Meek as a...

"I wonder if she saw us kissing."

"Oh, shit, no, please, don't say that."

Mouse came to life.

"I'll bet she did. I hope she did."

"Mouse!"

"What? I hope she saw us, the little snoop. I hope she watched the whole thing. I hope she saw me dancing for you, and seducing you, and kissing you, and..."

"And then she'd have run home and told Mom and Dad, and we'd be fucked. They don't know, so she doesn't know, so she didn't see. If she had, all hell would have broken loose by now."

Mouse eased her head up off of his chest, turning her face to his, with a bright twinkle in her dark eyes, to stare smiling into the mirror of her brother's. Despite his brave and certain words, his expression was flooded with concern and dismay, as she'd expected and even intended. She planted a quick kiss on his lips, then couldn't restrain from pouring herself into him, kissing her brother as their society, almost all societies, had never intended or allowed her to.

She drank him in, relishing the knowledge that he was doing the same to her, then abruptly pulled back, breaking the kiss, and reveling to them both in the fact that he wasn't ready to stop kissing himself, clearly wanting and needing her to continue. His lips fought to keep contact with hers, as she withdrew, using one hand on his jaw him away so that she could continue her line of thinking.

"She might have seen. She wouldn't tell," Mouse said. "She'd be too mortified."

"Oh, God, I hope not."

"How would she even do it? Can you imagine? Mom, Dad, I have something to tell you. Michael is fucking Mouse. And they're really, really good at it."

"Oh, Fuck. Mouse..."

"But she would have watched. All of it, from start to amazing finish."

Michael squeezed her tightly. It was meant as a recrimination, Mouse knew, but it felt encouraging. She loved being in the vast, strong sweep of his arms. She loved feeling protected and loved and possessed by him, the one man in her whole life who she'd always known, trusted, teased, loved... and desired.

She loved him, she always had, and now she finally had the chance to show it. She would be sure that no other woman would ever be what she was to Michael.

"She saw us, I know she did," she continued. "She saw us kissing, and she was repulsed and disgusted, but she couldn't look away."

Animated excitement crept into her voice as she went on.

"Like when you drive past a gruesome accident, and you feel sick to your stomach but you look even harder for any traces of blood, or the people who were hurt."

"You're sick. I feel sick."

"She saw her little brother and her baby sister kissing, and touching, and doing all of the wrong things together. She saw us, and she watched, entranced. Amazed that two people so totally wrong for each other could show such uncontrolled passion."

"So what we did was like a gruesome car accident?"

She twisted the hair on his chest, this time as hard as she could. He yelped appropriately, and without faking it, this time.

"She saw how much I love you, and you love me. She saw me give myself to you completely, not as a little sister, but as a woman and a lover. She saw you make a woman out of me, treating me like a creature created for your body's pleasure."

"Is that what you are?"

She jerked up to look him in the eye again, to hold his gaze.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes," she said, now engaged in a staring contest while twisting his chest hairs ever more tightly.

His own large hand moved up to find hers, covering it easily, but tenderly, not stopping her painful, torturing tugs. Eyes held wide open, she leaned in to kiss him, watching him watch her as their lips joined. She held his gaze as she nibbled on his delicious upper lip, then ran the tip of her tongue across it playfully.

"That's exactly what I am. I'm your lover now. I'm your baby sister, and your lifelong tormenter. You have to take care of me, and protect me, and scold me, and criticize me. That's your job, whether you like it or not. And now you also have to fuck me over and over and over again."

"Everything seemed fairly natural until the 'fuck me over and over' part."

"Over and over and over."

His brow furrowed as he tried to glare at her, but he failed miserably. His eyes were so warm and soft and loving. He could resist her all he wanted. He could say whatever he wanted, refuting everything she said. That was fine. He could think and say anything.

But she was going to fuck him from now on, every chance she got. She was always going to be his bratty little sister, but she was also going to be the most marvelous lover he had ever had, and he hers. She would never let him go.

And she was sure that their sister had seen them, or at least, she wanted to think so. The thought of it thrilled her beyond imagining.

* * *

"Michael, no, stop! Stop!"

With one great hammer of an arm, he slammed the jerk into the side of the car. It wasn't really hard enough to hurt him. Much. Michael was by nature not very physical, but when his temper flared, especially in issues concerning Mouse, the usual restrictions fell away. He didn't like to lose control. He usually regretted it later. Usually. He wanted to be a mature adult. He was shooting for that VP job at work. Losing control in a heat of anger wasn't being a mature adult.

It felt good to lose control this time, though. It felt very good. He promised himself that when he turned forty, in just a couple of years, he wouldn't ever let this happen again. He'd be too mature and stodgy, then, to give in to these sorts of emotions. But right now he felt very young, very masculine, and very alive. Getting angry, and getting physical about it, felt damned good.

And this old fuck was never going to get a chance to hurt his little sister again.

The ass looked at him in defiant confusion, then began to curl his lip into a sneer. The anger flared in Michael again. He took a massive, belligerent stride forward.

Mouse was between him and the man in an instant.

"I said stop."

Michael looked over her short form, beyond her, at where her ex-date now used the car's hood to pull and push himself back up onto his feet. Michael knew he hadn't roughed him up that much, but the guy, the jerk, looked shaken and unsteady.

"Michael, that's enough. It's not all David's fault."

There was an uneasy silence.

"Not entirely."

Michael stared from him to her to him. He tried to step past Mouse.

"Can we just go?"

At the sound of pained tension in her voice, Michael's whole mood softened. The anger fell away, replaced with total and complete concern for her. He had her under his arm in an instant, both guiding her to his car, and shielding her from the scum. They were both silent as he helped her in, started the ignition, and pulled away.

"Don't tell Mom, Michael. Please."

"What? That you're having sex with assholes?"

"I think she knows that."

"That you're having sex with older men?"

"No."

"He's fucking old enough to be Dad."

Mouse was repentantly, or defiantly, silent. Michael stared away, out the windows of the car.

"He is not. And I like older men," she finally said.

"He was too old."

"He was not. Maybe. Old enough. Or too old. Look, just don't tell."

"That he's too old for you?"

"No."

"That you almost got yourself hurt? That you were fucking stupid enough to let yourself get caught alone with an alcoholic, demonic fuck who could have..."

His voice grew in timbre and intensity as he spoke. It was trembling by the time he'd finished. He'd had to cut himself short, to gather himself. He looked over at her, and she was trembling, too. He could see her lower lip shuddering as it had when she'd been just a kid, whenever she got into trouble and was afraid of the inevitable recriminations, and punishment.

But it wasn't getting into trouble that moved it now. It was having barely avoided it. The kid was scared. Mouse was really, actually scared.

Michael softened. It was bad enough the jerk had hurt her, or almost hurt her. She didn't need it from him. He reached over to squeeze her hand.

In an instant she was embedded in his chest, sobbing, almost making it hard to drive.

"I won't tell."

"I don't care if you tell. I fucking deserve it. I was fucking stupid."

"I won't tell, and you don't deserve any pain, ever. Just don't scare me like that again. Take care of yourself. Please. For me."

Mouse squeezed him tightly. The sobs had gone as quickly as they came. Mouse was too strong and proud for that shit.

But she still clung to him like a survivor clinging to a piece of driftwood in a raging ocean.

* * *

It was one of her fondest memories, from before they became a couple, before they had admitted to each other how they really felt. It was a moment of barbaric heroism, from that time before he had found the courage, through his own anger, to make her admit to him and herself what she truly wanted from him, by staring into her very soul and kissing her with the passion he had bottled up for so very long.

She hadn't really been in any danger from David. She could take care of herself. But he was an ass, and the thrill of having her big brother fight for her swelled her with pride and longing.

Now they stared into each others eyes with that same, searing, rebellious passion. Mouse and Michael did that a lot whenever they were alone, or thought they were, whether talking, eating, or making love. Maybe it was because of who they were to each other, close if not always harmonious family, with an uninterrupted bond that went back for as far as Mouse could remember. They didn't deny that, or hide it, or run from it. It was important. It was a big part of who they were, both as individuals and when together — as a couple.

They were brother and sister, and they stared into each other's eyes as they fucked to both remember it and reinforce it, that they wanted it so badly they would violate any constraint. They both wanted the act to be what it was, laid bare, an irresistible, shameless and shameful act of incest. The person with whom they were joined, that so familiar face, was a close sibling.

They stared at each other to remember each other from as far back as their shared memories carried. They each recognized their partner's many roles and developing personalities from every varying stage of their lives. They also recognized themselves, and the rest of their immediate family, in each other's features and behaviors. They had obvious differences. He carried their father's towering height and thick, hirsute body, while she sported their mother's petite, very feminine frame. He had Mom and Dad's pale skin, while she alone in the family had an olive complexion handed down by some distant Italian ancestor.

But they also shared a fair and undeniably connected collection of recognizable family features. Both had that too oversized Castillo nose. Hers was more petite, and unexpectedly not at all unattractive on a woman, certainly not as obvious as Melanie's, but still a bit too large for her face, and sporting that telltale Castillo bump in the center. As much as Mouse detested it, Michael said he loved that nose, and she was sure that part of the reason was that it reminded him of himself, and it continually reminded him that unlike any other woman he'd ever had or could have, she was his own sister.

They both shared the same deep, dark, brown eyes, with that same laughing warmth that their father so naturally projected. Mouse's appeared darker, with wide, coal black pupils in that sultry, exotic Mediterranean fashion that so well suited her complexion. She also had Mom's evil, little, laughing twinkle as a sort of permanent spark accenting her gaze. But those eyes were the same, his and hers, matching windows into separate, but matching and inseparable souls. Staring into each other's eyes was in a way like looking into a pair of mirrors, facing each other, and infinitely repeating each other's reflection into an infinite depth.

Mouse and Michael kept their eyes wide open and locked when they talked, and sometimes when they kissed, and usually, but not always, when they fucked. Sometimes the pleasure and intensity of it all just overwhelmed Mouse, so she had to clench her eyes shut and lose herself in the passionate, drowning flood of ecstasy that Michael gave to her. Sometimes looking into Michael's eyes, while feeling him inside of her, became just too much pleasure for any human soul to bear. When that moment came, if she didn't have the strength, Mouse clenched her eyes shut while screaming wordless, incoherent expressions of her joy at the ceiling, or muffled into a pillow, or directly into her brother's loving, sensual, overpowering kisses.

Most of all Mouse loved to stare into Michael's eyes in that magnificent moment as he entered her. That most precious, lasting moment was one that Mouse longed to relive over and over again, as often as she could. She never tired of it, and it never seemed diminished, although too the memory of their very, very first, special joining always held an exaggerated place in her mind.

She worshiped the memory of that precious night when her darling, older brother first entered her body, penetrating and consuming her, when she had accepted him with a seemingly fearful, frozen calm that had masked her building storm of turbulent, conflicting pleasures, and her long subdued but finally fulfilled desires. First he had kissed her with a spiteful, wanton fury and anger that had thrilled her, and had in fact been the only thing in the world that could push them both beyond fearful, hidden desire and into shameless, shared, licentious lust. It hadn't taken long before she was screaming her sinful desires into the dark night in the room, as her brother took from her what she'd so longed to give him.

She sat now atop his dresser, ass beside a framed photo of her that he'd set there, in the same spot that was once commanded by a wedding portrait of him with his bitchy ex-wife. Here, now, she encircled her brother's neck with her arms, holding herself up, as she watched him lift her ankles up over his shoulders, to place them beside her hands at his ears. He arranged her into a helpless, open pretzel, contorted into a shape that would satisfy their needs.

She stared into his eyes as he positioned her for their coming act of heavenly sin, as if he were tying a necktie in a mirror, getting it neatly twisted and straightened and presentable. She pulled her lips to his to kiss him, feeling the soft but masculine warmth of his own moist mouth return her affection.

With eyes open and mouths joined, with tongues just beginning to dance and tingle with pleasure, she felt that first glorious sensation, the pressure of his bulbous cock head pressing against the wet, eager lips of her pussy. She felt the slow spread of her body, stretching wider to take within her a part of her brother that she never should have seen or touched or even considered.

His cock was hard and swollen for her. Just that thought sent a shiver through her. She excited him, while the size of him, seemingly too thick to ever accept, thrilled her beyond imagining. He could have been average in size, or even less than average, and she would still have adored and wanted him more than any other man she'd ever had. But to her shock and delight her too sexy big brother came to her with a quality that multiplied her pleasure a thousand times.

He eased into her slowly and tenderly, while staring with loving intensity into her eyes. Both of their lips ceased moving, held frozen against each other, as their combined pleasure and attention was focused completely and inescapably on the shared, commanding sensation of their joining. Once his penetration had begun, it continued seemingly without end. With slow, excruciating joy his cock continued to spread her, ever deeper, ever wider, slowly, inexorably filling and stretching and penetrating and joining her in a way beyond imagining.

In he slipped, into the moist, hot, deepest recesses of her welcoming body. His invasion continued, slipping, sliding, ever inward, ever more deeply, as if his cock had no real beginning or end, and as if Mouse herself were an endless, welcoming source of pleasure to him. She could imagine his cock reaching into her very soul, impaling her and pinning her to him forever.

The sculpted, marble hardness of his cock was met by her body with the warm, yielding, yet strong embrace that of all the world's creatures, only a woman could impart to a man. Her pussy clutched spasmodically at his manhood, holding him inside her and squeezing him with her love. Mouse's strong, athletic, feminine muscles grasped at her brother, clinging to him, holding him, pulling him more deeply inside of her and refusing to let him escape. While she held him there, both spearing and merging with her, they became one. He belonged to her and no one else. He existed with her and inside of her and nowhere else. They were as inseparable in body as she knew and felt they were in soul. They became more than ordinary lovers, far more than brother and sister, in a way no one could understand, or would ever experience.

Later, when she was able to think more clearly, she would pity the people that could not comprehend or know what she and Michael knew, and shared. But for now she became lost in the feel of her brother's body forcing its way in to become a part of her.

Too soon, yet a brief eternity later, his long, devastating penetration was complete. His pubic bone ground against hers, showing her that he had penetrated her to the fullest extent possible. Her tender breasts were crushed against his chest with his groin pressed against her own. His cock was buried inside her to the hilt, ready to engage in an evil dance of delicious abandon. They were free to fuck with a slowly building passion and intensity, surging on to grow into a violent, unreal battle of pleasures.

Before long, Michael withdrew, only to drive himself back into her with ravenous lust, while she hovered in his arms, helpless to resist. Her toes curled, pressing against his scalp. Her fingers dug fierce divots into his muscular neck, heedless of the pain it caused. His cock speared her like a beast's claw driving into its prey, tearing into her, making her scream in delight.

They fucked with a heated anger that dwarfed all of their past sibling duels and battles.

He unexpectedly spun her about, while artfully keeping his cock embedded inside her. The surprise of it, followed quickly by a long, penetrating thrust that propelled her forward, threw her off balance. She was forced to release him, reaching out instead to catch the lip of the dresser to save herself, first with one hand, then the other. Her legs quickly looped backward about his waist and ass, holding her to him, even as his large, strong hands gripped the ridges of her hips to hold her skewered onto his fantastic cock.

She arched her back for him, helping to meld her form to the wicked, upright curve of the stiff prick that penetrated her, commanding her complete attention with the feelings it gave to her. In so doing, she pressed her soft ass even harder against the firm resistance of his hips. He held her against him there, where she ground herself around and down, driving him more deeply inside of her, earning every fractional inch of pleasure she could take from him, tickling the most inner recesses of her body with the head of his beloved cock.

Mouse felt like the figurehead on the prow of a ship, facing ever forward, riding and rocking on a stormy sea, while fucked by the massive, unyielding, wooden strength of the mighty ship to which she was forever attached, adding feminine grace and beauty to an already graceful and beautiful, masculine and powerful, master of the oceans.