. With my pants down."

Mouse laughed again. Surrendering to his logic, she brought her own hands up to knead her breasts through her blouse. She wanted so badly to be naked, to get Michael naked with her, but that would have to wait until her parents were safely on the plane.

As it was, what they were doing was beyond crazy. When she'd started to tease Michael, she never expected him to attack her. She was sure he'd panic, and she'd have fun ridiculing him for his timidity, and torturing him by trying to push things further than he wanted to go.

His reaction shocked her, and was pleasing her very, very much.

The phone rang.

"Honey, can you get that?"

"What? No, I'm in the attic. You get it."

"I can't. Mouse? Mouse? Michael? Will one of you get that? Do something useful, please."

Mouse leaned, trying to stretch across the countertop, struggling to reach the phone at the far end. Michael changed positions, standing and turning his head to attack her from another angle, letting her lie down along the length of the counter as she grabbed the receiver. He obviously wasn't stopping for anything.

"Hello?"

Mouse tried to make her voice sound normal, but to her it came out squeakily high, like an excited little girl's, which is exactly how she felt.

"Mouse? It's Mel. Are they ready to leave yet?"

Mouse issued a short, stuttering moan into the phone as Michael's large, handsome hands invaded her again, accompanied this time by his thick, strong, probing tongue.

"What the hell was that?"

"Michael, stop, it's Mel," Mouse whispered hoarsely across to him.

She relaxed on the countertop, panting softly, as Michael eased off, choosing instead to run his marvelous hands up and down her bare legs, then slipping one up under her skirt to hold her ass. His tongue was now finding the gaps in the front of her buttoned up blouse, sneakily trying to taste her flesh there.

"Go on, Mel. Sorry."

"What the fuck are you two doing? Are Mom and Dad still there?"

"Yeah, they're upstairs packing. Don't worry about it. What do you want?"

"Tell her you're a little slut who just couldn't wait," Michael growled into her belly, while expertly slipping two more fingers into her trembling cunt.

Mouse squinted her eyes shut and bit her lip, barely holding back the building yelp, this time.

"Mouse? What the hell are you and Michael doing? They're still there, and you two are already going at it?"

"Don't worry, Mel, Michael's just playing. We'll hear them long before they get downstairs, if they ever get organized enough to do it."

Mouse put a thumb over the receiver's microphone to talk to Michael.

"Stop it, just for five seconds, let me deal with Mel."

Michael grinned back up at her, his chin wet and glistening with her juices, as he continued moving his fingers inside of her. Almost against her will, Mouse gyrated her hips, helping him to move as she wanted.

"Make it quick, Mel."

"I just wanted to know if you two wanted to go out to dinner, after they leave. We could meet somewhere after you drop them at the airport. Or you could just come here."

"Um, maybe, I don't know. We'll probably want to be alone. Soon."

"Yeah, no surprise. Well, look, give me a call if you want to meet and we'll make plans. If you two are sated, that is. I don't need you two going at it with my family around."

"Mouse?" her mother called. The voice was louder, drifting in from someplace much closer than anywhere upstairs.

In a panic, Michael shot up to grab a kitchen towel from near the sink, using it to wipe his face dry. Mouse scrambled off of the countertop. She almost fell, but Michael's strong hand shot out to grab her upper arm, easing her down. In her excited state, the strength in his grip shot bolts of pleasure throughout her. He was so strong compared to her diminutive frame.

Mouse frantically tugged her denim skirt down, trying to straighten it, and her blouse, trying to hide the disheveled clues to their impropriety.

Their mother coasted into the room as they each fought back matching blushes.

"Mouse. Michael. What the hell are you doing? I need help, here. Who's on the phone?"

Mouse turned the phone off, hanging up on Mel, before thrusting the phone down into the cradle. It gave her an excuse to turn her back on her mother, to compose herself. Michael had virtually run to the refrigerator, to open the door, looking for something.

"It was just Mel, calling to see if you'd left."

"Well, call her back and tell her to come over. The two of you are no help at all."

"We'll help. We were just... arguing."

Michael came out of the refrigerator with a can of ginger ale, as their mother rolled her eyes at Mouse.

"Dear God, don't you two ever stop? Alright, let's get to the airport so you two can separate. Michael can go home and you can come back here and have the run of the whole place all to yourself. I still don't know what you're going to do to keep busy for two whole weeks."

Mouse grinned back at Michael.

"I'll manage, I'm sure."



Mouse melted into Michael's arms, into his chest and his thighs and his mouth. His powerful arms held her tightly, his hands splayed against her back, pressing her firmly, irresistibly against him. Her entire existence melded into his lips as he took her through them, body and soul.

Mouse greatly resented having their clothing separating her from Michael, even though, during the kiss, it felt as if they had none, that there was nothing between them at all.

"Did you remember the blue bag? Where's the blue bag? Is it there already?"

"I don't know, I didn't put it in. Where the hell is Michael? I thought he was going to help."

Mouse tried to fall away, then, not to pull away, but at least to stop her own insistent part in their contact. Michael didn't let her. She went limp in his arms, but he still held her firmly, his mouth moving feverishly against and inside of hers.

Eventually she pressed against his chest, not hard. She couldn't make herself actually push him away, but she hinted.

He released her with a sigh, while Mouse herself experienced a moment of extreme emptiness at the loss of the sensual contact.

"I'm here, Dad. I've got the blue bag with me. Just give me a moment," Michael yelled out.

He stared into her eyes the whole time he spoke, as if his voice were elsewhere and else-when, belonging to someone else, but his body and spirit were here and here alone. Mouse lifted up on tip toes to plant a last kiss on him. He bent his head down to offer his lips, but she teasingly denied him, planting a quick peck on his chin instead.

Despite her playful desire to torment him, her lips had to linger, reveling in the warm, scratchy feel of his already growing whiskers. She paused a moment, considering how they would feel in a few more days. She'd begged him not to shave too often while their she was here.

"Michael! Come on, I want that bag."

Michael scowled, barely taking his eyes from Mouse's, as he picked up the suitcase, along with two others, and headed out into the hall, down the stairs, and to the car.

Mouse watched his hulking form, struggling but still silently handling his burden, as he left her alone, for the moment. She glanced around her parent's bedroom, on night stands and the dresser top, on the bed and the closet floor, looking for anything else, anything left behind.

There was nothing. It was done. Soon they would be gone, out of the country, and her sweet brother Michael would be hers and hers alone, to play with for two glorious weeks, however she pleased, in their childhood home.

* * *

The elderly couple disappeared down the long, street-wide walkway, just beyond the security station. They looked embarrassingly like typical American tourists, in khaki shorts and colorful shirts and broad brimmed hats, and all the more amusing because their father's height and girth so dwarfed their mother's dainty presence. Mouse had said it was comical, while Mom shushed her and told her not to be fresh. 

At a distance, their mother stopped to wave at them, smiling broadly, just before they disappeared around a last corner, with their father's strong arm reaching back to grab her and hurry her along. For a moment, they were a vision to Michael of how he and Mouse might look a quarter century from now, if the world would allow it.

"Well, that's that," Michael said.

"I thought we'd never be alone."

"We're not alone, yet."

Mouse's warm, dark eyes twinkled up at him, above a bright, delightful smile. Michael dragged his attention from her eyes, to her white teeth, to her lips. His hands settled on her waist. It was so narrow, her whole body was so tiny, he felt like she was a wisp of tissue, a paper doll in his big, clumsy hands.

Her pulled her close, and up. Without thinking he lowered his mouth to hers, shocking her with a passionate, incestuous kiss right there, in the airport, amidst a thick, bustling, buzzing crowd of travelers.

Mouse fought him for a moment, then pleasingly poured herself into him, adding her own energy and excitement and enthusiasm to their kiss. Michael felt his body awash in a searing heat. This was the most sinful thing he'd ever done, passionately kissing his sister in front of a crowd of strangers. 

Anyone he knew could be here. Anyone here might recognize them another time, in another place, saying just the wrong, incriminating thing in front of someone they did know, who knew who they were, and what they never should be doing. The feeling of wickedness and hedonistic delight was intoxicating. He let the kiss last a moment longer, then firmly pushed her away and down.

As she fell back to her feet, he soaked himself in the pleasant, lost expression on her face. Her long dark lashes rested at the ends of calmly closed lids, above half parted glossy lips, her breathing shallow, as if she were sleeping both restfully and restlessly, troubled only by exciting, pleasant dreams.

Her eyes snapped open to look lovingly, and lustily, into his. Around him, he could sense a few people staring, but most just continued on their busy ways, hurried and heedless.

"Wow."

Michael grinned at her in response.

"Do it again, Michael."

"Come on, let's get home."

"No. Do it again, now, or I'll do it to you, after I yell 'I love you, Big Brother," at the top of my lungs."

Michael glanced around him, nervously, now. Even that one statement, spoken aloud, if privately, was further than he was willing to go. It was unlikely that anyone here knew them, so he'd taken a wild, careless risk for Mouse's pleasure, tickling into life her own natural, wicked sense of adventure. But now, his own inherent timidity took over.

"Kiss me, Big Brother. Do it. Kiss me or I'll scream it."

After two more furtive glances, Michael surrendered, taking her into his arms to kiss his amazing little sister again, his wonderful, forbidden lover, before an oblivious crowd, and before soon taking her home to live for two weeks doing all of the things they wish they had done in previous, long gone and lost years and situations.

* * *

"How is the job search going?"

Michael watched Dan follow the question by shoveling a mouthful of mashed potatoes, brown with gravy, onto a fork, then aim it at his open mouth. He had never liked the way Dan ate.

"Okay. Not great. Things need to pick up a bit in the market, first, I think. I don't want just anything. I'm not going to settle."

"What made you decide it was time to go to Chicago? All of Mona's talk of an adventurous social life there?"

Dan was just about the only one that used Mouse's given name, Mona.

Michael smiled vacuously at him, wondering if the question was a baited trap. He had no idea what Melanie might or might not have told her husband behind closed doors. She couldn't have told him the truth about Mouse and Michael, but what fabrications and half truths she had used to explain their behavior were a mystery to Michael. He hesitated, troubled by the thought of saying the wrong thing.

"No, no, it's just that now that I've been traveling there for business, I realized what a small world I'm trapped in. There are more opportunities out there. Bigger things."

"And more women?" Mouse asked with a teasing, mock innocence.

"Yes, I'm more likely to meet a loving, responsible, respectable companion there," Michael said staidly into his plate, unable to resist the backhanded dig. He moved the cut up pieces of steak around on his plate with his fork, playing with his food like a child, impatiently wishing they had never come here. He wanted to be alone with her.

"Well, keep us up to date," Melanie said, rising to reach into the center of the table to take the bottle of wine. "A refill for anyone?"

"I will, thanks," Mouse said.

Michael wanted to tell her she'd had enough, but held back. He noticed that Melanie herself was sticking to water. She didn't even allow herself a glass of wine with dinner, since her recent lapses.

"I think you've had enough, Mouse. We don't need you getting crazy," he said, for the fun of it, as Melanie was pouring into her glass.

Mouse stuck her tongue out at him, then pushed her already refilled glass back at Melanie, silently and rebelliously demanding even more.

All in all, the evening wasn't going too badly. He resented the delay in being alone with Mouse, but, that aside, it was rather fun to be fighting with her again in front of Dan and Melanie. It had a nice feel to it.

* * *

Mouse felt the bulge in Michael's pants pressing invasively against her own crotch, as his hands feverishly kneaded her ass while pulling her hips hard against his own. His lips were a reckless storm all over her own, like a hurricane whipping wind and water over a small, isolated island.

"Good God."

Michael and Mouse both quickly broke the kiss, spinning their heads in mirrored unison to stare at their sister.

"Dan is right out there. He could have walked in instead of me. Jesus."

Mouse smiled at Michael, laughing inside at him at the look of shame he bore after Melanie's reproach. She lifted herself on tiptoes to kiss him hungrily again, quickly, briefly, but right in front of their big sister, and long enough to push her tongue past his resisting lips and into his mouth.

"Mouse."

Mouse stared at Melanie in silence, then stuck her tongue out at her childishly. Melanie glared at them both with a blazing look, saying no more, just glaring, as if that look were branding the words "incestuous sinners" into their foreheads.

Mouse basked in it.

She took Michael's hand, leading him out of the kitchen and back into the dining room.

"Come on, Big Brother. Let's get some more dishes for Melanie to wash."

Melanie maintained her stare as her little sister marched past her, with Michael in tow.

"I knew this house sitting arrangement was going to be a disaster," Melanie said in a husky, deep throated whisper, as they passed.

"Define 'disaster,'" Mouse said, with her back to Melanie, as she glided out of the room.

* * *

The drive home was easy and quiet and comfortable. The back roads were empty of traffic, while the moon was so bright Michael almost felt he didn't need headlights. The surrounding trees shown with a ghostly silver glow, casting even more ghostly looking shadows across the black tarred road.

Michael lied to himself that it was the beauty of the evening, with Mouse nuzzled against his shoulder as he drove, that kept his speed down. Mouse must have been listening to his thoughts.


Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 01



"Speed up, sweetheart. I want to get home. I have plans."

Michael responded with silence. Mouse responded in turn to his silence by rubbing her nose into his chest, while one hand expertly undid a single button, to slip a few restless fingers inside to grab and twist his chest hairs. She never did it painfully, or at least, not so painfully that it bothered him. It was a comforting, teasing pain that she gave him, always, something to remind him that she was there with him.

In a way, it was in miniature what she had been doing to him her entire life, hurting him just enough to make sure that he never forgot her presence.

"Mouse."

Mouse, as if to rebuke him, responded with her own silence.

"Do we really need to play all these games the next two weeks? Can't we just be together? Like normal lovers?"

"Getting cold feet?"

"Yes."

"Dork."

"But is it really necessary?"

"I already told you it is. We've had this discussion, and I won. We're not repeating it."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

Mouse wanted to enact every fantasy with Michael that had never come true. Every missed seduction, every lost evening, every special moment that instead remained ordinary. They'd lived with or around each other for more than a decade, desiring without having.

Now she wanted it all. She had the desire. She had his love, and his body, with its seemingly boundless lust. But now she wanted time back, too. She wanted everything she'd denied herself. She wanted every memory of what had never happened to crystalize in a series of almost theatrical performances.

"Haven't we grown beyond this?"

Mouse nibbled on his ear, while her hand traced an ever widening and more aggressive path over his chest.

Mouse hadn't answered that question the last time, either. This was always where the conversation stopped. The problem was that, while Michael asked the question as if the answer were yes, he wasn't really sure. He wasn't sure they'd grown at all, as a couple, or that they ever would.

They seemed to be stuck. Their relationship was more solid than it had ever been. They cared for each other, and looked out for each other in ways he never thought either he or she would. The sex was unendingly amazing, if sinfully illicit.

But that was as far as they'd gotten. They weren't going any further, because they couldn't go any further. Michael was very sure that at the end of these two weeks, they'd still be right where they were now.

There really was no place else for a brother and sister to go.



Mouse lay beneath Michael as he groaned and shuddered, his lust exploding inside of her. His chest pressed into her face. Her body sank into the already too pliant mattress under his massive bulk. Mouse clung to his body with her legs and arms both wrapped tightly around him.

She hadn't come, this time, but that was okay. She came more than often enough. They'd been apart for so long, that the fact that he came so quickly, with so little attention to her needs, was, in her mind, simply an affirmation of his fidelity. She accepted it with a loving fondness. She even liked not having come herself.

She liked being her big brother's little whore, there for his pleasure, not hers.

Still, she couldn't breathe, with the muscles of his chest smothering her nose and mouth, with his mass pressing down on her face and ribs and lungs.

She couldn't breathe, and it paralleled how she had felt during the day, how she'd frequently been feeling during the days, like she couldn't breathe, like she was trapped. She recognized the feeling. She'd encountered it often in her life. Whenever a guy got too close, whenever a guy seemed like he might be worth keeping, she felt like she couldn't breathe. She felt like she needed room. She felt trapped.

And she sabotaged it all to escape. She drove him away, or ran away, or both, so that in the end, she had her freedom, and her life, and one more chance at the one true love of her life, her brother. Except now that was who she had, and she still felt trapped.

As if to counteract her thoughts, to prove the lie in them, she squeezed him more tightly. Her hands raced down to the thick, stone hard muscles of his ass, still clenched tight as he held his erect member implanted deeply inside of her, as if he'd frozen at the moment of orgasm. She grabbed his ass, digging her nails into his flesh.

The gesture brought a sharp intake of breath from him, and a low, guttural moan, one that rose in volume and intensity until it morphed into a growl.

"God, I missed you, Mouse."

The words came out as a cross between a whisper and a snarl. Mouse kissed his chest, as her hands and toes both tickled his ass with gentle strokes.

"Shit, I must be suffocating you," he said, lifting himself on strong arms in a panic, but keeping them joined at the hips, keeping his now shrinking cock in her to the last. "I'm sorry, baby."

Mouse smiled up at him. She forced herself to breathe easily and steadily.

She still felt trapped.

* * *

Sleep drifted unstoppably away from Michael long before dawn. The harder he tried to hang onto it, the more conscious effort it took, and the further it slipped away. The bright moon had set, taking with it the unearthly silvery glow that it had cast throughout Mouse's room as they made love, before sleep took them both.

The light had been replaced by a deep, immeasurable, pitch black void. Michael literally could see nothing. He felt as if he were floating in space, or some formless limbo, until his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

Mouse's small, long vacant childhood room now held not even a small digital clock to reveal any of it's contents through any slight, eerie glow of its numbers. He knew what was there, all of Mouse's childhood furniture and things, but they were hidden from sight. All was blackness. Right beside him, crammed as they were together on her small, single, bed, Michael could hear Mouse's even breathing.

Their father had often joked that had Mouse been as large as his other two children, she would never have been able to live in the cramped room. They would have been forced to sell the house.

Michael considered, not for the first time, how their parents might react to their relationship. Not their initial reactions. That was too terrible to think about. But over time, could they accept it, even approve? Was there any chance that they could consider revealing their love for each other?

Michael knew the answer for their mother would be a resounding no. As spritely and free spirited as she was herself, there was no way to imagine her even angrily ignoring the situation, let alone calmly accepting it.

Dad was different. His off color comments and hints at a wild past suggested that he could surprise them. Certainly, he was where Mouse got her mischievous side, though certainly not her diminutive stature. Something told Michael that, if he ever had the nerve to dance around the subject, his father might at least understand.

Michael grimaced at himself in the darkness. He was being foolish. The darkness, time with Mouse, sex with Mouse, did that to him. It was all foolishness.

Michael reached over to touch Mouse then, to pull her close, then froze, thinking twice, not wishing to wake her. He closed his eyes, wishing sleep would take him again.

* * *

Mouse listened to easy sound of Michael's breathing, trying to gauge whether or not he had fallen back to sleep. For a moment, she'd considered nuzzling up to him, trying to excite him into another quick fuck.

She thought better of it. He needed his sleep, and so did she. Neither would be very pleasant company if they never slept during these marvelous weeks of encounters. There was plenty of time.

No there wasn't, she thought. Time was limited. Their time together was limited. It couldn't be plenty. The world wouldn't let it be plenty. Their parents would never let it be plenty. Even Melanie, as accepting and even as helpful as she was being now, would never let it be plenty.

No one would ever leave them alone. No one would ever let Mouse keep him, or be his.

No one.

An end was coming. Mouse couldn't foresee it, and didn't want to think about it, but the more she told herself that it didn't matter, the more the fear intruded on her.

No one would ever let them live and love the way they were meant to.



Mouse couldn't suppress her grin, and she couldn't stop counting them, either. Eighteen of them. Eighteen beautiful, unexpected candles, burning on a tall, delicious, chocolate cake with white icing and pink sugar flowers. One candle for every year of her life.

Thinking back, she couldn't remember actually having a cake on her eighteenth birthday. She was too old, too mature, and too detached from her parents back then. She did remember going out to drink behind the school with her friends that night, and making out with Jimmy as her head swam with cheap vodka and fiery, random, teenage emotions. As she remembered it, it took some encouragement from her to get him to go to second base.

This was going to be so much better than real life. This was what should have happened, how she should have celebrated her eighteenth birthday. She looked up at Michael, towering over her, expectantly waiting for her to make a wish.

Just the sight of him made her smile more. She stared into his tender eyes, glistening in the flickering candlelight. She closed her own, as if making a wish, but she already had most of what she wanted. No need to be greedy. She opened them again, looking right at him, and he, of course, was still staring back into hers.

Without taking her eyes from his, she blew out all of the candles in one long, sweeping, searching puckered exhale of breath, as if she were kissing the air above the cake. White curls of smoke rose up between them from the extinguished candles, twisting and dancing until they dissipated in the air, unable to disturb the bond between the sibling lovers.

"Happy birthday, Mouse."

"Thank you, you big dork. When did you get the cake? How did you hide it?"

Michael smiled enigmatically.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Mom got it for you. I just took it out of the fridge and lit the candles."

Mouse gave him a tight lipped, grimacing smile, capped with a stern look under a furrowed brow. She maintained it until he leaned in to plant a long, warm, lingering kiss on her forehead. As he pulled away she reached up, grabbing him behind the neck, holding his head so that she could lift her lips up to his.

He pulled sharply away, grabbing her hand to tear it from him.

"Mouse! What are you doing? I'm your brother!"

His mock shock and dismay were very well portrayed. Mouse almost felt embarrassed and guilty at her attempt to kiss him on the lips. She burst into yet another grin.

"Well, that's enough cake for me," she said, pushing her chair back. "I'm off to bed. I have a long day tomorrow."

"Sit down. Come on, the cake is here, let's at least have a piece. Or two."

Mouse propped herself on one knee on the chair, half up, half sitting, as she glowered down at the cake. She hesitated for a while, feeling childish, and so very eager to get on with the evening, but knowing she shouldn't rush things. She'd already waited thirty years for this particular eighteenth birthday. She could wait a few minutes more.

She plopped down into the seat with a loud, theatrical sigh.

"Okay, just one piece. I get the big flower, though."

Michael grunted humorlessly, then set about cutting a large, triangular piece of cake for his little sister, one with the largest pink flower right in the center.

"One perfect piece of cake for my selfish, spoiled, baby sister." 

* * *

Michael paused, looking down the dark hallway into Mouse's room. Bright moonlight swamped the bed and walls, bathing her round, tight-pantied ass in a silvery blue white glow. She lay on her stomach, face half buried in her too soft pillow, blanket and sheet tossed aside, with her smooth, flowing legs ever so slightly spread, toes pointing toward him.

The space between her legs called to him.

She slept now as she always had, back then, wearing only skimpy, tight fitting panties and a loose, thin, short t-shirt. Back then, he doubted she ever slept with her door wide open, though. If she had, he probably couldn't and wouldn't have resisted a visit like this one, eventually, over the years.

She had changed so little, physically, since turning eighteen. It could easily still be the night of her birthday, roughly twelve years ago. That could be her, a young virgin, dreaming incessantly of boys and men, and one forbidden man in particular whom she never suspected thought of her in the same way.

He had been in the house that night. At the time, Michael was only twenty nine. He'd already lost his hair, by then, but not his physique. He was tall and well muscled, maybe not the most attractive man in the world, with a body too covered with virile hair and a nose too large to be simply interesting, but enough women were attracted to him. He'd had a number of regular lovers.

He didn't need incest fantasies, then. Not that he didn't have them, and frequently. He just didn't need them.

He'd been frustrated, that night, that Mouse had asked him, in front of their parents, to spend the night in his old room. It was silly and strange. He didn't understand her request, and fought with her and their mother tooth and nail. Mouse had said it made the family feel more complete for her birthday.

"She loves you," her mother had said. Michael had rolled his eyes in irritated response. In the end, he gave in, as he always did with Mouse, sleeping in his old room, lying awake for much of the time, restlessly wishing he could sneak into her room as long as he was there. Even then, especially then, his sexual attraction to his sister was obvious, at least to him. It had never occurred to him that her attraction to him was similarly twisted, and far different from what she let on.

Just down the hall his virginal young sister lay in her bed, like him, restless, waiting, wishing he would come visit her in secret.

* * *

Mouse tried not to visibly tense as she heard Michael enter the room. She feigned sleep, just as she would have done that night. She waited impatiently for him to touch her.

His fingertips were cool when they brushed her ankle. His hand slipped slowly and smoothly up her calf, like a sluggish breeze, up the ticklish back of her knee, up the inside of her thigh, getting ever so teasingly closer to the gap in her legs where her panties clung to an already wet, eager pussy.

Mouse chewed on her pillow, warring with the desire to whimper. Even that little touch, something that might almost be non-sexual, sent thrills racing and alarms sounding throughout her body. Every nerve in her system burst into life. She felt her pussy rapidly drenching itself with warm, slick excitement.

Michael's hand, feeling massive, slipped up to cup her ass cheek. The thumb of his other hand slipped up the inside of her thigh, just barely brushing her panties, right at the bulge of her vulva, before that hand, too, rested on the round globe of her opposite ass cheek.

His hands very gently massaged her, together, in rhythm, very, very gently squeezing the cheeks of her ass. Mouse could feel the tips of his fingers, his thumbs, and his awesome palms. Thoughtlessly, she lifted her ass to meet him, unconsciously moving in rhythm with his caress.

His thumbs slipped down the bare flesh at the edge of her panties, then under them, then inward, and down, slipping down along the edges of her cunt lips. He encountered no pubic hair. Mouse had waxed herself clean for him. Now she tried, without too obviously moving, to push herself against him, silently urging him to enter her immediately.

He stayed there for an eternity, just looking at her ass, touching it, and ever so gently and discretely teasing the outer edges of her cunt, while it grew wetter and wetter with each passing moment.

He was taking so long. She endured his touch for as long as she could.

"Michael," she whispered. "Michael, what are you doing?"

"Sh."

Mouse lay still for a while, letting him continue to touch her. Or rather, she lay as still as she could. His touch was phenomenal. She had to move beneath him. She squirmed and thrust meagerly against him, trying as hard as she could to innocently get his thumbs to enter her.

"Michael, stop, this is wrong."

"Sh."

"Michael, I'm your little sister. You can't do this to me."

"It's your birthday present."

"Michael, stop."

He slipped one thumb into her then. The inevitable short, sharp, high pitched squeal escaped from her mouth. His thumb was so thick.

"Sh. Quiet, Mouse, Mom and Dad will hear you."

"Stop it, Michael."

That was what she said, even as she lifted her ass from the bed, forcing Michael's thumb deeper inside her. She relaxed, letting it slip out, then lifted, forcing it in, ever so slowly and subtly fucking his thick, masculine thumb. She wished that he would put the other one near her mouth, so she could suck on it.

Her squeals grew louder, and more frequent. His second thumb joined the first, stretching her cunt exquisitely, yet torturing her with their shallow, inadequate penetration. She yelped loudly, trailing off into a falsetto moan.

"Does that feel good, little sister? This is what you get for teasing your big brother all day, every day."

His thumbs left her abruptly. She lay there a moment, waiting, waiting, waiting. One long, thick finger took their place, thrusting more deeply into her, then moving, searching, like a snake searching a burrow for prey.

"This is what you get," Michael said, as he stunned her with his invasion.

Mouse moaned again, more loudly. Her parents would certainly awaken at that if they were actually there to hear her.

"Has anyone ever done this to you, Mouse?"

"No."

Michael slapped her ass, then thrust his finger into her again.

"Don't lie. Has a boy ever stuck his finger into your hot, wet, teasing, young cunt?"

"No."

He slapped her again. She squealed, and laughed at the feel of it. As soon as she could, she bit the laugh back, trying not to ruin the game.

"Not a boy? What about a man? A full grown man? Or maybe another girl?"

His finger moved in her, pressing on the sensitive, wet flesh behind her clit. Michael was so damn good with his hands.

"Slut. Do you girls do this to each other?"

His finger explored her ceaselessly, but slowly. Michael was no boy, now, or then, Mouse thought.

"Are you a virgin, little sister?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

Mouse listened as Michael stood up.

"Where are you going?" she asked into the pillow.

"Sh. Mom and Dad will hear you getting your present."

Mouse turned her head ever so slightly to watch through half closed lids as Michael pulled down his briefs, exposing his thick, long, wonderfully hard cock.

"What are you going to do, Michael?"

"What you want."

"I don't, Michael. Not with you. Not now. Not my first time."

"Sh," he said, as he moved onto the bed between her legs. 

The mattress sagged under his weight. His fingers touched her again, but only tangentially, to pull her panties aside. Mouse arched her back, thrusting her ass up, offering herself to him.

"You little slut, you say no, but you want it."

"No, Michael, I don't."

He slapped her ass again, harder this time. The loud crack seemed to echo around the room. Mouse yelped in pain.

"I don't want my brother to fuck me, Michael. I don't want my own brother to be my first."

Mouse felt a soft, warm breath at the base of her spine, followed by a feather light kiss. He worked his way up her back, pushing her tee shirt up as he went, making his way with soft, wet, warm kisses, all the way up to the back of her neck. His mouth moved then to her ear, where it took the lobe in his teeth, tugging playfully on it.




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 01



His husky, baritone whisper, right in her ear, was now as loud as thunder.

"Tell me you're a virgin, Mouse."

"I'm a virgin," she squealed, almost breathless in anticipation.

"Tell me you want your brother's cock to be your first."

"No, Michael."

He brushed his cock against the back of her thigh, while holding her panties aside with one hand.

"Say it. Say it, or I'll call Mom and Dad in to see what a slut you are."

"No, Michael."

"Say it, slut."

He said it louder, now, almost loud enough for them to hear him. She had to say it, or they would be caught. She had to tell him what he wanted to hear. She had to admit it to him, out loud.

"Yes, Michael."

"Yes, what?" he whispered into her ear.

"Yes, I want you to take me."

"How? Tell me. Say it."

"I want you to fill my virgin cunt with your cock."

"Whose cock?"

"Yours."

"Whose?"

It was a hushed growl now, an angry command.

"Yours. Michael's. My brother's."

"Say it. Say it all."

"I want..."

Slap.

"I want my brother to fill my virgin cunt with his cock, my brother's cock."

Then his cock was finally in her. With one long, sudden, deep stroke, he plunged into her. She grabbed a fistful of sheet in each hand, wailing loudly, before burying her face in the pillow to muffle her deafening, tortured sounds. His cock, in one stroke, filled her to her limit. She felt his balls slap against her thighs as his cock went in to the hilt.

His bulk pressed down on her, forcing her down into the mattress. The weight of him, combined with the awesome strength of his hips, threatened to crush her beneath him. Her wail continued, unending, until his hand found her mouth, clamping over it, almost silencing her.

"Sh. Do you want Dad to come in and find you with my cock inside you?"

Mouse panted with excitement into Michael's hand, until she recovered enough from the sensation to shake her head no with fast, short, sharp motions.

"Then be quiet while I give you your birthday present, dear sister."

He started to move inside her. He slowly pulled his cock from her, then rapidly thrust it in, slowly out, then rapidly in, over and over. Each time he entered her she squealed. Each time he withdrew from her, she moaned. Her big brother was an easy, patient, experienced lover, no rutting, fumbling teenage boy. He took his time, whispering to her throughout his easy assault.

"Do you like my cock, baby sister?"

"Do you like being fucked?"

"Are you sorry you've been such a little tease?"

"Is it all you thought it would be, Mouse?"

Her answer to every question, when she could form the simple word, was yes.

Eventually, his patience reached its limit. His pace increased. His hands found her shoulders, squeezing them almost painfully in his powerful grip as his hips thrust and drove against the soft pillow of her ass, smashing it ruthlessly, faster and faster. 

"You're so fucking tight, Mouse, you're such a fucking tight little virgin."

"Am I, Michael? Am I?"

"My little sister is such a sweet, tight, fucking little virgin. Fuck yes. Fuck yes."

He rolled on his back, rolling her with him, staying inside her while turning her to face the ceiling.

"I'll fuck you like this, now, so that if Dad comes in he'll see my cock way up inside you."

Mouse let out a long, tortured, soprano wail. One of Michael's hands covered her mouth again. She almost bit him.

"He'll see what a slut his little girl is, loving her brother's cock as her birthday present."

Michael's hands found her breasts. They entirely encompassed them, covering them, pressing them down hard into her ribs. Her nipples exploded with bolts of pleasure, searing her with something akin to a gratifying pain that she never wanted to end.

Mouse moved, now, for both of them, arching her back quickly, using her body to writhe and twist on his cock, frantically moving every way she could in an effort to feel his cock everywhere inside of her. She felt the orgasm growing now. She felt her body responding to her brother's mighty hands and cock and thrusts.

Her sounds were more subdued, more breathy, as she fought them back, while loosing herself on her brother's cock.

"Now you get my real present, Mouse. Now you get my birthday present to you."

She knew he was ready to come. She could tell by the guttural tone in his deep voice.

"Give it to me, Michael. Give your virgin sister your gift."

He groaned loudly. His hips swung up violently, driving into her, matched with a violent, bestial groan.

"Take it, Mouse. Take my cum. Take your brother's cum."

He bellowed the words straight into her ear as she grinned, shrieking with him, in love with the mere though of being filled with her brother's cum.

"That's it, baby, fill me up. Fill me up, Michael. Fill your virgin baby sister up."

His finger tips dug into the flesh of her tits as he came. His mouth went crazy on her neck, his tongue flailing wildly over her, while his hips held her suspended in the air with his cock driven as far up inside of her as any man ever could. He held her there as he emptied himself into her, until he was completely spent.

He lowered his hips to the mattress again, while Mouse kept moving on him, moving his cock inside her. He panted into her ear, resting, before resuming his movements, his cock still hard, thrusting, helping, urging her body on.

"Come for me, now, Mouse. Come for your big brother."

One hand drifted down her belly, further down to touch her. She opened her eyes, lifting herself, to watch, to see in the bright moonlight where her brother's cock disappeared inside of her, and where that loved, magical, beautiful hand wandered down to touch her, pulling her panties further aside, finding her engorged, tender clitoris.

The feel of one fat, strong finger circling and pressing on her clit triggered explosions that wracked her body. She made no pretense any more of controlling her screams.

"That's it, my little Mouse. Scream for your brother. Scream so Daddy hears you."

That thought drove Mouse completely over the edge. Her body shivered and quaked, out of control, convulsing with a force she'd rarely felt. She could feel her cunt grabbing and tearing at Michael's cock inside of her, almost as if it were trying to tear it off and keep it forever.

The next sensation she recognized was the feel of Michael's hands marauding all over her, over her breasts and belly and thighs, pinching her nipples, wandering around the lips of her cunt. She smiled at the ceiling, lost in his loving, exploring, energetic touches. Her own small hands found his, touching them gently, following them in their excursions across her racked body.

"I love you, Mouse."

"I love you, too, Big Brother."

"Happy birthday."

"Thank you, darling. Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Mouse turned to kiss him then, first nibbling on his lip, then opening her own mouth wide, consuming him and letting him consume her, while knowing that she should have kissed him like this twelve years ago.

* * *

Michael awoke in the dark night. A terrific thunderstorm had rolled in. Raging torrents of rain lashed at the window, punctuated by wails of the wind. It was that time of year. Storms always came through, in the afternoon, the evening, or, failing that, in the midst of the night.

Mouse was nestled under his arm, breathing evenly into his chest. He moved his other hand to hold her closer, to needlessly shelter her from the storm outside. He stroked her arm, gently, admiring the sight of her perfect little body. Not perfect, he admitted, but perfect to him, and for him.

"Happy second eighteenth birthday, Mouse," he whispered in the night.

Michael stared at the ceiling for an hour, wondering if all of their time together would be like this. He wondered how long he could do this to her, make her come like this, make her enjoy his body like this. He knew she could do it to him forever.

He fell back to sleep with that word echoing in his thoughts.

* * *

Michael awoke with the feel of Mouse's mouth enveloping his erect cock. He opened his eyes to be burned by the morning sun, blazing fiercely straight into his face.

"Jesus, did the sun always hit you like that in this room?"

Mouse hummed a yes into his cock, unwilling to let him go. She moved gently back and forth, holding his shaft at the base with a ring formed by her fingers, squeezing it tightly whenever she descended on him.

"Aren't you afraid Dad will come in and catch you? Catch us?"

Mouse freed his cock, then, to giggle.

"Why? Will Daddy be jealous?"

His cock was instantly in her hot little mouth again. 

"You fucking incestuous minx."

This time she giggled with his cock head still between her lips. Michael lifted his head to watch her for a moment, then surrendered, lying back, relaxing, letting her do whatever she wanted.

"A virgin shouldn't know how to suck cock like that, Mouse."

She pulled her mouth from him again.

"What did you think I did to satisfy the boys, if I wouldn't let them fuck me?"

He could almost hear the grin in her voice, before she puckered her lips to blow a stream of air over his wet cock. Michael exhaled in appreciation. Mouse was a genius with his cock.

* * *

Mouse worked feverishly on her brother's shaft, laboring intently to reward him for such a wonderful performance the night before. It was a great performance in so many different ways, she thought, the acting, and the fucking.

Michael lay back, whispering one word, over and over to himself. At first, Mouse couldn't make it out. With time, with effort, the word became louder and more forceful. He didn't even seem to realize that he was doing it, he just kept saying that one word, over and over, in rhythm with Mouse's efforts.

When she could make it out, when she understood what he was saying, she redoubled her attack with newfound energy, forcing the word from his lips, sucking it out of his body through his cock, through her love for his cock. He repeated it over and over and over again, for her.

Eventually, as she brought him closer to orgasm, she slowed. She paused. She teased him. She wanted to make him last, so he would keep saying it. She wanted to listen to him saying it over and over again for as long as she could. It became her favorite word, more important than anything she'd ever heard, anything he'd ever knowingly said to her.

She touched herself, easily coming with him, when he filled her mouth with his glorious seed, while shouting the word over and over so loudly that it reverberated throughout the house.

"Forever, forever, forever..."

* * * * *

— From the author —

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— Rob



Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 02



Book 6: Mouse Trapped



Chapter 2



Michael took a few practice swings with three bats, then put two down, swinging again to get the feel of it. He felt very self conscious with Mouse in the stands, right behind him. It was weird. She'd come to see almost all of his baseball games when he was in high school, but back then she was only seven. This was different.

The bat kept slipping in his grip. He rubbed his hands in the dust, then rubbed them together, then swung the bat a few more times.

"Let's go, Michael. Let me see you hit the crap out of that ball. Get on base for me."

Mouse's voice was piercing, with an almost artificial excitement behind it. She used to say things like that back then, too. She was quite the little cheerleader.

Mouse's squeaky enthusiasm was getting all of the guys going. Usually, no one came to watch them play. All of their wives had something else to do, except for the few that were divorced, or Jack, who was widowed. The point was, no one ever came to watch. Over forty league softball games were just for the guys.

It didn't help that Mouse had decided to dress in her usual, flamboyant and quite sluttish fashion. She wore a tight fitting navy tube top, leaving her bare at the shoulders and the belly, with closely matching very tight fitting short shorts that showed off her athletic dancer's legs, and sandals on her rather sexy, small feet. Her clothes hugged all of her curves so tightly she looked naked with painted on clothing. Her nipples bulged embarrassingly, at least for Michael, through the skin tight weave of the top.

She wore her hair in a loose ponytail on one side of her head, leaving her wavy curls of hair flowing down onto the clean, exposed skin of her right shoulder, with the very ends tickling the bare skin at the top of her right breast. She wore more eye liner than usual, more than Michael liked to see, and a pinkish lipstick and eye liner that accented her darker complexion.

"That's a tight little firecracker you brought to the game with you. Where'd you find her?"

Realizing he'd been staring, Michael snapped his gaze down to his bat, where he worked at rubbing more dirt onto the grip. He tried not to look Jack in the eye. He tried to keep his face stolid, as if he were focused entirely on his bat and his swing and the game.

"She's my little sister."

"Shit. No kidding. Sorry. I didn't mean..."

"Don't worry. She's the family slut, and we all know it."

"Ouch. Well, as long as she's only your sister, to you... and a slut... does she go for older men?"

As a matter of fact, yes, Michael thought. Jack was fifty six, the oldest guy on the team, and looked to be very much Mouse's type. He had a daughter almost Mouse's age, too.

"No."

* * *

Michael tried. Probably no one else really noticed, or appreciated that about Michael the way Mouse did.

He tried.

He wasn't the best at anything. He was successful enough at work, admirably so, even if it was just sitting behind a desk pushing numbers and thoughts and people around. She couldn't understand doing it all day long, but he did, and he was a vice president now.

But he wasn't the best, not at work, not at sports, not in school, never at anything. The thing was, best or not, he always tried.

He'd taught her that. That was one of his biggest gifts to her, growing up with him around.

It wasn't as if he had sat her down one day and told her. He taught her by doing. He taught her by example. Her entire life, growing up, she watched him and learned from him, and in some small ways, like this one, in always trying, she sought to emulate him.

He wasn't fearless. Quite the opposite, he was prone to anxiety, and worry, and indecision. She had him beat on that score. But in spite of that, he still tried.

For Mouse, a man had to try. For her to see anything at all in him, he had to put himself out there, day after day, in situation after awkward situation, and try. No one knew that that was the sexiest thing about Michael, to her. She loved his hands, and his nose, and his bulk and his hair, where he had it, and where he didn't. She loved his somber, quiet moods, so opposite to hers. She loved his towering height. She loved his protective nature, and the ease with which he withstood her constant assaults and tantrums.

But above all, before and beyond everything else, she loved the way he always tried.

* * *

Mouse was still cheering uproariously as Michael rounded second, thought about pushing it, then decided the last thing he wanted was to be thrown out at third, right in front of Mouse. He slipped in the infield dirt as he dug his heels in abruptly, spitting up a cloud of dry, orange-brown dust, then hustled back to second, while smugly watching the center fielder gather up the softball and fire it in.

"Whoo hoo! Way to go, Michael! Way to smack that ball!"

With his back still to her, Michael rolled his eyes, hoping the infielders noticed and realized that he didn't approve of her theatrics, that she was annoying him, too.

"Shit, no wonder you hit the thing so hard. She's worth impressing. Is she yours?"

"She's my bratty little sister," he told the short stop.

"Wow. She may be annoying, but she's fun to look at. She single?"

"Dan!" barked the second baseman.

"What? I'm just saying..."

"She's his sister, for Christ's sake."

"Okay, fine, but is she single?"

"Not for the other team, she's not," Michael said, pointedly glowering in at the pitcher's mound, not looking at anyone in particular.

The short stop and second basemen both laughed.

"Wait until she sees me hit," one of them replied. Michael wasn't even sure which one, he was so distracted and annoyed.

Mouse was still carrying on, with whistles and screams, two hands forming a megaphone. A little part of Michael smiled, annoyingly pleased that he'd impressed her.

* * *

Michael had ended the inning stranded at second as the next two batters hit long fly balls for outs. Then the inning was over. His team took the field.

Michael was playing first base. He warmed up by smoothly throwing ground balls to the other infielders, then catching their return throws, when Mel showed up, with Kate.

Oh, shit. Michael hadn't expected that. Mel never came to his games, ever. And why the hell did she bring Kate? This was turning into a nightmare of very unbiblical proportions.

The three of them settled in together on the bench. Shit. Michael very purposefully did not look at them, while noticing that every guy on the field and the bench, every single head swiveled, locked on, and stared. There were more than a few mumbled comments, followed by gruff laughter that grated in too many different ways.

Every one of the three looked anything from cute to hot, depending on your tastes.

Melanie was tall, curvaceous, and very conservatively if casually dressed, for her, wearing loose, faded jeans and a tight fitting, knit tank top that hugged her large bosom, highlighting her size there and giving the faintest view of her admirable cleavage.

Kate wore a white, billowing button down shirt, tied at the waist, exposing her belly, above long loose khaki shorts. The curve of her hips was quite alluring, while the shirt did a fair job of hiding her rather meager bust while hinting that she wanted it to be seen.

And then there was Mouse, his sister, the obvious and impossible to miss slut.

Michael tried as inconspicuously as he could to watch their every move. He saw Melanie introduce Kate to Mouse. He watched some polite babble go on amongst them, cringing at what they might be saying. He kept imagining that he was lip reading his own name at least every other sentence.

During the distraction, he didn't stretch far enough for an easy, if off target, throw. The ball sailed past, forcing him to sheepishly chase it down, temporarily putting the three ladies out of his sight.

"E-1!"

That was Jack again, yelling in from third base, right in front of the ladies. Michael tossed the ball aside when he got it, ready to start the inning, not sure if he was grateful or worried that the women had apparently missed the episode, being instead too engaged in a laughing conversation about who knew what, but almost certainly him.

* * *

The final score was 5-4, good guys, although Michael couldn't take much credit for the win. He hadn't played badly, although an error on his part, on a bad throw to home, cost his team two runs, the one he didn't gun down at the plate, and another that scored when the ball sailed high and ricocheted oddly along the backstop.

He'd had two hits, but both were for naught, neither driving in any runs, nor plating a run himself. He was left on base each time.

So his fantasies of showing off in front of Mouse, and then Melanie and Kate, drifted away into the growing pile of memories that never were. In contrast, the old man, Jack, was four for four with two RBIs, another run scored, and a great diving catch at third to save at least two runs, maybe more.

Jack enjoyed the great pleasure of doing it right in front of the ladies on the bench by third, and having them whoop and holler and lavish so much praise that Michael could see Jack's reddening face from across the diamond, while being blinded by Jack's sheepish and overlarge grin.

Michael took another sip of his beer. This was what they really played for, anyway, for the camaraderie and banter after the game, over a cold beer. The home team was gone, heading off to a nearby bar they frequented. Michael's victorious team was left with the field, the stands, and a cooler full of beers.

And three sexy ladies that had everyone's attention.

No less than five guys were gathered around Mouse, as was always to be expected with her. Michael felt like he'd spent half of his life standing around the perimeter, watching Mouse in the center of a herd of guys. As usual, she was smiling, and vibrant, and oozing a natural sex appeal like the hardest working whore on the block, but without even trying.

Michael slapped himself for thinking that thought about Mouse. But it was true.

And it wasn't just his jealousy speaking, he told himself.

Kate was getting attention from the guys, too, but at least she was giving a lot of her own attention to him. For her part, Mouse didn't seem to either notice, or care, about Kate's interest in him.

Even Melanie had been cornered by two guys. Judging by the way she was standing, with her chest thrust out and her hand in constant motion, fiddling with the choker around her neck, she enjoyed it as much as any of them, married or not.

Of course, very few of these guys could actually do anything with them, either. They were almost all married, except for the widower Jack, and Michael, and a couple of others who were also divorced.

"So you live in Chicago? I travel there on business, sometimes. I love that city," Jack said to Mouse.

"Yeah? You should call me the next time you go. We can go to a Cubs game."

"I'm an American League fan. I'd much rather see the Sox."

"Booo. Don't mention the White Sox near me. I'm a Cubbie, through and through."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to see old Wrigley Field..."

"Those were some nice hits you had," Kate said to Michael, interrupting his efforts to eaves drop on Mouse and Jack.

"The pitcher was tired each time I got a hit. I just sat back and waited for what I wanted."

"I was surprised that a big guy like you could move as well as you do."

She said that with a big grin. Michael wasn't sure if she meant the underlying, sexual meaning that he wanted to take from it, just to feed his ego.

"I don't do badly, considering my advanced age."

"You're not 'advanced.' You're just about right. Younger men are really still just boys. The world needs men with real experience."

She blushed as she said that, knowing she'd clearly crossed the line from softball to other things. Kate implied a lot of things, without saying them. She'd certainly done it enough with Michael that he was getting the message.

Michael himself, while not blushing, looked around to see who had heard. Mouse was very engaged with Jack, who had clearly established himself as the alpha male in her own personal wolf pack. The other guys hung around, listening in, clearly hoping for a chance to impress her, but all of her focus and warmth were now directed at the old man.

Michael tore his eyes away, belatedly trying not to appear to notice.

"She does like older guys, like you said," Kate commented. "I can't blame her. There's a definite, unquenchable allure there."

She was smiling at him again. It made Michael feel good, and wary, and more than a little uncomfortable, whether Mouse was noticing or not.

* * *

"You could have come to talk to me after the game," Mouse commented.

"What? I wanted to, but you looked like you had more than enough attention."

"And you had a pretty little blond."

"Kate is just a friend of Melanie's."

"I know who Kate is. She's sweet, too. We talked quite a bit."

"About what?"

Mouse smiled enigmatically, and a little angrily, as if holding her tongue was his punishment for his improper behavior.

That thought angered Michael, himself. He hadn't done anything wrong. She was the one that had flirted outrageously with Jack, and the others. Michael would have been more than happy to talk to her, as long as he could be sure that Kate wouldn't try to be part of the same conversation.

"So what did you two talk about?" Mouse asked.

"Nothing. Just the game."

"Just the game?"

"Yeah, just the game. Why? Are you that jealous?"

"I'm not jealous at all."

"You're acting jealous."

"Don't be a child. I'm not. Dork."

"Where are we going for dinner."

"I'm not hungry."

"We have to eat. Pick a place."

"Why didn't she talk to anyone else?"

"What?"

"You heard me. She only talked to you."

"She talked to other guys."

"No."

"She did..."

"I was there, shit head. Three guys tried to talk to her, but she brushed them off just like I do. She only talked to you."

"Really? I hadn't noticed. I don't know. Maybe just because I was the only guy she knew."

Mouse stared at him for a discomforting moment, then looked away.

"Jack was sweet."

Michael bristled.

"Yeah, he's a nice guy."

"I like his gray hair. I like his jaw."

"I'm not sure you're his type."

"I'm every man's type, brother dear."

Michael bristled again. She didn't use the appellation the way she usually did. It carried more of it's conventional connotation in her tone.

"Well, he's available. His wife died of breast cancer a few years back."

"Mexican."

"What?"

"Mexican. I want Mexican food."

"I can do that. Let me swing home and change. I know a good place."

"Someplace private."

"It will be private."

"It better be."

In the end, they did take out, so they could get home more quickly to vent their similar and separate frustrations and fears in a more physical way.



Michael stood in the hallway, only semi covertly watching Mouse towel off after stepping out of the shower. She rubbed the towel vigorously in her hair, leaving it a tangled, disheveled, sexy mess. She rested one foot on the ground, the other on the edge of the tub, to dry her leg, while nicely showing off a wonderfully sculpted leg, with a smoothly curving calf and tight thigh and clean, olive skin.

She turned away from him, moving the towel back and forth across her back, while Michael's eyes admired the inverted heart shape of her ass, well rounded, well formed, well toned. She turned to the mirror to flip and tug at and then brush her dark hair. Her profile accentuated the fine curves and peaks of her breasts, small and delicate, but rounded and pert and firm and inviting.

"You're so beautiful."

She turned to him with a half smile. He didn't say it to her often enough. He thought it, constantly, and had for year after year without saying it, without feeling that he was able to say it. Now he could, but he didn't, not enough.

As he stared at her, her smile grew. She turned away, without a word, to return to her hair.

He didn't say it again. He just stayed, and stared, and admired until she swayed down the hall to her room to dress for dinner.

* * *

"I want the Tortellini al la Giantini."

"He told you they don't make it anymore. You already asked."

"I know I asked, but I want it."

"You can't have it."

"Don't ever tell me what I can't have."

Michael looked up over his menu at her. It was a large, clumsy, stiff, one page affair, like a broadsheet, in laminated plastic. Mouse looked like a petulant child, with her brown eyes glaring back at him from just over her own menu, which almost dwarfed her in size. 

The entire place had changed. They should have expected it. It was many years since they'd come here as a family, back when Mouse was in high school, and then home for summers during college, and then just a few more times before she left for Chicago.

Since then it had changed owners a few times. The chef had obviously changed repeatedly. It had been completely redecorated, maybe even gutted to get to where it was now. The current owner was going for something of a fantasy experience, with a rather pretentious decor that simulated, within the restaurant, a series of sidewalk cafes in a village square in Italy.

Each wall was painted with a large mural depicting a series of storefronts on an Italian city street. Colloquially dressed mannequins loitered here in there, huddled in small clusters, as if quietly commenting on all of the foreigners sitting at the tables. The tables were arranged along a floor that simulated a cobblestone street.

There was even a working fountain, gushing and bubbling happily, in the center.

"I want the Tortellini al la Giantini."

"Even if the chef has any idea how and agrees to make it for you, simply because you are so famous and special and wonderful, you know it won't come out the same. You'll be disappointed. Just pick something else."

"I don't want something else. I've been thinking about having this for weeks. It's what I want."

Because she can't have it, Michael thought. That summed Mouse up. He'd never really pinned it down before today, but it really fit. Her entire life, Mouse always wanted whatever she couldn't have. It made her come across as fiery, and independent, and courageous and adventurous and daring and unstoppable. It made her seem fierce and indomitable.

But the fact was, it wasn't just that she couldn't take "no" for an answer. The fact was, she actually couldn't take "yes" for an answer. If the answer was obviously going to be yes, it didn't interested her. She only wanted to hear a "no."

She only wanted what she couldn't have.

Like, for instance, her choice in lovers, him.

"What about the Pesto Tortellini?"

"No, shit head, that's nothing like it. All it has in common is Tortellini. Boring. I want the bits of chicken, and the balsamic glaze they put on it. I can almost taste it."

So what would Mouse do if she really could have him? What if they were discovered, and their parents said, that's okay, you two were meant for each other? What if they moved somewhere where no one knew them, and they really could be together, and live together, and be a couple forever?

Would she stop wanting him?

Did it all, in the end, really have very little to do with Michael? Did it come down to simply wanting what she couldn't have?

If he moved to Chicago, if he told her he didn't want anyone else, ever, that he was committing himself to her, with or without the approval of the rest of the world... would she run from him then, leaving him alone, once again?

Mouse was staring at the fountain, as if lost in thought, much as he was.




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 02



"So try something new. Ask the waiter what the least popular dish on the menu is, and get that."

Mouse turned to glare at him. He expected something nasty to come out of her mouth, and the tone was certainly there, but the words didn't match.

"What are you getting?"

Michael held her gaze.

"It doesn't matter. I've already got what I want."

Mouse softened abruptly, the ice in her face melting before his eyes. She stretched one hand across the table to grab his own, squeezing it and pulling it closer to hers, so she could continue to hold it, and stroke it tenderly with one thumb. Michael looked down at the wedding bands they'd both agreed to wear tonight.

She did this in spite of the fact that across the courtyard, just visible beside the fountain, were two couples, friends of their parents, who had known them both since they were kids. Michael fought the urge to glance at them, to see if they were watching.

"I don't care if they see us," Mouse said.

"Neither do I," Michael lied.

Except that if they did get caught, if everyone knew, they'd inevitably throw a fit. Their worlds would come crashing down. There would be embarrassment and shame, and fights and expressions of disappointment, and probably counseling and years of sidelong looks and whispered conversations by friends and neighbors and relatives. The word "incest" would be spoken in hushed tones by everyone whenever they were seen even near each other.

And so Mouse would want him all the more, forever.



"Come on, Mouse. Let's go."

Mouse didn't even reply.

Melanie had forgotten how annoying Mouse's tardiness could be. She acted as if time and schedules didn't apply to her. Rules didn't apply. Her approach to her sex life didn't stop there. It permeated everything.

Hell, if she was going to be hopelessly in love with her own brother, what did being on time for dinner matter?

She didn't seem to understand that Melanie really meant it when she said that Tieri's was crowded, and that they took reserved seating very seriously. If you missed your window, it was like you'd never had a reservation. You went to the bottom of the list, and that meant you might as well go elsewhere, unless you wanted to be seated after midnight.

It was a shame that Michael couldn't come, both because she loved his company, and because he might have been able to actually get Mouse out the door, since doing otherwise meant he would be late, too. As it was, he had a lot of work to do that night to prepare for an important meeting in the morning, something about inventory overages and cost cutting. He was stressed out about it, too, so even if he did come, he wouldn't be any fun.

Too, he probably wouldn't keep his hands off of Mouse. The two of them had gotten way out of control lately. Melanie didn't know if it was their parent's absence, or some sense of acceptance due to her own sinfully stupid involvement months back, or if the relationship had just lasted now for so long, through so many twisted episodes, that they didn't care anymore. 

It was almost as if they'd forgotten that they were committing incest, and that the rest of the population of the country would not look too kindly on their behavior.

Doug and Rick were watching a baseball game on her parent's big plasma TV. They would stay pretty solidly rooted there until Melanie told them to move it, so they really didn't mind Mouse's intransigence. Jenn stood behind them, not interested in the game, but unable to find anything else to do. Dan was waiting impatiently in the car.

Melanie walked to the kitchen to get a quick drink of water before they left. She was going to need it, because she was going to scold Mouse the entire drive there, especially if they got a speeding ticket.

* * *

Michael's lips moved over Mouse's in the artful way that only he had. It was as if he had a thousand little hands in his lips, each of them independently pressing and caressing and pleasing her own, all at once. His tongue could be ever so gentle and tender, too, carefully, calmly, but forcefully exploring her mouth, sending shivers through her body.

And then there were his actual hands. He had one flat against her back, holding her powerfully, immovably against him. She loved that feeling, the feeling of being possessed and restrained, almost forced into the incestuous kiss by him, as if that would ever be necessary. 

The excitement of the feeling actually related to one fantasy that he refused to act out with her, one where he forced himself on her in the basement of the house. He said he just could never hurt her that way. She'd said that she wouldn't mind, it wouldn't be hurting her, it would just be forcing her to do what she really wanted, and thrilling her by doing it. 

He still said no, but she knew he'd give in eventually.

As if he could sense her mind wandering, Michael redoubled the passion behind the kiss, pulling her more firmly to him while pressing his mouth harder against hers, forcing her head back and her body into an arc. His other hand gripped her ass. His hand was so large, his splayed fingers could almost cover one entire cheek, with his curling fingers indenting and pulling on the flesh in an irresistibly arousing way.

Mouse lost herself in the frightening and electrifying sensations of being taken and possessed by her brother.

* * *

Melanie froze in the entryway to the kitchen.

So that was what was taking so long. They had to say good bye, and then they had to get carried away.

Melanie started to clear her throat, then constricted her muscles, braking herself before she could start. Instead, she simply stayed there, leaning against the archway, watching her baby brother kiss their baby sister.

They did it with such passion. Melanie really doubted that there were many couples that got it right the way Michael and Mouse did, even though it was so wrong. Michael showed just the right amount of power and control, and tenderness and care. He held Mouse at once like an over eager boy holds a new puppy, gawky and clumsy, all rambunctious energy and fumbling strength. At the same time, though, he almost smothered her with his bulk, protecting her, trying to keep her safe, to keep the world away. He succeeded, too, his massive frame was the perfect shield for her, whenever she needed it.

Mouse was like a waif in his big arms, but moving with the same feral and independent rebellion that her personality displayed. Yet, at the same time, with him, in his embrace, some she was also as pliant and gentle as a kitten. She surrendered herself to him, instantly and totally, letting him mold and maneuver her in ways no one else on earth was allowed. In his arms, she let herself become his, totally and completely and without reservation.

She knew how they each kissed, too. She'd kissed them both, sensually and sexually, with both disastrous, and wondrous, effects. Michael was at first shy and probing, ever so careful not to offend or to overstep his bounds. As the kiss grew in passion, he became a powerhouse, a huge force that thrust itself upon you and marauded where ever and however it would.

Mouse, with her petite little mouth, was an eager, mischievous vixen, never hesitating, with lips and a tongue that danced and fluttered all about, never being still for a moment, always tickling and tasting and wandering, always finding more and more pleasurable things to do. Kissing Mouse was never dull.

Melanie shifted in place, recognizing an unwanted excitement inappropriately growing within her.

* * *

Mouse realized that they'd been at it for far too long. She was surprised that Melanie hadn't called her in frustration. She'd said something about Tieri's being strict on their reservations. She supposed she had better get moving.

Mouse moved two hands up Michael's broad chest. It wasn't as firm as it had been some months ago. For a while he had worked out, hard, to get himself into shape just for her. Now, the flab was returning. He just couldn't keep it up forever. Still, his chest felt big, and wide, and powerful, made all the more exciting because beneath his shirt was a bed of half graying hair that she was always dying to run her fingers through.

She slipped her hands up to his chin, to hold his marauding mouth more steadily against her own, then abruptly she pushed him away, relaxing her own legs to drop from tip toes back to the floor. His hands held her even more tightly then, his signal that he hadn't had enough. Pleased by his insistence, she turned her head to bury it in his chest, then slipped her own arms around his waist to hold him as best as her tiny frame could.

She opened her eyes.

Melanie was standing in the archway looking. She should have looked annoyed, but instead her face held a calm, teasing smile, a smile that bordered on predatory. She looked at Mouse for a moment, holding her gaze, keeping her smile, then turned and left without a word.

* * *

Mouse peered at herself in the bathroom mirror, touching up her makeup after having ordered her dinner, but before the meal arrived. Melanie was checking her hair at the adjacent sink. For one moment there was no one else there with them.

"How long were you watching us kiss?"

"Not long."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was enjoying the show."

"It wasn't a show."

"Bullshit. I think you knew I'd come in. You put on a lot of shows, and you love being watched, and you know it."

Melanie walked away to dry her hands.

"I thought you didn't approve of the public displays of affection," Mouse said.

"It wasn't too public. It was just in the kitchen, and just for me."

"Your kids could have walked in instead of you. That would have been pretty public."

"But they didn't, and then I stood guard, to make sure it stayed that way."

"So you don't care anymore that your family might have seen your little sister kissing your brother?"

"Yes, I do, but I don't care if I see you. I rather enjoy it, actually."

Mouse looked at her askance. Melanie was smiling straight at her. It was that same, predacious smile.

Without another word, Mouse went back to the dinner table, feeling confused.



The air changed abruptly. Gusts of wind whipped about with surprising power. All of the trees writhed in place, with one set of branches twisting one way, while another set of leaves of the same tree collapsed in on the trunk, as if an invisible giant had fallen into it. Swirling, gusting, raging winds stormed in to molest all of the trees at once, like an unseen army of giants flailing about, playing a strange game, bouncing off of the trees.

The scent in the air changed, too. It felt charged with electricity, at once dry and damp, and spiced with a metallic tang. The sky to the west was very dark. It blackened as the storm cruised in.

"Okay, looks like next basket wins," Mouse said.

"Next basket wins? You're down by a thousand."

"I'm sure it's no more than a few hundred, you shit. And anyway, it's not a fair game."

"Because you're so tiny? Hey, that's the breaks, in hoops."

"No, because you're so slimy, and I don't want to even touch you. Defending you is like defending a swamp creature. A giant, slimy, frog."

Michael bumped her purposely, then spun around her and just as purposely missed the layup. Mouse grabbed the ball, dribbling frantically and awkwardly out to the three point line. Michael admired her ass as she went, again very purposefully being slow to follow her, giving her room to shoot.

The one thing she was good at was outside shots. She'd hit a surprising number of them, when he let her take them.

She missed this one, but it ricocheted across the driveway to his parked car, where she scurried first to collect it and shoot again. He made a show of running across her path, waving his hand across her face but not coming near the path of the ball. She buried it.

Instead of cheers and childish, inane, over the top celebration, she glared at him.

"You let me win."

"I did not. You took the shot. It went in. You win."

"Don't let me win, Michael. You always do that. You give in and let me have my way. You let me win, you let me choose the restaurant, you act like you don't matter at all."

"That's not true. I'm selfish in lots of ways."

"Yes, you are."

"What does that mean?"

"Forget it. Let's go in."

As she said it, huge, widely scattered drops of rain thumped the ground and pinged off the hood of the car.

"No. Tell me what you mean."

"I don't mean anything. You're just selfish. Come on, I don't want to get wet."

Mouse tried to go, but Michael took her thin upper arm in one vice like hand. He didn't say anything.

"Let go, you're too slimy to touch me. God, you sweat like a horse."

Michael still didn't answer. Mouse stopped talking, too, choosing instead to glare up at him. Her sudden anger shocked him. He glared back, though, unwilling to back down, especially since that was apparently part of the problem.

After an uncomfortable moment, as the frequency of the drops rapidly increased, threatening to unleash a torrent at any moment, Michael spoke.

"Come on, I'm not letting you in until you talk to me."

Light flashed brightly at the start of his sentence, like a photographer's flash bulb taking a picture. His last words were completely drowned out by a tremendous crack of thunder, the kind that makes your heart skip a beat, and almost feels as if it makes the earth shake with it's frightening power.

Mouse jerked, startled, in his grasp, at the sound.

She pulled away fiercely now, but with no real hope of breaking his grip, despite his slippery sweat.

"Let go!"

It was a bellow, now, full throated, and very angry.

Michael gave up trying to talk to her. He grabbed her shoulder with his other hand, gripping her hard, and spinning her about. She fought him the entire time, as occasional drops slapped his face with a mild sting. Her dark eyes, pupils wide and black, glared up at him, but with as much sorrow as anger.

Michael felt himself draining into those eyes, like water poured from a pitcher into a vase.

He didn't even realize he was kissing her until her tongue came out to meet his. Her tiny hands pressed on his chest, ineffectually pushing him back. His own hands held her firmly against him, pulling her all the more tightly as she pushed away. In some small recess of his mind he remembered that they were on the driveway, in front of the house, where anyone could see.

He didn't care as the kiss continued while the rain finally let loose, shooting a machine gun spray of water bullets down on both of them. Mouse didn't seem to mind, either. Her mouth opened wider, her hands found his cheeks, and her feverish lips wandered over his, licking rain water from his lips.

"You fucking prick," she said into his mouth, before kissing him again.

She stood on tip toes to reach him. He let his hand drift down her back, squeezing the tight, firm globes of her taut ass, while pulling her into him, making her feel the sudden bulge she'd inspired in his shorts.

She broke the kiss again, to pant into his ear. Rain drops poured down the flanks and back of his bald scalp, with no hair to absorb and restrain it. He could feel her licking the droplets from him, catching rivulets of rain as they scurried down his head.

"Get your fucking hands off of me, dork."

She said it with her fingers firmly interlocked behind his neck, using her grip to pull her diminutive frame up to his level, aided by his hands digging into her ass, lifting her to him.

* * *

In a sudden rush, like a stray leaf blown free of it's branch and caught in the whipping wind of the storm, Michael lifted her up and carried her, not to the house, but to his car, where he dropped her forcefully onto the hood. The sound of her ass thumping down was a mini thunderclap, followed immediately by another, true, loud and vibrating crack, as if the storm were daring her to compare herself to it.

Before she could complain about his rough handling, he grabbed her legs and pulled them apart, while burying his head in her neck, then just a quickly taking one damp breast in his mouth. Her t-shirt was already matted down, first from sweat, and now more thoroughly from the torrential sheets of rain.

She tipped her head back, catching the drops, as Michael's precious mouth sent her own bolts of lightning shooting through her nipple, through the flesh of her tit, and out into her ribs and body.

Michael tugged frantically at her shorts. She didn't realize that her anger could make him so bold. She herself wasn't sure that this wasn't much to daring for her, the idea of fucking on the hood of his car, in daylight, in the driveway in front of their parent's house.

* * *

Michael pulled her shorts down, then up, raising her legs, and off in one swift, unstoppable motion. Mouse cooperated fully, gymnastically twisting in place to make it easy. It took bare moments for Michael to slip his thumbs into his waistband to pull down his own loose basketball trunks and jockstrap in another smooth motion.

The rain, driven at an extreme angle, hammered into his back, and the now naked cheeks of his ass and thighs.

Mouse's eyes burned with all of the black fury of the storm around him as she glared first at him, then at his erect, angry cock. Both of her tiny hands lashed out, grabbing him, stripping the rain from his sliding with smooth, sliding tugs.

"I fucking hate you, you selfish prick."

Michael grabbed her damp hair, pulling her painfully into another kiss. In contrast to her words, her hands clamped on his skull, just as fiercely pulling his lips against hers. 

His cock was cold and wet, drenched in drain water, then instantly, fantastically burning along its entire length in the fire of her juicy cunt after one fast, long thrust, ardently guided in by her own tiny hands. The wetness of the flesh inside her betrayed her passion. She moaned loudly into his kiss as he filled her, before tearing her mouth away.

"Jesus fucking Christ, you bastard, you fucking bastard."

Her hands grabbed his soaked t-shirt in bunches, threatening to tear holes in it has she pulled him down onto her, falling herself onto her back. Rain slammed around them onto the hood of the car with a rapid staccato of metallic pings echoing nature's fury. Michael matched the rain, showing no tenderness, thrusting quickly in and out of his bratty little sister with the hard, fast, deep stabs of his cock.

* * *

Mouse looked down, between them, to where her brother joined with her. Her passion redoubled as she watched his cock, long and thick, glistening wet with nature's rain as well as her own, disappearing inside her. He would take it out, reminding her of it's size, and it's erect, excited, incredibly hard state. Then he would bury it in her, thrusting in, as inch after inch of its length vanished from her sight, while she felt it, she felt inch after inch of her brother's cock stretching her cunt, spreading her, and filling her.

"I hate you, Michael. I fucking hate you. But I love your cock. I love your fucking cock."

She pulled her legs up over his shoulders, opening herself to him fully, helping his to cock bury itself inside her as far as it could go. She whimpered into the sky, her mouth open, catching rain drops, and warring with the storm with her own noises. Another crack of thunder shook the world around her.

She was soaked to the bone, now, they both were, outside and inside. Michael's broad torso lowered itself onto her, sheltering her, keeping her from the storm, keeping her to himself. She nibbled on his ear. With as much anger as she could, she barked into it.

"You fucking selfish pig. Fucking your little sister in front of the whole neighborhood you selfish, fucking, evil pig. Get the fuck off of me."




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 02



As she said it, her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades, trying to draw blood through his soaked shirt, while holding him fiercely against her, keeping him with her, keeping his mass pressing down onto her spoiled, nasty, electrified little tits.

When was he fucking going to tell her? When was the fucking pig planning on fucking telling her?

* * *

Michael raised himself up, pushing with his arms on the hood of the car. Mouse's fingernails dug painfully, deliciously, through his shirt, into the skin of his shoulder blades. As he lifted his bulk, he carried her with him, clinging, lifting her from the hood, until she abruptly let go, slamming back down with a thud.

A violent wind swept through between them, driving sheets of rain into them both. Her nipples were dark and round, showing clearly through her soaked, white, cotton tee shirt. They screamed into his soul to touch them, to feel their firm, young forms with his fingertips and mouth. He hesitated, torn between the desire to touch them, and the urge to do as he'd planned, to grab her thighs and hold her in place so he could drive himself more deeply and forcefully inside her.

At that moment, with his hands poised somewhere between the two choices, Mouse scurried back along the hood, off of his cock, away from him, out from under his bulk. She quickly, lithely popped off of the hood onto the driveway, to run quickly around the front of the car, and him.

"Fucking prick!"

Michael turned, easily blocking her path. She glared up at him, silently daring him to touch her again, or to stay in the way and suffer for it. The standoff lasted until the next loud crack of thunder.

The next thing Michael saw was her perfect, naked ass, glistening with rain water, as she turn and disappeared around the corner of the house, heading into the back yard. His lonely, erect cock felt suddenly frozen, covered with rain in the swirling, harsh wind of the storm.

Michael scowled at the now empty spot where he'd last seen her. He turned his head to the sky, letting the rain drops slap at his face. It had grown very dark. The sun was low and setting behind the dense, black clouds. Early evening had very suddenly come upon them, so that now only a very dark, colorless, flat light illuminated a fading world. Through the sheets of rain, he could barely see the houses across the street.

Michael strode after her, naked below the waist, like she, leaving their clothes behind, to find what was wrong.

* * *

She turned the second corner, ready to head up the deck to the back door, when her footsteps quickly slowed. Mouse came to a halt, standing, in shock, at the scene before her. It was like turning a corner and finding that you had travelled back in time.

The huge, ancient pine was there, as it had always been, ninety feet tall, dancing about in the wicked wind, but as ever too tall and strong to be truly bothered by a mere storm.

This was her childhood tree, her castle, her home base, the center of her earliest world. It's limbs were so straight, and so many, that they formed prison bars, blocking anyone too large from climbing too high, while providing a myriad of perches for the agile young child that had the skill and daring to make her way to its heights.

Michael had up-branched the tree decades ago, when she was still little, clearing the lower limbs to a height of fifteen feet, to make adequate room for picnics and tea parties beneath it, for her. He'd built her a simple rope ladder, hung from one limb, so she could still climb. Better yet, he had strung up a tire, a magnificent, perfect swing that lived in her childhood memories as her most favorite and cherished toy.

Hours of her life were spent sitting and swaying, or swinging wildly, pushed skyward at her ever fearless urging, higher and higher, by her big brother, until he grew too afraid, and said it was too high, and too dangerous.

Years later, she did the same for Mel's kids, not so much younger than she. She'd been like an older sibling for them, a very young aunt, Aunt Mouse, when they came to grandmas to visit and to play.

One day the swing was gone. The kids, all the kids had outgrown it. The rope, many times replaced already, had frayed and weakened with the wear of the years and the elements. No one used it anymore. Mom said it was past time for it to go, and Dad agreed and did her dirty work.

A little part of Mouse had died that day. The child in her, a little part of the child in her, sorrowfully said goodbye to the wonderful, carefree years of courageous, imaginative, unstoppable adventure.

And there it was before her now, as if she'd stepped back into the past, just the way it had always been, the tire swing.

The fucking tire swing.

It was beautiful.

* * *

By the time he'd turned the corner, Mouse was on the swing, her body slipped through the tire, her legs out, stiff and straight ahead of her. She clung with two hands to the rope, arching back, eyes closed, hair dripping with water. Hadn't intended for her to discover it quite this way.

She didn't stir as Michael stepped up beside her. Michael didn't disturb her.

Her eyes opened. Michael died as he looked at sorrow and fear and love and longing and gratitude, all swirled into dark, black, cold coal eyes.

"Fucking pig. I fucking love you."

Michael didn't answer, still confused, knowing he'd understand when she wanted him to understand. He walked around her to the other side of the tire, to face her. She pulled herself upright with her hands, peering at him over the edge of the tire and around the rope, with thick strands of dark hair clinging wetly to her face. Her legs relaxed as the tire swayed and twisted ever so gently, rocking her left and right and back and forth.

"When did you do this?" she asked, her voice calmer.

"Last night, while you were asleep. I wanted to do it before they left, but I wasn't sure how to explain it. Then you never gave me a moment's rest."

Michael looked up into the branches, up the rope, like Jack's beanstalk offering a magical escape, a path to another, less restricted life up in the clouds.

"I'll have to take it down before they come home."

"No."

"I have to. What will we say?"

"No."

Michael stepped forward, up to the tire. He looked down into her heart shaped face. Unflinching, she let him move her hair away from of her eyes. She let his one hand slip behind her head, to hold her steady. She let his lips lower themselves to hers, to kiss her, ever so lightly, almost like a brother should.

Mouse's hands left the rope, finding his own head, holding their lips together as the tire rocked with a stronger motion. Her ankles wrapped behind his legs, pulling the swing toward him, then locking their hips together.

She broke the kiss to stare into his eyes. He held the tire steady as her hands disappeared from sight. He felt one take hold of his cock. It had lost its strength, but surged back to life as soon as she held it, massaged it, tugged on it, all the while staring defiantly into his eyes.

"Fucking prick."

She breathed the words at him, as she pulled his hard cock toward her waiting hips. He pulled the tire, helping her, helping to give them both what they wanted. His cock burned again as she enveloped it with her own waiting, hot, summer storm.

* * *

Mouse felt both lost and fulfilled.

Michael fucked her slowly now, by simply standing still, using his hands to push the tire back and forth, moving her in that way onto and off of his magnificent, hard cock. Mouse stared at him as he did it, studying the droplets of water clinging to his scalp, and the look of intense, calm passion he held in his face for her.

She whimpered, now, for him. She squealed softly each time he pulled the swing toward himself, driving his cock into her, rubbing the fantastically sensitive flesh inside of her with the thickness of his shaft. She inhaled loudly each time he pushed the swing away, pulling his cock from her, but still rubbing that sensitive, electric spot inside her, the spot that hurt and tickled and buzzed, and begged her for more of his cock.

Her belly grew warm, despite the shivering wet cold. The sensations radiated out, spreading through her.

When the fuck was he going to tell her?

"Fucking prick."

"I love you."

"Fucking prick."

"I love you."

* * *

Her sounds came fast and furiously now, tempered by the fact that there were neighbors' houses very close by, softened by that bashful fear, but she sang for him, fast and high pitched, as she always did, almost ready to come for him.

This time, he couldn't hold back. He couldn't wait for her. He felt the cum building in his balls. He felt his cock stiffening, the feeling growing, that sensation that he was expanding, filling himself from the inside from nothing, threatening to explode at his loins.

Michael growled, loudly and ferociously, as his cock did explode, pumping his cum into his sweet, sexy, minx of a little sister, expressing his love and his lust and his wanton, unforgivable carnal desires in the truest, most powerful way he could.

* * *

Mouse studied Michael's face as he came. She'd already come, but wouldn't let him know it. She hid it from him, fighting back the sensations and the reactions and the sounds, spiting him by hiding her pleasure from him.

Now she just enjoyed the sight of him, coming inside her, enjoying her body in the wicked, sinful way that she wanted, she'd always wanted, and always would want him to.

The swing stopped moving as he held it steady, holding her on him, with his muscles bulging, his hands locked in a death grip, and his cock thrust deep into her as it thundered its own rain inside of her.

* * *

Mouse held herself close to him, wet and shivering, under his protective arm, as they walked together away from the swing, to the deck, to the house. She glanced back at the swing sorrowfully, her head spinning with emotions and memories and thoughts she couldn't begin to identify, and didn't care to.

She loved the fucking pig so fucking much.

She buried her head in his chest, as his arm sensed her need and held her more tightly.

So fucking much. 

When the fuck was he going to tell her? She pounded him in the belly with a fist in her sudden resurgence of fury.

What the fuck were they doing?

* * *

Michael set the steaming cup of coffee in front of her. Her mother's fluffy bathrobe felt guiltily awkward after what they'd just done, but it was warm, and soft, and she was chilled to the bone.

Michael was silent, and compliant, and far too timid. He hovered around her before settling gracelessly into his seat to pour cream into his own cup. Mouse watched him intently, making no effort to hide it. Her scrutiny clearly made him uncomfortable, which was good.

"Do I ever find out what this is about?" he said into the bottom of the cup.

"Yes, you fucking will, you prick."

Michael clattered the cup down into it's saucer with an exasperated sigh. He looked around the room, at everything except Mouse. Mouse sipped from her own cup.

"Thank you for the swing. It was very sweet. Very."

She felt Michael look at her then, to see if it meant she had forgiven him.

"Fucking prick."

Michael glumly lifted his cup to take another sip. He was in for a long night, Mouse thought, and longer days, until he got some courage.



They'd slept in separate rooms the night before. Mouse stayed in bed while Michael got up and dressed for work. He wanted to kiss her goodbye, but she'd closed her door the previous night, and kept it closed. He hovered outside of it, for a while, in the morning, arguing with himself over whether to knock or not, or to just barge in, or to leave it alone.

Coward that he was, he left it alone, and went to work.

* * *

"Haven't told her? What do you mean, you haven't told her? When the hell were you going to tell her?"

Michael moved the phone away from his ear, surprised at Melanie's sudden change in tone and volume.

"Last night, but she was too pissed off about something, so..."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I don't know. I just..."

"Well, it's too late now, she already knows."

"What? How did she..."

"Kate told her, at the game."

"Oh, shit..."

"She just mentioned it off handedly, out of the blue. There was nothing I could do. At the time I thought Mouse was just bristling because it bugged her. It should have bugged her, all by itself. It never occurred to me that she didn't know about it yet." 

"Why the fuck did you bring her?"

"She wanted to come. I couldn't think of any reason not to. I'd already told her I was going."

"Fuck."

"So now what are you going to do."

"Do? What can I do? I have to go. I don't even want to. I'm going to be miserable, and Mouse is going to be miserable... Maybe I can say I'm sick."

"Don't be a shit. Not to both of them."

Michael glowered. There was nothing particularly elaborate about it. It was a simple, straightforward glower.

"Fine."

* * *

Mouse was utterly silent when he walked in from a too long, too frustrating day at work. He hadn't needed that on top of everything else. She sat on the sofa, doing some hand sewing on some outfit she was concocting. 

He really should have told her before now, before the actual evening. He'd rationalized it by thinking that she'd just mope and dwell on it. He thought that It would better to just tell her, to go, and come back, and make it as short and easy as possible. 

Instead, it had been days, for her.

"Melanie says you know."

"Can you hand me that spool of thread?"

Mouse nodded to a pile of thread on the coffee table in front of her. He ignored the request, instead drifting a little further away, pretending to study the knickknacks lining the mantle of the fireplace. His mother had a bizarre fondness for ceramic cat figurines, even though she had never owned a real cat in her life. Their mother had tons of them. Most of them were cheap, just scattered about the place, on shelves and sofa tables and end tables.

"She said Kate told you."

The scissor just missed him. It would have hit him if he hadn't been quick. She couldn't have known that he'd be quick enough. It clattered off of the stone fireplace behind him.

"Look, I'm sorry. Kate..."

This time it was a ceramic tabby. Thank goodness that one was very cheap. It wouldn't be missed. Pieces of clay cat littered the floor by the fireplace where it had met its untimely demise, providing company for the dangerously sharp scissor.

"Hey, Mouse, stop."

"You stop."

"I have to explain."

"Fine, explain, but don't say her name around me."

As a credit to his unending stupidity, he almost said it again. Instead he swallowed air.

"Go ahead, Dork. I'm listening. For now."

"I didn't want to."

"Okay, stopped listening. Liar."

"I didn't."

"Liar."

"Mouse! I didn't."

"Then why'd you say yes? And don't tell me because I told you to date. You know damn well you weren't really supposed to."

Michael stood unblinking, as if time had stopped.

"Mom and Dad were there when she asked me."

That made her hesitate. At least, she didn't interrupt.

"You could still have refused."

"And what would they have thought? A gorgeous blond..."

Shit, he thought, even as the words left his lips. She didn't say anything, but her glare could have melted steel.

He looked away only for a second. The other ceramic cat hit him in the chest. Luckily, it had been the smaller of the pair, the one frozen in the act of licking its paw. It still hurt, and he caught this one before it hit the ground, which was also lucky, because their mother was fond of this one.

"Look, I'm sorry, she's cute..."

"'Gorgeous'."

"Very cute."

Silence.

"Look, if I had said no, they would have freaked. Dad would probably have thought I was gay."

"So you're going out to dinner with her. Did it have to be while I was here?"

She was crying now. He hadn't expected that. Mouse didn't cry. She did, actually, pretty often, it seemed, now that she was involved with him. But she never used to, at least, not in front of him.

It killed him. He preferred the ceramic cat, or even the scissors.

"Mouse, there was no way out. Look, it's just a dinner. She's too young for me, anyway."

Shit. Why did he use his mouth, anyway?

Mouse was half way out of the room already. He expected her to head upstairs, but instead she whisked through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door, firing it shut behind her with a bang. Michael followed her at first, then stood helplessly inside, watching her storm off to her swing. He ducked out of sight when she glanced his way.

* * *

She sat on the swing, pushing it ever so gently with one toe stretched out to catch the ground. He'd set the swing maybe a bit too high, once again misjudging his little sister.

He stopped a distance away, out of reach. She hadn't made eye contact, or even looked his way, during the whole, long, arduous walk from the house to the tree. Now she glanced at him sidelong, unspeaking, not quite glaring, but not kindly, either.

"You could have said no."

"Mom and Dad were there."

"You're moving to Chicago. You could have told them it was just a waste of time. Say you didn't want to hurt her."

"Mom wants me to stay here. That's half the reason she almost did a dance right there, when Kate asked."

"Dad would have been on your side."

"No he wouldn't. He would have told me to go ahead and get laid, and fuck hurting her feelings."

"So now you're going to fuck her tonight?"

"No! Mouse, please..."

Michael took his life in his hands and moved closer. When he was beside her, she suddenly leaned into him. It took an act of will to keep from flinching. Her tiny arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly, as he gently put one hand on her shoulder, while using the other to steady the tire swing.

When he looked down at her, she was staring up at him with big, brown, little girl eyes, like a frightened child.

"Promise you won't fall in love?"

"Not today, no."

She looked at him sternly, knowing what he meant. He had to be honest with her, always. Someday he would. He had to, or else go to his grave alone, and unhappy. She knew it. She couldn't ask anything more.

Mouse moved her hands to his stomach, using them for leverage to shove herself away. He released the rope, letting her swing freely, stepping aside as the she and the heavy tire came back at him. On the return trip, he gave her a shove, to get her moving, and then another the next time by, just as he had a very long time ago.

"Go to dinner," she said in a monotone.

"I'll be back early."

"You better be."

And with that, he walked around the house to the driveway to meet Kate for dinner.

* * *

Michael returned by nine thirty. He'd been out for less than two hours. Kate seemed a bit miffed, and he felt bad about slighting her that way, but he felt worse about what it had done to Mouse. He doubted that Kate really cared. He was sure that she was just playing with him, anyway. 

She must be meeting dozens of guys. He was pretty sure she had given her number to a guy at the softball game, in fact, someone on the other team. That actually bugged him more than he wanted to admit to himself.

What bugged him most, and made him feel the most guilty, was that he really did like her. He had a great time with her. He even considered staying out later, and leaving Mouse to stew, but he couldn't do that to her.

Mouse was nowhere to be found. There was a note on the kitchen table.

Jack called. He invited me to dinner. I knew you wouldn't mind. Not sure when I'll be home.



Love, Your Little Sister

Michael stared out the back window as he started to fume. He should have stayed out with Kate.




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 03



Book 6: Mouse Trapped



Chapter 3



Michael looked up at Mouse, beautiful in the moonlight, perched upon his cock like a succubus, riding him as she pleased, daring him to come inside of her. There were no games this evening, no pretense, no play acting, no complications. This was sex, raw, passionate, and without rules.

Michael did as he pleased, thrusting his hips upward, lifting his ass up off of Mouse's narrow single bed, almost tossing his petite little sister into the air. Mouse, for her part, bit back the wonderful musical sound she would usually make, punishing him with a cruel silence.

They were playing a game after all, he realized, a game of self control. They hadn't discussed it. They hadn't planned it, or agreed to it, but that was what it had become, a game of self control. It just happened.

It was another way for them to fight, but this time, during sex.

She dared him to come inside of her. He didn't have the will to restrain himself. He couldn't possibly. She felt too good to him, embracing his cock with her magnificent cunt. She was too good for him.

He dared her to whimper, to scream, to make the noises that were strangled inside her throat, bottled up, but whirling and pounding and struggling to get out. She tried to stay quiet. She couldn't possibly. He felt too good to her, filling her with his magnificent cock. He was too good for her.

He dropped his hips, then thrust them upward again. She bit her lip, looking wickedly beautiful, if silent, in the moonlit room. The moonlight played across her breasts, its flat, blue light and shadow magnifying their size in his eyes. Her waist was narrow. Her hips and ass spread magnificently out in a wonderful inverted heart atop his cock.

She was beauty. She was sex. She was lust.

She was incest.

Michael closed his eyes, fighting back the wondrous sensations. With his eyes closed, the fires of her cunt consumed his cock. The liquid heat of her cunt bathed his cock. The fierce, burning strength of her cunt strangled his cock.

She moved on him, as he held himself still. She wriggled and squirmed, making him feel her, making every inch of his cock aware of her presence. With his eyes closed, nothing existed except his cock, and her body around it.

When he opened his eyes, he was struck by her sensuality. It was awesome, watching her writhe atop him, her nipples peaking and thrusting, her hips gyrating, her head whipping with dark hair flying, or falling, and her eyes, coal black eyes locked immovably on his.

He thrust up into her, not ready to surrender yet. He lifted her skyward, then repeated the action, almost trying to toss her from him, forcing her to grab him to hang on. Her fingers grabbed tufts full of chest hair, pulling painfully, as her hot mouth descended on one of his nipples in a sudden attack.

Thunder cracked in the distance. Clouds threatened to steal the moon from them.

"Your cock is a storm cloud, Michael."

She kept her tone even. There was no squeal or whimper there, no sign of the pleasure he was giving her.

"My cunt is the hot, humid air, crackling with the electricity of the coming storm."

He thrust up into her, silencing her, forcing her to focus her mind on fighting off the pleasures of his cock, instead of her game with words. With his own act, he felt the cum building in his balls. He felt his body constricting, preparing to blast his cum up into her.

"Your cum will be the rain, sheets of rain pouring out of the cloud."

She was smiling now. She could see it in his face, he knew. She was going to win. She writhed atop him as if she were being blown about by the approaching storm's winds.

"And your orgasm will be the thunder, Michael."

Her muscles clenched tightly, squeezing his cock with her cunt, forcing him over the edge. He thrust upward again, no longer able, or willing, to hold back.

"Take my cock, you fucking slut. Take all of my fucking cock," he half growled, half raged.

"Thunder, Michael. Thunder. Thunder and rain. Rain in me, Michael. Rain in me. Rain in me."

"Take my fucking cock and cum, Mouse, take it all, take your brother's fucking cum..."

Michael held her in the air as he shuddered. He held her up as his cock did thunder, as it rained drop after drop of his precious cum up into her body. His body was wracked with spasms, as he lost his mind to her body. His hands, unknowing, gripped her thighs with an animal ferocity, holding her to him, holding her down on the only thing that mattered, his powerful, spouting erection.

"That's a good boy, Michael. That's a good boy. Come for Little Sister. Come inside me. Be a storm for me."

Michael settled back, panting, wordless, listening to her soothing, sensual voice. He relaxed back into the pillow, and the bed, sated, defeated, and happy.



At least the 400 Club hadn't really changed much over the years. In fact, Mouse wasn't sure that it had changed at all. It was exactly the same, a dark, musty little dive with pub food and an over active bar crowd, and random things hanging on the wall that looked like they'd been left behind by a twister, then gathered up and nailed where ever they fit. There was a boat's oar, a baseball bat, a bird cage, a broken clock, and old doll, a number of antique looking signs, and dozens of other things.

This was where Mouse had lost her nerve. This was where Mouse left for Chicago, leaving Michael, and all of her childhood, behind her.

She'd been a different person then, grown as it were into her twenties. She'd given up on Michael. She'd almost given up on Michael. He was married. He was her brother. It was just a silly, little girl's fantasy that was never going to come true, no matter how much or how hard she wished it. She had made her mind up to leave, and she'd made all the arrangements, and that was it, she was leaving. She was moving to Chicago to make herself into a new woman.

For her and Michael, this was goodbye. This was where she'd said goodbye.

But that night, that hadn't been her plan. She didn't intend, entirely, to say goodbye, or at least, that wasn't all she was going to say.

She was going to tell him that night. She had thought about it long and hard. It was insane, but she had nothing to lose. She was leaving town, so if he freaked on her, if anything went wrong, that was fine, because she'd be hundreds of miles away the very next day.

So it all made sense. Before she left, she was going to come right out and say it, to tell him what she wanted, and how badly, and he could do whatever he wanted with that.

She'd hoped that he would kiss her. And more.

Except that it hadn't happened that way. Mouse, when it had come down to it, had chickened out. She left for Chicago the next day with one huge regret in her life, something she could never get over, while thinking to herself that she'd done the mature and responsible thing, that keeping her secret was for the best, that it was what any normal person would have done.

And now that she knew how he might have reacted, how he probably would have reacted, she hated herself for it. She'd wasted years.

Yes, he'd been married. Yes, he might have hidden his own desires, even once faced with hers, and her courage to open herself up to him. He could have shunned her, and pretended that he felt nothing, leaving her broken and embarrassed.

But probably not. It was what he wanted, deep down. Even then, his marriage was already souring. She would have offered him what he really wanted, and he knew it. He would have found a way to be with her, and she with him.

It would have worked.

At least for a while.

So here they sat, ready to do it again. She was ready to do it again. She was ready to do it right, the way she should have. She was just sorry that it didn't take any courage this time. There was no doubt about the outcome.

Although, if he didn't play his part properly, she was going to kill him.

The waitress took away their empty plates, but brought them fresh drinks. Mouse smiled politely, and a little shyly, at her, waiting for her to go away. That part had really happened. That was exactly what she had done. She could remember it very clearly to this day. That was where she had choked.

With dinner gone, with the room quiet and dark, and no one there but Mouse and her wonderful big brother, looking lost and bothered and shockingly sad, she was supposed to say her piece. Instead she had attacked. She did as she always had, teasing him and tormenting him until he actually said that he was glad she was leaving, even if every sign he'd given her through the night betrayed his lie.

For most of this night, he'd gotten that part right. He was somber and forlorn, just like then, just as if she were really leaving him again to live alone in a world of her own, in another city, without him.

"Mouse..."

Mouse looked at him, confused at first, then stern. Her look commanded silence. He knew the rules tonight. He was supposed to wait for her to tell him. He was supposed to let her do it right this time.

"Mouse, I have something to say."

His tone was all wrong. Something was wrong. Mouse felt a knot forming in her stomach.

Michael looked off into the distance, at an empty table, unable to make eye contact.

"I'm sorry," he said. "This is hard. Harder than I thought it would be."

Mouse held her stare, along with her breath. She felt her entire body tighten as if a boa constrictor were wrapping itself around her and squeezing.

"I don't want you to move to Chicago."

Mouse paused to puzzle that out, scrunching her nose up in a way she'd mostly learned to stop, the way that had helped her to earn her nickname to begin with.

"You mean go back to Chicago."

Michael looked at her now, widening his eyes, signaling that Mouse was "out of character."

"No, you don't live there yet," he said. "I'm saying don't move. Stay here."

Mouse was still confused, but played along.

"But you're married..."

"So what? You're my sister. My kid sister. I'm just saying I don't want you to go. Ever."

"Did you want to say that back then?"

"Yes. Desperately."

"And?"

"That was all. Just that."

"Just that?"

"Come on, I would never have had the nerve to say anything else. To admit anything else. As it turns out, I didn't even have the nerve to say that much."

"That would have been enough."

"To keep you here?"

"No. Maybe. It would have been enough to give me courage. It would have goaded me into saying my piece."

"Go ahead."

She looked at him, now serious and intense, but confused, her head swimming with a thousand thoughts and what ifs. Her stomach was fluttering. Her nerves, born from the terrible foreboding that Michael was going to tell her something horrible and unexpected, wasn't completely gone. The shock and confusion that tried to replace it was little better. It was all so jumbled, Mouse didn't know what she was feeling now.

They had been so close. They had been so fucking close to making it happen, back then. Neither knew, they couldn't know, what could have happened. The thought of it almost brought Mouse to tears. It took a deep breath, and a long moment, for her to fight the emotions back.

"Say it again, Michael."

"I want you to stay."

"Why?"

Michael looked back at her, blinking without an answer. Of course he couldn't tell her why, even though Mouse knew the answer, now. But then, he could never have said it. Michael looked awkwardly off across the room again in silence.

"Michael, I want to stay."

Michael's eyes snapped back to hers.

"But for a reason."

He waited.

Mouse swallowed.

Even now, it was hard. She felt as if she were really there. This wasn't all just play acting. It was weird. It felt so damned real. Almost too fucking real. This was where they'd gone wrong. This was where they should have gotten it right. She wanted so badly to do it right this time. She was actually afraid of fucking it up, again, even though it was all just a charade.

"Michael..."

Michael stared.

"Would you come outside with me?"

Michael eased back into his chair.

"I thought you had something to say."

"I did, but I can't. I realize now how I got it wrong. I didn't have anything to say. I never could. Please come outside with me."

Michael rose in silence, looking very disappointed. He'd done his part. And Mouse couldn't quite do hers. He moved around the table to pull her chair out for her. One hand almost rested on her shoulder, just as he might have done back then, wanting to touch her, but holding back, guiding her out, with his massive form behind her like a huge shadow.

They stepped outside into darkness. It was well after ten. The little place only had a gravel parking lot, with almost no lights. It had a door, with a very dim lamp that seemed to shine on it, and nowhere else. An upward aiming flood light lit up a large carved sign over the door. And there was a small bench to the side that no one ever sat in.

Mouse stepped up onto the bench, and turned, so that Michael was face to face with her, unusually level, almost eye to eye, but actually above him, looking down. She didn't hesitate, she didn't fight with herself, she did what she would have done, what she should have done, as long as Michael had said his piece.

This was what could have happened, and would have happened. This Mouse could do.

Her arms were around him in a second, and her lips moved to within a hair of his own. She held herself there, eyes closed, giving him a chance to push her away. She knew now that he wouldn't. She hoped she would have realized then that he wouldn't.

She waited. She gave him enough time. She gave him this one chance to say "no" by pushing her away.

Then, gently, very, very gently, her lips touched his. The kiss lasted only a moment. She warmed to the task, and repeated the kiss. She pressed harder. She did it again. 

He didn't respond. He wouldn't have, and he didn't. Not staid, timid, insecure Michael. He left her arms there, he let her do it, but he stood, wooden, motionless and seemingly emotionless.

She forced her tongue into his mouth this time, spreading her own lips and his, making sure that he knew. This wasn't a sister kissing a brother. This wasn't "goodbye" or "goodnight" or "thank you for making me feel better."

This was lust.

Her tongue twisted and curled around his, trying to bring it to life, trying to dance him into passion the way her body did whenever it danced for him.

He resisted her for one moment more, and then he lost. His composure was gone. His resistance was gone. Michael kissed her back like he really had their very first time, that first night, their first real, true, passionate, lover's kiss.

This was incest.

Michael's arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. It felt strange, being above him, her head tipped down. This must be how he felt, kissing her, trying to get down to her level, to stay there.

They kissed, feverishly and euphorically, for a very long time.

A car door slammed in the parking lot. Someone was coming. Someone could see.

Neither of them moved, or stopped, or even looked, as a silent, unseen couple slipped through the door beside them into the pub and out of sight.

Eventually Michael lifted Mouse from the bench. He set her down on her feet, under his arm, where she nuzzled into him, unwilling to be even one inch away. They walked together to the car, never knowing who it was that had seen them kissing, incestuously, by the door.



"I told you to get a cabernet. This is a chardonnay. Where the hell is it? Useless dork."

Mouse's voice was irritatingly petulant. When she complained, her high pitch grated in your bones like nails on a blackboard.

"It's there."

"It is not. I've looked."

"In both bags?"

"There are two bags?"

Michael held his tongue for as long as he could. This whole thing pissed him off.

"Look, Mouse, even if it weren't there, so what? You don't always get what you want."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

"You do not."

"I got you, didn't I?"

Michael stared at her, annoyed at the way she could change gears so quickly, from angry to teasing. He couldn't do that, not that fast. Still angry, he stared at her, daring her to continue, so she did.

"I got you. You're my brother, the one man I could never have, and I wanted you, and I got you."

"Sort of. For sex. For fun. For sin. But not for real."

That cut Mouse. She deflated in front of him. 

Michael hated himself for saying it. He didn't need to. This was just a little spat about wine, not worth the energy it was taking, or the pain he'd just caused. But it was so hard, after decades of dueling, to hold back. It just came naturally.

Mouse didn't reply. She moved to him then, instead, chest to chest, right up to his face. She looked up at him, her face full of anger and rebellion.

"Fuck you. I still say you kiss like a fish."

Then her arms were around his neck, pulling him down, and her up. She was up on her tip toes, and then her mouth was on his, giving him a chance to prove that he didn't kiss like a fish, while proving to him that she did always get what she wanted.

* * *

Mouse squeezed Michael's hand, hard, just because she felt like it. Dead leaves crunched underfoot on the narrow path, just wide enough for them to walk side by side. The shade of the woods kept out the brutal summer sun. Everything was green, the canopy above, the ground cover below, even the tree trunks, covered as they were with moss and lichen.

Someone was approaching from the other direction, walking with a dog off its leash.

Michael released her hand. Mouse almost protested, but knew she shouldn't. They were being silly. They were almost trying to get caught. They couldn't see who it was. It had to be someone from the neighborhood. These woods were just at the end of the street from their parent's house.

It was almost certainly someone that knew them, if not by name, then at least by sight.

Michael's broad hand found Mouse's far shoulder, pulling her into him. She stopped, looking up at him with in bewilderment. He smiled calmly down at her.

"What?"

"What if he recognizes us?"

"A brother can't put his arm around his sister?"

"Not when..."

Mouse trailed off, realizing that he was right. It was harmless. They'd gone so far, become so much, that she'd forgotten how to be just a brother and sister.

The thought was a little scary, and more than a little shameful.

She reached up on tip toes to plan a kiss under his chin, before slipping her tiny arm around his wide waist.

They walked in silence. The dog stopped to sniff them, tail wagging, and Mouse had to pet the creature, while Michael waited patiently. The owner, an older woman wearing loose, baggy tan clothing with lots of pockets, approached and said her hellos before moving on, calling after her to the dog to catch up. The dog obediently bolted away, then veered into the woods ahead of her.

She lived just two houses up from their parents, but kept to herself, not even engaging in small talk here in the woods.

Mouse and Michael walked arm in arm again for all of twenty steps before Michael looked back at the woman over his shoulder, then stopped. Mouse looked back, too, to see the woman's oblivious, receding back. As she stared, Michael's hand found her chin to guide her lips to his.

She absorbed his kiss calmly, fighting the urge to respond more eagerly, knowing she shouldn't. As bold as she was, she couldn't resist a quick glance the woman's way, just to be certain. The woman was still obliviously walking away.

She looked up to see Michael's warm eyes laughing silently at her. She smiled back up at him.

"You think you're so courageous."




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 03



She kissed him again. This time she lingered, letting the kiss grow more passionate.

When they both looked again, together this time, the woman was gone, having disappeared over the rise. Mouse nuzzled into his chest as they walked on.

"I love you," she said.

"Of course you do."

She punched him in the stomach.

"I love you, too."

* * *

Michael scowled. Another time, another place, maybe even in another mood, her short, tight dress and fuck me pumps would have sent his blood rushing. This particular dress had random, six inch tears angled across it, as if a huge monster had raked its claws in a sidewise swipe along her body. Smooth, olive skin peeked out from within, sometimes dangerously close to her ass and tits.

But this was just dinner out, in town, to a place that Michael had told her was frequented by his subordinates from work.

He saw them there frequently.

She knew it, and she was doing it to piss him off. She'd say it was to make a statement, but she knew it would piss him off.

"We're not going out like that, Mouse."

"Oh, come on, Michael. This isn't so bad."

"Yes, it is."

"It's not. I dress like this all the time."

"Yeah, when you want to get laid."

"By you. Yes."

"By anyone. Yes."

Mouse scowled back at him. She momentarily tried to make herself smile, probably to warm Michael up that way, but she quickly lost it.

She was probably tempted to change into something even worse.

"Look, why don't you just go by yourself. If I'm an embarrassment, just leave me here."

"Mouse, stop. You know..."

"Dave would like this outfit."

"That's not fair."

"He would."

"So you'd rather spend time with him?"

"Maybe."

"Just so you can dress like a slut?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Stop dressing like one."

Mouse stormed off. He wasn't sure if it was to change, or pout, but he didn't care. He was growing tired of this. It was fun, sometimes, but not all the time, not every minute. The little brat had to grow up some day.

Michael sat down, fuming, wondering if he should just go out by himself, to calm down, and to get away from Mouse for a while.



"No, way, Melanie, no fu... no way, you can't do this to us."

"You have to, Mouse."

"No way."

"I'm with Mouse. No way," Michael chimed in.

"You have to. Please. I'm begging you."

The little boy, the toddler, ran through the room. Melanie held the baby out towards Mouse. It couldn't have been more than six months old.

"You can't. What would their parents say?" Mouse asked firmly.

"I already told them I was doing it. They don't have much choice. They had to get to the hospital. Her dad is probably dying. But Jenn is out, and I have to get to work. I've used up all of my sick days in therap... I've used them all up."

"What about Rick or Doug?" Michael asked.

"They can't watch a baby!" Mel said.

"Are you crazy?" Mouse asked.

Mel and Mouse had both spoken so quickly, together, that Michael wasn't sure which had said what. The message was clear, though.

"There must be someone else," he tried. He could tell he was whining now. The whole idea really frightened him. In time, some day, with his own kids, yes, but not someone else's, not now, with no warning or practice or lessons. They had to give lessons for this, didn't they?

"Look, it won't be for that long. His sister is driving down here now. She'll be here within two hours, two and a half, tops. She'll come straight here, and take them off your hands. You can last for two hours."

"Two and a half," Mouse said.

"Tops."

"If it's any longer..."

"Look, I have to go, I'm going to be late. Thanks. Annette thanks you, too. Thanks."

Melanie passed the baby to Mouse. Michael expected her to drop it as if it were painful to the touch, or to at least fumble and struggle, as if there was no way she could ever hold a baby.

She looked like she'd been doing it all of her life. She looked like she'd been born to do it.

Michael couldn't decide how that made him feel. He felt a million things at once. He felt pride, fear, shock, regret, longing, hope and confusion. Lots and lots of confusion.

Melanie was out the door almost before he could say good bye.

And then it got awkward. 

There was the boy, staring at him, silent, expressionless, with a face that looked like it could burst into a smile or tears or shit at any moment. Poop, he thought to himself, not shit, poop.

There was Mouse, holding the baby, but Michael didn't exist any more. She was looking at the baby, talking to the baby, cooing and glowing at the baby. Michael was gone. It was Mouse, and the baby.

It was his little sister, and the baby.

It was Michael, and the boy, and Mouse with the baby.

For two fucking hours.

Or more.

* * *

"I think I'll take him out to the tire swing," Michael offered.

"Don't let him get hurt."

"What?"

"That swing's dangerous. Be careful."

"Mouse, you must be kidding. You used to do somersaults off the damn thing."

"I was crazy. Mom and Dad were crazy to let me. I don't know what they were thinking."

"Look, he's only three. Or four. Or whatever. I won't even let go of him."

"You better not. Be careful."

"Mouse, he's not that fragile. He's a boy. Boys are tough."

"Don't you dare let him so much as skin a knee, Michael. Not one knee."

Michael grinned at her as he held his hand out to the boy. For his part, the boy readily took his hand, or rather, a single, thick finger of Michael's hand. Michael had to look down, way down, looking at that tiny hand gripping his finger the way he might grasp a handrail on a stair.

He smiled back at a scowling Mouse, before leading the boy out into the yard.

* * *

Michael strolled back in, with Andy on his shoulders, and both of them grinning like maniacs.

Michael had never imagined it could be so much fun. He'd never thought a simple swing could elicit so many giggles and wild peals of laughter, or that they could sound so magical, be so uplifting and inspiring and even contagious.

Actually he could imagine it. He remembered it. Mouse used to do that, long ago, when he had bothered to take the time.

Now he was mad that it would only be two hours. He looked at the clock in the kitchen. Thirty more minutes.

Michael walked into the family room, with Andy still on his shoulders, being careful not to let the boy hit his head as they went through the door. Mouse was there, sitting calmly on the couch, with the baby still in her arms, and that same look of calm investment in her face. Michael stood for a long time, just watching her, studying her expression and her face.

"Are you going to come in?" she asked eventually, still without taking her eyes from the baby.

He hadn't thought she'd even noticed him.

"Do you want to trade off?"

"No," she said too quickly.

"Good. Andy and I can't be separated. We're twins."

More peals of laughter from up above his head. The kid had a great sense of humor.

"How old are you, Andy?"

"Faw!"

"Four? Well, if we're twins, then I must be four, too."

Even more peals of laughter. It was raining giggles.

Michael lifted him up, then dropped him most of the six plus feet from there to the floor, catching him by his armpits at the very last moment, to settle him onto the ground.

"Michael!" Mouse snapped.

She was looking at him, now, glaring at him. Michael glared back, but was unable to erase his grin.

"Be careful," she hissed.

"He's fine. You're fine, right, Andy?"

"Wight."

* * *

Mouse watched him with a wary expression, but inside she glowed just like he was, and not only because of the baby. Michael was just as she'd imagined him. He was a wonderful father. He was so very good with Andy. And he was a good balance against her.

Mouse shocked herself at her fear. She couldn't believe that she was the overprotective, doting mother. She was the controlling one. Good God, she was Melanie. Lord help her, she thought, she was Melanie. She. Was. Melanie.

But Michael was more than Michael. Michael was Dad, and Mom, and Mouse, all in one. As a dad, with a kid, Michael had the best of all of them. He was patient, confident, kind, understanding, and protective, but secure enough to give the kid space. He could do what Mouse always thought she would do, but maybe actually couldn't.

He was a marvel.

Mouse looked down at the baby.

She couldn't believe how in love she was with Michael. She soured as she thought that they could never have this together. No matter how much she wanted it, there was no way.

If this was what they wanted, they had to give up on each other. They had to choose.

* * *

"Why the hell... heck won't it stop crying?"

His voice was full of tension.

"Don't call her an it."

"It's... she's making me crazy."

"She's making me crazy, too, but she's still not an it."

"Okay, okay, but do something."

"I've tried everything. I've fed her, burped her, put her down, picked her up, sang to her. I'm out of ideas."

"Well you're a woman. You must know something."

"Gotta go potty."

The baby's cries redoubled, drowning out her older brother's needs.

"What, Andy?"

"Gotta go potty."

"It's down the hall, that door right there," he said, with a cursory point of one finger, before returning his full attention to Mouse and the little noise maker. "Was there anything in the bag? Didn't Mel leave a bag from her mom?"

"I looked. There was this lame toy, and I tried it, and I don't think she can even see the damned thing. That was it. Diapers, bottle, tissues, rattle, toy, more diapers, formula, a small blanket..."

"Gotta go potty."

"What? I told you, that door right there."

"I think he needs help."

"What?"

"He needs help. He's only four."

"Help?"

"Yes, help."

"Okay, I'll hold the baby..."

"No, you help him. You. I'm not putting this precious down."

"That precious could shatter diamonds with her crying."

"Gotta go potty."

"I think you better hurry up."

"What? Oh, God, okay, come on, Andy."

Michael took Andy's small hand in his and lead the way. He might have imagined it, but he could swear the kid was waddling strangely as he walked. Michael, vividly imagining the consequences to his day if he took too long, picked up his pace, nearly dragging the small boy along like a pull toy.

* * *

Now Andy was crying, too. Mouse looked like she was ready to cry, the baby was crying, Andy was wailing and running in tight, dizzying circles in the middle of the room, around and around and around, with the look of a ferocious warrior on his face. Just watching him gave Michael a headache.

Michael put his hands over his ears, feeling as if he were ready to explode.

Around and around the wicked, noisy little tornado went, until he fell flat on the ground and was still. Michael moved to him, to see if he was hurt, but before he could take two steps the boy was up again, running in circles, wailing like an extra in a Godzilla movie.

Then down he went again. Again he was still.

But this time he didn't get up. When Michael went to him, he could see that the boy was fast asleep, right there on the floor.

* * *

"I'm so sorry. I really am."

It was about the fifteenth time she'd said that, and no amount of apologies made up for the agony of the long hours. Michael accepted her apology gracefully, constantly lying to the woman that it was no problem. Mouse accepted, or rejected, the apologies in silence.

She still held the now quiet baby. Andy held onto the woman's hem, while she stood still, patiently waiting for Mouse to turn over her charge, which Mouse was simply not doing.

Mouse looked down at the infant, who had silenced herself, for no apparent reason, only minutes before her aunt had arrived to pick her up. Michael could see the soft, sad, smile in Mouse's eyes. Even after the stress and discomfort of the past several hours, Mouse still didn't want to give up her burden.

Michael looked at Andy, looking up at him with wide, thoughtful eyes. Michael realized he had no idea what the boy was thinking. What did he see, when he looked up at Michael? A poor temporary substitute for a father? A big, no, a giant friend? Someone he could trust?

Michael couldn't tell. What he could tell was that, despite the potty incident, and the rather nasty and unexpected change in demeanor for the boy before his nap, despite these annoyances, Michael was still going to miss his little pal.

Mouse looked fondly at the baby, then sadly up at Michael. With a visible sigh she handed the baby over.

"We'll take them again, any time, if need be."

"Oh, I'll be sure to let Sally know. It looks like you two did a wonderful job. You make a cute couple, too. You should definitely have kids of your own."

Michael looked at Mouse in a panic, then glanced down at her hand. They were both wearing their wedding bands. Of course this woman would make some rather obvious assumptions.

"I think we might, some day. When the time is right," Mouse said, smiling.

Michael moved to show her to the door. As soon as she was out, Mouse burst into laughter. Michael, unable to restrain himself, copied her, although more nervously. It was funny. The whole thing was more than funny, and he was sure that Mouse would repeat the whole story to Melanie, and their parents, and everyone else, in a way that left Michael's image more than a little tarnished.

And she was welcome to do so. He didn't mind.

What he did mind, what he couldn't shake, was the depressingly harsh reminder that they really were going to have to choose. 



Michael drove, not exactly knowing where to.

Beside him, Mouse looked out the window of the car, watching the dark, formless shadows of ancient, tall, broad trees race by in the black night. An overcast sky blocked much of the recent moonlight. They were on a winding country road, too closely lined with overhanging trees, speckled with an occasional farm field, but almost no houses. The road was one that was unfamiliar. It gave the illusion that they were far from civilization.

It made Michael nervous.

"How much further?"

"I'm not talking to you."

She said it with a hint of laughter in her voice. She was so far unable to properly play her part. They were supposed to be mad at each other. She was supposed to be furious. They'd presumably been fighting all night, at her prom.

She looked rather silly, but very attractive, in her old prom dress. Mouse's smooth, bare, olive skinned shoulder's were intoxicatingly sexy, to Michael, marred by not so much as a spaghetti strap. Her dark hair fell in curls, tickling the skin just above her sweet, little, rounded breasts. They showed the barest hint of cleavage, exaggerated by the way the tight gown constricted her torso, pushing her nubile breasts together, and up, and out.

Michael remembered, twelve years ago, furtively peering at that same spot on the gown, and her body, just before leaving with her date, her actual date. His pretense for stopping by had been to pick something up from his old room, but in reality he was there to see Mouse in her dress. He stole what glances he could, now, to enjoy the sight once again, and enjoy the once secret memory, while trying not to drive off of the black, devious, winding road.

The gown itself was made of a pale, pastel, lime green satin that shimmered with soft highlights, when there was any light. This darkness thankfully hid everything below the bust, where the dress was a riot of ruffles and crinkles, and fabric flowers and things Michael didn't even know the names for.

He couldn't believe Mouse had once picked out a dress like that, but of course she'd been eighteen at the time, and that was what all of the dresses were like back then. Style in fashion was determined by what everyone thought everyone else liked, not by actual personal taste, or rather, not by any taste whatsoever. One wore what everyone wore. Back then, even Mouse had to fit in. Everyone did.

But gaudy or not, she was still Mouse, sexy, bubbly, warm, and ultimately his hot little baby sister.

And this was her fantasy. She wanted to relive the night of her prom the way she wished it had unfolded, with Michael as her date, because her own date had, in the fantasy, gotten horribly, painfully, and messily ill.

She really shouldn't have wished that on him. He was a nice enough guy, and interested in her, and interesting enough in his own right. As jealous as he had felt at the time, Michael even liked the kid. The poor guy didn't deserve to get too sick. 

But he just wasn't Michael.

* * *

Mouse led him, after considerable driving, down a short dirt drive that branched off of the already secluded country road, to a spot behind an old dilapidated barn. One entire wall had collapsed, while another leaned inward precariously. Assorted timbers and beams and planks stuck out at odd angles, like the pikes of a disorganized rabble army marching through the night.

They pretended to fight, but they weren't very good at it. Surprisingly, they were only good at the real thing. Pretending to fight was too strained.

She made fun of him for breaking up a fight between two guys at the prom. There really had been a fight, between Jake something-or-other and Kevin whoever. In real life, Kevin had lost. In Mouse's world, the fight never got anywhere, because her mature twenty nine year old brother-date had stepped in to break it up, embarrassing her to no end with the scene.

She was also mad at him for flirting with her friends. Carolyn Tern, it seems, had tried very hard to get him to go out back with her, and Michael had almost, if innocently, gone with her, being naive or perhaps conveniently ignorant of what she'd had in store for him. 

Mouse had a lot of things to pretend to be mad at him about.

* * *

"Am I pretty, Michael?"

Mouse looked at him with wide, dark, saucer eyes above a shy, frightened mouth.

"You're beautiful, Mouse. Absolutely beautiful."

"No, Dork! Don't say that. You'd never have said that. Come on, try harder."

"But you are. You're gorgeous, and you always have been."

"I have not, and I am not. I'm pretty. I'm a slut, so I turn heads. But I've never been gorgeous, and back then I wasn't sure that you ever even noticed me, at least as anything but a pest."

"I did."

"But you never said it."

"Well, I did."

"Well, it's my fantasy, and you didn't, so start over."

"I don't know, Mouse. You're my little sister. You're just eighteen."

"That's better."

Michael turned to look ahead out of the windshield, at the riotous black silhouette of the crumbling barn.

"Look at me, Michael."

Michael looked back at her.

"Am I beautiful?"

"I could see how some guys might like you."

"What about you?"

"Shit, I guess you're pretty, Mouse. Look, how long do we have to stay out here? I want to get home."

Mouse smiled, pleased with his newly found comfort in his role. This was getting better.

"What about my body, Michael? Do you think boys would like my body?"

"Shit, Mouse. I'm your big brother. I don't want boys to like your body."

"But do they?"

Michael turned back to look out the windshield again. The moon had begun to peek through distant holes in the clouds, and was shining straight through the wreckage of the building into his eyes. He could see Mouse squirming in her dress out of the corner of his eye.

She climbed up onto her knees in her seat, turning to face him and sitting back on her haunches.

"Look at me, Michael."

Michael glanced at her. She held his eyes with hers, dark and serious, so his glance turned into a stare. Her hands reached back behind her, fumbling a moment, and then the top of her gown popped and loosened. Until now it had looked painfully constricting, pushing her small breasts together so nicely.




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 03



It didn't fall down, as Michael expected. It just hung, stiff but upright, a half an inch away from the skin of her breasts, almost as if the dress itself had gotten an erection by touching her body all night.

Michael's eyes strayed down from hers to the tops of her breasts. His pulse quickened.

* * *

He was so sweet. As often as he'd seen her body, he was still trying, tonight, to play his role. He actually looked shocked, and frightened, and excited, at the prospect of having his little sister show him her naked body. Mouse could feel her nipples coming to life at the thought.

The moon had come out at just the right time, too, and not too brightly, to let him properly see the show she had planned.

Mouse slipped her fingers up the cool, smooth satin sides of the dress. She hooked her thumbs into the fabric beside each breast, pulling it slowly downward. She felt the inner satin lining brushing teasingly along her erect nipples. Her nipples caught on the hem, dragged down with the dress, then popped free with an exciting tickle, up and out, strong and hard and eager to be seen.

Michael's eyes widened at the sight.

Mouse felt herself getting wet.

* * *

Michael was surprised at his own reaction. He wasn't trying. He wasn't playing. Somehow, he'd begun to feel that he was really there, that they were really together the night of her prom, and that all of this had really happened, or rather, was really happening.

He honestly didn't know what he would have done if she'd done this too him. He had no idea how to react.

Her tits were so fucking gorgeous. He would probably turn away. He'd probably get out of the car, swearing at her to put her clothes back on. At least, he liked to think that he would have. She was only eighteen, after all.

For now he just stared.

She leaned forward while arching her back. Her nipples stood out, dark brown, and more firm and erect than the beams of the forbidding barn. She thrust her chest out at him, pushing them towards him.

He turned away, to look out the windshield.

"Look at me, Michael."

Michael didn't turn, and didn't answer. He stared at the barn.

"Look at my body, Michael."

He glanced at her body, then looked firmly away, then had to half look askance at her again, his eyes focused out the windshield, but with her pleasing little body in view.

"Shit, Mouse, put your clothes on. I'm your brother."

"Oh, stop it, Michael. Relax. It's harmless. I'm harmless."

"I'm your brother."

"I'm not asking you to touch me, stupid. I just want you to look. Every other girl is out making out with their dates, shit, most of them have already made it to third base. That little slut Carolyn must have made it to home by now, twice."

Michael looked her in the eyes.

"Just look at my tits, Michael. That's all I'm asking. I want to at least be able to say my prom date looked at my naked tits, and liked them. I can lie to myself for the rest of my life about the rest, about what could have happened."

Michael stared into her eyes, then, trying to stay as calm as he could, lowered his eyes to her beautiful, earth brown, round nipples, centered on adorable, sweet little dark skinned breasts. He wet his dry lips with his tongue, unconsciously, then caught himself.

Mouse giggled.

"Say that you like them."

"I like them."

"Louder."

"Mouse..."

"Say it."

"I like them."

"You like what?"

"I like your tits."

Michael hid a smile that tried to slip into the moment.

"I really like your tits."

As he said it, she leaned towards him. When she got too close, he leaned away. Her mouth became a small, half open, predatory circle. Her eyes were locked on his, while his were locked on her nipples.

"Say it again. I like the way you say it," she breathed.

"Mouse..."

Then her hand was on his cock. He hadn't even noticed how hard and large it had quickly gotten. He'd been so distracted by the game, trying so hard to play his role properly, that he didn't think he could even get an erection.

The fantasy, it seemed, was rather powerful. Mouse squeezed the shaft of his cock in one hand, through his suit pants.

"I think you really like my tits, Michael. I can tell."

Michael didn't answer her.

"And I like your cock."

* * *

His cock felt absolutely magnificent, even through his clothes. She was dying to get at it, to hold it's raw, smooth, fiery skin, and then to lower her mouth onto it. This was all so much better than her fantasy. She had played this out in her own head a million times, alone, in bed, with only her own fingers, or toys, to play Michael's role, filling that void.

This was so very much better, not only than that, but than she'd even imagined it could be.

Michael was so fucking sexy, in his suit, in the car, in the dark. He wanted her, and he couldn't hide it. She frightened him, and he couldn't make himself run.

She was going to have him the exactly way she should have all of those many years ago.

* * *

"Mouse, what are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, I slipped. I almost fell. I just grabbed the first big, stiff thing I found. I thought it was the emergency brake."

She didn't even grin as she said it. Her voice was a breathy squeak, and her gaze kept straying down to his mouth.

"You can let go now."

"I don't think I can."

Her lips moved closer to his. He tried to ease away from her, but he was running out of room. One hard nipple poked into the fabric of the shirt on his chest. She squeezed his cock a little harder in her tight little hand.

Then her lips were on his own. For his part, he remained perfectly still, wooden, completely unmoving under her assault. Her lips moved over his, actively pressing and exploring. Her small, wet tongue pressed into him. He squeezed his own lips tightly together, trying to keep her out.

She squeezed his cock hard, not painfully, but shockingly hard. His mouth opened automatically in surprise, and then her tongue was in his mouth, finding his, and dancing and darting frantically all about, like a little mouse racing through a maze.

He tried not to kiss her back, but he couldn't resist it any more. He didn't want to play the game any more.

Michael wanted to fuck his sweet, sexy little sister the way she had always deserved.

* * *

Now that he was kissing her back, Mouse fumbled with his belt and zipper with just the one hand. The other held him by the back of the neck, to both support her, and to make sure that he didn't pull his head and his delicious lips from hers.

It took longer than it should have, or maybe, she thought, she was too quick. She couldn't have gotten at him that fast when she was eighteen. She was good, but not that good, not back then.

Finally he was free. Finally, her brother's cock was in her hot little hand. She stroked him, very, very gently, as she kissed his warm lips. He placed one hand over hers, timidly and ineffectively trying to remove her from his hard cock. In the end, all he wound up doing was helping her, resting his hand on hers as she stroked him, eventually showing her the pace and pressure he liked.

Mouse broke the kiss, while keeping his cock tightly gripped in the nasty little circlet of her fingers. She eased back and up, almost hitting her head on the roof of the car, trying to get her tits into his view again.

"Do you like my tits, Michael?" she asked.

Silent, his mouth moved by inches towards them.

"I think you do. The emergency brake in my hand says that you do."

His hot mouth consumed her nipple in fire, tickling and tasting. In that moment of contact, she inhaled sharply, while squeezing his cock ever more tightly, gripping him, hanging on, refusing to ever let go of her brother's thick, stiff cock.

Mouse enjoyed the loving, lustful burn of her brother's mouth for as long as she could, writhing and wiggling to move her tit in his mouth, pushing it in, forcing it on him. All the while she gently stroked, or merely held, the hard rock of his cock in her hand. As he sucked on her, she looked down at his cock, admiring it in her hand, thinking that that was always where her brother's cock had always belonged.

In a moment of passion, she pushed him away. When he resisted, she teased him.

"Get off of me, you pig. Get your mouth off of your baby sister's tit, you big pervert."

Michael recoiled in shock. The moment he did, she dropped her head into his lap, quickly guiding his cock into her hungry, waiting mouth. At first she took in only the head of it, still playing the naive, inexperienced high school girl. She couldn't remember how good she'd been at sucking cock, back then. In her vanity, she thought she'd always been very good, but it was fun now to play at being inept.

She sucked hard on the head of his cock, while playing her tongue and teeth gently over the tip and around the edge. She kissed his shaft, and his head. She giggled. She played.

But with that one hand, she never let go of her brother's cock.

* * *

Michael couldn't take it any more. The feel and taste of her nipple in his mouth had been so arousing, just above that sweet, innocent little prom dress. Her tiny hand had moved over his cock like the most sinful young whore any man had ever known.

Now it was her sinful little mouth. She had the tightest, hottest, most active mouth of any woman he'd ever known. She became his slave on her knees with her mouth and his cock. Anytime, anywhere, the mere thought of her petite, laboring mouth on his cock made him hard and hungry, sending him screaming inside, and throbbing and pulsing and hard on the outside.

He couldn't wait any more. If he did, he was going to come like a volcano, soon, inside his little sister's fucking precious mouth, ruining everything. She had to get everything from him tonight. She'd made that very clear.

* * *

Mouse relished the feel of him between her lips, as she prepared to to take him more deeply.

Michael abruptly pushed her away, hard, first up off of his cock, and then away, so that she fell backward into her own seat. She tried to hang onto his cock, but in that one moment of shock a powerful hand on hers easily pried her fingers loose.

Before she could speak, Michael had opened his car door, and was outside, slamming it closed behind him.

She didn't know what was wrong. She climbed back onto her knees on her seat, following his shadowy bulk as it rounded the front of the car, coming to her own side. She stayed silent as he approached her open window. Looking out, she was mildly amused at the sight of him, now close at hand, with his erect cock protruding from his suit pants, dimly lit by clouded moonlight.

He opened the door. Leaning in, one large palm covered her right breast and shoved, thrilling her momentarily with the touch, then launching her backwards again towards the driver's seat, legs flying. Two strong hands grabbed her ankles, pushing their way under the dress, fumbling through its volume and complexity, finding her bare thighs beneath.

Michael held her firmly in his giant hands, spreading her, then yanking her almost out of the car, to him.

"Michael, what are you doing?"

In her excitement, it came out breathy and whiny, just as it should have.

"Giving my little sister the tramp what she deserves," he sneered.

Michael pushed her knees, dress skirt and all, up to her face, opening her to him, exposing and lifting and opening her panty-less, clean shaven cunt to his unstoppable body. Mouse reached down to blindly find his cock with both of her hands, holding him once again.

"Carolyn's not the only little high school slut that's going to cross home plate tonight," Michael growled at her.

Mouse wailed as loudly as she could, a out here in the sticks where no one could hear her, letting loose a continuous stream of erotic sound as her brother's cock slowly, methodically, pushed its way into her body, stretching her tight, young, eighteen year old pussy in ways it had never known.

His cock kept coming. For every inch he gave her, there was more. He did it slowly, but forcefully. His cock was unstoppable, and seemingly endless. It filled and filled, and filled some more. Mouse felt inch after hard, silky inch pressing against her cunt lips, sliding in, disappearing into her on a long, seemingly unending journey.

* * *

Mouse's cunt burned his cock. It clamped down hard, slippery but strong, grabbing and fighting and oh so fantastically massaging his cock. He took his time, savoring every bit of friction, every sensation, but mostly every wonderful, wailing sound that he drew from her.

Michael loved to make his baby sister scream. Michael loved to make Mouse sing for him, and for his cock.

Finally, he was all the way in, buried in her all the way to the very base of the shaft, with the heat of her cunt lips burning the taut skin of his groin. He worried briefly that he might be hurting her, bent as she was over parts of two car seats and the emergency brake.

His mouth found hers in compensation. He hated the idea of muffling her tortured squeals of pleasure, but he loved the feeling of having her make those screams straight into his own throat as he kissed her.

Their tongues tangled frantically as, in contrasting harmony, Michael very slowly and easily withdrew his cock from her, once again enjoying every lasting moment of the sensation of having her slick, tight pussy rake the flesh of his cock, as her strong cunt muscles tried desperately to grasp and hold him inside of her.

Finally, Michael lost his composure. He began to thrust into her, now, at first hard and irresistibly, but under some control, and then faster and harder, almost brutally, as her screams and pleas drove him beyond reason.

"Oh, God, yes, Michael, fuck me hard. Teach me and fuck me like a young girl wants."

He found her ear with his mouth, biting the lobe gently, but not too gently.

"You fucking slut, Mouse," he snarled into it. "You fucking little prom slut. You'll get what you want from your brother. You'll get it all, and more."

His mouth fell then to her magnificent little tit. He sucked hard, eliciting yet another form of scream from her throat. He switched to the other, sucking hard on her hot, hard little nipples, marveling at the taut resistance he encountered from them, like firm little cocks of her own.

His cock took control of his body and mind. He moved his mouth back to hers to kiss, then, finding that he was no longer able to think or move or consciously act, his lips fell simply onto her neck. His hands clawed their way between them, finding and mauling her diminutive breasts, one in each hand, gripped harshly as his cock tore in and out of her body, out of control.

All he could do now was to thrust into her, over and over, as hard as he could, as the incomparable blaze of her cunt consumed and burned and melted his cock.

At this moment, there was nothing in the world as beautiful or as pleasurable or as important as Mouse. There was nothing in the world except for Mouse, nothing except for fucking Mouse.

* * *

Mouse ran her fingertips over the smooth, hard, hot skin of Michael's bald skull. She giggled lightly, and unexpectedly, at the thought and image of his head as the largest, hardest cock any woman would ever know.

His penetrating cock brushed her again inside at that spot, that one magical spot that triggered her sensations shooting through her body, as he drove into her again. It sent a charge through her, a melting, fluid warmth spreading from her cunt out through her belly and her limbs. He always stretched her, bringing her so close to what she felt was her limit, forcing her to feel like she was taking more cock than she'd thought she could.

Mouse had her legs pulled upward, wrapped tightly around his back, heels touching his firm ass. The smoothly abrasive fabric of his suit pants brushed her heels with every stroke he made. Her arms and calves pressed into the soft, starched cotton of his shirt. She took in his scent, the musky perspiration that had accumulated from a long, warm evening at dinner and then driving for too long in the hot suit jacket and tie.

Mouse tightened her legs and arms further, and her back and her stomach and her cunt. She tightened every muscle in her body, trying to make herself smaller and tighter for her big brother, trying to be almost too small and too tight to take her big brother's fabulous cock. She clung to him, body and soul, as he stretched her beyond where she felt she could go.

She surrendered to the feeling. She surrendered to him. She reveled in the idea of offering herself, and giving herself, to him and only to him, for his ultimate pleasure, and hers.

Her lips and tongue tasted his ear lobe, outside and in, then stayed there, so her breath would tickle him more, as she whispered words that would sound as loud as thunder to him.

"I wasn't on the pill, back then, darling. Not in high school." 

Michael grunted in uncomprehending reply, his grip on her shoulders tightening forcefully, helping him to pull himself up, to thrust into her with more unstoppable power.

"You don't have a condom. If you come in me, you'll make me pregnant."

Michael's mouth slavered over her neck. His thrusts never slowed, or eased. She darted her tongue into his ear again, her own way of penetrating and fucking him as he stabbed and stabbed, ruthlessly fucking her.

"You'll give me a baby, Michael. If you come you'll make a baby in your little sister."

Michael groaned aloud, now. His body pressed Mouse's hard into the base and back of the seat, and into the center console and emergency brake handle digging into her beneath her head. Their assorted limbs were awkwardly pretzeled about the car, but too forgotten to be uncomfortable. He hit that spot inside her again with his marvelous cock, repeatedly now, shooting unbearable pleasures throughout her. Mouse began to shudder at the sensations it was giving to her.

"Come inside me, darling. Give me a baby. Give your sweet little sister your baby, Michael."

The whisper transformed in mid sentence into a squeal. Her voice rose in pitch, and strength, excited by the thought, and fueled by Michael's awesome strength over and inside of her. She was driven by her brother's powerful cock.

"Give me a baby, Michael. Give your sweet little sister a baby. Our baby."

She was no longer in control of her voice. She screamed the words, rather than saying them.

"A baby, Michael. Come in me and give me a baby. Come in me. Fill me up with my brother's cum. Come inside me now, Michael. Come inside me now!"

Michael tensed. Mouse spread her legs farther, holding his bald head fiercely in her passion. His hand squeezed her left breast harshly, pinching the nipple in between his thumb and finger, sending a searing joy through her.

She felt his cum splashing inside of her. He tensed, and groaned ferociously. He grabbed her, held her, crushed her in his grip, shuddering as he came.

"Yes, Michael! Yes, a baby, give me a baby, give me your baby!"

Mouse shuddered too, violently, more violently than she had in months. Her body was wracked by convulsions, twisting and snapping her beneath her brother's hulking form, moving in spite his overbearing size and weight and strength. He couldn't hold her. No one could have held her. Her body contorted and flailed like a tornado, sucking his beloved cum into her to keep forever.

* * *

Michael's cock momentarily felt as if it were bursting, and then it melted. It flooded his baby sister with the seed she craved, pouring and pouring into her, until it felt like his entire cock was melting inside of her, not just emptying, but itself melting under the heat and pressure inside of her delightful body.

Michael's cock melted, followed by the rest of him. His entire body tensed powerfully as he came, then slowly relaxed, melting onto and inside of her, merging with her completely.




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 04



Book 6: Mouse Trapped

Chapter 4



"Fuck you."

"Fuck you, too."

"Michael, that's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, Mouse."

"I want to go for sushi."

"I told you, it's a two hour drive. I'm not driving for two hours just so a spoiled brat can have her fancy cosmopolitan food."

"I told you, you'll like it."

"I'll try it when I visit Chicago."

"I want it now."

"No."

"Please."

"Not today."

"Fuck you."

"Fuck you, too."

Mouse picked up a ceramic cat, arching her arm as if to throw it. Her eyes blazed at Michael's, who stood unmoving, glaring straight back at her.

Mouse put the cat down and stormed out of the room.

"Prick."

* * *

It was a stupid movie, but that hardly mattered. Mouse took the last of the popcorn, and that didn't matter, either. He just liked having her there, under his arm, feeling her warmth, smelling her perfume and her hair, just being so beautifully feminine, and so clearly his.

They didn't spend enough time like this. They had so little time together, living apart, that they crammed too damned busy much into the days and hours. It wasn't that there was too much sex. He did have his limits, of course, but if he could, if it were humanly possible, there'd be more.

It was just that there were too many nights out, and not enough evenings in.

Michael wondered what it would be like to just live with Mouse, to just be with her, day in and day out, doing ordinary, day to day things. He was willing to bet that they'd stop fighting so much. He was sure that they would find that middle ground, that spot between annoyance and acceptance, between trust and control, that would let them feel like they were both getting what they wanted, living how they wanted, while still giving something, too.

He kissed the top of her head, letting his lips linger a moment in contact with her soft hair.

He stopped thinking about it before the thoughts went any further. It was good enough just to be with her now, like this.

* * *

"I want to leave now."

"I want to stay."

"I'm bored."

"You're just antsy."

"You're just dull and lazy."

"Show just five minutes of patience for a change."

"Show some zest for life for a change, Dork. I'm bored. Tired and bored."

"Mouse, I'm not leaving yet."

"Good God," Melanie interrupted. "Please, go, I can't take this anymore."

She said it with a huge smile on her face.

"What's your problem?" Mouse asked.

Melanie stayed silent, but smiling.

"Yes, please, tell us what the fuck you are grinning at," Michael added.

"You two. Just like kids. Just like you've always been, even now. You pretend you're so grown up, and doing wicked things no adult would ever do..."

Melanie leaned over to the door, peering out, scanning the far room conspiratorially, just confirming, needlessly but ever careful, that her children weren't around to overhear her, before settling back in her seat at the kitchen table to continue. She reached over to add another teaspoon of sugar to her coffee.

"You've fought your entire lives, and you still do. I have no idea why you purposely spend time with each other."

They both glared at her.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't. I'm just saying I don't understand."

Melanie raised her cup to her mouth, blowing on it to cool it, then getting one last shocking word in before taking a long, mindful sip.

"Take Mouse home and fuck her, Michael. She won't say it, but it's what she wants."

* * *

He sat like a lump on the couch, mindlessly flipping channels. It shouldn't have bugged her. The poor guy was exhausted. He was working all day, and servicing her all night, with intricate, energetic fantasies that took far more effort than sex and romance should take. 

He "got caught" peeking and fucked her in the shower, with hot water cascading over their bodies.

She sucked his cock, just behind the car, with the garage door open wide.

They took a walk down the old worn path through the woods to the high school they had each attended, a decade apart. It was late night, and it had been raining for days. The soft smell of damp leaves wafted through the night air in the dark, hinting that civilization was far away, instead of just beyond the thin tree line. Walking that path, to school, had often felt that way, like a lonely nether road that took one between two completely different worlds. 

He'd fucked her smoothly and quietly under the moonlight on the bridge along the path, where it crossed the small, flowing brook near the field behind the school, just beyond the lights of the nearby homes.

They parked in the wide, empty lot behind the old abandoned strip mall and fucked in the car, like all the teenagers did in Mouse's youth.

Against his own interest and nature, he'd finally surrendered to Mouse's wishes and play acted, just for her, raping her in the basement of the house, with two hands tightly constricting her neck as he fucked her hard in the darkness against the cold, damp concrete wall. She struggled to breath throughout the ordeal, strangled as she was, although not nearly to the point of asphyxia that he so feared. It almost made it, and him, more precious, the way he so carefully worried about her even as his barbarically strong, hairy hands made her take his ruthless cock seemingly against her will.

He fucked her wickedly on the floor of the upstairs hallway, as the answering machine picked up, playing and recording the voice of their father checking in, and hoping to catch them at home. Mouse came repeatedly, just from that, from the sound of her father talking politely and happily about thier vacation while her brother slid her along the carpet with the intense thrusts of his cock. His children acted out their too long inhibited lust for each other right there in their childhood home, with his voice droning on in the background.

But now Michael sat, doing nothing. This was Mouse's big vacation. The sex was good, and was the long planned focal point of the two weeks, but she wanted to do something else. She wanted to go somewhere, to do something.

It wasn't like there was a lot to do. Sleepy, backwater, bedroom towns like theirs were not vacation hot spots.

But she wanted to do something, go for a drive, go hiking, have some sort of adventure.

And there he sat.

"Michael..."

"I said no. I'm exhausted. Look, go by yourself. You don't need me with you every moment."

"Yes, actually, I do."

Michael looked at her, but not with kindness, or gratitude at the compliment. He glared.

"Nice try. No you don't. You live most of your life hundreds of miles away, without me. You can survive a few hours here on your own."

"You're a shit."

"I'm just tired."

"No, you're not, you're not that tired. You're just being a shit."

Michael turned back to the TV, mindlessly flipping from commercial to commercial to tired old movie to inconsequential sporting event and on and on and on.

"Fine, I'll find better company," Mouse said, racing over to grab her purse and stomping to the door, trying to give Michael just enough time to change his mind, but just enough panic to do it without thinking.

Once outside, alone, without Michael having even flinched, Mouse felt like crying.

* * *

Mouse sat longways on the couch, back against the side arm, knees up, sketch pad resting on her thighs, colored pencil scratching away. Normally, she loved this part of fashion, just thinking, planning, designing, and making it appear on paper without having to do any of the more arduous parts.

Working with fabric was fun, too. Actually making it real, and three dimensional, full size, tactile and useful and wearable, that was all fun. But sketching was just so easy. It had fewer rules. You could do impractical, impossible things, if you wished. That was more her style.

But what was best about this particular effort, today, was that Michael was watching her. He thought she didn't notice, pretending to be absorbed in a book. She never once looked his way to betray her own awareness, but he was watching.

Mouse arched her back and shoulders, reaching behind herself as if working out a kink, thrusting her breasts up and out. When Michael shifted position in his chair in response, she almost smiled. Relaxing again, she reached up with one hand to twirl her hair around a finger, while pretending to thoughtfully consider her work, then pushed her entire long mane back, exposing the flesh of her neck to him.

She felt so beautiful with him watching her. Just that was a marvelous feeling. She'd never been able to really appreciate it before they were lovers. When she had teased him before, when he would covertly watch her then, she'd always been so focused on getting him excited, and worrying about whether or not he actually noticed, that she didn't completely enjoy it. There were so many times that she had never known if she'd succeeded or not.

Mouse stretched one bare leg out straight, the outer one that Michael could most clearly see. She was glad she'd worn her shorter, if baggy, walking shorts, the ones with several small velcro pockets all the way down the sides. They helped to expose her naked legs far up the thigh.

She liked showing off her legs. She thought they were the most attractive part of her body, too short, perhaps, but long enough on her petite frame, and very well sculpted by her love of dance, with smooth skin stretched over strong muscles making fine curves that tapered into thin knees and ankles.

Her toe nails were painted scarlet red, decorated with bright orange flower petals. She wiggled them, to make sure he noticed. Then she tipped her head back, closing her eyes, as if struggling to think of ideas, when in fact she was relaxing, while wallowing in the simple knowledge that she had Michael's complete and total attention on her.

With her eyes closed, he would stare blatantly. She could, she knew, open her eyes and turn, quickly, to catch him staring, if she wished. There was no need. She absolutely knew that he sat there, adoring her. She didn't need confirmation. She knew, she totally knew, what she was to him right now.

"You're so beautiful," he said, as if on cue, his baritone voice soft but uncompromisingly certain.

Mouse smiled. He really didn't have to say it. She knew. But the fact that he had said it was intoxicating. He had absolutely no idea how much pleasure it brought her.

* * *

"Did you kiss her?"

Mouse nuzzled into his chest as she said it. Michael had been completely absorbed in the movie, an old one he'd surprisingly never seen. He was pleasantly and unexpectedly involved in the story, an intricate intrigue of romance, of all things, but now he was hooked.

The unwanted distraction disturbed him. He didn't really register what she'd asked.

"What?"

"Did you kiss her?"

"Who?"

"Dip shit. Kate, that's who."

Oh. He'd been waiting for almost a week for her to finally bring this up, so that he could let her know how short and terrible his own evening out had been, and then to ask what had gone on that rather long evening for her, between her and Dave. 

He was too smart to bring it all up himself. He knew that she would, when she was ready, which was, apparently and inconveniently, now.

"No. I already told you that I only went because I had to."

"But you wanted to."

"No, I didn't."

"Liar."

Michael soured further at her attitude. He gave up on trying to follow the movie with half of his attention.

She didn't have to act needy. She never had, before. He liked that about her. He hated it about his ex-wife. She'd always been needy. She always had to be told the obvious, over and over, to combat her own insecurities.

Mouse had never been that way, with him, at least not that he had noticed. He liked that about Mouse. Mouse said what she said, believed what she believed, believed in herself beyond all imagining, and never showed any signs, at least to him, of any self doubts.

"I didn't want to kiss her."

"Liar. Dip shit liar."

Michael held his tongue, growing more angry.

"She's cute. I'll admit she's cute," Mouse said. "Not gorgeous, but cute."

Michael was mad, at her and himself.

"And what about Dave? What the hell were you doing until midnight?"

"None of your business. And how do you know what time I came home? Keeping tabs on your little sister?"

"What the fuck did you do until midnight?"

She pushed back to look at him in feigned shock, with a shallow, sinister smile.

"What, you think I did more than just kiss him?"

"So you did kiss him."

"That's my business," she said, slumping back against him, hiding her face.

He suspected she hid her face to hide the truth.

"But Kate's different for me," he said down at the top of her head.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because when I'm gone, Dave is gone for me, but Kate is still here for you."

"Mouse, I only want to kiss you. Then, and now, and ever."

"Liar."

"I won't see her again."

"Fucking liar."

Mouse tugged on his chest hairs, under his shirt. She always had her hand there, inside or under his shirt, playing with and twirling and pulling on his chest hairs. This time, she did it very intentionally painfully. He took the pain soundlessly.

Part of him was mad because she was being so insecure. He hated that, and it wasn't her.

Mostly he was mad because she was right. He had wanted want to kiss Kate. He wanted to see if he could feel the charge from her that he got from Mouse. He wanted to find out that incest wasn't the only thing that turned him on, that he hadn't gone over the deep end into a world where extreme, immoral eroticism was his only source of excitement and pleasure.

He wanted to find out that he had a chance at valid, respectable, real world love.

He didn't want to kiss Kate, not really. He loved Mouse. But he did. He'd wanted to kiss Kate, and he still did.

And that, and the fact that Mouse instinctively knew it, and the fact that she wasn't smart or caring enough to just let it go, really pissed him off.

"I don't care if you kiss her. You can, if you want," she said.

That cut him, too. It hurt because she'd said it, and he thought she said it to hurt him, which made it hurt even more. It also hurt because he knew she did care, but in a thousand different and conflicting ways. 

She cared because she loved him, and didn't want him to kiss anyone else. She cared because she wanted him to be happy, and maybe actually did want him to kiss a real woman, a woman he could actually have a future with. And maybe she cared because she was hoping for a way out of this situation, herself. 

He was sure tat she cared in myriad ways he knew he couldn't imagine.

But she didn't have to lie about her intentions. She didn't have to say any of this, to him.

Michael, by now, had lost interest in continuing the argument, which was only dancing around the real issues. He'd also lost interest in the movie. It wasn't real. None of it was real.

* * *

Mouse hugged Michael without him realizing that she was doing it. She nuzzled into his chest, sorry she had brought it up, and lost her temper at the same time. For what seemed like the umpteenth time, she felt like crying.

She just wanted him to hold her now, but didn't have the courage to ask.

Michael had been so perfect the past week, except for that episode with the "gorgeous" blond bimbo, Kate. And even then, he really had been far better about it than she had. She really had no right to torture him the way she had, and just did.

He'd played along with every fantasy that Mouse had come up with. He'd done far more than that, doing and saying things she'd never expected of him. He was the most amazing lover that Mouse could ever imagine, erotically and emotionally.

He'd done it all for her, too. He didn't really get it, or want it. He didn't have any fantasies of his own, or if he did, he didn't even relay them, let alone want to act them out.

He wanted to live in the here and now. With her.

But he still had done, and continued to do, everything she asked, more wonderfully and soulfully than she thought she could ever do for him.

She owed him. The problem was, she didn't know how to repay him. She had to find a way. She had to prove to him, and to herself, that she was for him what he was for her. If she could, she wanted to make him completely forget about Kate at the same time.



"Daddy, I can't sleep."

Michael grimaced inwardly. He didn't entirely mind the game. He owed Mouse that much. It was her little fantasy, and perfectly harmless, given that she insisted vehemently that she would never really indulge it.

But there was something about Mouse pretending to be with another man, whether it was their father, or someone else, that disturbed him deeply. It just didn't sit well.

Michael rolled onto his back, away from her. His father's pajamas felt odd. Michael was used to sleeping naked. A full set of pajamas, top and pants, felt old fashioned, and strange. He felt like a strange, old man. It hardly put him into the mood for sex.

Mouse snuggled up against his back. The warmth of her body easily penetrated the thin fabric of his nightclothes. He already felt himself starting to flush. Perhaps he was wrong about his mood.

"Thank you, Daddy."

"You're welcome, Sweetheart. Now go to sleep."

"I'm not sleepy."

"Yes, you are. Now go to sleep."

One delicate finger of Mouse's hand tickled the cotton fabric covering his arm, tracing a path, back and forth. Her naked leg draped over his. Above it she wore a baby doll, hardly something she would really don when living in the house with their parents, let alone sneaking in to share her father's bed. Still, it was her game. He'd play along, as he had for ten days now.

* * *

"Yes, Daddy," Mouse whimpered into Michael's ear as he buried himself in her again.

"Sh, quiet, Sweetheart, quiet, or Mother will hear you."

"I can't, Daddy, I can't stay quiet," Mouse squealed. "Not with you inside me, Daddy, I can't..."

"Michael? Mouse? Are you home?"

Mouse and Michael turned to stone, eyes wide, their expressions a paroxysm of total fear. The voice was their mother's. A moment later, both were up and scrambling.

"What the hell?"

Michael's voice was a gruff whisper.

"Sh!"

"Michael? Mouse?"

The voice was halfway up the stairs. It was already too late to escape the bedroom. Michael fought to stuff his erect penis into the pajama bottoms. At least he hadn't taken anything off, but his erection was impossible to conceal, even if he could somehow get his cock to bend enough to disappear under the folds of thin fabric.

They didn't even have any other clothes in the room, to change into. Their clothes were in their own rooms.

"Where the hell are they?" their mother called out.

"Well they left the whole God damned house wide open. The front door was unlocked. That's Michael's car in the driveway. At least he must be here."

They could hear her checking their rooms, then coming their way. Michael grabbed Mouse's hand and hauled her with him into the walk in closet, closing the door behind them.

"Shit," he whispered.

Mouse's eyes were wide. He was sure they were a mirror of his own. There was no explaining this. No way. Nothing. They were as good as dead.

They listened as their mother moved around the room. The disheveled bed must be confusing her. Michael hoped to God she didn't see the wet spot.

"Here's the first suitcase," their father's voice drifted in from just beyond the closet door. "I just want my toiletries out of it, so I can get ready for bed. What the hell, has one of them been sleeping in here?"

"Peculiar."

"Damned peculiar. They're not up here at all?"

"No."

"Well, let's unpack. I'll worry about them later. I'm exhausted."




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 04



"Peculiar."

"I still don't know why we didn't just call them to pick us up. That cab ride took forever."

Mouse made a face at Michael, a panicked, pleading face. Michael searched his mind for ideas. It didn't seem like they could do much except wait it out, except that if their parents unpacked much at all, they'd certainly have to put something in the closet, this closet.

Michael had only one thing to work with. He'd kept his Blackberry in the pajama pants pocket, set on vibrate. Mouse would have killed him if she knew, but he had to be available 24-7 for work. It was part of the price of being a VP of operations. Business ran around the clock these days, things happened whenever they happened, and he was expected to fix them.

He pulled it out to show Mouse. Her eyes, somehow, went wider then they already were, but a smile slipped onto her face. She mouthed the words "I love you" to him, kissed him quickly, then glanced in fear at the door, as if she'd just kissed him in front of Mom and Dad.

Michael gave her a questioning look, wondering what she could possibly do with it. They couldn't call their parents to lure them away. They'd hear the voice through the closet door.

Michael looked over Mouse's shoulder as she keyed a text message to Melanie.

* * *

—Help Trapped Help—

It took a while for Melanie to respond. It could have taken hours. As it was, they got lucky.

—What? Where? Please explain.—

—Mom and Dad came home. We're trapped in their bedroom closet in a compromising position. You have to help.—

—Price—

—Anything—

—Anything?—

—Yes HELP Fast!—

—Deal—

The phone rang.

"Hello? Oh, hi, darling."

"Yeah, they were forecasting nothing but rain, and we were getting bored anyway. Your father got antsy. Said he couldn't sleep right for so long in a strange bed."

"Yeah." 

"Yes, of course. Do you know where Mouse is?"

"What? No, no. I don't know. Honey? Honey, forget that. Mel says Michael said there was something wrong with the gas lines in the basement. Mouse thought she smelled something earlier. That's why he's here. She called them both in a panic."

Michael watched Mouse's face turn into a small snarl, obviously annoyed that Melanie had portrayed her as panicking.

"Yeah, yeah, Dad's going to check. What? You think so? Oh, alright. It seems like such a bother."

Michael and Mouse listened tensely as their mother hung up the phone, and then there was silence. A moment later they could hear her calling to their father from out of the room, her voice fading as she descended the stairs.

In moments they were up, hurrying to their rooms to change. Michael threw his clothes on quickly, stuffing his father's pajamas into the bottom of his own suitcase, then made his way to Mouse's room. Her window overlooked an awning at the back of the house, which protruded out over the deck. Mouse had often used it as a teenager to sneak out of and back into her room late at night.

They used it now, quickly scrambling down onto the deck, hoping they wouldn't be seen. Once there it was a simple matter of going to the front of the house, walking in the door, and acting surprised.

"Mom! What are you doing here?"

"Hi, dear," she said, smiling, while gliding over to hug her children. "We came home early. Where have you two been?"

"Just walking," Mouse answered, beaming a smile and squeezing her in a tight, long hug.

"Where's Dad?"

"Down in the basement. Melanie said you smelled gas. I was just telling him that Melanie said we should get out of the house and call the gas company."

Michael glanced at Mouse, who was unusually meek and silent, under the circumstances.

"What? Gas? No, not really, I think she misunderstood," he said. "I mean, maybe, that's why we went out for some fresh air, but I checked it. It's nothing to worry about."

Their dad came out of the basement door as he was speaking. 

"I don't think there's a gas leak. We'd know if there was. I didn't smell a thing."

"No, no, Mel is just over reacting. Hey, Dad, how was the trip? Why cut it short?"

"Can I make some tea for you, Mom?" Mouse asked.

Mouse walked into the kitchen, with her mother following, while Michael and his dad stood talking nonsense about the trip and weather and gas lines and explosions and dangers and other ridiculous things.

Mouse let her mother step past her, into the kitchen, so she could smile brightly back at Michael, making him feel like a hero, before backing in herself.



Melanie sat at the kitchen table, delicately sipping a diet Coke in a ray of hot sunlight that blasted through the large sliding glass door. Mouse drank her own with more gusto, in a better shaded seat. Michael was standing outside on the deck with the parents, looking out at the old tree, lamely stumbling through a rather thin explanation that he put the tire swing up as a joke. 

As it was, the sliding door was open. Mouse really should let this conversation wait, but she couldn't contain herself any further. 

They kept their voices low, but casual, while Mouse kept one eye on Michael and her parents, to be certain they didn't walk in at the wrong moment.

"So, what's the price?"

"You're not going to like it."

"I don't care. Name it. As long as it has nothing to do with Michael."

"It does."

Mouse held Melanie's eyes. She thought that Melanie had grown tired of interfering with them.

"What?"

"I want to watch you with Michael again."

"Melanie!"

Mouse turned hurriedly toward the deck, grateful that no one had taken any notice of her. Her voice had raised noticeably, instantly, in both pitch and volume.

Melanie was smiling rather timidly, uncharacteristically, at the table. Her eyes came up to meet Mouse's, sparkling with mischief.

"You're serious," Mouse said. "Again? I thought you swore off all bizarre sexual escapades. You're even paying for therapy. I thought it was prim, proper, sober mother and wife for you, 'til then end of your days."

"I never said 'til the end of my days."

"It's barely been a few months."

Melanie adopted a tight lipped smile as she once again stared at the table, while nervously fiddling with the salt shaker.

"I've been completely sober, and staying that way. I won't cheat there. That was the real problem, the serious one. I should never have deprived myself of sex, though. Wild sex, I mean. But I've been good. Without the alcohol, I've got better restraint, and better judgement. I think I deserve one little reward."

"No."

Melanie's eyes shot up again.

"What do you mean, 'no?' "

"No."

"Mouse, you have to. You promised. You owe me."

"No."

"Why not? I just want to watch. Secretly. You said you weren't afraid of me, with Michael. You said you were never remotely afraid of me stealing Michael."

"Exactly."

"Exactly? You're not afraid, so I can't watch again?"

"I'm not afraid, so I want you to join us."

"What?!"

This time it was Melanie that had sharply raised her voice. The trio on the deck still hadn't heard them. Dad was showing Michael the new barbeque grill he'd bought, with eight way temperature control and three tier convection heating, or whatever the hell he called it. It was the third time he'd shown it to poor Michael, while Mom kept trying to get Dad to stop repeating himself.

"What?" Melanie repeated, in a stage whisper.

"I want you to join us."

Melanie blinked back at her, expressionless. A quirky smile slowly spread over her face, like spilling milk, first widening and turning up the corners of her mouth, then lighting up her eyes.

"You are so fucking twisted."

Mouse smiled calmly back, eyebrows wiggling theatrically.

"Yes, we are," she said, with the emphasis on "we."

"An incestuous threesome?"

Melanie and Mouse both shot looks at their parents on the deck. She hadn't raised her voice this time, but the words were too damning. Dad and Mom were staring back at them, seemingly by coincidence. Their blank looks lasted only a moment, after which Mouse and Melanie both broke into nervous laughter.

"You are so fucking twisted," Melanie repeated, this time in a low, hoarse whisper.

"Will you do it?"

"Fuck yes."

"Good. Great."

"But why? Is this the finale for your sinful week of damning..." Melanie remembered to lower her voice further this time. "... incestuous sex?"

"Sort of. I think I owe Michael. It's for him. It's all for him."

Mouse met Melanie's eyes with a grin.

"Well," she continued, "it's mostly for him. I have three rules, though."

"I can't."

"You can't obey three rules?"

"I can't do it."

"Mel, come on."

"I can't. Look what happened the last time. I damn near..." Melanie lowered her voice once again. "I damn near fucked my own son."

"You won't do that. You never would have. And this won't set you off. I promise."

"And you know this how? Watching would be one thing. I thought I could hide, so Michael wouldn't know. I don't think I should cross that line again, though. I shouldn't be with Michael again. I have to show some restraint here. This is exactly what I was talking about."

"Imagine the expression on Michael's face, just at the sight of the two of us. Together. With him."

Melanie paused, her face momentarily clouding.

"Imagine all of the expressions he'll have. What will he do when he sees us kiss? How will he look at the moment he comes?"

Melanie began to smile, in spite of herself. She shifted in her seat.

"Okay, I have three rules."

"I haven't even agreed."

"Yes, you have. First rule. We pay you."

"Pay me?"

"Yes. You'll be our whore, bought and paid for."

Melanie lowered her head to look at Mouse disapprovingly from under her brow, but she did it with a smile.

"I could see where that could be fun."

"And second, as our whore, you do exactly as you're told."

Melanie raised her eyebrows at that.

"You do whatever I tell you to do, or Michael tells you. You don't give orders. You take what you get. You don't resist anything, at all."

Melanie stared at Mouse for a while. Mouse had seen this before. She was looking for weakness, waiting to see if Mouse would back down. Mouse didn't flinch.

"Fine. And third?"

"Third, Michael doesn't know about it before hand. We seduce him. Together. He doesn't know what's happening until we're into it. We totally freak him out."

Melanie grinned widely.

"Deal. Deal. Absolutely, it's a deal. If I don't chicken out."

"When?" Mouse asked. "I'm only here a few more days."

"Tonight."

"Tonight? You sure?" 

"Yes. Or else I will chicken out. You tell Mom and Dad that you're staying at Michael's the rest of the week, since they've come home. Tell them you've gotten more used to the bed at his place, with all of your other stays there. You aren't sleeping well. Or that you can stay up later. Whatever you want."

"What about Dan?"

"I'll just tell him you and Michael and I are going out, for old time's sake. I'll be out too late and I don't want to drive home tired, so I'll plan on staying there, in the guest room. It will be a dinner out, a late night up having coffee, and a lot of reminiscing with my baby brother and sister."

"Okay. Can we go to dinner? Some place really private, and far away?"

"I'll think of something."

"I can't believe we're finally doing this."

"Finally?"

Mouse smiled evilly at her. This was going to be quite a wild way to end a rather long two week adventure. 

Mouse had certainly fantasized about this enough, but hadn't really considered trying to make it happen, and certainly not since Mel's alcoholic episodes. It was a long time coming. It was a great end to Mouse's two weeks of fantasy sex. And this was exactly the reward that Michael had so dearly earned.

She almost felt like she'd won the lottery.

"Okay, now tell me all of your fantasies, what you've imagine. What do you want Michael to do for you?"



The three of them went to the Riviera Club, an expensive but unpopular place some distance from Michael's house, and even further from Melanie's. It was a place where not only was it unlikely they'd see anyone they knew, but unlikely they'd ever see anyone there again.

Mouse had insisted on this, privately to Mel, because, she said, she and Melanie were going to drive Michael wild throughout dinner.

Melanie wore the same sexy gown that she'd flaunted at their parent's anniversary, the first night Mouse and Michael had made love. It was a tight, midnight-blue, sequined, not quite knee length dress, low in the front, open at the back, and sleeveless. It shimmered enticingly while hugging her curves, lifting her bust and showing off the creamy, soft flesh of her cleavage. 

Mouse smiled whenever she caught Michael staring, and grinned whenever he knew he'd been caught. He'd mentioned that dress, and the vision of Melanie in it, more than once since that night. It had made quite an impression. Mouse had to admit, it suited Melanie well, very, very well.

Mouse wore something similar, in that it was tight, sleeveless, and open at the back, but it completely covered her chest and had a turtle neck, was far more comfortable, and far shorter. Her dress was flesh colored, patterned with irregular blackish brown tiger stripes, and made from crocheted lace, with a matching beret. She'd knitted it herself from thick yarn, like a sweater or a comforter, with wide gaps between the strands. 

It draped over her like a large fishing net that had been drawn tight over it's catch, clinging to every curve of her body like a wet t-shirt. Beneath it, if she'd worn a bra or panties, one would have seen their cloth quite obviously through the gaps between the threads. She hadn't, so anyone daring enough to stare would realize that they could see the shadowy, dark, inviting circles of her aureolas, with her nipples nearly protruding through gaps in the thick yarn.

Mouse was pretty sure that the waiter had noticed.

Her pubic hair was not visible, because she had none. She had waxed herself clean regularly during the entire two weeks, and especially that morning.

Michael wore his best suit, looking ordinary and conservative, but handsome and appealingly powerful. It was a pin stripe that made him look like a wealthy banker, out for a polite, pleasant evening with his mature, sexy wife, Melanie, and what could only be a well paid secretary, or a young call girl, Mouse. Mouse was too old to be their daughter, and too young to be anything else.

Anyone thinking this would, of course, be wrong, because the young, sexy one was for all intents Michael's wife, while the older, curvaceous, reserved one, this evening, would soon be a well paid whore.

By common agreement, no alcohol was ordered by anyone. Melanie was, of course, on the wagon. Mouse, it was agreed by all, certainly didn't need any encouragement, chemical or otherwise. As for Michael, Melanie and Mouse conspiratorially agreed that the general effect of spirits on him was to quite simply put him to sleep, and that did not fit in with Mouse and Melanie's plans for the evening.

* * *

"You should have seen the look on Michael's face. As it was he could barely fit in the closet, with all the crap mom keeps in there. Between the contortions of his face and his body, I almost laughed out loud."

"I'm sure his expression was priceless."

Melanie's eyes twinkled in the candlelight over a beaming smile, aimed right at a half blushing Michael. She moved a hand to cover and squeeze his, then very deliberately left it there. Her skin was very warm, and soft. Michael glanced quickly, apprehensively at Mouse. She either didn't notice, or didn't care, so Michael relaxed and enjoyed the pleasing, innocent touch.

"Me? Do you think you were the calm, happy little delinquent?"

He directed that straight at Mouse, with eyebrows raised in expressive, questioning disbelief.

"When have I ever acted like a delinquent?"

Michael and Melanie laughed together at her. Michael moved to take his hand away, but Melanie squeezed it, making it too awkward for him to withdraw, so he left it where it was. He even squeezed back affectionately.

"No, really," Mouse argued. "I'm a bit wild, I'll admit, but I've never qualified as a delinquent."

"She really believes it. My God, she really believes it," Melanie said to Michael, as if Mouse weren't there.

"Oh, I know she does. She has absolutely no idea. She thinks she's perfectly normal."

"I am. I'm just not normal like everyone else," Mouse said, grinning.

"She has her own, private normalcy."

"And it's quite wonderful, I must admit," Michael added, with a loving look that made Mouse blush and look away.

"Well, I have to visit the ladies room," Mouse said, rising, while pulling her skirt down at the back with a rather sexy tug and wiggle. The dress tended to ride up, and reveal things that shouldn't be revealed in public. Michael felt his heart pick up pace at the sight, and the thought.

As she passed behind Michael, she placed two startlingly hot hands on his shoulders, then used her thumbs to caress either side of his neck. She very gently kissed the top of his head, lingering briefly, allowing him to feel the moist warmth of her breath on his scalp.

Michael reached up to hold one of her warm hands, with the one that Melanie didn't hold possessively. He looked up to see Mouse smiling down at him, teeth white and gleaming behind shining lips, dark eyes twinkling, before she retreated, reluctantly slipping the smooth, soft flesh of her hand from his.

When Michael looked back at Melanie, himself smiling a little bashfully at their public show of affection, Melanie was beaming at him. He had expected her to be looking away in embarrassment, or even giving him a silent, scolding look. Instead she inhaled deeply, expanding her chest, so that the alluringly bare flesh of her cleavage rose and grew, threatening to shoot some of the sequins off of the dress like popcorn.

Michael stared brazenly, before bringing his eyes under control and wresting them away, back to his dinner plate. He felt his balls tighten in ill considered excitement, then tried to shake the feeling away. Still, he couldn't resist another glance back at her bosom, where she her randomly used one hand to toy with the necklace hanging between her breasts, while using the thumb of her other hand to stroke his still captive knuckles pleasingly.

* * *

An hour later, Melanie was still holding Michael's hand as he signed the credit receipt with the other. She simply wouldn't, and hadn't, let go, except when decorum dictated it, to allow him to cut and eat his food. He didn't understand why Mouse wasn't throwing fits, but she simply sat, comfortably relaxed, on his other side, across from Melanie, smiling contentedly.

After he put the pen down, Mouse grabbed that now free hand in both of hers, proceeding to stroke it much as she might pet a small animal. Michael sat there, a little dazed by all of the obvious, physical affection he was receiving from his two sisters. He glanced down at the dark circles of Mouse's nipples, then over at Melanie's expansive bust, then into each of their eyes in turn.

Something was going on. He wanted to ask, but thought better of it. So far, it was nothing bad. They were setting him up, he was sure, and he was going to have to be on his guard, but so far, he was in control. He'd be ready for them. He'd try to make sure that in the end the joke was on them, or at least that he wasn't too entirely and foolishly the butt of it.

"Let's get going," he told them. "I picked up some eclairs at the bakery today, and put them in the fridge. We can have them with coffee back at the house."

* * *




Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 04



As they left the table, Mouse rather audaciously slipped in beside him, slipping her arm around his waist while laying her head against his ribs. He accommodated her by draping one large, meaty hand on her bare far shoulder, covering her back with his arm like a cape. On the other side, Melanie still had a hold of his hand, where she walked teasingly close to him, brushing her body against his arm in a dangerously noticeable way.

At least, it was dangerous for him. Melanie had completely and convincingly sworn off her tendency toward wild, sexual escapades, along with even a taste of alcohol. She'd apologized to him repeatedly and profusely after their own, shared misadventures. She was clearly, truly sorry, and, despite her statements to the contrary, he knew that she hadn't entirely come to grips with the guilt she felt about committing incest, and stealing her own sister's lover, brother or not.

Although that didn't mean her own abstinence would have an equal affect on his rather natural, masculine reactions. He'd been having dangerous fantasies of his own, now, since their two encounters. They were only fantasies, but they weren't entirely infrequent. He didn't want to act on them. His love for Mouse, and for Melanie, too, kept it all very well sequestered, but the thoughts and desires were certainly there, bubbling just underneath a rather too calm facade.

He didn't need any subtle, tickling, if unintended help from Melanie in bringing it all closer to the surface.

He would have felt depressingly self conscious doing this, walking in so sexually physical a way with both of his sisters, any number of months ago. But now, after everything he and Mouse and Melanie had done and shared, and especially after all of the wicked play acting he and Mouse had been languishing in for the past two weeks, after all of that, somehow this didn't phase him a bit.

Michael thought about how absurdly wicked everyone would consider this, including himself just a year ago, and yet it had somehow become almost routine for him.

Once out in the parking lot, Melanie moved in closer. She finally released his hand, only to slip her own arm behind his back, with Mouse's. She pressed in tightly at his side, like Mouse, so that he felt a pleasing pressure applied by the pronounced curve of one rounded breast, along with a rhythmic bump of her hips swaying against his as they walked. His free arm moved up to drape over her shoulders, holding her affectionately close.

That was how he made his way to the car, with two beautiful, desirable women draped on him to each side, one petite and fiery, the other a curvaceous amazon, both of them forbidden to him, even though he had already fully enjoyed the undeniably sweet fruits of their bodies.

He found himself recalling in some detail, with growing excitement, both evenings with Melanie. His cock was coming to life again.

He was going to have to find a way to get Melanie to leave as quickly as possible. After all he and Mouse had done this week, one would think he'd be sated, or at least patient, but all of the attention and affection his sisters had given him this evening had lit a new fire in him.

He couldn't wait to be with Mouse tonight. He wasn't sure he was going to last through the drive home.

His disappointment was immeasurable when, as he got behind the wheel, Melanie got into the back seat, and Mouse went in right behind her, leaving him alone up front. They giggled like drunken high school girls the whole ride home, joking and teasing, while he sat in silence, trying and failing to catch meaningful scraps of their annoyingly silly banter.

* * *

Michael was in the kitchen, making the coffee. As far as he knew, Melanie was staying for one cup, and an eclair, and then heading home. For Mouse, the coffee couldn't percolate fast enough. All of the flirting, the obvious effect it was having on Michael, even watching Melanie flirt with him and touch him, especially watching Melanie touch him, had gotten Mouse's juices flowing almost beyond anything she could remember.

This was far better than any past fantasy she had played out. The anticipation was exquisitely taunting. She felt almost delirious.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Mel?"

"Why? Are you getting cold feet?"

"Me? Hell, no. I'm... rather hungry."

"You're not afraid I'll steal Michael."

Mouse stared back at her, unblinking, and unhesitating.

"No."

Melanie intensified her stare as if, if she waited long enough, Mouse would crack and admit otherwise.

"But you're sure that you want to?" Mouse asked.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Why not? Shit. Let's see. It's incest. Extreme incest. And the last time you slept with our brother," Mouse said, emphasizing the word brother. "The last time you slept with our brother, you felt like you almost ruined your life."

"But the problem wasn't him, it was the alcohol. Being with him, that second time, was lovely beyond imagining, and it even made the first time all right, too. They're two of the fondest sexual experiences I've ever had. Being with you was a third. And not necessarily in that order."

Mouse tried not to smile at the compliment, even as she felt her body begin to tingle. She kissed Melanie, though only quickly, lingering just long enough to make her temporarily subdued passion felt.

"So you're sure you can handle this," she said, reaching into her handbag and thrusting a thick stack of bills at Melanie.

"Not just can, want."

"Incest? Sinful, wanton, unforgivable incest?"

"Yes. Absolutely, yes. More than you can imagine."

Mouse gave her a sheepish smile in reply, as Melanie started to count the money, then stopped abruptly, shoving it back at Mouse.

"Those are hundreds, not twenties. I can't take this. Not this much. I was expecting a hundred bucks. Actually, I was expecting to have to haggle you up to a hundred bucks."

"You're worth it all."

"There must be at least thousand dollars here."

"Yup. One thousand, even."

"No way, Little. Stop it. Take it back."

"Have I ever told you how much I love it when you call me Little?" Mouse asked in excited, feigned innocence, leaning in the offer her another kiss.

Michael entered the room then, his attention completely focused on balancing a tray with three cups of coffee, a plate full of eclairs, a cup of sugar and a small pitcher of cream. Mouse turned away from Melanie, leaving her no choice but to stuff the cash into her own handbag to keep it hidden from Michael.

Mouse turned quickly back for one last word.

"As of now, you're on the clock."

The deal was done. Melanie had been bought and paid for.

Now the fun could really begin.

* * *

Michael grumbled to himself. Mouse had dropped her spoon on the floor, and suddenly was too persnickety to use it, as if she'd ever cared about something like that before. To Mouse, the five second rule was a ridiculous high brow institution. The five day rule was more like it, for her.

But instead of relaxing with his sisters, and finally enjoying the chocolate eclair he'd been fantasizing about since he bought them, here he was again, up and in the kitchen, just to get a damned silly spoon. He grabbed three, in case there were any further accidents.

Michael froze in the doorway as he returned.

Mouse and Melanie had opted to sit beside each other on the sofa, which was fine, Michael liked his recliner, and he didn't think he could take much more of their combined affections without throwing Melanie out of the house, or just plain jumping on Mouse in front of her.

Except that now Melanie was almost on top of her little sister. She had Mouse pressed firmly into the back of the sofa, with her hands on each of Mouse's shoulders, while their mouths were locked together in a beyond merely passionate kiss. Mouse had her own hands in the air, as if lost somewhere between the act of either pushing her sister away, or pulling her closer.

Their heads moved energetically, implying that their lips and tongues, hidden from sight, enjoyed the same, overeager interaction.

Michael almost dropped the spoons. To avoid once again being called a dork by his little sister, he quickly recovered his composure, to smoothly stride to his recliner, calmly and quietly sit down in it, reach for his cup of coffee, and lean comfortably back, taking a long, loud sip, while never letting his eyes leave his two gorgeous, lust crazed sisters.

After a pleasantly long show, Melanie broke the kiss, drawing back by inches to stare into Mouse's face. For her part, Mouse kept her eyes closed, lost in a world of incestuous lesbian pleasure, until they opened dreamily to stare straight back into her big sister's eyes. 

The back of Melanie's hand traced a slow, sensuous path from its spot on her shoulder, down to Mouse's breast, where her now fully erect nipple protruded in unabashed excitement through the fabric of her sluttish dress. Melanie parted two fingers just enough to pinch the nipple between her knuckles.

Mouse's mouth formed a delicate little 'o' in response to Melanie's touch, as her eyes shot open to burn her gaze into Melanie's. Melanie leaned into Mouse, leading with an outstretched tongue, to give her little sister what her expression said she she wanted, another deeply passionate kiss. Mouse arched her back, pressing her tit more firmly into Melanie's gentle hand. Melanie responded to the silent request, cupping Mouse's breast gently, then squeezing harder, massaging it excitingly.

Melanie's mouth left Mouse's, frozen again in that perfect little 'o,' as Melanie's mouth duplicated its form while approaching Mouse's excited breast. Melanie slipped her hand out of the way, downward from Mouse's supple breast, pulling the fabric of her dress taut, widening the holes to clearly expose Mouse's wildly hard nipple. It protruded through a gap in the in mesh like a small engorged cock thrust out through an open fly.

Melanie's hot lips locked onto it, eliciting a pleasingly high and excited chirp from Mouse.

Outwardly, Michael calmly sipped his coffee, as his cock grew, like a reptile crawling inside his pants. He didn't want to be so bold as to take it out, to appear so crass and eager. He knew they'd teasingly laugh if he did. He'd spent enough years being the butt of his two sister's shared jokes.

He also knew his time would come.

Still, it was getting uncomfortable. His cock strained against the tight, constraining suit pants. He would wait, and watch, but not too long.

* * *

The feel of Mouse's nipple in Melanie's mouth, the hot fire of it, the youthful hardness, coupled with the sweet rhapsody of the sounds she made, quickly drove Melanie's fears and doubts away. What trepidation she had been hiding vanished with the growing warmth and wetness between her legs.

She ached to look at Michael, to see his expression, yet refused to leave Mouse's sweet tasting nipple untended. Her hand coasted down her little sister's firm, athletic abdomen, brushing along the odd yarn of her dress, down to her naked thigh. Then it raced back up to cup her breast, squeezing it, pushing the nipple further up and into her mouth. Melanie's tongue sauntered over her sister's hardened flesh, flicking, circling, then withdrawing so that her lips could consume the nipple like a pussy enveloping a cock.

Mouse issued a series of sharp squeaks, beautiful all by themselves, before singing her thoughts in a soprano voice for her brother and sister to hear.

"Oh, fuck, Melanie, oh fuck, oh fuck, I missed your mouth."

Melanie released her then, no longer able to resist. She had to see the effect of Mouse's words, and their actions, on her adorable baby brother. She had to seen him squirming at the sight.

Melanie turned her head to him, while pressing the side of her face against Mouse's breast, feeling the hard nipple poking into her cheek. His face was clouded with a thousand emotions that she knew must be mirrored in her own. They didn't need listing, but fear, or doubt, seemed to be one of them. He needed encouragement.

"Come here, Baby Brother. Little deserves affection from both of us."

* * *

Mouse watched Michael intently. His expression was one of dazed hunger. She used to see that expression on his face so often. They'd become so familiar with each other, they'd become so comfortable with sex with each other, ordinary incest had seemingly become so routine and certain that that sense of confusing, warring lust had left them. It was nice to see it again.

Michael moved carefully toward them, like a stalking lion, in a way, but he was far too large and gawky. He was always so much more like a thick, blundering, lovable bear, even when he tried to be suave. He was a thick, blundering, lovable sexy bear.

Michael lowered himself onto the seat by Melanie. She eased back, making room for him, still holding Mouse's excited tit in one squeezing hand, coaxing the nipple into protruding nicely through the fabric. Michael's eyes were locked on Melanie's as he slowly, gracefully lowered his mouth to Mouse's nipple.

Mouse hummed as she watched the back of his bald pate descend, until she felt the molten insides of his mouth. He squeezed her nipple gently between his teeth, sending a bolt of pleasure shooting through her. Mouse yelped.

"I think Little Sister likes that, Michael."

Mouse moved one hand behind her brother's head, then the other behind Melanie's. She held Michael in place, sucking hard on her nipple, as she forced Melanie down toward the other. Her big sister eagerly took that into her mouth, too. Melanie hummed in appreciation, shooting pleasing vibrations through her right nipple, as the two of them, her brother and her sister, sucked on her together, each of them holding and squeezing one breast in a hand.

Mouse felt a moment of sinful, selfish guilt. With her hands on their heads, she pushed them toward each other. They both resisted. They fought her.

She pushed. They resisted, but not really, not enough. Their heads turned. Mouse watched their eyes lock. She watched the electricity arc between them. She watched a mix of fear and lust fill their eyes. She was captivated by the shared expressions on their mirrored faces, by the dual look of so forbidden a longing.

Mouse forcefully guided them closer to each other.

Their lips met. They were awkward, at first, like a brother and sister should kiss. Their mouths were closed. Their lips didn't move.

Mouse made a very deliberate, exotic squeal of excitement, watching for their reaction. She was rewarded as both of them opened their mouths wide. Melanie hummed in appreciation again, this time into Michael's hungry, incestuous mouth. Mouse was sure that Michael's tongue had shoved it's way in by now to attack hers.

She watched in wicked delight, her own body tingling with unrivaled excitement, as her brother and sister kissed for her pleasure, and their own.

* * *

Melanie's tongue tangled slowly with his, not hesitantly, not timidly, not carefully, just slowly and erotically, as if she were savoring the moment.

Michael felt a moment of confused panic. He couldn't pinpoint how he felt. He was in shock, certainly. This was unexpected, to him, although obviously it was planned, and he'd known something was up, just not this.

But he was kissing his older sister, again. He'd swore he never would. He swore it for Mouse, and himself, and for Melanie, too, for all of their goods.

Now he was kissing her in front of Mouse, with Mouse's tit in his hand. It had to be the most wickedly sinful thing anyone had ever done. It had to be wrong. It felt wrong, in a lot of ways.

Michael's tongue twisted around Melanie's with a renewed vigor. To hell with it. To hell with all of it. He'd been out of bounds for so long, so far over the edge with Mouse for so long, it was ridiculous to be thinking anything. This was about doing, not thinking.

Keeping his left hand on Mouse's marvelous little tit, he quickly, wholly unafraid of appearing too eager, moved the other to first brush the bare flesh in Melanie's cleavage, and then to take her entire, full, soft breast in his hand.

He held both of his sisters, with a soft, forbidden tit in each hand, one large and full, the other small and firm, and squeezed.

His cock felt almost painfully restrained by his pants. He had to straighten one leg, to spread his legs, to get some relief. He didn't want to seem eager, but he needed relief.

* * *

Michael's kiss was magical. Melanie hadn't been expecting that. She'd been expecting excitement, and sexuality, and the powerful sense of pleasure that comes from doing something horribly wrong, something no one would ever expect of her, or approve of. 

It was the pleasure that came from skipping school, not because school was boring, but because you weren't supposed to. It was the pleasure that came from doing seventy on a winding forty mile per hour back road. It was the pleasure that came from having sex on the office floor with your new boss just moments after everyone else had left for the day.

It wasn't that the act itself was so good, but the extra charge you got because you weren't supposed to do it.

But kissing Michael now was more than that. Melanie felt her heart pounding. She felt tingles crawling all over her skin like ants. She felt her own breasts surging with aches, calling to her brother, almost reaching out to him, begging to be touched, and squeezed, and loved, and kissed, and owned by him.

* * *

"That's enough, darlings," Mouse said to them. She was always shocked at how high her already squeaky voice became when she was excited.

Mouse pulled Melanie back by her hair. To yank Michael back, she had to grab his earlobe.

As soon as they were separated, their eyes locked, darting left and right, searching for each other's reaction to the searing kiss. Mouse corrected that by pulling Michael's head up to her own with her hand. His kiss was warm and appropriately eager, untarnished by its side trip to visit their sister's evil mouth.

Even as he kissed her, Mouse pulled Melanie's head up towards theirs.

Michael tried to linger, but Mouse didn't allow it. She pulled him away, again by the ear, while pulling Melanie in to take his place. Mouse relaxed into the back of the sofa. She wasn't kissing them. They were kissing her, one after the other, servicing her. Each of them eagerly pressed their mouths and tongues against and into Mouse's, each of them dueling, warring to show which could kiss her more passionately, more arrogantly, more inspiringly.

She alternated between them, playing a sinful game of incestuous kiss tennis, left, right, man, woman, brother sister, as they both very divertingly massaged her breasts. Mouse instinctively spread her legs, feeling her growing wetness, along with a burn that spread from there through her body. She ached to feel both of them inside her.

She fought the urge. She was being selfish. This was for Michael, not for her, or at least it was mostly for Michael. Mouse, engaged in a tangled kiss with Melanie, eased her away, not out of contact, but merely making room as she pulled Michael in with her hand at the back of his bald skull.

Mouse pulled all of their lips together. She held them both, her brother and sister, with one hand on each head, so their lips and tongues melded with hers into a wonderful three way kiss. Three sibling tongues writhed and twisted like snakes in a pit, curling and darting and tasting and probing tirelessly. Their lips moved together, with each of them hungrily trying to find a way to maintain contact and devour both of their lovers, Melanie, Michael and Mouse, all at once.

With growing excitement, Mouse squealed into both of their mouths, out of control, absolutely certain that this was the single most erotic thing that she would ever do.