tagIncest/TabooMouse Bk. 06 Ch. 03

Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 03

byRob_mDear©

Book 6: Mouse Trapped



Chapter 3

<8 Storm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was incest.

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

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

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

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

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

"Your cock is a storm cloud, Michael."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

<8 Breakup

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It would have worked.

At least for a while.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mouse..."

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

"Mouse, I have something to say."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean go back to Chicago."

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

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

Mouse was still confused, but played along.

"But you're married..."

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

"Did you want to say that back then?"

"Yes. Desperately."

"And?"

"That was all. Just that."

"Just that?"

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

"That would have been enough."

"To keep you here?"

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

"Go ahead."

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

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

"Say it again, Michael."

"I want you to stay."

"Why?"

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

"Michael, I want to stay."

Michael's eyes snapped back to hers.

"But for a reason."

He waited.

Mouse swallowed.

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

"Michael..."

Michael stared.

"Would you come outside with me?"

Michael eased back into his chair.

"I thought you had something to say."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was lust.

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

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

This was incest.

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

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

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

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

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

<8 Whine

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

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

"It's there."

"It is not. I've looked."

"In both bags?"

"There are two bags?"

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

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

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

"You do not."

"I got you, didn't I?"

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

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

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

That cut Mouse. She deflated in front of him.

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

"What if he recognizes us?"

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

"Not when..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You think you're so courageous."

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