Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 01

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A sibling cold war gets hot.
9.8k words
4.73
249.7k
251

Part 1 of the 23 part series

Updated 10/04/2022
Created 05/11/2008
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Rob_mDear
Rob_mDear
1,562 Followers

Book 01 Chapter 01: Beginnings

<8 Breakfast

He felt guilt and shame and unparalleled pleasure as his sister's mouth enveloped his cock in hot, wet fire. He would feel her lips make a hot, constricting ring around his cock's head while squeezing it with one hand, at the very base, in a half circle made with her thumb and forefinger. As she descended on him he felt her sweet lips glide down, slowly, until his cock head touched the soft wet flesh at the back of her throat. From there she continued her wicked descent, his cock slipping more deeply in, with her mouth and throat feeling like the only place he ever wanted his cock to be.

As her mouth neared the very base of his cock she'd pause, while her lips moved artistically against him, massaging his shaft. Then she'd remove her hand to make room to continue further down with her lips, all the way to the base, taking every single inch of him into her. Her lips would touch the flesh of his groin, right at the base of his cock, then move agilely again, squeezing him, working him, while her tongue writhed, pressing and exploring the sides of his prick inside her mouth.

She would hold him like that, rammed deeply into her throat, for an unbearable eternity before releasing him.

She was amazing, taking him as no woman ever had. She'd take and release him quickly, two, three, four times, then let his cock slide out so she could hold it in her hands, licking and kissing the sides, while she regrouped, preparing for another assault.

While she had him deep inside her throat, while she devoured him, he lost all control. He would grab her head to pull her onto him, helping to drive his cock deeply into his own sister's mouth, fucking her wildly, aching for the release that would only come by filling her sweet loving mouth with everything he could give her.

When she released him, then conscious thought, and the guilt, would return. She would press her lips against his cock, holding it against her face. She would look up into his own eyes with hers. She was a woman, he knew, an irresistible woman, but when he looked at her he saw the big brown eyes in the innocent little girl's face that he had grown up with. A small voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to stop, to take control and put a stop to it.

And then her mouth was on him again, feverishly trying to bring him to climax, clearly, excitingly hungry to taste her brother's cum. Each time he felt her mouth on him, he longed to give it to her.

Lost in the sensation, his thoughts wandered randomly, aimlessly into recent days, as he felt her mouth torturing him gloriously.

Her mouth. His sister's nasty, perfect mouth.

<8 Party

It had been both as dull and as uncomfortably exciting as he'd known it would be. It could have been worse, he could have still been married, forced to endure the company of his ex-wife. He didn't hate her. It was just that their relationship had decayed, in the end, to the point where they each spent every moment together trying to get revenge, trying to somehow win after they really both had lost. They'd lost so many years and so many happy futures.

Eventually she'd cheated. They were so done by then that her escapade didn't even bother him. They simply split. The end.

They were just lucky they had never had kids, so the break was that much easier when the time came.

Michael stood in a corner, feeling alone and awkward, watching the other guests mingle. Almost everyone was a friend of their parents; neighbors, co-workers, old army buddies and odd acquaintances. One of them had cornered Melanie, his older sister. Some short, hunched, graying man was lecturing her energetically about something important to him. Melanie pretended to care.

His sister towered over the man. She was a tall, statuesque woman. Most of the family was tall. She wore a low cut, tight fitting evening gown, all glittering with midnight blue sequins. The bare flesh of her cleavage was... attractive, and showed readily in the gown, an unusual display for his big sister. This seemed to be part of the reason the short little old gnome was talking to her, his face being naturally almost in her chest. His eyes indiscreetly strayed there too frequently.

Melanie was the only blonde in the family. Dark roots clearly betrayed her act of vanity. It wasn't natural, but it looked good on her. She smartly didn't try to make herself completely blonde. There were streaks of darker locks, a mix of dark and light browns, amidst a bed of dirty blonde. Frosted, Michael thought the women called it. Like most women in her forties, she kept her hair cut short, though not quite as short as most. Michael liked it.

He scanned the room some more. On the other side, there was Mouse, his little sister, entertaining a small harem of men. Her smile was like a fire in their midst. They all camped around it, drawn inward toward it for warmth. Mouse was always like that, always lively and joking, always the center of attention. She met his gaze for a moment, held it, and then broke the link to make a laughing joke with the man beside her.

"Are you going to mingle at all, Michael? You look like a wall flower," Melanie told him. She'd drifted over to his side while he was lost in thought.

"Yeah, I will. I just have to relax a bit. I had a tough day at work. A lot of stress. I think I need to unwind before I talk."

"Talking is a good way to unwind, silly. Come on, I'll introduce you to some people."

"That's okay, Mel. Not yet. I will, I promise."

He looked at her meaningfully, letting her know that she couldn't push him on this. She held his gaze, then smartly gave in.

"Okay, but I'll be back."

With that she eased away, and Michael returned his gaze and his thoughts to Mouse.

Mona was her given name, but everyone in the family usually called her Mouse. Michael himself had given her the pet name when they were younger, when she was very young.

Melanie was the oldest, a mother of her own brood of three young adults. Michael had only just turned forty, felt even older, was now very un-married for a year, and childless. Mona – Mouse – was the baby, just shy of thirty. Obviously she was an "accident" late in their parent's marriage, or perhaps a conscious effort by their mother to restart the family after he and Melanie had outgrown childhood.

Being eleven years younger, when Michael was a teenager Mona was nothing but a pest to him, the bothersome little girl he had to watch and keep out of trouble. She constantly interfered with the important and life-shattering moments that string together to make up what, at the time, is The Most Important Time of Your Life, or so it always seems to the self absorbed teenager living through it.

When Michael wanted Mona to be quiet, he'd tell her to be as quiet as a mouse. When she scampered about, just being a kid, he'd complain that she scurried like a mouse. She did "mouse" things. She'd scrunch her nose up like a mouse when she didn't like something, and when she giggled. Unlike her siblings, she was tiny. She had dark brown hair and eyes, with a very slightly too large nose. They all had that nose, thanks to Dad. When you added her tiny feet, with her squeaky nasal voice, she just reminded him of a mouse.

She reminded everyone of a mouse. So with Michael always saying things like "be as quiet as a mouse", "stop scurrying like a mouse", and "you look like a mouse", it eventually stuck. Everyone started to use it, and soon she wasn't Mona anymore, she was Mouse.

She didn't grow up anything like a mouse. By the time she was ten, she had started to fight back. Michael and Mouse had had more fights, more knock down drag out shouting matches, than any normal, battling siblings would ever have. He'd tease her, she'd tease him, he'd fume, she'd find some clever words to twist the knife in the wound, it hurt, and it never ended.

It didn't end when he'd graduated from college, not when she'd graduated from college, not in all the years after, never. To this day, they couldn't be civil with one another for thirty seconds. That was why she was way over there, and he was way over here, even at their parent's anniversary party.

She caught him looking at her, and purposefully strode across the room to confront him.

"Are you going to talk to anybody? This is a party, you know. Do you know how parties work?"

Michael didn't answer at first. He tried to simply hold a steady glare.

"I'll do what I like, Mouse. Leave me be. Just for tonight."

Mouse rolled her eyes at him.

"Suit yourself," she said, turned, and walked off.

She did look beautiful, in the sluttish fashion she'd adopted, he thought. Mouse was the wild one. Melanie and Michael were plain, conservative, and reserved. They stayed in or near the town they grew up in, married, had kids, or at least tried to, and held a steady job. Michael had even gone to community college, safely living at home the whole time, like a moth that wouldn't leave a cocoon.

Mouse couldn't wait to go out of state for college, to move out of the house to another city, to be independent. Once released, she exercised that independence as much as she could. She even flaunted it, in what she did and how she dressed. She always wore something tight, or low cut, or too short, and quite often all three at once. And if it wasn't tight, it was loose and open, so loose that all the men would keep shifting positions, like pubescent teens, hoping for just the right angle to catch a glimpse of something.

They had good reason to. Mona's body was tight and athletic. Her bust was small, but firm and well formed, with a gentle, obvious curve to breasts that suddenly peaked upward like a ramp at a skate park. Her hips were maybe a bit wider than they should be, but the curves of her butt stuck out nicely in round complement. The combination accented how very narrow her waist was. She had a dancer's taught, athletic legs to support it all.

Tonight, she wore something that was sure to be giving the parents fits. She always got away with it because she was a fashion designer, as if that made wearing anything she wished okay, but that didn't mean it didn't draw a reaction.

Underneath was a tight black miniskirt, one that was too short by far. He was sure that it ended above her crotch. Tonight, every man's gaze burrowed there when she walked, thoroughly expecting to see something they shouldn't. As if to make up for that bit of indiscretion, it came up to her neck in a tight, high collar, but it was open at the back, and sported a keyhole opening, too, between her breasts, one so far open that he could swear the inside edges of her nipples showed.

No one could be sure of any of this exhibitionism because over it all she wore a dark, sheer, loose, neck-to-ankle chemise, also black. It had long, billowing sleeves, and ballooned like a cloud above the waist, and into harem pants below the waist. It hinted at an open fold somewhere near the crotch, like well-designed lingerie that offers easy access to the main event. It flowed out from her body so that she appeared to have two forms, one inside another. The silhouette of her curves was strikingly revealed beneath it. Everything was "out there" in a way, and yet not.

Michael was sure that the shift was designed as lingerie, and wouldn't Mouse be just the one cheeky enough to wear lingerie to her own parent's wedding anniversary. And on the outside where everyone could see it.

"You're so quiet Michael, find someone to talk to."

Michael's mother was perched at his side. He hadn't noticed her come to him, he had been so busy studying Mouse. He mentally rolled his eyes that yet another member of his family was trying to egg him on. He just wanted to be left alone. He wouldn't even have come to the party if he didn't have to.

"I will, Mom. I'm just... getting comfortable," he lied, taking another sip of his beer.

"Well, don't get too 'comfortable'. You know how sleepy too many sips of 'comfort' make you. And I expect you to dance with me later. Lord knows your father won't," she scowled, and then squeezed Michael's arm before pushing off to intercept an old friend. "And please don't fight with your sister tonight," she added over her shoulder, making economical use of the remnants of her scowl.

Above that tight, black neckline, Mouse's face was a floating heart. Her wide, high forehead and cheeks, her small, pointy chin, her shining, dark brown eyes, and her small mouth and nose – yes, it stuck out a bit too far, but it was still small – gave her a child-like look. Her nearly black hair fell in soft shining waves over her shoulders. Her pupils were so wide, so black, that they gave her expression an unnatural intensity, no matter what her mood.

She caught him looking at her again, shooting him a glare as if to say "What? What do you want?" It lasted only a moment, then she returned to her conversation. He took the hint, looked away, and went to get another beer.

Michael was surprised when she appeared at his side at the bar.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" Mouse asked accusingly.

"Why did you wear something like that tonight?" he countered, more accusingly.

She laughed at him before answering. "Maybe I want to get laid while I'm in town. Someone new for a change. I'm tired of Chicago men."

This was irritating, she knew, because she was staying with him. He'd picked her up at the airport in the afternoon, taking her home just long enough to change and drive here. Everyone thought it convenient, and more than a little bit funny, to push the two of them together in his now-too-empty house. It did make sense, in a purely practical way, since he was all alone there. His ex-wife had moved back to Pennsylvania, running home to her own family and gladly leaving him the cavernous house as a consolation prize.

The thought of his sister coming home in the wee hours reeking of sex, or worse perhaps trying to bring some guy back with her, was jolting. So was the thought of lying there worrying about her, if she spent the night elsewhere. The scenario made Michael a little jealous, too, he realized, privately embarrassing himself.

"Man, everything is about you, isn't it? Everything is about making little Mona happy, getting little Mouse's rocks off."

"So I should be like you, let people walk all over me like your wife did, skulk around at a party feeling sorry for myself?" she sneered back. "No wonder she left you. Wet rag. Excuse me," she finished, spinning away like a dust devil.

He angrily watched the sway of her ass as she slipped into the crowd and was gone again. The open back of her miniskirt was very low cut, he now saw clearly. He could swear he saw the top of the crack of her ass cheeks through the sheer chemise. And he could swear he saw the outlines of pubic hair further down as well, he could swear it.

Michael took a sip of his new beer. Looking across the room, he saw Melanie watching him, before turning quickly away. So she had seen them fight again. So what was new? He looked around for someone else to talk to, someone that wasn't family, but drew a blank. There were Melanie's friends all around, since it was her house, and there were his parent's acquaintances, and even some of Mouse's old classmates.

His own friends had all moved on. He'd allowed himself to lose touch with each and every one of them after he had married, another big mistake in a long list. Now he had to start over. And he hadn't, yet. Couldn't.

The evening passed slowly, laboriously, monotonously.

* * *

Across the room Michael saw his mother, father and Mouse in what was at best an animated discussion. Mouse and his mom, who was also very petite, glared eye to eye, evenly matched in both stature and temperament. Their dad, so much taller, hovered over them both like some towering, benevolent archangel, with his barrel chest and gray-white hair implying that he was ready and able to enforce the peace. As if he'd actually cross Mom.

Michael figured it was all about Mouse's clothes, a weak and useless parental dressing down. All three of them looked his way at the same moment. Shit, he thought, he didn't need to be everyone's problem. He was just fine being his own problem.

And that, he realized, was part of the problem. He was far too obviously alone tonight.

He figured the best way to stop it was to join them. He took a few more sips of his beer, delaying the confrontation. Once ready, he strode purposefully through the crowd, like an icebreaker charging into the Arctic. He got there a moment too late to make an impact. The fight had seemingly changed focus, and now Mouse was putting an end to it herself.

"Fine, see him over there?" Mouse asked, tossing her head toward a young, too-neatly dressed man. "He looks like 'father' material, I'll just go have his babies. I'll go ask him right now." With that, she elbowed her way past Michael with a shove, something she clearly didn't have to do, but it was no doubt fun and emphasized her mood.

She proceeded to march on up to the guy. Based on his expression, to her mother's horror, she'd said exactly that, word for word, she just walked up and asked if she could have his babies. After a moment's awkward silence, the guy broke into a shit-eating grin that made Michael's skin crawl.

"I'm sorry, dear," his mother was saying, seemingly from a distance. "I just don't know how to handle her. I never did."

"None of us do, Mom," he answered, snapping almost audibly back to where he was, instead of where Mouse was.

"What she needs is a man to 'handle' her, one that will hold her down and pound some sense into her," his father interjected bluntly. Michael's mother glared up at him.

"What?" his father asked defensively. "What? It's what she needs. And when I say 'pound,' I do mean 'pound'."

She's not sure, either, Michael thought, looking at his mother's nondescript, frozen expression. Neither of us is sure if he means "pound" as in subdue and hit, or "pound" as in "screw her brains out". It was just like Dad to get away with a crude reference by being just vague enough that Mom couldn't call him on it without being the crude one herself.

Michael was thinking this, looking straight over his mother's head, when he noticed the only woman at the party that he didn't recognize, that was around his age, and that might be considered attractive. There were too many of the other kinds. This one was tall, blonde and well dressed. She wasn't too chunky, although she did show a bit of that in-your-40s-no-stopping-it belly. Not too bad, though.

His mother noticed him looking.

"She works with Melanie at the hospital. I think her name is Nancy. Would you like me to introduce you?" she offered.

"Why not?" Michael replied eventually, trying to feel adventurous.

* * *

It seemed like he'd only been talking to her for a few minutes, just long enough to know she was divorced, a bit interested, but also being careful not to show much interest herself. She was trying not to send any signals until she was sure that it, meaning he, was something she wanted. It was that same old, tired, "is it worth my time" dance.

Abruptly Mouse entered the picture.

"You two getting along?" she intruded, her smile beaming over a subtly annoyed tone. She seemed more than a bit tipsy as she said it.

There was an awkward silence.

"If you like them tall and hairy, big brother's your man!" she bubbled, poking his shoulder childishly. Mouse was too in control to slur her words, but Michael heard it that way, anyway.

Neither of them knew what to say. The three of them, blonde, brother, sister, stood in the clumsy silence, blinking like owls.

Mouse leaned in conspiratorially and added, "You'll notice he never goes strapless at one of these, not with all the hair on his back."

Rob_mDear
Rob_mDear
1,562 Followers