Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 01

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

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

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

"Mouse."

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

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

"Getting cold feet?"

"Yes."

"Dork."

"But is it really necessary?"

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

"All of them?"

"Yes."

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

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

"Haven't we grown beyond this?"

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

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

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

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

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

<8 Breathless

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"God, I missed you, Mouse."

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

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

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

She still felt trapped.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

No one.

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

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

<8 Birthday Cake

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

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

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

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

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

"Happy birthday, Mouse."

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

Michael smiled enigmatically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

The space between her legs called to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sh."

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

"Michael, stop, this is wrong."

"Sh."

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

"It's your birthday present."

"Michael, stop."

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

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

"Stop it, Michael."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No."

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you a virgin, little sister?"

"Yes."

"Promise?"

"Yes."

Mouse listened as Michael stood up.

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

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

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

"What are you going to do, Michael?"

"What you want."

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

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

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

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

"No, Michael, I don't."

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

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

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