Mouse Bk. 02 Ch. 01

But she definitely wasn't honey.

She was cute, and she had sex appeal, but she didn't feel like anyone would ever call her more than simply pretty.

The nose was too big, of course. She hated it. If she turned her head just right, so that she was looking at it straight on, it wasn't too bad. It was... aquiline. Too long, but not too broad. A straight on view even disguised the slight bump in the middle of it, the bump she detested. She hated her profile, and refused to look at it again.

Her eyes were nice, she knew. She thought them too close together, but they were dark and sparkling, her best feature. Her complexion was darker than her fair skinned older brother and sister. Not quite olive, but darker. That wasn't bad. The shape of her face was sweet, slightly heart shaped with a broad high forehead over a triangular jaw. Another nice trait.

Her mouth was too small, her lips too thin. They were actually full in proportion to her mouth, but the whole package was just too tiny. She pulled her lips back to smile. That was nice, at least. Her smile shined brightly. She was well aware of the pleasing effect it had on people, and used it frequently to her advantage.

She had a slight overbite. The front two teeth were a bit too large, and the rest were too small, just like a mouse's. She had little mouse teeth in a tiny mouse mouth in a tiny mouse face.

Her dark, slightly curling hair framed her small face, her face framed her itsy bitsy features, and the whole effect made her look frustratingly like a child.

And her body, too, she thought, her body was like a child's. Her body was great, she knew. Sexy. She turned slightly to admire the pouting curve of her breasts beneath the tight top, floating above the flat, narrow lines of her waist. They were definitely not the breasts of a child. They were small, yes, but large in proportion to her frame, and well formed. Her firm nipples always poked out enticingly, sometimes to her embarrassment, but more often as an obvious temptation for men. She knew Michael had always loved them. It was the one thing she'd always caught him staring at.

She kept her body toned and athletic, a dancer's body, or a gymnast's, with slightly broad, muscular shoulders, and hips too wide by a pinky's width. She hated her hips, and the way her butt stuck out like a bubble. She knew it was nice, attractive to men, but she disparagingly thought it too large, herself. Still, when she moved it right, especially when she danced, men could never take their eyes off of it.

Her stomach was flat and muscled. Her legs were strong, if a bit thin, but muscular and shapely, hinting at a fragile power within them.

Still, she disliked her body. She was so tiny, so petite. She stood just five feet and a bit, while the rest of her family was graced with towering height, her brother standing over six feet, her older sister just under. Even when Mouse stood amidst average sized women, she felt tiny, like a child. It was as if she had a toy body, as if she were a toy woman meant only for boys to play with, not for men.

With a slight sigh, Mouse halted her self-flaggelation and set about applying makeup, forced into working with what she had. To start with, she was going to cut down on the little girl look. The curls had to go. She got out her straightener.

* * *

The Thursday workday passed with the slow agony of a high school math class. Mona kept glancing at the clock, like a student waiting for the bell to ring. She was killing time until just enough of the afternoon passed, late enough to use an excuse to bug out early and run to meet Michael. He'd said he'd be done by three or four. She gave herself an hour to drive out of the city to his company's warehouse in the suburbs, hoping to be there the moment he was free.

He called to say he was running late, that he was overwhelmed. There was more work to do there, real work, than he'd ever expected from a fabricated business trip. Mouse changed her own plan and waited all the way until half past four, when she couldn't stand it anymore.

The drive on I-55 was further agony, aggravated by traffic that she had expected to avoid by leaving earlier. Mouse couldn't believe how hungry she was to see Michael. The months had passed like years, the day like a month, and now this final hour like a day. He had better be ready, the bastard, she thought.

She'd gone two months without sex, without letting another man touch her, waiting for him. They teased and played, tormenting each other by phone and Internet, but it was singularly unfulfilling, like a bite to eat when you're thirsty instead, or a drink of water when you're craving rare meat.

Mouse was a little better dressed than usual for work that day, but not as well or as enticingly as she knew Michael would be expecting, she was sure. She was purposely getting things off to a slow start. Build to a climax, she had planned, just like sex.

She wore tight stirrup pants that hugged her skin from ankles to waist. She loved that effect, because it implied her naked form without exposing any flesh, sort of the best of both worlds, the "covered slut" look. Over this she wore a strapless red tunic top. At the bottom it hung down just below her butt, hinting that if she hadn't also been wearing the stirrup pants, she would be exposed to the world, and an easy lay.

At the top, the tunic was a tube top, hugging the shape of her breasts tightly, and not-so-subtley letting her nipples stand out prominently. A wide silver belt, positioned high up at her sternum, kept it all in place while lifting and accentuating her breasts. At work she had also worn a simple, open, silk blouse over her shoulders, just to cover most of the bared skin, and to hide her embarrassingly protruding nipples. She also wore flats at work, but switched to red stiletto heels as quickly as she could afterward. At work she had needed to appear less of a slut, but now the gloves were off.

For big brother Michael, slut was good. Slut was great. She hoped the combined effect was perfect.

A star pendant on a thick silver chain hung enticingly down into the space between her breasts, almost out of sight, tempting any voyeur to lean in for a closer look. She'd learned that trick from her big sister Melanie. But Melanie had the bust to really pull it off, Mona thought to herself, with much deeper cleavage.

The whole ensemble was finished with a pair of long, shiny earrings that dangled almost to her shoulders, and glossy please-kiss-me lipstick to add sparkle to her face and draw his eyes to her lips.

She was ready for him.

When she arrived at the shabby, windowless building it was close to six o'clock. There was no receptionist at the desk. She brazenly pushed through the double swinging doors into the expanse of the busy warehouse. Michael was right there, in the middle of a confused dance of men and forklifts, all moving briskly too and fro, presumably with a purpose, like bees in a hive.

Michael stood calmly in the center of the chaos. He was out of place amidst the active blue-collar workers, wearing a well trimmed charcoal suit and tie. She rarely saw him dressed that way. She admired the look on him. He radiated power.

It was very sexy.

He wore a blue tooth device in his ear. With it he was talking with authority into thin air, giving orders to someone somewhere, while his gaze stared off into space, or darted around the room, overseeing his platoon of workers. The effect on Mouse was electric. He looked so masculine, so powerful and so mature. He looked older than she usually considered him, so much more like a man than the very young man she'd grown up with.

He noticed her then, and smiled at her. That sent another jolt through her, the way his stern face filled with a smile at the sight of her. She felt the warmth rising in her cheeks, almost a blush, as the smiled bolted from him to her, connecting them, and then exploded across her own face.

He came to her immediately, covering the distance between them with long, commanding strides, like a battleship plowing through an ocean, locked irrepressibly on its target.

"Hey, big brother," she said sweetly in greeting. As soon as he was in reach, she put her hand up behind his neck and pulled herself up on tip toes. She planted a delicate, sisterly kiss on his neck, just below the jaw line, then dropped immediately back down. She admired the small imprint of her lips that the lipstick left there. She'd put her mark on him.

As soon as her heels touched the ground, she popped back up to kiss him again on the chin, this time devilishly, discretely letting her tongue pop out between her lips, like a snake's. It brushed against a working day's growth of stubble that scratched her tongue delightfully.

She dropped back down a second time, relishing the blush rising in his face, and the power it showed she had over him. Big, powerful executive, indeed, she thought.

Michael glanced around sheepishly. "You shouldn't be in here, Mona." He'd used her given name, not her pet name, she noticed. Very formal, very professional, and very deliberately far from sexual.

"I thought you were the V.P. Who's going to punish you?"

He grimaced in begrudging concession. Still, he put his strong hand on her tiny shoulder to guide her firmly toward the door. Looking behind him, he shouted across the room in a well modulated voice of authority.

"I'm calling it quits, Jeff. Keep them moving, get that all sorted out just like we discussed, and I'll check on it in the morning."

A serious man in working clothes nodded to him from across the huge room, unhappily it seemed to Mouse, then the man quickly lost interest, turning his attention to some mistake by the workers, barking orders, wading into the problem. Michael scanned the room once more, then stepped out with one hand on Mouse's farthest shoulder in a feather embrace. She easily slipped her own arm around his waist and tickled his belly with the other.

"You're impossible," he said to her.

"But I'm so sweet," she said musically, laughing. "And you're strong, and very, very sexy."

Michael instinctively looked around the reception area.

"No one can hear," Mouse scolded in address to his unspoken fear. "And I'm just your little sister. We're close, didn't you tell them?" This last was said with an almost audible wink in her voice as they walked through the parking lot.

"We can take your car," he said stoically, still playing the executive in control. "I had Jeff pick me up this morning, and left my rental at the hotel."

"Convenient," she said. She reluctantly released him to get behind the wheel.

"Where are we going for dinner?" he asked as he got in. "I'm starved. Hard day."

He seemed uptight, maybe from the very long day of travel and work. He hadn't simply blown the whole day off, like she had.

"Me, too," she lied. "I googled some places. It's a bit of a crap shoot, but I don't really care about the food. I'm into the company." She flashed him another coy smile.

With that she pulled out and into the parade of all the other cars escaping from the workday world and into the delights of Thursday's nearly weekend nightlife.

* * *

He sat across from her. She admired him in his tailored suit, sitting upright with an air of professional maturity. It seemed incongruous to her. He looked so out of place. She glanced around, noting the other men, of all ages, dressed like him, looking exactly like him. So why was he out of place?

Because he was her brother, she thought. He was the brother that teased and scolded her. He was the brother that she teased and tormented in revenge. They fought, they bickered. They hated each other. And this was Chicago, this was her new home away from home. This was where she had escaped to.

He didn't belong here. He didn't fit. This was her world, her place to be Mona instead of Mouse, her place to live as the complete, final version of herself that she'd matured into. This was home for the true Mona she'd eventually created.

Michael seemed so comfortable, so at ease here in the restaurant. It bugged her. The change, once they'd left the warehouse, was striking. She looked around herself for the third time, looking for familiar faces. She didn't know why she kept doing it, why she cared. She forced her eyes back to the menu. Michael was looking at her.

"You're nervous," he said with a barely concealed smile, lowering his eyes down to his own menu. "You're actually nervous."

"I am not," she snapped, realizing only then that she was. He wasn't the only one whose attitude had changed abruptly. "I just haven't really thought out how I'm going to handle you here. What my story is."

"What are the choices?" he asked with interest, knowing full well what they were. They'd discussed this all repeatedly before he came.

"The choices are meat or fish, or pasta, from what I see," she answered. She could feel him raise his eyes to look at her. She kept hers firmly focused on the menu. "I think I'll have fish. The halibut," she added. Michael thankfully took the hint, saying no more on the subject.

She could introduce him as her brother. Then they'd have to behave in public, which would bottle them up. That in turn would make their intimate, private time together more erotic, as long as her neighbors didn't hear the racket she'd inevitably make. Sooner or later she'd say something damning, she was sure.

Or she could introduce him as a boyfriend, and they could flirt and touch in public. That by itself would be intensely erotic, knowing they were demonstrating their incestuous longings in front of other people, even if no one knew what they were witnessing, that Michael and Mouse were closely related.

What was she doing, she asked herself. What was going on? This had been so easy back home, so obvious. He had been nervous and worried and guilty, and she'd brushed it aside then, easily, explaining it away in a few conversations with him. And now, here she was, back home, her home, her new home, and it didn't all fit so easily. He didn't fit, not here.

It struck her how drastic and silly the change was. In the warehouse, she was the little pest, the dirty flirt. It came easily. That was part of his world, out of hers, and it was easy to be carefree there. But once they'd left the warehouse they'd reentered her world, her turf, and things suddenly became difficult.

This was absurd, she thought angrily. Time to act like Mouse. Or Mona, she corrected herself.

"Are you going to fire any of your guys for staring at my tits?" she asked offhandedly, trying to get a rise out of him.

"Excuse me?" he responded, looking up from his menu.

Perfect.

"I asked if you are going to fire any of those dirty perverts at the warehouse for staring at your sister's beautiful tits." She held her menu aside and thrust her chest out theatrically, wearing a wide, tight-lipped smile.

Michael looked around quickly to see if anyone was listening, or watching. They weren't.

"I hadn't noticed."

"Oh, come on, Michael. A hot babe like me barges in, dressed to fuck, amidst a warehouse full of sweaty, masculine he-men, and you think they didn't notice?"

"They'd notice, sure, but not much more. They had work to do, I'm the boss, and you're my kid sister."

"Did you tell them that? Did you tell them I'm your baby sister?"

"No" he said, trying to conceal his discomfort.

Two points for Mouse, she thought, considering her wine choices.

"I like your hair," he commented. "I like it straight like that. It makes you look older. It's sexy."

Two more points for Mouse, she thought. I'm just racking them up.

"Mona! Hey, what are you doing out here?" the sing song voice came from behind her. Oh, shit, Mona thought. This isn't happening. Not yet.

Alicia walked up to their table, pulling a date in tow with her fingers. She beamed a silent "hello" smile at Mona, and then at Michael. She gave him a subtle once over, too, letting their eye contact linger a moment before turning back to Mona.

"If I knew you were coming out my way, we could have double dated. This is John. John, this is Mona, we know each other from an old job. An old, lousy job," she said laughing. John smiled in greeting, clearly uncomfortable. First date, or second, Mouse guessed.

"Aren't they all," John joked.

They all chuckled appropriately. Then it was Mouse's turn. "This is Michael. He's... from my home town. He's in Chicago on business for a couple of days. His office is near here."

"Oh," Alicia said knowingly, not really knowing anything. "That's convenient." The implication hung in the air. Mouse ignored it.

"Yeah, we thought we'd catch up on old times, he could fill me in about home."

"You were just there a few months ago, weren't you?" Alicia asked, innocently enough.

"Yeah, but only for a short stay, family obligations kinda stuff. I didn't really get to see anyone outside of family," she explained. She felt her ears burning at the intricacy of the lie behind the truth. She fought back the blush she felt rising in her face. What was she doing today?

"So, are you..." Alicia started, then interrupted herself. "Oh, John, I think our table's ready," she said hurriedlly. She smiled broadly at Michael and Mona and waved goodbye by wiggling the fingers on one hand. "Well," she said, backing up reluctantly, "if we get a chance, maybe we can all get together this weekend. It would be fun."

With that, she turned to lead John away again by the hand.

As their backs receded into the forest of tables and diners, Mouse buried her face in her hands, then peaked out at Michael between her fingers. He was grinning at her.

"You handled that well," he deadpanned. She wrinkled her lip into a quick snear in reply, then looked back down at her menu.

"So I'm neither boyfriend nor brother this trip. Nondescript visitor from out of town is my label, I guess," he stated flatly.

Her eyes shot up to his. Now it was his turn to keep staring at the menu. He was hurt, she realized.

Shit, Mouse thought. They'd been together less than an hour, and she'd already hurt him again. She couldn't look at him. Instead she turned to look around the restaurant, as if there was anything interesting to see. She gathered her courage, and turned back to Michael.

"I'm sorry, I really am. Sorry, sorry, sorry. She just caught me way off guard. I was already nervous, still trying to figure out what I wanted, and bam, there she was, basically saying 'make up your mind, Mona, what's it going to be?' I panicked."

"Yes, you did," was Michael's toneless reply.

"Just like you at the warehouse, shit-head," she said.

Michael raised his eyes without raising his head, glaring at her from under his brow. They locked eyes for a moment, then Michael relaxed visibly, sat up straighter, looked away himself and sighed.

"This isn't going well," he pointed out.

"No, it's not."

"Look, I'm sorry" Michael said, seemingly eager to end the tension. "It's just been a long day, after a long flight, and a lot of high expectations. I'm being childish. We're both being childish."

She smiled weakly at him, then took a deep breath.

"Okay, starting over. What are the choices? Fish, meat or pasta. I'll have the halibut. No, no, I'll have salmon, definitely the salmon. Definitely the fish, at least. Or pasta." Mouse had rattled it all off quickly. She was grinning by the end.

He laughed, and she was happy to see it.

* * *

Dinner was pleasant, but less exhilarating than either Michael or Mouse had imagined in their fantasies. Mouse was, as always, irrepressible, but Michael's fatigue and Mouse's mood kept them both subdued, so the moments of mutual entertainment came only in spurts. They actually spent a good part of the meal fighting like they always had. Neither would admit it, either, but the return to old times was refreshing and actually fun.