8 comments/ 23737 views/ 3 favorites Mouse Bk. 07 Ch. 01 By: Rob_mDear Book 7: Funeral for a Mouse 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. This book, in particular, contains very little sex. It's the end of a long, involved and complex series of events. 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, this book isn't a good place to start. If 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 Mouse looked without seeing out the window at the distant, uneven floor of brilliant white clouds below the plane. As naturally as it came to her, she tried not to be angry with Michael. He'd never cheated on her. Melanie had kept her carefully informed of everything he did. Michael didn't hide it from Melanie, and Melanie didn't try to hide it from Mouse. She wasn't telling her everything just to hurt her, when it did hurt, or to drive them apart, which it could. Melanie understood what they meant to each other. She just didn't want to see her little sister get ambushed. She wanted what was best for both of them. And Michael hadn't cheated. He hadn't. He'd been seeing Kate a lot, too much, and he certainly hadn't ever mentioned it himself to Mouse, but he hadn't slept with her. Mouse would have known if he had. She knew she'd hear it in his voice. She was sure that she knew him that well. She'd known him that well even before they'd started fucking. She didn't even think he'd kissed her, at least not much, not with feeling. There was never anything more than a chaste, brotherly, good night kiss for Kate from Michael. He reserved his passion for his true love, someone that truly excited him, his little sister. She was certain of it. But Michael was trying to have it both ways. He was trying to live two lives, but neither of them fully, or well. Mouse pulled the window shade down, shutting out the dazzling light. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the change. For a passing instant, she was partially blind. Everything was a dim, gray blur. She couldn't be mad. It was what he needed. It honestly was what he should be doing. If she really loved him, she'd make him do it. He was her brother. He was more than a brother. This was all fun, what they had. It was something they both wanted, and needed, but in the end it didn't seem like it was going to be enough to make it last, and Mouse couldn't figure out how to make it more. Her brother needed more than sex. He needed more than affection. He needed more than love, even. He needed a woman who was a mate, a full time, real, permissible mate with a future. He needed someone that society would accept for him. He needed someone that could give him a family. He needed to get rid of Mouse. A tear should have formed in Mouse's eye, which she should have bravely fought back. The thought angered her. She didn't want or need to be brave, but she didn't even feel like that was what she was doing. She wanted to feel the pain, and the sense of loss, or impending loss. She wasn't sure what she felt. That more than anything pissed her off, which made it even worse. A bell sounded in the cabin as the fasten seat belts sign illuminated. The attendant's disembodied voice hummed through the air with the same standard, tired monologue about seat backs and trays in their upright and locked positions, while Mouse imagined tears running down her cheeks. In under an hour she'd be beside Michael. She was afraid that she wouldn't really be with him, but merely beside him. She wondered what she'd feel when she was. * * * As she waited for her own luggage to be unloaded from the plane, the baggage carousel turned and turned, always with the same three bags going around and away and around and back, luggage somehow abandoned after a previous flight, or maybe diverted to the wrong place. At every airport, after every flight, there were two or three inexplicably orphaned bags, no matter how intricate and well designed the tracking systems were made. Somewhere in the country was another airport, with another baggage claim area, with a carousel that went round and round with nothing on it, while some poor guy waited in vain for his luggage to come down the shoot and around to him, which it never would because the bags were here. For all she knew, that guy for these bags was Paul. He wasn't in Chicago to see her off on this trip. He was out of town, again. He'd been away for ten days this time. If he'd come back in time, the way she'd been feeling, she might almost have given in to his charms and finally slept with him. Then she could hate herself for that, too. It was probably best that he was away for a lot of reasons. He was no good for her. He was too much like she was, too much of an adventurer. He was too unreliable. He was a too much of a rogue, the imperfect complement to Mouse as the indomitable rascal. He had an odd, comfortable warmth to him, though. He was great to be around, inspiring and calming, both at once. He was like her father, or even better the cool uncle that she'd never had. He was too old for her, well into his fifties, and recently widowed. He was certainly old and experienced enough to be her own father. He was childless, at least, which was why he could continue to be so wild at his age. He flirted ceaselessly, and not only with Mouse. That was annoying. He was obviously someone that couldn't be trusted. That was silly, and unfair. He didn't belong to her. She'd never even let him kiss her, and he'd tried often enough. There was no issue of trust involved. She hadn't extended the opportunity to him. But there was something wickedly delicious about him. He was naughty and responsible, daring and boring, old and young, all at once. There was something intoxicating in the thought of fucking him, or being fucked by him, a man that must have pleased many women, and could patiently work to please her, while making her feel beautiful and feminine and sensual simply by choosing to be with her. The seduction, whether she seduced him, or he her, would be teasingly prolonged and delectable. That alone would make the actual act something to remember. She was sure that she'd call him "daddy" as he entered her, and she was equally sure that it would drive him as wild as it would her. If they slept together, she knew it would be better than good, and that the more twisted she made the experience, the more wild it would make the next. It would be better than good. Maybe almost half as good as being with Michael. But they hadn't. She wanted to, but she didn't, and wouldn't. She belonged to Michael. She wanted Michael. Everything was so fucked up. * * * Michael drove them home from the airport in an comfortable, uncomfortable silence. He didn't know what to think. This wasn't what he'd been expecting. As soon as she'd seen him, she'd thrown her arms around him to kiss him. He should have resisted, for a lot of reasons, but he hadn't. They'd kissed in that airport before. They'd let strangers watch their act of romantic, sexual, if subdued, incest in public before. As her lips met his, he thought about Kate. As her tongue slipped over his lower lip, then his upper, then into his mouth looking for his own, he forgot about Kate. With her arms around him, with her light, slim body in his hands, in his charge, he forgot about Kate. With her sweet breasts poking into his chest as her hands tickled the back of his bald scalp and her lips travelled ceaselessly over his, he forgot all about Kate. Mouse fell away, looking admiringly up at him with sultry, dark eyes and a pouting mouth that begged for another kiss, and he forgot about everything around him. Now, in the car, he was thinking again. The drive from the airport back to his place was a long one. It felt longer, because Mouse sat away from him, not holding his hand or nuzzling against him as she usually did. His chest hairs ached to be tugged, twisted, teased and tortured by her delicate, intruding fingers. Instead, she looked somberly out the window, as boring scenery flicked by like the unimportant, tedious, everyday memories that fly by in a lifetime. "Did you finish that wedding gown you were so excited about? The baby doll one?" Mouse took a while to answer. "The customer pulled the order. She chickened out." "That's too bad. Maybe you can get someone else to try the idea." "No. Not likely." "Maybe do a mockup, to show people." "I already did a sketch. That's how I start with any customer. I show them a collection of wild, sensual things they could never have imagined wearing, then I listen as they pick one and act all excited and rebelliously naughty, and then they chicken out and make me do something more boring." "You sound pissed. You can hardly be mad at them for being more conventional than you are." Mouse stared askance at him. She looked pissed, too. He was starting to think she was pissed at him, but she couldn't be, not after a kiss like the one in the airport. "So what are we doing this week?" he asked her, before she could start a spat with a response. "Fucking," she answered, turning back to look out the window. "I thought we'd try the 400 Club. Maybe make a dinner game of figuring out who saw us kissing in the parking lot that night." "I'd rather fuck." "We have to eat." "No we don't." "At the end of the week, they'd find us in bed together, spent, emaciated and dead." "Fine," she said, her tone of voice as flat as the word. * * * The thing was, she really didn't want to eat. She wanted to fuck him. That's all she wanted to do, was to fuck him, fuck him, and fuck him some more. She wanted to use every single moment enjoying his body, because any moment, any fuck, might be the last. She loved being fucked by him. He still didn't get that part. He said he did, he acted like it, he even said the words when they were fucking, but he didn't completely get it. He called her a slut. He called her an incestuous whore. He called her his little sister slut whore. But he deep down didn't know how right he was. Sex is all a slut wants. It's all she thinks about. It's all she works towards. Except a slut wants sex with just about anyone. An incestuous slut only wants sex with her brother. It was all she'd think about and work toward. It was true. She was an incestuous slut, probably the only one in the entire world. She was The Incestuous Slut. The moment she was with him, as soon as she'd touched him, all of her other tangled, confusing, irrelevant thoughts vanished. All of her concerns and worries magnified ten fold. Paul became an annoyance back home that she was glad to escape. Kate became a hated home wrecker. She wanted him to fuck her in front of everyone, right there at the airport. She wanted to scream and claw at him, begging him for more where everyone could see. And she wanted them to know who they were to each other. She wanted them to be hauled off and thrown in jail, together, where they would be forced to fuck and fuck and fuck incestuously for the rest of their lives. Mouse smiled wanly out the window at the absurdity of the thought. He just didn't get it. Sex with him was amazing. She knew it was the same for him. He was better at denying it, maybe. He was better at lying to himself about what he really wanted, and how important the sex was. But it was everything to him, just like it was to her. She knew it. Someone else might think the whole thing adolescent, and undignified, and irresponsible. Someone else might think it could and should be controlled. They were wrong. Mouse fucked her brother. Michael fucked his sister. They did it, they wanted to do it, and it was the most important thing in the world to both of them. In the end, nothing else really mattered, to her, or to him. Mouse had made up her mind. No more moping. No more feeling sorry for herself. Mouse had to find a way to make it all work. She wore a tight fitting black leotard with a tight black skirt, just like the other two waitresses in the small pub. Her tits looked better, though, not as large, but firm and inviting. The outlines of her nipples were very clearly visible. She had a small, nice, round ass, too. Mouse watched as the cute little waitress pattered away across the dim room to the bar, having left Michael and herself each with a beer while they looked at the menus. Mouse didn't watch the waitress. She watched Michael. For his part, he seemed to be oblivious. Mouse shrugged inside. It didn't mean anything. The girl was a virtual child compared to Michael. Even if he enjoyed the view, he wouldn't be interested. She looked across the room at a pair of dart boards hanging on the wall. She couldn't believe she was being jealous of some strange, young tart of a waitress. "What are you having?" she asked him, with her eyes back on the menu. "Just a burger. Maybe buffalo wings." "Can we share an order of wings?" "And fries?" "Okay, yes. So, tell me about Kate." Michael's eyes, on command, shot straight at hers. He did a good job. There was no obvious panic, or anger, or confusion. It was just a long, hard, but unidentifiable look. He could be thinking anything. Mouse smiled back at him. "Come on, Dork. We both know that you know that I know." Michael hid by looking back at his menu, but being sure to curl back one side of his mouth to show his irritation. "I didn't think you'd bring it up." "Brother, dear, why wouldn't I show an interest in your love life?" That got his eyes back on hers. "It's not 'my love life' and you know it." "Stop playing games." He looked back down at his menu, now in complete control of his voice, and his expression. "Playing games is what we do." Mouse frowned. She could feel her eyes darting around like a disoriented mouse looking for an escape. This wasn't going the way she'd intended, and it was careening dangerously toward a nasty spat. And nasty was probably only how it was going to start. It was his own damn fault for fooling around, even if there was no actual fooling around involved. Whatever the case, he obviously wasn't ready to talk about it. "Paul is helping me to get my business going. He's started a dozen businesses in his life. He's good at it." "I'm sure he's good at a lot of things," Michael said, still hiding in the act of studying the menu. "I didn't know they carried a line of local brews here. I think I'd like to try one." "He says he thinks it has a lot of potential, if I can advertise over a broader area, like country wide, maybe use the Internet. I told him I can't, that I need to do fittings, and he said that top dollar clients might pay to fly me around to do it. It's kind of exciting to think about." Michael looked at her. She hadn't seen that face often. It was his mature, cold, brotherly, fatherly, protective stare. "I'm not sure Paul is good for you, Mouse." "Jealous?" There was that lip curl again. "No, I'm not jealous, any more than you should be jealous of Kate. She's just a friend. I'm sure Paul is just a friend..." "Maybe." "I'm sure of it." She looked at him, and he held her eyes, and she believed him. He was sure. The bastard felt that smugly confident that he had a firm grip on her heart, that he could keep it for his own, or crush it if he wanted. He was right, too. "Well, he's helping me to get set up. I've got a name and logo and everything. It might be a lot of work. I can't just quit my job, so I'll have to do the work after hours. It's using up a lot of my time already. I'm starting to feel like I have no life anymore." His eyes retreated back into the menu. "Paul is an okay friend, but you've told me enough about him to make me wary. Please just be careful." "You're just afraid that I'll find out he kisses better than you. He seems to be very experienced at everything." Michael looked up again, at her, and then over her shoulder. He sat up straighter. Mouse froze, neck tingling instinctively, wondering who he'd seen to instill that sort of nervous reaction. A moment later Kate came into view beside them. "Hi! I thought I was the only one that was lazy and spoiled enough to take myself out to lunch on a Saturday." Michael smiled at her, a little too warmly. Mouse tried not to allow her own smile to twist into as much of a snarl as she felt. "Are you here by yourself?" Mouse asked. "Hi, Mouse," Kate continued, as if just noticing her. "Sorry... Mona. I shouldn't call you Mouse. Michael does all the time..." Mouse looked at Michael, silently asking him how often, what was said, and why. He silently didn't answer at all. "Why don't you join us, if you're alone." Kate smiled easily and pulled out a chair. "I really was just going to get some takeout, and sit at the edge of the town forest. Michael and I get the buffalo wings here all the time." "All the time," Mouse echoed, looking at Michael. "We were going to share them, too. Why don't you have some, and I'll just order a chicken sandwich." "We could get two orders," Kate said as Michael froze. "No, thanks. I changed my mind anyway." "So, you and Michael come here a lot?" "No, not a lot, really. Just a few times." "What do you talk about?" Kate hesitated, then looked questioningly at Michael. "You, a lot," he answered. "I'm sorry," Kate added quickly. "I know it's rude. But you and Michael seem so close, and your life seems so much more interesting than ours." She said it with a brilliant, infectious smile, the kind Mouse always felt she had a patent on. "He's not telling you lies, I hope," she said, glaring at Michael with a noncommittal smile of her own. * * * Fuck, he thought, for the fourteenth time. This debacle had been going on for close to two hours, and was only going from bad to worse. Mouse had started by talking about Michael, "her Michael" as she called him, "in Chicago." She talked about what a wimp he really was, with a fear of commitment and no sense of adventure. Then she talked glowingly about Paul, while Kate encouraged her to go after him as the more mature and interesting and sexy of the two. That bothered Michael, but not nearly as much as it irritated Mouse, so she started to defend "her Michael" more. The conversation progressed. Kate and Mouse started to like each other. They were becoming fucking friends. He couldn't get a word in, and was becoming too scared to try. And now they were ganging up on him. * * * Mouse was having a blast. Kate was fun! She alternately felt angry, and pleased, with herself for liking the woman, but it was so hard not to, especially when they teamed up against Michael. The poor guy looked like a dejected high school delinquent, slouched in the back of the class, hoping desperately not to be called on because he didn't know the answer to anything. "It's a nice day out. Are you two ready to get out of here?" "No, Dork, sit tight, there's nothing better to do out there." Michael was visibly riled at her public use of the derogative nickname. She'd been using it since she was eleven. She learned the word, and applied it ceaselessly to him back then. After that, it just became an easy habit for her, and it alternately irritated and charmed Michael, depending on his mood and the situation. Mouse Bk. 07 Ch. 01 It had almost become a pet name for him, in a way, her own private pet name for him that no one else ever used. "I was hoping to get some exercise, maybe play some basketball." "You need it, Dork. We don't," Kate said, beating Mouse to it. For an almost imperceptible moment Michael and Mouse both froze, but Mouse sensed it, and she was sure Michael had, too. Michael was aghast that Kate had adopted the term, probably afraid that he'd never shed it. Mouse was pissed that she'd stolen her private property. Kate was stealing a lot of things from her. Maybe she should break this up. "Speaking of exercise... Michael says you dance a lot. I mean real dance, not just clubbing." "Yeah, it's one of my things. Do you dance?" "Not since I was young. I used to do like seven classes at a time. Then I broke my ankle when I turned sixteen, which gave me time for boys, and I never went back." "It's a shame. We could have put a number together." "We could still go out dancing one night. Michael hates it." Mouse looked at Michael, thinking, yes, she already knew that, and was grateful he hadn't made an exception for Kate when he wouldn't for her. She also thought that they were close enough that it wasn't just lunches and dinners they were doing together. Kate pushed it hard enough to ask him out dancing. "We should. I'd like that," she said, still looking at Michael. She grinned at him as he melted further into his seat, totally defeated and demoralized. "Oh, shit," Kate said, looking at her watch. "I forgot, I have a hair appointment in thirty minutes. Shit, I clean forgot. Look, I'm sorry, I've got to run..." Don't let the door hit you, Mouse started to think, then bit it back. She didn't really think it. She liked the fucking girl, she really did. "Well, call me. I'm staying with Michael," she said, honestly smiling. "Dancing sounds like fun. And I'd like to get to know you better." Kate smiled enchantingly at her, obviously pleased by the request. She put her hand on Mouse's on the table before replying. "I'd like that, too. Let's do it." She pulled her hand away to give Michael a small, childlike wave. "Okay, well, I've gotta go." With that Kate turned and Mouse watched her retreat, studying her body as she walked away, while covertly watching Michael trying not to watch Kate, too. "We should go, too," she said, not wanting to give Michael a chance to discuss anything. They took a short while to settle the bill, and then left in silence. * * * As they walked out into the bright sunlight, Michael strode rather deliberately to their car. He seemed not quite angry, but she'd clearly put him into a bad, or at least somber, mood. Mouse scurried behind, trying to keep up, and hurt that he didn't walk side by side with her. Mouse noticed Kate sitting in her car at the back of the lot. It was peculiar. She'd left some time ago. She seemed to be hunting through her bag, as if she'd lost something. Michael, so lost in his own moping thoughts, hadn't seemed to notice her. Impulsively, before he could enter the car, Mouse moved to his side, to stand face to face with him. Mouse took a deep breath. She reached up with her arms, looping them around Michael's taut neck muscles, scratching her exploring finger nails teasingly up along his bald scalp, as she aggressively pulled herself up to him. For his part, he didn't flinch as she pulled her lips up to his. Somehow, at this moment, she felt that he would never resist, or resent, being kissed by her, ever again. Their lips met with all of their usually electricity. Michael soon pulled her diminutive form against his own. His hands slipped down as they often did, to cup her ass, using the leverage to pull her up to his level. Mouse pushed with one foot, forcing Michael to spin with her a quarter turn, in place, and pushing him against the side of the car, giving Kate a very good view of the performance. Now Kate couldn't miss it. If she was at all looking up, and she would be, she would now be watching Michael give his little sister the most passionate and clearly sexual kiss that Kate had ever seen. Mouse felt decidedly wicked. Now she'd know what sort of a man Michael was, and what he and Mouse meant to each other. Mouse sat curled into a tight ball on the sofa, feet up, knees to her chin, with her cell phone sitting on the coffee table in front of her. She'd told Paul that she'd call him, and she'd intended to. But now, here, in Michael's house, with Michael away at work, it felt wrong. It felt like cheating on him. That was sick, she told herself. She was just calling a friend. Just because she'd fantasized about Paul, and just because he'd tried to turn it into reality, that didn't make it cheating. She was just following through on a promise. The phone was right there, right on the table, separated from her by the small gap between the sofa and the table. All she had to do was to reach out and grab it. Just cross that one small boundary, take the phone, and make the call. That was how she lived her life, she realized, by crossing boundaries. Everyone had them. Society made them. People made them. Work and needs and responsibilities made them. Family made them. Life was all about living within boundaries. And Mouse was an expert at crossing them. She did what she want, when she wanted. She crossed the line. She made her own line, and sometimes she crossed that one, too. The phone vibrated on the table. She didn't even have to look. Paul was calling her. Mouse had to learn to live within boundaries. Maybe not everyone's, but she had to make her own. She had to set limits, and learn to stop crossing the line whenever the whim took her. She stared at the phone, as if magically willing it to stop. Eventually it did. It wasn't about her and Paul. It was a little about boundaries. But it was mostly about Michael. She was bad for him. In her heart, she knew it. It wasn't that she couldn't live within boundaries. She couldn't, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was that he could, and should, and she kept dragging him over the line. She was keeping him on her side of the line, and it wasn't where he belonged. He deserved to be happy, and Mouse was keeping him from that. For an instant, Mouse was a child again. The table was covered with papers, which in turn were stained with row after row and column after column of confusing, frustrating numbers. Digits swam everywhere in a sea of paper, like swarms of schools of little fish that were impossible to snare in a net with far too many holes in it. She sat with Michael, at the kitchen table, going over financial statements and money market portfolios and such. It bored Mouse to death, but Michael insisted that she needed to get her finances in order. She needed to start saving for the future. It was just like doing math. It was just like that day, when she was ten. Michael had helped her with her math homework back then. He had been patient, and totally confident, just as he was right now. He exuded a calm strength that she found simply irresistible. Mouse smiled to herself. That had been the day, the one day. That had been that the day she'd decided she was going to marry him. She looked at his hands, moving over the table, searching through the stacks of papers for something he wanted to show her. "It's here somewhere. Just give me a minute. It's a more conservative fund. You need growth, because you're young, but you want to have some money in something a little more stable, just in case the economy really tanks again." Just like back then, she really didn't hear a word he'd said. She mostly listened to his voice as if it were music. She didn't hear the words, just the tone and the timbre and the melody. She experienced his voice more than she listened to it. She watched his hands. They were so insanely masculine. Even when she was ten, before she knew what sexy was, she thought they were sexy. Mouse had always found a man's hands exciting, but Michael's hands made her feel warm and nervous, both at once. She couldn't watch his hands without getting wet. Mouse shifted position in her seat. She wasn't ten any more. She was a woman. When she was ten, she sat there shyly, waiting for him to give her an excuse to furtively touch his hands. Now she was a woman. She didn't need an excuse. Mouse reached over to grasp Michael's hand. He started to pull it away, to reach for a paper, so she held him more tightly. He looked at her then, with that calm, warm, confident look. A small smile played over his lips. "I need to show you that statement." Mouse didn't smile. She stood up, keeping his hand in hers. She didn't ever want to let it go. She moved beside him, holding his hand, to kiss the top of his sweet, smooth, bald head. She sat in his lap, still holding his hand, looking into his eyes. She wasn't ten any more. She kissed, hard and deeply, like no sister should ever kiss her brother. She kissed him as if she might never kiss him again, and she had to pack every bit of passion she had left in her body into this one stolen moment. She lost herself in his lips, and the feel of his hand in hers, and the sense that she was so small and alone, but he was there, big and strong and patient and confident, to take care of her. She wasn't a little girl anymore, and she was. She wanted to be one. She wanted him to want to, and to have to, take care of her forever. "I fucking love the way you dance," Kate screamed right into her ear, with the words barely being audible above the deafening music. The touch of her right hand was beyond merely warm, from dancing amidst the crowded club. Her fingers held Mouse's shoulder ever so gently to keep her close and still, for a moment, to hear what she had to say. Once the words were conveyed, she eased back, to smile laughingly at Mouse and put more energy into her own dancing. Mouse smiled contentedly to herself. She rather liked the way Kate moved her body, too. Not as good as Mouse, but the little slut definitely had some good, smooth, melodic gyrations in her. Her body was small, and tight, like Mouse's, and Kate could make it undulate well. The night was turning out to be annoyingly too much fun. Kate was witty and vibrant, and at times hysterically funny. She was like the wild sister Mouse had never had, the sister Melanie should have been, if they'd been closer in age, and temperament. Four much too young but cute guys along one wall were ogling them openly and shamelessly, and had been for quite some time. Mouse imagined she could see sparkles of light glinting off the drool on their chins as the flashing multi-colored strobe dance lights played over them all. Kate and Mouse had made a very deliberate sport of teasing them for quite some time. She ramped it up again. Mouse writhed and sauntered away with the beat, and then back to Kate. She thrust her chest right up to her dance partner's, staring straight into her eyes, as she brushed her tits left and right across Kate's, while Kate took her cue, doing the same in the opposite direction. Both of their breasts jiggled ever so slightly as they flicked against and over each other. They laughed naughtily as they did it, reveling in their game. For a moment Mouse closed her eyes, actually enjoying the titillating feel of Kate's body against hers. Both of their pairs of nipples, Mouse's and Kate's, sported dense erections, poking nicely out of their matching skin tight mini dresses, one day glow green, the other day glow orange. Kate had loaned Mouse hers so they could make a splash together, as a couple. Just by wearing them, they'd gotten a lot of stares. And that was before they'd started to dance. Mouse was sure the guys enjoyed the sight of their hard nipples jutting out, stretching the fabric. Mouse enjoyed their nipple erections even more. She felt a delicious charge each time one of her own nipples touched Kate's, caught, then flicked away, all in the midst of their far too sexual dance. Mouse found it so exciting she actually had to will herself into backing away, gyrating and writhing in rhythm with the beat, to end the tormenting show. She thought that Kate's eyes showed some regret, too, when she left her with too much space between them. Mouse put her soul back into dancing. Her head fell down, letting her long hair dangle, hips rotating smoothly, with her bare arms up high, swaying, as she continued to sensuously move for anyone that dared to watch. * * * "God, that club is so tacky," Kate giggled as they approached her small red coup at the shadowy end of the parking lot. "Shit, yeah. I can't believe I used to go there all the time, before I left town. Fuck, that was so many years ago. I didn't remember it being that lame." "Where to now?" "It's getting late," Mouse said. "Oh, no. I don't want to stop." "It's a small town in the middle of lots of small towns. There's not a lot more to do." Kate moved up close to Mouse, very close. "We could think of something fun." Kate's voice had dropped an octave, adopting a more somber tone. Mouse considered how alone they were, in the dark parking lot. Kate couldn't be conscious of that. She couldn't be thinking that. Mouse suddenly felt uneasy. She looked around. They were very alone. She could feel Kate staring at her. She couldn't make herself turn her head to stare back. "Am I making you uncomfortable?" Kate asked, but her tone was seductively dishonest. She obviously knew, and didn't care, how it made Mouse feel. Mouse snapped her eyes back to Kate's. They were a colorless gray in the dark night. The darkness of the night masked the sparse freckles on her cheeks, too. Her nose, unlike Mouse's, was a small, petite, button. Kate's lips were a mirror of her own, small, sharing the same pink lip gloss they had chosen. Her very blond hair fell like short, stolen beams of moonlight straight down onto her shoulders. Kate eased in even closer. Mouse refused to move. She refused to back down. But she felt a tremble in her voice that made her afraid to answer. "I saw you kiss him," Kate said. Mouse kept her expression stolid. Kate's lips touched hers, like a feather drifting by, no more. "It was exciting," she breathed, then kissed Mouse again, longer, and with more pressure. Mouse remained very purposefully still as Kate peppered her lips with soft, light kisses. Kate's body, until now separated from hers by a sheet of cool night air, eased against her, breast touching breast as softly as her first kiss. Mouse parted her lips, ever so slightly. It was the only invitation Kate needed. Mouse was soon pressed against the door of the car. Kate's body was mashed hard against her own, nipples pressing against flesh in a way that had been denied all night on the dance floor, as their tongues slowly and methodically twirled around and around and around. Kate broke the kiss for a moment, to issue a short, breathless plea. "Not like that. Show me how you kiss your brother." As soon as she finished her excited command, their lips were entwined again. Kate's small hands pressed against Mouse's thighs, then slipped behind her to cup and pull her ass, just as Michael had. Almost unconsciously, Mouse let her own hands slip up behind Kate's back, up to her head, to let her fingers dance under her hair the way they had against Michael's scalp. Mouse did as she asked, and kissed her back, with passion and lust and clear, sexual fire, pretending for a moment that she was kissing Michael. When the kiss ended, Kate arched her back to lean away, while her hips kept Mouse firmly pinned to the car, and her hands still gripped her ass tightly. "Fuck," she said, rolling her eyes, then looking into Mouse's. "Fuck, no wonder your own brother kisses you. Fuck." Kate was on her again, and Mouse ardently returned her favors. As Mouse let her hands slide down to Kate's firm ass, Kate was a step ahead of her, now moving her hands inward and up to Mouse's tits. Mouse shuddered at the unexpectedly aggressive touch, moaning in excited response. Kate broke the kiss to stare at her yet again, while she massaged Mouse's small breasts. Mouse held her gaze as she moved her own hands to mirror Kate's, kneading her pert breasts in harmony. "Does he touch you like this? Do you let your brother touch your titties?" Mouse ignored the question, leaning forward instead to silently beg another deep kiss, which Kate quickly, obligingly relinquished to her. Unwilling to let Kate control everything, Mouse raced to ratchet up the contact before her partner. Both women simultaneously used one hand to fumble at lifting the hems of their short dresses. Each eagerly discovered that neither had warn panties, and that the flesh of their pussies was hot, and wet. Mouse was clean shaven. Kate, she noted, was not. They moaned softly together as their fingers eased their way with teasing patience into soft, moist, yielding flesh. Mouse broke the kiss to look into Kate's face, to watch her reaction to the sensations. They moved their hands slowly, consciously matching each other's explorations, move for move, touch for touch. Mouse brushed one hand over Kate's clit, to feel the same done to her. She slipped a single nail down the edge of one cunt lip, feeling Kate's nail tracing a mirror path down her own. Mouse hooked her index finger to push it up into Kate, as Kate found her own most tender of spots, inside and behind her clitoris, then applied a growing pressure. Mouse inhaled sharply, as Kate shuddered visibly. "Does he fuck you, Mona? Does your brother fuck you?" Kate asked accusingly. Mouse bit her lip, fighting back her own urge to say it out loud, to tell Kate that yes, her brother fucked her mercilessly. She wanted to tell her. She wanted her to know that Michael was hers, totally and completely, right or wrong, and that Kate should back off. "You don't know how big and hard his cock is, do you?" Kate continued. Yes, Mouse thought, yes, she did. Her body shuddered with Kate's finger inside her, so small and inconsequential compared to Michael's cock, yet finding ways to please her anyway. "He won't even kiss me. Is it because of you?" Kate asked. With the question, Kate aggressively added a second finger beside the first, moving them more feverishly, trying to push Mouse closer to orgasm, and maybe closer to answering her. She was succeeding. Her teasing questions, along with her teasing penetration, where driving Mouse crazy. Mouse followed suit, trying to keep up, trying now to stop Kate's exciting, probing questions simply by driving them from her mind with pleasure. "Is that why he won't kiss me, Mona? Because he loves to fuck his little sister?" A tremor started in Mouse's hips, quickly traveling through her body. She squealed at the sensation. Feeling like she had completely lost control of herself and events, Mouse changed gears. She used her free hand to pull Kate into another kiss, this one spiced by the feel of her invasive fingers threatening to trigger an early orgasm. In the midst of the kiss, Mouse caught Kate by surprise, slipping out of her grasp and out from between her and the car. Kate eyed her with a look of disappointment. "Let's go to your place to discuss this," Mouse told her. Kate smiled wryly as she pulled out her keys. "Get in." * * * As Kate drove, Mouse had second thoughts. It had been easy in the dark lot, almost impossible to resist, after the heat of the dancing, and the drinks, with all of the men watching and blatantly lusting after them both, with testosterone so thick in the air it was like a visible fog. It was easy to get carried away. Mouse Bk. 07 Ch. 01 But what was she doing? What was she thinking? How many ways was this going to hurt Michael? "Don't even fucking think it," Kate said, staring ahead as she drove. Mouse looked at her with a cool detachment. "You're getting cold feet," Kate said, glancing at her with a small, shy smile. "I can tell. If I can't fuck him, I'm going to fuck you, your choice. Someone is fucking me tonight. I can't take this fucking puny, boring celibate town any more." They drove in momentary silence. When Mouse showed no sign of responding, she continued, with more frustrated emotion. "You can't fucking dance with me all night in that tight fucking dress, kiss me like that, and then fucking just go home. It's not happening. I don't care what your issues are, you're going to make me come tonight. At least once. Maybe a lot more. I promise, I'll return the favor." Her smile was gone, replaced with nervous, alternately demanding and pleading expressions as she cast quick glances Mouse's way, trying to gauge her reaction without taking her eyes from the dark, winding road for too long. "I can't." "Sure you can." "No." "Why not? You liked it. You've obviously done it before. You're unattached. I mean, I think you're unattached." Mouse looked in silence out the window into the black night. Anything she said to that would be a lie of some sort, and took some measure of courage she wasn't sure she had. "I'm unattached." Kate paused, waiting for her to say more. When she stayed silent, Kate asked again. "So let's do it. Come on. Why not?" Boundaries, Mouse thought. Because of boundaries. "Because I want to." Kate looked at her for longer than was wise, then remembered the road, and put more attention into the road. "You can't, because you want to?" she asked. "Yes." Kate continued driving. "Fine, I'll drop you off and fuck Michael tomorrow night." Her tone was angry now. "I think I'll wear that fucking dress you've got on, too." Mouse chewed on her lip. * * * Kate pulled the car into Michael's driveway. Mouse hoped to hell he didn't come to the door to greet them. "You should," Mouse said. Kate looked at her questioningly. "You should go out with Michael. Don't fuck him right away. Don't you dare ever fucking hurt him, or I'll kill you." Kate stared at her with a guardedly bland expression. "I don't promise anything to anyone, but I do promise to be appropriately frightened of you. You strike me as someone that finds ways to get what she wants." Mouse stared back. "Your problem is that you don't know what it is that you want." Mouse opened her mouth, ready to tell Kate thank you, but she didn't need a therapist. The comment was so laughable that it felt like it congealed into a solid mass in her throat. She said nothing. She swallowed, put her hand on the door and yanked it open to quickly exit the car. She leaned back in. "Don't hurt him. Ever." Kate looked at her, then looked out the windshield, waiting for Mouse to close the door and let her leave. She did. The walk from her car to Michael's front door felt like it took an hour. * * * * * — From the author — Don't fret. There are two more chapters left in Mouse's story. Look for them... Please do not give the story a bad vote because it isn't ending the way you wanted it to. If you feel that strongly about the characters then the story was well written, not poorly written, and deserves better. If you vote, please realize that anything less than a five, even a four, is a bad vote. If you have something negative to say, make it intelligent or I'll delete it. If you have a question make sure you include a way for me to contact you. I do love to get comments, and will always reply to sentient people. If you really liked this story, please favorite me as an author. It helps me to get more readers, and gives me a reason to keep writing. — Rob Mouse Bk. 07 Ch. 02 Book 7: Funeral for a Mouse Chapter 2 This is the next to last chapter in Mouse's story. 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. This next to last chapter is the end of a long, involved and complex series of events. Do not start here! You can start with any of the other books, although the first would obviously be best, but this chapter will be meaningless to you, and disappointing, if you don't understand and appreciate 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 go back and start from the beginning. If 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 Mouse luxuriated in the too hot shower, feeling the water massaging her neck, then running like never ending silk down the length of her body. Her eyes were closed, so her world was dark and formless. There was nothing but the feel of the water caressing her skin. She turned to face the shower head. A thousand miniscule hands smacked into her flesh, peppering her with tiny slaps. Before Kate, it was all theory. It was fun. It wasn't real, but the fact that it wasn't real didn't matter. It didn't slap her in the face like the water of the shower. It didn't fill her thoughts whenever she tried to empty her mind. Now she couldn't escape it. Without Kate, without Paul, it was just Mouse and her brother. It was sex like she'd never really dared to dream, as often as she'd tried. It was companionship she thought she'd never find. It was a soul mate that could protect her, and would protect her, like no other man. He was the only man she could or wanted to trust. He could take her, and do anything he wanted to her, because she knew he'd never, ever hurt her. He could actually kiss her and fuck her until she forgot to eat, and died in his grasp, except that he'd never allow that to happen. And she was ruining his life. She turned the water off. She couldn't let him go, because she loved him, more and in ways that no one else would ever understand. She had to let him go, because to be happy, truly happy, he needed someone like Kate. He wasn't going to get a lot more chances in life. Maybe Kate was it, his one last, true shot at happiness. Maybe she was his last chance at a family, and a lover and companion that would be by his side as his body failed and his energy faded and just getting up in the morning became a chore that required someone else to live for to make it worth doing. Mouse mindlessly dried herself with the towel. Both, he had said. The memory hit her as if it had only just happened. She'd showered the next morning, the morning after her brother had finally kissed her and fucked her, after so many years of frustration and distance. She'd showered, and luxuriated in the water, while he slept late into the morning in the next room. She remembered it clearly. She had showered, and she had relived the evening in her mind. She had relived every moment, every touch, every kiss. She had relived the excitement, and the fear, and the unbearable power of the way he took her, and pleasured her, and sated a need that had burned inside her for year after painful, longing year. But above all else, she had relived his words, what he had said to her, and what he had asked her, in those fantastic moments before he had come inside her. He had asked, and she had answered, and her answer had pushed him over the edge, into a forbidden act of unrestrained passion that made him hers, and her his, forever. She'd told him she loved him. He'd asked her how. As a brother, or as a lover? She had answered him. She'd told him both. She loved him as a brother, and as a lover. She wanted both. She had told him both. It was the perfect answer, then, the only true, perfect answer. But it wasn't good enough anymore. She couldn't have both. You couldn't live on both sides of the line. Life had boundaries, and sometimes you could cheat and cross the line, but you had to pick one side, or the other. She had to choose. If she loved him more as a lover, she had to keep him to herself, and make him as happy as she could, knowing all the time that he could have had more, and she'd deprived him of it. If she loved him as a brother, she had to let him go. She had to end it, and lose him as a lover, and let him find his way with another woman, maybe, probably with Kate. Both. Boundaries. Choices. Mouse dropped the wet towel on the floor, knowing that she should hang it up. It would piss him off if she left it there. She went to her room to get dressed. Mouse looked at the pill case. One a day, every day, at the same time of day, to prevent unwanted pregnancies. She looked at the four she was supposed to have taken already, the last four days. She reached out to take the one she was supposed to take today. She closed the case and tossed it back into her suitcase. Five days in a row, she thought, feeling foolish and stupid and knowing that was a big mistake. Mouse went through her abbreviated wardrobe, the things she'd brought with her for this trip, and the things she always left here, at Michael's house, for convenience. She looked at tight dresses and skimpy miniskirts. She looked at lingerie, some frilly, some sheer, all sexy and too revealing. She looked at leotards and halter tops and leg warmers. She looked at black knee high leather boots with a matching bustier and leather cap. Slut, she thought. She dressed like a fucking slut. She rolled her eyes, then locked them on the ceiling, trying to calm her temper. She dressed like a fucking slut. Not this time. This was it. This would be the last. It would be the last time she ever fucked, no, made love to, her brother. It would be the last time she made love to her brother. She wanted to be beautiful. She liked being a slut, for him. She liked being his little sister slut whore. She screamed it to him, and to the world. She liked it. She did. Now she wanted to be beautiful. Mouse pulled out her cell phone to call Melanie, to bum a ride. They were going shopping. Mouse was going to be beautiful, tonight, one last time, for Michael. * * * Michael stood just inside the door, looking through a stack of envelopes in his hand. Most of them he tossed into a small trash basket he kept by the door, just for that purpose. Junk mail never got beyond the threshold. His tie was loosened, hanging crookedly over his chest like a crawling snake that had fallen asleep around his neck. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, too, as if he'd had a rough day, and a rougher commute home. He hadn't looked up yet. Mouse waited patiently for him to notice her. * * * When he raised his eyes, she was standing still, on the top of the stairs, with just one foot lowered a step, as if she'd been descending, then frozen in the act. Even from there, her coal black eyes in her olive skinned face struck him immediately. God, how he loved her eyes. She didn't smile. Her expression was that of a calm, smoldering, child of a woman, like an innocent just learning that it was no longer what she wanted to be. She wore a simple, long white shift, with prints of palm sized, pale, pastel flowers in reds and greens and blues and yellows. It hung mostly straight down, detouring only with the most pleasant and subtle of curves just where it met the spread of her hips. It stopped just below the knee, highlighting the wondrous arc and curl of her calves. The dress itself was almost opaque, or perhaps simply almost sheer. With the hall light on behind her, shining through it, he could just make out the outline of her supple form, the trim narrowing of her waist above her hips, the pleasant V shape of her torso, and the slightly rounded edges of her small breasts. Her long hair fell in curls down the front of her shoulders, ending just above the small, dark circles of her nipples just barely showing through the front of the dress, pleasantly and politely darkening the fabric to only hint at their presence. Michael's eyes drifted down, admiring the light that shone through from behind, highlighting the slight, desirable gap between her legs. His cock twitched and grew at the sight of her. She was so fucking beautiful, Michael thought. Her whole life she'd been beautiful. * * * When he'd looked at her for a long time, when she felt like she couldn't stand it anymore, Mouse descended the stairs. She kept her eyes locked on his, with her expression steady and calm. She fought the urge to simply run to him, like a little girl, to get to him as quickly as she could and simply jump up and throw her arms around him. She wanted to be a woman for him now, not a girl. He walked to meet her at the stairs. She stopped two stairs up, so that her eyes were almost level with his. He was only barely taller than her, standing there. Her two hands drifted forward to his stomach, to snake a gentle, sinuous path up the front of his shirt, up his chest, up over his shoulders and behind his neck. "Did you have a tough day?" she asked, her voice sweet, and breathless, and already too high pitched from her own growing excitement. She wanted to take it slow, but she didn't think she could. He didn't answer. He tipped his head forward to kiss her. She leaned forward to meet him. Their lips met with a warm flood of soft intensity. She searched his lips, seeking out every part, making sure she didn't miss a spot, that she kissed every single part of them. In moments, his tongue pressed it's way into her mouth, and she took it hesitantly, avoiding it in her mouth, for a while. It wouldn't do to kiss her brother too eagerly. Not yet. She pulled away to stare into his eyes. She felt herself melting yet again. She tried not to think as she looked into them. She made herself simply be with him. She let herself melt as much as his eyes commanded her to. Her eyes dropped to his waist, and below. The bulge of his excited cock, straining to reach her from within his suit pants, sent a shiver down her spine, and a warm wetness spreading through her pussy. She felt herself sinking down, almost against her will. She settled onto her ass on the step, so that her head was level with his belt. She spread her legs in a very unladylike fashion, like the slut that she was and wanted to be, for him, really, letting the cool air enter her skirt and sooth the burning moisture that was building there. Her eyes locked on his crotch as she placidly undid his belt and zipper. She could feel his eyes on her. She looked up at him briefly, letting him see the sin in her eyes, before dropping them back down to adore his cock as she released it from its prison. It arched up before her, as she slid his pants and briefs down together in one smooth motion. She stared at the long, stiff, upward curving shaft and the bulbous, purplish pink head that had already given her so many hours of intense pleasure. She had spent so many fruitless years simply imagining it. She had now spent another long year owning it, cherishing it, and learning everything about it. It was her brother's magnificent cock. Her lips reached out to it. She looked up, into her brother's eyes, so that she could watch his expression as she tasted the silky smooth skin of his cock, and he could see the love in her eyes as she did it. His hand floated down to slip thick fingers into the curls of her hair. Her twirled it gently, in harmony with her, as she twirled her tongue over and around every inch of his tasty cock. She closed her eyes, taking his hot pole in two small hands and pressing it to her cheek. She felt the searing heat of it against her skin, and the hard, unyielding stiffness it offered. Her cunt grew wetter at the thought of it inside of her. She rubbed it over her face, over her nose and chin and brow, over both cheeks, moving her head back and forth, purring contentedly at the idea of caressing and being caressed by her brother's cock. She opened her smoldering eyes to look up at him, with his cock in her tiny grip, pressed firmly against the side of her nose. Keeping his cock in her hand, she rose up, to stand on the second step, and then up on the third. One hand reached behind Michael's neck, where it dug into the flesh at the back, seeking purchase and support. She raised one leg to rest it on his hip, while guiding his cock towards her hungry cunt. He understood. With two hands he reached down and slipped her dress upward. She felt his warm, large hands smoothly, teasingly sliding up the sides of her thighs, lifting her hem, exposing his little sister's loving, waiting pussy to his raging cock. She eased forward, as his hands cupped her ass, lifting her from the stair with scintillating strength. She stared into his eyes, and he into hers, as she guided his cock, and he lowered her onto it. Her hand left his cock to wrap around his neck with the other, steading her, holding her in place. Mouse, eyes wide, staring into his, sang with a soft soprano squeal as she felt the wide round head of his cock spread her cunt lips, then ease in to spread the interior of her cunt itself, filling her with hard, long, unending masculinity. She felt her body stretching for him, expanding from the inside. She felt as if she were growing with him as he filled her. She settled completely onto his cock, taking the full length of it. Her hands pulled her closer to him, pulling herself into his chest, hugging him as tightly as she could. She felt her nails digging into his shoulder blades, almost ripping through his shirt. She knew it must hurt, but she had no control over them. She screamed with lust and passion in a long, tortured wail that felt like it would never tail off. Then he rocked her on his cock. Just as he had the very first time he'd fucked her, during their first, real, incestuous, forbidden fuck. His huge, magnificently strong hands spread to cover her ass, using their strength to lift her, and lower her, up and down on his cock, fucking her gently, repeatedly, mercilessly. He continued for a long while, as Mouse felt her body responding to him, as it always did. She felt a torrid heat spread in waves through her skin and muscles. Her finger tips burned. Her toes burned. Her legs and arms felt like fire. Her hard nipples pressed into his chest, stabbing him, sending electric shocks of their own through her body to compete with the sensations of scorching heat. He lowered her then to the stairs. He rested her ass on one step, then moved his hands to another, to provide support, as she lay back beneath the shelter of his massive chest. She spread her legs as she eased back, heedless of how uncomfortable her position was. All she knew was that his cock filled her and moved in her, fucking her slowly and wickedly and sensuously and perfectly. She looked up into his eyes again. "I love you," she said, then was silenced, eyes clenching shut, as he thrust into her. His cock eased out slowly, and her eyes opened with its departure. "I love you," she said, and the world went dark as she shut her eyes again, screaming loudly, with another penetrating, stretching thrust of his cock. His cock eased out. She opened her eyes, looking down to see his prick, half inside her, joined with her, and a part of her. She looked into his eyes again, knowing her own were blazing with lust. "I fucking love you," she said. He rammed into her, driving words and thoughts out of her mind with the teasing, wrenching, perfect feel of his cock. With her eyes closed, and myriad pleasurable sensations and feelings all she was or could be aware of, his deep, melodic voice filled the silence. "You're my fucking beautiful whore, Mouse, my beautiful little whore." Mouse smiled at his words, and the thought. She was his little whore. She loved being his little whore. She always had and always wanted to be his little, incestuous whore. "Do you know what a whore is?" he asked her in a soft growl. "I'm a whore, your whore, your incestuous whore." He thrust into her fast and hard, making her scream. He held himself inside of her, while her hands grabbed his bottom, holding him there too, with fingernails digging brutally into the hard, tense muscles of his ass. With his cock in her, spearing her, feeling as if it was ripping her apart, he continued. "But do you know what makes you a whore?" he asked, then fought her, and won, pulling his cock partly out of her. "Having your cock inside me," she answered. "Just having my big brother's wonderful, forbidden cock inside me makes me a whore." He held his cock in place, with just the head inside of her now nearly empty cunt. Her body screamed for more. It screamed at her to get his cock inside her again, to feel it inside her again, and the scream came out of her mouth as a whimper. "No," he said. "It's because you don't care how it makes you feel. You use your body to make your brother's cock feel good." "It feels wonderful, it makes me feel wonderful." He rammed it into her again, so that the last word turned into a horrific, agonized scream of pleasure. The scream continued, filling the house, echoing, as he held his cock all the way inside her. She screamed and screamed, and he held himself deeply inside her, pushing her mind to its limits with the pleasure of it. "But you don't care how it feels to you," he said, when the scream had finally faded. "You only care about how it makes me feel. Your beautiful fucking little sister body makes my cock feel like nothing else in the world, and that's all you want, to make your brother's cock feel good." She smiled, with her eyes clenched shut. He was right. He was so right. It felt good, it felt so good, but what she loved, what she always wanted, was to make him feel that way. If he felt that way now, if her tight, burning cunt wrapped around his cock made him feel this way, too, it was all that she wanted. She didn't need anything for herself. She wanted him to feel incomparable pleasure from her body. He pulled out quickly, then thrust back into her, earning another piercing scream. "You're here, beneath me, legs spread for me, you take me inside you, only to make me feel good." He pulled out again, then plunged right back in. She screamed again, her voice rising an octave higher than she thought it could. "You live to make my cock feel good. You exist to make my cock feel good." "Yes..." He hammered her then, as soon as she'd tried to speak, over and over, drawing a rapid fire series of yelps from her tortured throat. Her eyes flew wide, to stare sightlessly up at the ceiling. Her eyes rolled up into the back of her head with the pleasure of it. "You spread your little sister legs wide to take my cock into you, to make your brother's cock feel good." "Yes..." He fucked her hard and fast. "No other woman in the world can do what you do. Your fucking cunt grabs and seizes and owns your brother's cock like no other fucking beautiful whore's body ever could." He filled her with wild, animal thrusts and wild, incestuous big brother cock, while his deep harmonic voice filled her ears with incestuous thoughts. Her legs wrapped around him, encircling his ass. Her ankles crossed, locking together, trying to hold tightly to his bucking, seething, bestial body. Mouse Bk. 07 Ch. 02 "You're a whore, a beautiful, perfect whore." She yelled, speechlessly, as he pounded his thick, long cock into her. "Incestuous whore," he yelled. He was right. It was who she was, and who she wanted to be. She longed to please him. She lived to please him. Her body was there to please him, and only him, no one else. She was his whore, his little sister whore. She wanted only to make him happy, however she could, no matter how wrong it was. "Incestuous whore," he yelled again as he fucked her. "Yes, Michael," she squealed breathlessly back at him. "Your body is here for my cock. Your sweet, hot, little sister cunt is here for my cock." "My brother's cock..." "Your fucking beautiful body loves your brother's cock..." "Yes, Michael!" "... because your brother's fucking cock loves your beautiful, fucking, incestuous body." "Yes, Micheal" "My little whore" "Yes..." "My little sister whore" "Yes..." "Take my cock now, take all of your brother's cock..." "Yes..." She screamed as he plunged as deeply into her as he'd ever been. She lifted her hips up to meet him, grinding against him, trying to get even more of him inside of her. "I love fucking you, Mouse. I never want to fuck anyone but you." "Your little whore..." "My sweet little sister whore..." "Your bratty little sister whore.." "My fucking sweet, tight, brother cock loving, little sister whore." Her body convulsed. She writhed beneath him, as she felt her cunt twitching with orgasm after orgasm, grabbing and squeezing and clawing at his cock inside of her. Her hands race frantically up and down his powerful arms to each side of her, moving randomly, not knowing what to do or where to go, or what to grab, in her mindless, senseless fits of pleasure. She felt him stiffen. She felt his body tense and harden. She felt his cock tense, and harden. Then he shuddered. He groaned loudly, the most pleasing sound Mouse had ever known, as he shuddered and filled her with flood after flood of her brother's glorious, forbidden, magnificent, sinful, wondrous, incestuous cum. * * * He lay atop her, panting loud and hard from his exertions, as her hands continued to move tirelessly over his body, across his arms and back and sides, slowly and gently now, just comforting him, just pleasing and teasing and comforting his marvelous, giving body. His cock stayed inside her, no longer thick and hard, but large enough, still comfortingly there inside of her. Mouse closed her eyes. She remembered. She was in the shower, with her brother, with his sexy, large, magnificent fingers invading ever part of her body, sending shiver after shiver through her. She was on her knees, sucking his cock, foolishly panicking as he covered her face and lips and blouse with his sweet cum. She clung to him as he fucked her, as thousands of reflections fucked in unison, in the mirrors that covered the walls of the dance studio. She hovered over him, he wearing a tuxedo, she with the skirt of her own white wedding gown flowing around her, lifted over and over into the air by his spearing cock. She was under a starry Mexican sky, laying back on him as his wife, while the incessant surf tickled her toes and Michael forced her skyward with every thrust of his hips and cock. He nailed her to the hood of his car in front of their parent's house, in plain sight, where anyone could see, as the cold, stinging drops of rain pelted them both, and the thunder roared its approval all around them with a shaking strength that was puny compared to the power of his cock within her. He fucked her as he should have, in her prom dress, in the car, in the dark, as she begged him over and over and over to give her a baby. She lay on the stairs, running her fingers up and over and around his massive form as he smothered her with his body, and she remembered. * * * It wasn't entirely the last, for Mouse. She couldn't let it be. She kept him up all night, begging to be fucked, and he honored each and every request. She lay beside him, in the dark, in the night, as his chest rose and fell with ease. She watched him for a long while, admiring the size and bump of his family nose, larger and more masculine, but so like her own. She let one finger trace a tender path along the line of his jaw, before withdrawing, afraid of interrupting his gentle sleep. She felt beautiful. He made her feel beautiful. More than any other man ever, he did and had, even before she'd kissed him, before she'd fucked him, back when he was only her bothersome big brother. More importantly, with him, she felt warm and safe. She felt protected. He'd never let anyone hurt her. A man like Paul could maybe love her and care for her, but she wasn't sure he'd ever make her feel safe. She wasn't sure that she could ever trust a man the way she did Michael. She smiled at the thought. After he way Michael had spent his life ridiculing and criticizing her, and the way she'd spent her life pushing him away and torturing him, who would have thought that he'd be the only man that could make her feel safe. He didn't judge her. He always had before they finally bonded, she remembered. He'd critique her. He'd point out her flaws. He'd tell her what she was doing wrong, how improperly she dressed or behaved, or what she should otherwise be doing with her life. He was full of criticisms for her, then. But they didn't matter, now, or then. He wasn't really criticizing her. He was loving her. He was helping her. Even then, he was protecting her, from herself. Now his big, hulking bulk took up more than half the bed, leaving her only a small parcel to sleep in. She was happy with that small parcel. His size made her feel safe. His oppressive bulk created a shield that would always protect her. He didn't judge her openly anymore, and if he did, openly or in his own thoughts, so what? He was entitled. He'd earned it. She trusted him. She loved him more than he was ever going to know, and the thought of losing him stung and pained her as if she were losing everything she'd ever known and cared about. "I love you," she whispered into his sleeping ear, hoping the words would find their way into his dreams. Mouse looked at the time on the display of her cell phone. She stood, looking at Michael, sitting across the room, fidgeting as he tried to read a magazine. He always fidgeted when she was getting ready to leave. It was his silent way of telling her not to go. Her plane left in a few hours. She kept putting it off, but she couldn't anymore. She had to do it now. "You should see Kate." "Hm? What? I do see Kate." "No, you should see her see her. You should sleep with her." He held her eyes with his, unmoving. "No, I don't think so." "You should." "I don't want to." "Liar." He glared at her. This wasn't going to go well. She knew it wasn't. It couldn't. She almost tried to make it go as badly as it could. "Don't look at me like that. You're a liar. She'd be a hot, little fuck, and you know it." "I already have a hot, little fuck," he said, grinning and looking back at his magazine, implying that she should drop the subject. No you don't, she thought. Not anymore. For your own good. "I'm going to sleep with Paul," she said. That got his attention again. "You can do what you want. But I'm not sleeping with Kate." "Michael, she's nice. She's sweet. She's fun. She's sexy. She's everything you could want." "So are you." "I'm your sister." "Shit. Really? Fuck. Really? I've been fucking my own sister?" "Stop it. Michael... I think I'm going to develop something with Paul, something real." Michael stared at her for a while, his face impassive. "We've had this discussion before. Nothing's ever come of it. You can, if you want to." "Michael, I'm not coming back." That got him. The color drained from his face. He stood a little too abruptly, moving toward her. She backed up, not wanting him to come near her. She didn't think she'd have the strength to go through with it if he got too close, if she could see his eyes too closely, or if he touched her, or kissed her. He saw her recoil, and stopped in his tracks a few steps away. "You're serious," he said. Her eyes dropped to his feet, unable to meet his. "Yes," she answered. He started to ask why, and hesitated. Without even looking up at him, she could sense the emotion welling up in his face. It filled him slowly like a bucket filling with rain water, drop by drop, not quickly, but inexorably, until it was ready to overflow. She saw him swallow, trying to contain the sudden onset of emotions. "Why?" he asked. She was grateful that his voice didn't crack. "You know why," she said, because she didn't have the courage to say more. If she tried, her voice would crack, too. "Mouse, we don't have to do anything now. Some day, maybe, yes. Some day you'll find a man that will give you children, and a family and a house and a real life. But not today. It doesn't have to be today." Yes, it does, she thought. It has to be today. But not for her. It had to be today for him. "I think Paul might be the one, Michael," she lied. "I don't know, but I don't want to risk missing the chance." "He's too old for you." "So are you." "He's older." "You're my brother." "I don't want to see you get hurt, Mouse." The tears started then. He was still fucking protecting her. She was torturing him, for him, yes, but she was torturing him once again. She'd made a hobby her whole fucking life of sadistically abusing the poor, wonderful guy, and she was doing it again. "You're my fucking brother, Michael. I'm fucking my own fucking brother. It can't go on. It has to stop." The tears poured down her cheeks as the lie poured out of her mouth. It didn't have to stop. It never had to stop. She loved him. She wanted him. She wanted to love him, and to be with him, forever. She didn't want Paul. She didn't ever want to see Michael with Kate. She wanted him to herself. She wanted a family with him. She wanted to spend all of her years and time with him. She loved him. He stared at her in blank, stark shock. A tear welled in his eye, too, now. "I can't fuck you forever, Michael. It was fun. I still love fucking you, but I can't anymore. It has to stop. We have to move on." The doorbell rang. Michael's head and eyes swiveled toward the door, while hers stayed immovably rooted on his. Damn, she thought. She'd put it off too long. She hadn't left herself enough time. "That's my cab," she said. Then he noticed her bags, already packed and lined by the door. Then he knew. "I can still take you to the airport. We need to talk this out." "No." "You can't take a fucking cab to the airport." She didn't answer him. She walked to the door. He stood still behind her, pinned in place by panic, as she showed the cabbie her bags. She'd packed what she could. She still left a lot of stuff behind, but she'd have Melanie come to collect it for her, and she'd bring it home with her another time. The cabbie retreated to his cab, lumbering under his load. She picked up the two small remaining bags. "So that's it," Michael said. No, it's not, she thought. It's not. It doesn't have to be it. Don't let it happen like this. Just stop her. She wanted him to stop her. She wanted him to kiss her, to fuck some sense into her right there on the floor, to tell her that it was okay, that everything would be okay, that they could stay together forever and they'd be happy and it would all be okay. "Give Kate a call," she said, as she turned to walk out. He didn't say anything more. She strode to the cab. She knew he wanted to beg her to stay, but he wouldn't. She wanted him to. He wanted to. But he wouldn't, and it was best that way. She didn't even get to kiss him farewell. * * * The tears kept flowing, silently, down her cheek. She could feel the tickle of a drop, clinging, refusing to drip free, and she refused to wipe it away. She'd never done anything so horrible in her life. It felt wrong. She wanted to tell the cabbie to turn around. She wanted to run back to Michael, and to say she was sorry, and to give herself to him, totally and completely, forever, absolutely forever. And that would have been selfish. The cabbie had a song on the radio, a sad one. It was sad because she remembered dancing to it, for Michael, the night after he'd seduced her. He'd thought it would be a one time thing, a mistake that they'd always regret and put behind them, never speaking of it, and pretending it had never happened. So she had danced for him. She put the music on, and the sound of a rich voiced diva had filled the room. She let her body move to the music, enticing him, seducing him, letting him see how beautiful she was, and how much he excited her, and most of all letting him know without question how much her body excited him. I-'m a l-o-s-t And lonesome g-i-r-l S-p-i-n-n-i-n-g through A l-o-n-e-l-y world Wanting some - o-n-e To t-a-k-e me d-o-w-n And m-a-k-e me c-o-m-e to him And m-a-k-e me c-o-m-e to him Now she didn't want to dance. She would never excite him again. She'd dream about him. She'd dream about exciting him. She'd spent her whole fucking life dreaming about being with him, and now she was throwing it away, to return to being with him only in her dreams. I'm a s w-e-e-t and bitter g-i-r-l Trampled b y An u-n - c-a-r-i-n-g world Needing some - o-n-e To t-a-k-e me d-o-w-n And make me c-o-m-e to h-i-m She muffled a sob. She wanted to ask the cabbie to turn it off, or change the station, but the song felt like it was the only piece of him that she was taking with her. T-a-k-e me d-o-w-n H-o-l-d me d-o-w-n And make me c-o-m-e to him H-o-l-d me d-o-w-n And m-a-k-e me c-o-m-e for h-i-m F-o-r h-i-m They pulled up to the curb as the song was ending. And m-a-k-e me c-o-m-e to him Mouse was going home to her second life, her second choice in life, because she was never really allowed to even consider her first choice. It was never really a choice at all. It was only a game, like their wedding, like babysitting, like everything. It was all play acting. It was fun, but it was over. Mouse left Michael behind. * * * A weed had sprouted up through a crack in the sidewalk, with very tiny, fragile, purple flowers budding here and there along it's length. It was pretty, in a way, but still a weed. Pretty or not, it didn't belong there. It was a sidewalk, clearly defined, and designed for a purpose. A plant there would be stepped on, or pulled up, or at worst ignored. No matter how pretty the flowers were on the weed, it didn't belong there. It was an eyesore. It grew from a seed beneath the solid concrete. It forced its way up and through, drawn by the warmth of the sun, up into the light, where it could try to grow and thrive. It broke through a crack, or made its own. It did what it had to do. People would never see it that way. Most would see it as a distraction, an ugly blotch on a pristine utilitarian walkway, but a rare few would see that it brightened up an otherwise dreary, regimented slab of concrete. A family of three came along, pulling their luggage right over the weed. After they had passed, it was flattened to the ground. * * * * * — From the author — Don't fret. There is one more chapter left in Mouse's story. Look for it... Please do not give the story a bad vote because it isn't ending the way you wanted it to. If you feel that strongly about the characters then the story was well written, not poorly written, and deserves better. If you vote, please realize that anything less than a five, even a four, is a bad vote. If you have something negative to say, make it intelligent or I'll delete it. If you have a question make sure you include a way for me to contact you. I do love to get comments, and will always reply to sentient people. If you really liked this story, please favorite me as an author. It helps me to get more readers, and gives me a reason to keep writing. — Rob Mouse Bk. 07 Ch. 03 Book 7: Funeral for a Mouse Chapter 3 This is the final chapter in Mouse's story. 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. This last chapter is the end of a long, involved and complex series of events. Do not start here! You can start with any of the other books, although the first would obviously be best, but this chapter will be meaningless to you, and disappointing, if you don't understand and appreciate 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 go back and start from the beginning. If 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 Michael watched Mouse wipe her eyes again. They were already puffy and bloodshot from too much crying. This was the third time she'd simply burst into tears out of nowhere. Nothing seemed to set her off. It just happened, although Michael could see her mind careening with thoughts and memories, leading her there, every time she even glanced at the casket. Kate was with her now, hugging her, while Paul stood awkwardly uncomfortable, one short step away. Madelyn writhed in his own arms, as if sensing that Daddy's attention was elsewhere, and reminding him the she was in his charge. He looked down at her tiny hands, so incredibly small compared to his own. She couldn't even encircle one of his fingers in her minute grasp. Amelia clung to his leg, frightened by all of the big people in their gloomy gray suits and black dresses. She kept asking why people were crying. How do you explain something like that to a two year old? "They're sad. Grandpa is going away for a long time, and they won't see him for a while, so they're sad." He looked at his father's peaceful form in the casket. His skin looked plastic. He didn't look like he was asleep. At other funerals, with other people, the departed had looked to him like they were asleep. Not his own father. It didn't even look like him at all. It looked like a plastic mannequin, laid out in the casket to fool him. He felt tears abruptly welling in his own eyes. He fought them back, for Amelia's sake. She didn't need to see him crying, too. Neither did Mouse. He thought about the basketball games, the little ones they'd played together that really mattered to him now, and the then so important high school games his dad had come to watch, that didn't really matter at all. He thought about the pride his dad had shown in him, and the things he'd been taught by him, and how little time they'd spent together after Michael had become an adult. He almost felt like he'd abandoned the poor man. Life got too complicated, too fast, and too soon. He became a man. He had a job, and a wife, and another wife and finally a family. It just never seemed to leave any room for being a son anymore. Now he was alone. He hadn't needed his father in years and years, but it was still nice to know that he was there. It was important to have someone who had once cared for you, and that you could trust to care for you again, even if you'd never really need it. He was a man. He didn't need a father anymore. But he wanted one, none the less. Michael saw Mouse staring at him from across the room. She'd wandered away from the casket, alone, to a corner. Paul was talking to their mother. Kate was coming to Michael, now, to take the children and free him from their clutches. A part of him resented that. More than ever, just now, he wanted to hold them and hang on to them, while they were small, and they needed him, and he was their father. Time would him away from them some day. Some day, a day like this would come for them, too, when they would say goodbye to him, and that saddened him further. "I'm sorry, babe, I need to nurse her, I think," Kate said. She took Madelyn and Amelia from his arms, and from the room, looking for a private corner to sit in. Michael went to Mouse. "You okay?" She looked at him, eyes quickly filling with tears again, before she lunged forward to bury her head in his chest. He held her tightly, trying to use his strength to calm her quivering body, and to let her know that he was still there. He was still strong. She still had men around that would protect her, if she needed it. She had a husband now, and he was still her brother. She wasn't entirely alone. He knew how she felt. He felt that way, too. He wanted her to know that she wasn't left here all alone. Michael looked across the room at her husband. Paul looked back at him with a bored, emotionless stare. Paul knew he should be the one holding Mouse, but it wasn't his thing. This wasn't his thing. Comfort and support weren't his strong suits. Michael turned away to hide his scowl. He liked Paul less and less every time he met the man. He knew what had attracted Mouse to him, but he was also sure that marrying him had been a mistake. He told himself it wasn't jealousy, either. They'd both outgrown that, he was sure. He could never tell her that, though, especially not when he was so very happy with Kate. When it came to Mouse and men, and love, Michael had to mind his own business. He, of all people, had no right to say anything to Mouse. Mouse laughed into his chest, unexpectedly regaining her composure again, and once again being embarrassed that she was losing it. "Where the hell is Melanie?" she asked him, while wiping at his shirt, trying to dry the damp, dark spots she'd created there with her tears. Taking control, Michael thought. Making sure that everything was running smoothly. That was how she dealt with her loss. They each had their own way with dealing with this loss, or any loss, he thought. Michael thought deep thoughts. Melanie controlled things. Mouse felt things. He looked at Paul again. He decided, then and there, that he really didn't like the man at all. The phone rang. Life had become a sequence of interruptions for Michael. It never stopped, and there was never any continuity to anything. His life was a mess, and even this one, small, twisted escape wouldn't let him elude the tangle. "Hello?" Michael looked into Mouse's dark, welcoming eyes. She stood before him, waiting impatiently. It had been so long, so many years. She clearly didn't want to wait one more moment. "No, no, it's okay. Just put her on... Hi, Sweetie? Yeah, okay, look, you have to go to sleep for Auntie Mel. Okay? No. Just tell her to read the Bumble Bug story, and close your eyes, and the next thing you know the sun will be up and I'll be there to take you home. "Did you say your prayers? Yes, of course Mommy can hear you from heaven. No, she knows you're at Auntie Mel's house, that's not a problem. Okay? Okay? Yes, yes. Okay. Daddy loves you. Okay. You take care of Maddie, now, you hear? You're the big sister. That's your job. Okay. Okay. Okay. Good night, sweetheart." "Wow," Mouse said. "Talk about needy kids. Maybe I'm not so sad that Paul and I can't seem to have any." "Don't talk about my angel that way. And did you come here to talk about kids?" Mouse started to answer, then was thoughtfully silent. She probably did need to talk, he thought, and he should start it, but now wasn't the time. That wasn't why she was here. He let his eyes rove up and down over her still delightful form. She never seemed to age in his eyes. She postured then for him, arching her back, curling one foot behind the other, leering shyly, showing off the same pouting breasts, slim waist and delicious curves that she'd always had, enticingly revealed beneath the sheer black baby doll. It had been so long since he'd seen her like this, but he could swear that in the intervening years she hadn't changed at all. She was still his delightful little Mouse, his sexy little sister, and a woman that brought his cock to life like no other woman ever had, not even Kate. Like a feline stalking it's prey, she crawled onto the bed with him and toward him, while he lay frozen, eagerly waiting to become her next victim. * * * She watched his bare shoulders rhythmically expand and contract, ever so slightly. Michael lay naked, on his stomach, breathing evenly. Mouse, having performed an erotic strip tease herself for his entertainment, now insisted on exploring his body. She traced the lines of his calves and thighs with one finger, memorizing the length and look of every single hair, every blemish, every patch of skin. She placed her face against the sole of his foot. Eyes closed, she brushed the ridge of her nose up to his heel, then along the back of one strong, muscular calf. He tensed as her nose tickled the back of his knee. She playfully lingered there, letting her tongue slip out to tease him further. She continued her tour, up the back of one thick, hairy thigh. She lowered her cheek to it, pressing her face down into the hard bulk of muscle there. She slipped her cheek up until her nose touched the bottom of his ass. It had gotten flabby, more like it was when they'd first become lovers, when Michael was spent and depressed from years of marriage to his own curse. She pushed the thought aside. Tonight was not a night to think of curses. Mouse moved her face across the flesh of his buttocks, left, right, trying to touch every inch of it. When she'd had her fill, she slipped easily on up to the small of his back, and on up his spine, letting her small breasts, her nipples hard and eager, whisper over the flesh of his ass. As she moved up his back, she pressed her face, and then her ear, to his skin. She heard his breaths moving inside his body. She heard the easy, unstoppable thundering pulse of his heart. He lived for her, she thought. Her brother lived for her, and she for him. They'd been fools to let the world ask something else of them. With her face against his shoulder blade, she kissed his skin. He smelled like Michael, a smell no one could duplicate, a mix of musk and worn off cologne and starched shirts and a thousand other things, all uniquely blended to smell like Michael. She planted a kiss on his back, just a small one, and then two more. She was wet. She pressed her clean shaven pussy against the flesh of his ass. As soon as she did, it sent a charge through her. She pressed harder, letting him feel the heat and wetness he'd inspired in her. She rubbed her cunt against his bare ass. She moved and wiggled, as if trying to somehow fit his entire body inside her. She'd tried to let this last so long, as long as she could. Her beautiful brother. Her only perfect lover. Her soul mate. She was out of patience. * * * "Oh, God, I've missed you, Michael. Oh, fuck, I've missed you so much." Michael, for his part, had a hard time responding. He fucked her with a passion he thought he could no longer achieve. His body raked up hers, dragging her along the sheets with the force of his thrusts. As hard and brutally as his cock plowed into her, it wasn't enough. He fought an uncontrollable urge to fuck her harder each time. He missed her tight, little incestuous cunt so fucking much. "Yes, Michael. Rip into me, Michael. Rip into your little sister's lonely cunt. Fuck my lonely cunt with your lonely big brother cock, Michael." Michael clenched his eyes shut, momentarily annoyed at the reminder of his own solitude, his own sad existence, but he was spurred on by the memory of how exciting incest was for them both. In a moment of sorrowful anger and unexpected arousal, he found a way thrust up into her even harder than before, and he stayed there, embedded inside her body, as she screamed her pleasure at the ceiling. "Oh, fuck, Michael. Fuck, yes. Come in me, baby. Come in me. Give me a baby now. Give your little sister a baby, Michael." She sent him over the top. She wanted a baby, and he was going to give her one. He was going to pour his cum into his little sister to give her a baby. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to make her happy and give her the child she so desperately wanted. She screamed for him. The velvet blanket of her cunt over his cock constricted spasmodically as she came, tugging on his cock in a way no other woman ever had. He felt the sensation building. He felt his cock filling like a dam subjected to the torrent of a flooding river, its top barely overflowing while the bulk of it was ready to burst. Then it did. He flooded his baby sister with a gushing wave of cum while barking her pet name over and over. "Mouse, Mouse, fucking Mouse, Mouse, fucking beautiful Mouse..." "Yes, Michael, fuck me full of cum. Fuck me full of loving brother cum. Fuck me full of cum." "Mouse, my beautiful, perfect Mouse." As she settled down from her own euphoric perch, she chirped her own soft, recurring reply at him, ignoring his words while thrilling him with her own. "I love you so much, Big Brother, I love you, I love you, I've missed you, I love you..." The two estranged, adulterous, incestuous lovers clung fiercely to each other, with their fingers digging into each other's flesh in a heedless, painless moment of frozen passion. Their bodies were locked together, more tightly than if they had died in their forbidden embrace, with rigor mortis setting in, rigid, immovable and inseparable. Michael found her mouth with his own and melted into the kiss, basking in the pleasure of her tiny tongue dancing in his mouth once again, as his cock subsided, shrinking inside of her, after giving her a tangible, lasting memory of his love for her. * * * He stared down at her face as she breathed easily, seemingly asleep, safely nestled under the crook of his arm. She was so beautiful. So fucking beautiful. He hadn't taken care of her properly, he hadn't protected her, he hadn't saved her from herself, or from Paul, yet here she was, still beautiful, still magnificent, tucked under his arm as if she'd never left. He studied her every feature. She'd barely aged herself in the past few years, while he felt he'd at first has a swig from the fountain of youth, and then aged a century in a year after Kate was taken from him. Her smooth, dark skin, her delicate mouth, her sharp cheekbones and chin. She was so beautiful. She wasn't like a mouse at all. She was, but she was too beautiful, to him, to be a mouse. He let one finger trace the bridge of her nose, memorizing it's beautiful, slightly too large curve and bump. Her eyes snapped open. She looked up at him, with dark smoldering eyes, centered with wide, black, cavernous pupils. He lost himself in them. * * * His lips hovered over hers. His eyes burned, right in front of hers. His breath tickled her lips. He kissed her gently, lingering, lingering, lingering, then pulled away. "I can't believe you did it twice," she told him. "Did what twice?" "Kissed me, unasked and unwanted," she said. She twisted one of his chest hairs, painfully, she was sure, in two fingers. He didn't flinch. He never flinched. "Unwanted? You never in your life didn't want me to kiss you." She smiled and giggled. She reached up to kiss him quickly, briefly. "Yeah, okay, that's true. You always could, and always may, kiss me whenever and however you want." She stared at him a moment, at his warm, dark, smiling eyes and his full, inviting mouth, and his awkwardly too big nose. She felt the smile drain from her own face as she filled with passion for her brother. Her hands reached up to hold his bald scalp and pull his lips against hers. His lips were warm and soft, and too hesitant. She covered his with hers feverishly, trying in one kiss to make up for lost years and years of kisses. When she still hadn't had nearly enough, but felt the need to tease him again, she released him from her grip. "But you still forced your lips onto mine," she said. "I'm a married woman, too." "I did not. You grabbed my hand and pulled me into you." "But I didn't kiss you. You kissed me. You almost raped me." He laughed. His voice was a melodic baritone in the darkness, peppered with a wonderful, calm stuttering rhythm when he laughed. "I did almost rape you, once we kissed again, but I remember it differently." "I wish you'd raped me. I think I've wished that you'd rape me ever time I've seen you." His mouth came down, but it found her collar bone, then worked further down to her breasts. His too large nose flicked her nipples, which warmed and threatened to come to life. "Are you ready so soon, Big Brother?" she asked. "I'll be ready for you for the rest of my life, if you want..." * * * Here she was, committing adultery, yet feeling righteously secure in the knowledge that she'd never really cheated on Michael, ever. From the first day he had kissed her the way she needed him to, she had never touched another man, not once. Even after she'd pushed him away, for his sake, she'd kept Paul at arms length for so very long. Maybe that was what had drawn the bastard closer to her. But even when she'd been with Paul, she wasn't. Her first night with him she felt like a prostitute, turning a trick, just waiting for it to end, and then she felt guilty after that, both about wanting Michael, and being with another man. It really had been like that every time. She'd never been able to get Michael out of her mind. She'd really never, ever been with Paul at all, at least, not in her heart and her mind. * * * Mouse watched in frightened concern as Michael thrashed in the bed in the dark. He would lie still, but with his face contorted, then suddenly kick or jerk, mumbling and snapping, then be still again. His words were unintelligible, but Mouse didn't need to understand them. His tone and expression conveyed it all. She reached out to him, taking hold of his hand, squeezing it to show him, even in his dreams, that he wasn't alone. She was there. He calmed when she touched him. His hand gripped hers more tightly in response, hanging on as if afraid she would go. She looked at his strong, ever sexy hand, with his wedding band still tightly in place. He refused to take it off, even so long after her death. He said he relived the accident too often. He couldn't shake the memory of it. It crept into his dreams almost whenever he slept. He thought with time it would fade, but not yet. It hurt too much. It was a nightmare that was a reality, returning time and again to punish him by making him relive all of the pain. She wanted to cry. The poor man deserved so much better. He deserved to be happy. He deserved a companion. He was so special, but the women in his life kept checking out. His first wife, then Mouse, then Kate. At least Kate hadn't left by choice. But he deserved so much more than life was giving him. Mouse lowered her face to within a whisker of his chest, enjoying the tickling brush of his chest hairs on her cheek, before settling against him. When she held his hand and he felt it in his dream, was it her own, she wondered, or was it Kate's? Did Kate return to him the only way she could, in his nightmares and his dreams? Was there any room left in there for Mouse? She fought back a tear, trying instead to relax and sleep herself. She couldn't be his, anyway. She still had that bastard Paul. She didn't have Michael, and she couldn't, ever. She didn't even have Paul, really, except in name. It was all written down and very legal, but that's all it was, nothing more. Mouse Bk. 07 Ch. 03 She didn't even have children of her own. Paul couldn't even give her that. She was more alone than she'd ever felt in her life, even more alone than poor Michael. "Forbidden Romance, Rose speaking." "Hi, Rose. It's Mona." "Hi, Boss." "Don't call me 'Boss.'" "Okay, Boss." "Ha, ha. Nice. Don't do it again. Is Mel there?" "No, but Carla's mother is here, in a panic. It seems Carla is a few month's pregnant, but didn't have the nerve to tell anyone until now. So the gown needs to be resized, and they need it way sooner than they'd planned." "Oh, great, magnificent. What a twist. Okay, calm her down, tell her I'll make sure it happens. Everyone deserves to have their own, one, perfect wedding, no matter what." "So you always tell me. I think she wants you to..." "No! No, not today. I'm seeing Michael later. I mean, I said I'd baby sit. Just take care of it." "Yes, Boss." "And don't call me 'Boss.'" "Mel was in earlier, looking at the books." "Again? Did you tell her to get lost?" "I can't do that. She owns the place!" "I own the place. Quarter own the place. Look, I run the place. It's my place, even if she put most of the money up to start it, which is none of your business anyway." Rose didn't answer. Of course she didn't. She couldn't. She was just a receptionist and secretary and accountant, all wrapped into one, trapped between two rather strong willed, fiery, female bosses. "Okay, Rose, look, I'm sorry. Just, the next time she wants to look at the books, tell her I said to call me first. Just as a courtesy." "Yes, Boss." Mouse started to chastise her again, then bit her tongue. "You can close up early today, too. Not too early, but fifteen or twenty minutes. It's a nice day out. Get some fresh air." "Thanks, Mona." Mouse smiled. She held baby Michael in her arms, cooing and laughing at and with him. Some days, most days, she really loved her life. Mouse threw the black cap and veil onto the table. She'd felt silly wearing it, and the damn black dress, even if she did look damn good in it, and she'd felt silly pretending to cry. The bastard was finally in the ground and it was where he belonged. A tear came then. She wasn't being fair, and she knew it. She couldn't believe it had taken her until now to feel like crying. She hadn't cried when he told her he had cancer. She was going to tell him that same week that she wanted a divorce. The bastard made it too hard to leave him, then hung on for two more long years. She wanted to remember him fondly, to think of the good times, but there virtually weren't any. She'd rushed headlong away from Michael, into Paul, and it had been the one, biggest mistake of her life. It was the only regret she'd ever had. He'd spent the whole marriage cheating on her, and leaving her alone for weeks on end. He knew he couldn't have children, and yet he'd never told her, knowing the whole time how important it was to her. He was so fucking selfish. Then he traveled around the country, sleeping with who knows how many women, while Mouse slowly died. Well, that wasn't true. She'd built her business. She'd helped Michael with his girls. She'd become a mother to them at least, and the helping hand that Michael so needed after Kate's death. And then she was blessed with Michael Jr. Her life turned to magic, in a way, when he came along. She hoped he was okay with Melanie. It killed her to leave him alone with Mel. She was his mother, for God's sake. She shouldn't be leaving him. But Mel knew what she was doing. She'd done well enough with her own kids. She could be trusted. Mouse did need the time to get ready. It would only take a short while. She had to change. She had to look beautiful. She was seeing Michael tonight. It was too soon, but she was doing it anyway. She'd been doing it for a while now, and as of today there was no holding back. She was seeing Michael every night she could, and he didn't know it yet, but soon she was moving in to help him raise his girls, and to give Michael Jr. a father. 8> Mouse nestled in the warmth of Michael's chest on the bench. Maddie ran giggling after Amelia, who helped little Michael along with a firm, motherly hand. She was going to grow up to be like Mel, Mouse could tell. She smiled at the thought. She was going to have to do something about that, to nip it in the bud. "Five more minutes, girls. Five more, then we have to go home," Michael yelled to them. Michael's hand, his wonderful, perfect hand, held her shoulder, keeping her close. They really should be more discreet, she thought. She almost kept forgetting that they weren't married, that the children weren't entirely theirs to the world, and if people had any idea what their lives were like, what Mouse and Michael were to each other when they could get any of their rare moments of privacy, all hell would break lose. Things had never gone the way they were supposed to for her, ever, or for Michael, either. Or maybe that was wrong. Mouse let one hand slip into the crease of Michael's shirt. She spiraled one finger, gently twisting Michael's chest hairs around it. When he didn't react, she tugged at it, making sure that it hurt. Michael's large, beautiful hand squeezed Mouse's shoulder firmly in response. Maybe this was always exactly the way things were supposed to be. The air was dry, but cold. A low ceiling of mottled gray hurtled by overhead. The wind gusted strong and hard, not biting or bitter, but not comfortable, tearing brown leaves from sleeping trees and whipping them about in crazy, twisting dances. It was a dreary, lively day, made for staying indoors, reading and resting and thinking. It was the sort of day that Michael and Mouse loved to spend together. The foursome stood before the grave. The adults, and the younger children, quite a large crowd, actually, had all moved on. These four, still in college, had a special bond with her. They'd been close as kids, to each other and to her, and they wanted to share one long, sorrowful moment talking about her in her presence, making her time in their lives important for one last, fleeting moment. "Yes! I swear it." "Grandma Mouse said that?" "She knew a lot about sex. A lot." "How? She was so old..." "She wasn't always old, dimwit." "It's just hard to think of her like that. Ewwww!" "Well, she said that she'd done things we'd never believe, sex on a beach in Mexico, sex with someone watching, sex with her folks right upstairs, and one thing that no one would ever believe." "What was that?" "I could never get her to say, no matter how much I asked." "Well what else did she say? What did she tell you?" "Oh, lots of things, like what guys really like, what to do to get them aroused, what to do when they're not doing it for you, how to tell what you really want from a guy, that kind of stuff." "Ick. I can't imagine talking to Grandma Mouse about stuff like that." "I can. I can imagine those twinkling little eyes, and that mischievous smile, and just the feeling that she knew way more than she was saying." "She was always like that." "But not about sex!" "Yeah, but I can imagine it being about sex." "She absolutely did, about sex. She knew a ton, and shared it all. Well, almost all." "I wonder what she'd done that was so secret." "I don't know. All I know is that when she clammed up about it, instead she told me 'Whatever you do, make sure you have no regrets. Not with love. Not with sex, or lust, which are just as important. Forget everyone else. Forget them all. To hell with them. Do what makes you happy. Sometimes you have to do what's wrong to make things right. Do what makes your heart thunder and your head light and your body tingle and your eyes smile. Just do it. No regrets. No damned regrets.'" "That sounds like Grandma Mouse." "Shit. If Mom heard her say that to me she'd have a fit." "I rather expect that she told Mom the same thing when she was our age." "Ick. That's not something I want to think about." The four of them stood in silence, looking at the twin stones where brother and sister were buried, side by side. A small picture of a mouse was even carved in the midst of her name on the headstone. They both would have liked that. Michael had died more than a decade ago, leaving Mouse alone, for a long while, with only the children, her son and two nieces, and their own many children, all "grandchildren" to Grandma Mouse, to keep her company. Now they rested, Michael and Mouse, side by side, as was Mouse's wish, for an eternity. The four held hands, and hung their heads. Katherine sniffled and sobbed quietly, suddenly overcome with a resurgence of emotion. She'd thought she was past it by now. "Come on. Grandma Mouse would die if she heard you crying. She'd say it wasn't right." That got a chuckle from all of them, even sniffling Katherine. One by one they released their hands, said goodbye one last time, and drifted away, leaving Michael and Mouse alone together for eternity. Her entire life, Mouse had done everything wrong. What she'd done was wrong. Ask anyone, and they'd tell you, if they had known, that what Michael and Mouse had done, how they had lived, was wrong. Yet in the end, somehow, in spite of them all, Mouse had gotten it all, every bit of it, right. * * * — From the author — And so it ends. If I made you cry, I'm sorry, but I'm not, it's what I wanted to happen. First, let me mention that, whatever you choose to read into the ending, I don't either condone or disapprove of any illegal sexual acts. What other people choose to do is their own business, with its own right or wrong, and always with repercussions, for them, and for others. Read into Mouse's story, and the ending, whatever you choose, knowing that your interpretation is precisely your own, and not necessarily my intent. Simply know that the story is and says more than appears on the surface, and more than is obvious without considerable thought. Please remember to vote or leave a comment. Please do not give the story a bad vote because it didn't end the way you wanted it to. If you feel that strongly about the characters then the story was well written, not poorly written, and deserves better. If you vote, please realize that anything less than a five, even a four, is a bad vote. If you have something negative to say, make it intelligent and thoughtful or I'll delete it. If you have a question make sure you include a way for me to contact you. I do love to get comments, and will always reply to sentient people. If you really liked this story, please favorite me as an author. It helps me to get more readers, and gives me a reason to keep writing. Get the whole Mouse series as a PDF, to keep forever! If you'd like a PDF copy, just leave a comment on this chapter, the first chapter of book one, and the first chapter of books four and six, and then contact me asking for a copy, and I'll send it to you. —O8> ^^^^^^^^^^ (For those that missed this in an earlier book, this is two mice, kissing.)