Mouse Bk. 01 Ch. 03

<8 Shower

Both of their garments lay in a heap at their feet. They stood there, brother and sister, naked, facing each other, her nipples hard and straining toward him, his cock between them still warm and hard enough in her hand. Mouse lowered herself gently to sit on the lip of the tub, never letting go, even as she turned on the water.

With his cock beside her face, she couldn't resist a quick kiss, spiced with a mischievous glance and smile. She felt the water a few times, then quickly stood, stepped into the shower and pulled him in with her. He yanked the shower curtain closed behind him, as she finally, reluctantly released him to slide both hands up his chest. Mouse stretched up on her tiptoes, aching to kiss him lightly again. She closed her eyes as his hands slid pleasingly down her sides to rest on her hips.

Mouse turned to set the massaging shower head to pulse, giving it a slow, hard rhythm. She took the soap and began rubbing it on herself, putting on a show for her brother. She soaped her body much like she danced, with a silent rhythm, and with undulating, arching stretches. She thrust her tits and her legs and her ass out and forward and back for her brother, moving almost as if he were still fucking her. Soon her body glistened for him with water and soap. She dipped her head back into the drumming spurts of water, tipping it from side to side until her hair was soaked. Rivulets of water ran down her face.

* * *

Michael watched as Mouse's hair darkened further, matting against her head and changing her look completely. It was as if she had turned into another woman before his eyes, becoming a short haired, boyish, shining water-nymph, with water cascading down her face from the shower head like cum from a huge, pulsing metal cock above her.

She looked at him coyly, shifting her hips and shoulders seductively.

Without taking her eyes off of him she turned around, leaned against the shower wall, and pushed her ass toward him, rotating it slowly and invitingly. He reached forward with a single hand to touch it, to rub it, feeling the slippery sensation of the soap on her smooth skin.

He let his lone hand slide from there up her side to her breast. The whole way up he felt the soap and the warmth, and when he cupped her breast he noticed for the first time how soft it was, how much larger it felt than it had looked the night before, and how very, very hard her nipple was against his palm. He let the nipple slip between two soapy fingers, to squeeze it gently. Mouse responded immediately with a satisfying hum.

"That's a good boy," she said. "Get your dirty little sister nice and clean all over. Don't miss a spot."

She leaned back into him again, grinding his cock between her ass cheeks. He felt it slip and glide across the slippery skin of her ass, wishing that he could get another erection this soon.

"I've always loved your ass, Mouse," he murmured into her ear, his voice a deep, rumbling baritone that pleased her immensely.

"Oh? So you have had thoughts?" she demanded, widening her eyes with a laughing, interrogating look.

"Of course I have, you slut. You strut around everywhere half dressed, wiggling and cooing like a whore, of course I've gotten erections and 'had thoughts'. You little tease."

He kissed her nose quickly, eliciting a small grin from her. She turned her face away from him, but at the same time she lifted herself onto her toes to rub the smooth, soapy crack of her cheeks up and down against his cock.

"Tell me more," she breathed, her rising voice signaling her growing excitement.

* * *

Michael was silent, seemingly refusing to answer her question, so Mouse focused instead on the feel of his hand on her breast. She looked down, watching his marvelously large, sexy hands holding her comparatively small tit gently, kneading it, caressing it.

Emotions raged through her like a rain swollen river. She was embarrassed that she'd cried in front of him, that she'd lost it so completely. She'd opened herself so thoroughly to him, telling him everything she felt. She had never intended to do that. She didn't do that with anyone, ever.

She had spent so many years trying to seduce him, and trying not to seduce him. She'd been in love with her brother for so long, holding everything in check for so long. The sudden release now was impossible to control.

The hand on her breast drifted down her arm to interlock with her own fingers. She held his hand tightly, as his other hand slipped in to find her other breast.

With her eyes closed, with his hand holding hers, she drifted back in time. She sat again at the kitchen table, a little girl in awe beside her handsome older brother. That was when she'd first noticed his hands. That was when she fell in love with them, and with him. She was a silly little girl.

He went on and on about math, while she pretended to listen. All she could see and think about were his hands. He held the pencil in them, scratching meaningless symbols on the page in front of her. She didn't see the symbols, only his hand.

He would explain things in his deep, musical voice. She'd heard the voice, but not the words. She would eagerly reach forward to grab the pencil from him as an excuse to touch his thick, strong fingers. She'd let her hand coast smoothly over the back of his, feeling the curve of the bulge of muscle between his thumb and forefinger. She'd pretended he was her boyfriend, that they were holding hands at the table.

She couldn't wait to marry him.

Mouse's mind snapped back to the present as Michael's other hand abandoned her marvelously tortured breast to drift down to her waist, only to fall further still along her soapy ass, then slip underneath, between her legs. One thick, worshipped finger found her slit. It rubbed the crease of her pussy, forcing Mouse to respond, forcing her to thrust her ass back and forth with his movements, trying desperately to draw it inside her. Her body was under his control, not hers.

"Don't make me come, Michael," she pleaded, knowing he would ignore her. "Don't make your dirty little sister come. I don't deserve to come, Michael."

She remembered with glee when she'd snuck into the bathroom as a girl while he showered. It wasn't the naive accident everyone thought it was. She'd planned it carefully, although her plan had failed. She'd been there quite a while, nervously gathering the courage to peek, to see him naked and up close, before he'd discovered her. She trembled now under his touch, just as she had then in mere anticipation of seeing her brother's naked form.

Michael's finger slipped into her now. She smiled as he found that the flesh of her cunt was more slippery than her soapy ass. His finger penetrated her deeply. She imagined it as a cock, one that could wiggle and please her like no other. A second finger joined the first. She pictured them, her brother's fingers, her brother's sexy hand, working inside his little sister to please her.

Mouse opened her mouth to speak again. She was shocked when a high-pitched squeal escaped instead. The words that followed came out an octave higher than she expected, a little girl's voice using her mouth to speak a wicked woman's words.

"Sweet brother, darling brother," she whimpered. "Don't make me come for you, Michael. I'm so nasty to you, I don't deserve to come..."

Michael tried to release her hand, to use that hand on her body, too, but Mouse clung to it tightly. He forced her hand across her body to her crotch, where one more of his amazing fingers found her clit and rubbed it gently. Mouse relaxed her grip on him, letting him touch her now, as long as she could gently touch his hand, too.

"Michael, brother Michael. Sweet lover, sweet fucker Michael," she squealed.

She tried to say more when another finger, slick with soap, found it's way into her asshole. She felt his strong hands everywhere, on her clit, in her pussy, in her ass. She held her own hand against his, and quickly found the other, too. With her hands on his, with his sexy, massive, powerful hands in her, filling her, fucking her, tormenting her, raping her, she started to come.

"Oh, God, Michael sweet Michael. I shouldn't come, I shouldn't let you make me come," she screamed. Her body started to convulse. Some corner of her mind knew that her cunt was grabbing at and twitching against his fingers. His fingers were everywhere. She felt them everywhere inside her, she saw them in her mind, she touched them with her hands.

Michael's wonderfully strong, brotherly hands were all over her.

"Yes, Brother, yes! Yes, make me come, if you have to, make me come, make me love you, make me be the slut you've always wanted."

The orgasms seemed to continue forever. He never stopped moving inside her, until her mind and body were both spent and numb.

* * *

The hot water was gone, the shower almost ice cold when they finally rested.

He loved this feeling of power over her. He had wanted to make her string of orgasms last for as long as he could. After a time he was almost afraid that he was hurting her, but even as long as it had all lasted, he still felt disappointment when her screams and shudders ceased, and she was still.

He withdrew his hands from her slowly, gently. She whimpered softly as he did so. The moment they were free of her she grabbed them tightly in her own and held them. She guided one hand up to rest on her enticingly soft breast. She pulled the other up to her mouth, where she sucked on his fingers one by one, still panting and cooing softly to him.

"I love you, Michael, I know I can't, I know it's wrong, but I love you, I love my brother, I love you..."

After a while even that subsided, and they both were silent. Mouse leaned against the shower walls, exhausted, trying to regain an awareness of something other than their own spent, indulged bodies. Eventually she turned the water off. She leaned back to kiss him passionately once more.

Abruptly, with a sudden energy, she hopped out of the shower, while he hesitated in a half-trance, still relishing the lingering memory of the feel of her lips on his. Grabbing the only towel, Mouse ran from the room, laughing at his howls of mock rage.

He dripped his way to the hallway linen closet to get one for himself, pausing to look longingly at the guest room door she had closed behind her. He dried himself as he walked happily back to his own room to dress. He was smiling, not grinning, but warmly happy maybe for the first time in several years. It felt good.

Wicked, he thought, but good, too.

* * *

<8 Afternoon

Michael finished dressing first. He waited for her downstairs. To his disappointment she had dressed plainly in tight fitting jeans and a loose shirt, one of his own dress work shirts. He looked at her in it for a long time. The shirt billowed so much around her small frame that it implied shoulders and a breast cup size several times larger than she could really claim. In contrast, her jeans hugged her so tightly it was as if she was still naked, or at least still wanted to be.

"What?" she asked in a confrontational tone, instinctively reacting to his stare.

Always ready to do battle, Michael noted.

"Nothing" he said meekly. "I've just never seen you dress... like a normal human being," he explained.

"You mean 'not like a slut'?" she asked, with a laugh.

"Basically," he agreed, laughing himself to cover his embarrassment at the admission.

"I like wearing a man's own shirt after I've had him."

The way she phrased that ignited a spark in Michael. She'd had him. He liked the sound of it.

That startled him, how quickly he'd moved from feeling guilt and shame to feeling sexual power and pride. He looked at her, admiring her profile, and her hair, and the subtle outline of her breasts where his shirt rested against her bare flesh, with the slight, dark rise of her nipples making a clear outline beneath the fabric.

No bra, obviously. He liked that, too. Two days ago it would have annoyed him.

"I was going to wear that shirt to work on Monday," he commented.

"You still should. In fact I insist you do. After you've fucked me in it tonight."

* * *

They spent the day hanging out around his place. Mouse sat beside him, nestled under his arm while they watched old movies. They just spent time feeling comfortable with each other.

That by itself was startling. For the first time in decades, since she'd been about ten, Mouse and Michael were comfortable with each other.

"So... you didn't finish this morning," Mouse started on a new topic. "Our conversation, I mean. You definitely finished the other stuff. Definitely." She lingered on that for emphasis. The implied compliment warmed him. She kissed him lightly.

"Did you ever fantasize about me? Before this weekend, I mean," she asked, looking back at a clichéd, old western playing on the TV. He thought it surprising that she feigned disinterest. He'd thought that he was supposed to be the insecure one, not Mouse.

"Yes," he answered hesitantly.

"Oh? Tell me about it," she demanded casually, fixedly watching two angry men staring each other down in a saloon.

"It was hard not to, with you prancing around dressed like a whore all the time."

She looked at him as soon as he said it, but with a smile instead of a glare. She kissed him quickly on the chin.

"Incestuous whore," she corrected.

Michael laughed uneasily. She used the word so comfortably, with pride. It was unsettling.

"No, incestuous lady," Mouse said, quickly correcting herself. "I like that. 'Incestuous lady'. 'Incestuous lady whore'." She rolled the words around in her mouth, like she would with his cock.

The exchange made Michael uncomfortable. He fell silent as his mind began to wander, reconsidering what they were doing.

"Go on," she continued. "Details. Stories. When, where, how. How often."

"Oh, I don't know, different things," Michael responded. "It's embarrasing. I'm not as... creative as you are."

Michael found this all hard to talk about. His fantasies about Mouse had been his own, shameful secret for so long, it simply didn't seem possible to discuss them, even with her, even now, even after all that had transpired. Even after he'd fucked her. Repeatedly.

"I did get jealous of your stuffed animals," he found he could say.

Mouse laughed out loud. "Jealous of Mr. Snuggles?" she asked incredulously.

"He got to sleep with you, the little prick," Michael said, laughing, his mood lightening a touch. "Every night. There I was, unattached, approaching thirty, and you were all pert and perky and hot at eighteen, lying in your bed every night with Mr. Snuggles when I was lying alone in my apartment, thinking about you and..."

"And?"

Michael hesitated.

"And masturbating?" Mouse finished for him.

Michael hesitated further, feeling a blush rise uncontrollably in his face, before finally managing a slightly strangled "yes."

"Really? Hmmmmm. I like picturing that. If you only knew..."

"Knew what?"

"If I tell you you'll really hate Mr. Snuggles."

"I do already. What? Tell me."

"I used to pretend Mr. Snuggles was you, sometimes. I'd hug him and kiss him, then press him against my pussy and pretend he was eating me, or fucking me... and that he was you. Mr. Snuggles got pretty sloppy after a while. I think Mom always wondered why I kept washing him."

"That bastard! If I get my hands on him..."

They both laughed together. She put on a fake pout and punched him in the chest. After, Mouse moved to nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder again, looking up with a kittenish expression. "Don't you dare hurt Mr. Snuggles. I'll never forgive you," she cooed.

"You'll forgive me the moment I fuck you again," he commented, trying to sound both dirty and aloof. It didn't come easily to him, but he tried, for her.

"Well, yeah, okay, but I'll be mad at you while you fuck me." She waited a moment before adding, "Sometimes that's the best kind of fuck, anyway, an angry fuck." She nuzzled him again. "An angry incestuous fuck," she corrected, then leaned up to kiss him again, passionately.

There it was again. She seemed so openly proud of it all.

* * *

Michael backed the car out of the driveway, ready for the short trip to Melanie's house for dinner with their family.

"Why do you always fight with me, if you love me so much? If you love me so much, why the constant nastiness?" Michael asked.

"What about you? Like you're Mr. Nice to me?" Mouse retaliated.

"I'm mostly just responding. I don't usually start it," he said defensively.

"No. No, I guess you don't," she conceded. She stopped to think, looking away out the window. "I guess it's mostly habit. Partly it's a way of flirting. If we couldn't have loving, passionate emotions, the next strongest thing was angry, passionate emotions. If we didn't have sex, at least there was tension, and conflict."

Michael thought it over. There had been a lot of tension. And conflict. Now there was a lot of sex.

"And I think I did it to keep you away," she continued. "To keep us in a position where I wouldn't give in to what I wanted, where I wouldn't have a chance to do... what we're doing."

They both remained silent, thinking. Michael broke the silence first.

"It backfired, bigtime."

"Oh?" she asked.

"You got me so angry, I virtually raped you," he said, pretending to glare at her. "So angry, the emotion overwhelmed me and I had to kiss you, and keep kissing you."

She smiled happily at this portrayal of events, and her own memories of their first night together. Her smile seemed to him to brighten the whole car. Michael really loved her smile. He always, always had.

"Can I make you angry some more, later?" she needled.

"I'm sure you will."

<8 Best Laid Plans

Rows of nondescript, suburban houses coasted by as they got closer to their sister's home. Mouse was close against Michael, studying his face, breathing her words into his neck.

"First, you're going to sit in your favorite recliner, and I'll sit across from you on the couch. You're going to watch me play with myself, and talk dirty, but you can't touch yourself. That's my job. I have to masturbate and come first, to be able to keep from touching myself and losing control when I take you in my mouth. I need to be able to concentrate on what I'm doing, to keep from just giving up and mounting you for my own pleasure," she explained with a twinkling leer.

Michael found it unsettling that Mouse had waited until now to arouse him. The last thing he needed was to walk into his big sister's house with a bulging erection broadcasting his lust for his little sister.

"Then, when I'm good and ready, I'm going to give you the best blow job you've ever dreamed of, and you are going to come in gushers in my mouth and on my face and on my sweet little sister titties, and then you are going to tell me that you love me, and I'll tell you I love you, and then we'll go to sleep and get up tomorrow and get me to the airport."

"Hmmm. And when do we talk?" Michael asked.

"Talk?" She acted like she was both confused and disinterested.

"We have to talk," he dropped, trying to sound mature.

"Stop saying that! I hate that! That's what people say when they're ready to break up. That's my line, my best get-ready-to-get-dumped line. 'We have to talk.' Are you ready to break up? Already?"

"Mouse, we can't 'break up', we're brother and sister. Please. I'm sick with guilt," he pleaded.

She softened a bit, searching his face.

"Look, Michael, I'm sorry, I'm not avoiding it. Well, I am avoiding it. But I don't want you to be hurt. Okay, let's talk."

Mouse moved away from him then, breaking contact, sitting more properly in her own seat, but still looking at him.

"We have to stop," Michael started. "I mean, this has been unbelievable, but we can't do it anymore. You have to go back to Chicago, and we have to stop... touching each other."