Mouse Bk. 06 Ch. 02

As she said it, her fingernails dug into his shoulder blades, trying to draw blood through his soaked shirt, while holding him fiercely against her, keeping him with her, keeping his mass pressing down onto her spoiled, nasty, electrified little tits.

When was he fucking going to tell her? When was the fucking pig planning on fucking telling her?

* * *

Michael raised himself up, pushing with his arms on the hood of the car. Mouse's fingernails dug painfully, deliciously, through his shirt, into the skin of his shoulder blades. As he lifted his bulk, he carried her with him, clinging, lifting her from the hood, until she abruptly let go, slamming back down with a thud.

A violent wind swept through between them, driving sheets of rain into them both. Her nipples were dark and round, showing clearly through her soaked, white, cotton tee shirt. They screamed into his soul to touch them, to feel their firm, young forms with his fingertips and mouth. He hesitated, torn between the desire to touch them, and the urge to do as he'd planned, to grab her thighs and hold her in place so he could drive himself more deeply and forcefully inside her.

At that moment, with his hands poised somewhere between the two choices, Mouse scurried back along the hood, off of his cock, away from him, out from under his bulk. She quickly, lithely popped off of the hood onto the driveway, to run quickly around the front of the car, and him.

"Fucking prick!"

Michael turned, easily blocking her path. She glared up at him, silently daring him to touch her again, or to stay in the way and suffer for it. The standoff lasted until the next loud crack of thunder.

The next thing Michael saw was her perfect, naked ass, glistening with rain water, as she turn and disappeared around the corner of the house, heading into the back yard. His lonely, erect cock felt suddenly frozen, covered with rain in the swirling, harsh wind of the storm.

Michael scowled at the now empty spot where he'd last seen her. He turned his head to the sky, letting the rain drops slap at his face. It had grown very dark. The sun was low and setting behind the dense, black clouds. Early evening had very suddenly come upon them, so that now only a very dark, colorless, flat light illuminated a fading world. Through the sheets of rain, he could barely see the houses across the street.

Michael strode after her, naked below the waist, like she, leaving their clothes behind, to find what was wrong.

* * *

She turned the second corner, ready to head up the deck to the back door, when her footsteps quickly slowed. Mouse came to a halt, standing, in shock, at the scene before her. It was like turning a corner and finding that you had travelled back in time.

The huge, ancient pine was there, as it had always been, ninety feet tall, dancing about in the wicked wind, but as ever too tall and strong to be truly bothered by a mere storm.

This was her childhood tree, her castle, her home base, the center of her earliest world. It's limbs were so straight, and so many, that they formed prison bars, blocking anyone too large from climbing too high, while providing a myriad of perches for the agile young child that had the skill and daring to make her way to its heights.

Michael had up-branched the tree decades ago, when she was still little, clearing the lower limbs to a height of fifteen feet, to make adequate room for picnics and tea parties beneath it, for her. He'd built her a simple rope ladder, hung from one limb, so she could still climb. Better yet, he had strung up a tire, a magnificent, perfect swing that lived in her childhood memories as her most favorite and cherished toy.

Hours of her life were spent sitting and swaying, or swinging wildly, pushed skyward at her ever fearless urging, higher and higher, by her big brother, until he grew too afraid, and said it was too high, and too dangerous.

Years later, she did the same for Mel's kids, not so much younger than she. She'd been like an older sibling for them, a very young aunt, Aunt Mouse, when they came to grandmas to visit and to play.

One day the swing was gone. The kids, all the kids had outgrown it. The rope, many times replaced already, had frayed and weakened with the wear of the years and the elements. No one used it anymore. Mom said it was past time for it to go, and Dad agreed and did her dirty work.

A little part of Mouse had died that day. The child in her, a little part of the child in her, sorrowfully said goodbye to the wonderful, carefree years of courageous, imaginative, unstoppable adventure.

And there it was before her now, as if she'd stepped back into the past, just the way it had always been, the tire swing.

The fucking tire swing.

It was beautiful.

* * *

By the time he'd turned the corner, Mouse was on the swing, her body slipped through the tire, her legs out, stiff and straight ahead of her. She clung with two hands to the rope, arching back, eyes closed, hair dripping with water. Hadn't intended for her to discover it quite this way.

She didn't stir as Michael stepped up beside her. Michael didn't disturb her.

Her eyes opened. Michael died as he looked at sorrow and fear and love and longing and gratitude, all swirled into dark, black, cold coal eyes.

"Fucking pig. I fucking love you."

Michael didn't answer, still confused, knowing he'd understand when she wanted him to understand. He walked around her to the other side of the tire, to face her. She pulled herself upright with her hands, peering at him over the edge of the tire and around the rope, with thick strands of dark hair clinging wetly to her face. Her legs relaxed as the tire swayed and twisted ever so gently, rocking her left and right and back and forth.

"When did you do this?" she asked, her voice calmer.

"Last night, while you were asleep. I wanted to do it before they left, but I wasn't sure how to explain it. Then you never gave me a moment's rest."

Michael looked up into the branches, up the rope, like Jack's beanstalk offering a magical escape, a path to another, less restricted life up in the clouds.

"I'll have to take it down before they come home."

"No."

"I have to. What will we say?"

"No."

Michael stepped forward, up to the tire. He looked down into her heart shaped face. Unflinching, she let him move her hair away from of her eyes. She let his one hand slip behind her head, to hold her steady. She let his lips lower themselves to hers, to kiss her, ever so lightly, almost like a brother should.

Mouse's hands left the rope, finding his own head, holding their lips together as the tire rocked with a stronger motion. Her ankles wrapped behind his legs, pulling the swing toward him, then locking their hips together.

She broke the kiss to stare into his eyes. He held the tire steady as her hands disappeared from sight. He felt one take hold of his cock. It had lost its strength, but surged back to life as soon as she held it, massaged it, tugged on it, all the while staring defiantly into his eyes.

"Fucking prick."

She breathed the words at him, as she pulled his hard cock toward her waiting hips. He pulled the tire, helping her, helping to give them both what they wanted. His cock burned again as she enveloped it with her own waiting, hot, summer storm.

* * *

Mouse felt both lost and fulfilled.

Michael fucked her slowly now, by simply standing still, using his hands to push the tire back and forth, moving her in that way onto and off of his magnificent, hard cock. Mouse stared at him as he did it, studying the droplets of water clinging to his scalp, and the look of intense, calm passion he held in his face for her.

She whimpered, now, for him. She squealed softly each time he pulled the swing toward himself, driving his cock into her, rubbing the fantastically sensitive flesh inside of her with the thickness of his shaft. She inhaled loudly each time he pushed the swing away, pulling his cock from her, but still rubbing that sensitive, electric spot inside her, the spot that hurt and tickled and buzzed, and begged her for more of his cock.

Her belly grew warm, despite the shivering wet cold. The sensations radiated out, spreading through her.

When the fuck was he going to tell her?

"Fucking prick."

"I love you."

"Fucking prick."

"I love you."

* * *

Her sounds came fast and furiously now, tempered by the fact that there were neighbors' houses very close by, softened by that bashful fear, but she sang for him, fast and high pitched, as she always did, almost ready to come for him.

This time, he couldn't hold back. He couldn't wait for her. He felt the cum building in his balls. He felt his cock stiffening, the feeling growing, that sensation that he was expanding, filling himself from the inside from nothing, threatening to explode at his loins.

Michael growled, loudly and ferociously, as his cock did explode, pumping his cum into his sweet, sexy, minx of a little sister, expressing his love and his lust and his wanton, unforgivable carnal desires in the truest, most powerful way he could.

* * *

Mouse studied Michael's face as he came. She'd already come, but wouldn't let him know it. She hid it from him, fighting back the sensations and the reactions and the sounds, spiting him by hiding her pleasure from him.

Now she just enjoyed the sight of him, coming inside her, enjoying her body in the wicked, sinful way that she wanted, she'd always wanted, and always would want him to.

The swing stopped moving as he held it steady, holding her on him, with his muscles bulging, his hands locked in a death grip, and his cock thrust deep into her as it thundered its own rain inside of her.

* * *

Mouse held herself close to him, wet and shivering, under his protective arm, as they walked together away from the swing, to the deck, to the house. She glanced back at the swing sorrowfully, her head spinning with emotions and memories and thoughts she couldn't begin to identify, and didn't care to.

She loved the fucking pig so fucking much.

She buried her head in his chest, as his arm sensed her need and held her more tightly.

So fucking much.

When the fuck was he going to tell her? She pounded him in the belly with a fist in her sudden resurgence of fury.

What the fuck were they doing?

* * *

Michael set the steaming cup of coffee in front of her. Her mother's fluffy bathrobe felt guiltily awkward after what they'd just done, but it was warm, and soft, and she was chilled to the bone.

Michael was silent, and compliant, and far too timid. He hovered around her before settling gracelessly into his seat to pour cream into his own cup. Mouse watched him intently, making no effort to hide it. Her scrutiny clearly made him uncomfortable, which was good.

"Do I ever find out what this is about?" he said into the bottom of the cup.

"Yes, you fucking will, you prick."

Michael clattered the cup down into it's saucer with an exasperated sigh. He looked around the room, at everything except Mouse. Mouse sipped from her own cup.

"Thank you for the swing. It was very sweet. Very."

She felt Michael look at her then, to see if it meant she had forgiven him.

"Fucking prick."

Michael glumly lifted his cup to take another sip. He was in for a long night, Mouse thought, and longer days, until he got some courage.

<8 Date Night

They'd slept in separate rooms the night before. Mouse stayed in bed while Michael got up and dressed for work. He wanted to kiss her goodbye, but she'd closed her door the previous night, and kept it closed. He hovered outside of it, for a while, in the morning, arguing with himself over whether to knock or not, or to just barge in, or to leave it alone.

Coward that he was, he left it alone, and went to work.

* * *

"Haven't told her? What do you mean, you haven't told her? When the hell were you going to tell her?"

Michael moved the phone away from his ear, surprised at Melanie's sudden change in tone and volume.

"Last night, but she was too pissed off about something, so..."

"Why didn't you tell her?"

"I don't know. I just..."

"Well, it's too late now, she already knows."

"What? How did she..."

"Kate told her, at the game."

"Oh, shit..."

"She just mentioned it off handedly, out of the blue. There was nothing I could do. At the time I thought Mouse was just bristling because it bugged her. It should have bugged her, all by itself. It never occurred to me that she didn't know about it yet."

"Why the fuck did you bring her?"

"She wanted to come. I couldn't think of any reason not to. I'd already told her I was going."

"Fuck."

"So now what are you going to do."

"Do? What can I do? I have to go. I don't even want to. I'm going to be miserable, and Mouse is going to be miserable... Maybe I can say I'm sick."

"Don't be a shit. Not to both of them."

Michael glowered. There was nothing particularly elaborate about it. It was a simple, straightforward glower.

"Fine."

* * *

Mouse was utterly silent when he walked in from a too long, too frustrating day at work. He hadn't needed that on top of everything else. She sat on the sofa, doing some hand sewing on some outfit she was concocting.

He really should have told her before now, before the actual evening. He'd rationalized it by thinking that she'd just mope and dwell on it. He thought that It would better to just tell her, to go, and come back, and make it as short and easy as possible.

Instead, it had been days, for her.

"Melanie says you know."

"Can you hand me that spool of thread?"

Mouse nodded to a pile of thread on the coffee table in front of her. He ignored the request, instead drifting a little further away, pretending to study the knickknacks lining the mantle of the fireplace. His mother had a bizarre fondness for ceramic cat figurines, even though she had never owned a real cat in her life. Their mother had tons of them. Most of them were cheap, just scattered about the place, on shelves and sofa tables and end tables.

"She said Kate told you."

The scissor just missed him. It would have hit him if he hadn't been quick. She couldn't have known that he'd be quick enough. It clattered off of the stone fireplace behind him.

"Look, I'm sorry. Kate..."

This time it was a ceramic tabby. Thank goodness that one was very cheap. It wouldn't be missed. Pieces of clay cat littered the floor by the fireplace where it had met its untimely demise, providing company for the dangerously sharp scissor.

"Hey, Mouse, stop."

"You stop."

"I have to explain."

"Fine, explain, but don't say her name around me."

As a credit to his unending stupidity, he almost said it again. Instead he swallowed air.

"Go ahead, Dork. I'm listening. For now."

"I didn't want to."

"Okay, stopped listening. Liar."

"I didn't."

"Liar."

"Mouse! I didn't."

"Then why'd you say yes? And don't tell me because I told you to date. You know damn well you weren't really supposed to."

Michael stood unblinking, as if time had stopped.

"Mom and Dad were there when she asked me."

That made her hesitate. At least, she didn't interrupt.

"You could still have refused."

"And what would they have thought? A gorgeous blond..."

Shit, he thought, even as the words left his lips. She didn't say anything, but her glare could have melted steel.

He looked away only for a second. The other ceramic cat hit him in the chest. Luckily, it had been the smaller of the pair, the one frozen in the act of licking its paw. It still hurt, and he caught this one before it hit the ground, which was also lucky, because their mother was fond of this one.

"Look, I'm sorry, she's cute..."

"'Gorgeous'."

"Very cute."

Silence.

"Look, if I had said no, they would have freaked. Dad would probably have thought I was gay."

"So you're going out to dinner with her. Did it have to be while I was here?"

She was crying now. He hadn't expected that. Mouse didn't cry. She did, actually, pretty often, it seemed, now that she was involved with him. But she never used to, at least, not in front of him.

It killed him. He preferred the ceramic cat, or even the scissors.

"Mouse, there was no way out. Look, it's just a dinner. She's too young for me, anyway."

Shit. Why did he use his mouth, anyway?

Mouse was half way out of the room already. He expected her to head upstairs, but instead she whisked through the kitchen and out the sliding glass door, firing it shut behind her with a bang. Michael followed her at first, then stood helplessly inside, watching her storm off to her swing. He ducked out of sight when she glanced his way.

* * *

She sat on the swing, pushing it ever so gently with one toe stretched out to catch the ground. He'd set the swing maybe a bit too high, once again misjudging his little sister.

He stopped a distance away, out of reach. She hadn't made eye contact, or even looked his way, during the whole, long, arduous walk from the house to the tree. Now she glanced at him sidelong, unspeaking, not quite glaring, but not kindly, either.

"You could have said no."

"Mom and Dad were there."

"You're moving to Chicago. You could have told them it was just a waste of time. Say you didn't want to hurt her."

"Mom wants me to stay here. That's half the reason she almost did a dance right there, when Kate asked."

"Dad would have been on your side."

"No he wouldn't. He would have told me to go ahead and get laid, and fuck hurting her feelings."

"So now you're going to fuck her tonight?"

"No! Mouse, please..."

Michael took his life in his hands and moved closer. When he was beside her, she suddenly leaned into him. It took an act of will to keep from flinching. Her tiny arms wrapped around his waist, holding him tightly, as he gently put one hand on her shoulder, while using the other to steady the tire swing.

When he looked down at her, she was staring up at him with big, brown, little girl eyes, like a frightened child.

"Promise you won't fall in love?"

"Not today, no."

She looked at him sternly, knowing what he meant. He had to be honest with her, always. Someday he would. He had to, or else go to his grave alone, and unhappy. She knew it. She couldn't ask anything more.

Mouse moved her hands to his stomach, using them for leverage to shove herself away. He released the rope, letting her swing freely, stepping aside as the she and the heavy tire came back at him. On the return trip, he gave her a shove, to get her moving, and then another the next time by, just as he had a very long time ago.

"Go to dinner," she said in a monotone.

"I'll be back early."

"You better be."

And with that, he walked around the house to the driveway to meet Kate for dinner.

* * *

Michael returned by nine thirty. He'd been out for less than two hours. Kate seemed a bit miffed, and he felt bad about slighting her that way, but he felt worse about what it had done to Mouse. He doubted that Kate really cared. He was sure that she was just playing with him, anyway.

She must be meeting dozens of guys. He was pretty sure she had given her number to a guy at the softball game, in fact, someone on the other team. That actually bugged him more than he wanted to admit to himself.

What bugged him most, and made him feel the most guilty, was that he really did like her. He had a great time with her. He even considered staying out later, and leaving Mouse to stew, but he couldn't do that to her.

Mouse was nowhere to be found. There was a note on the kitchen table.

Jack called. He invited me to dinner. I knew you wouldn't mind. Not sure when I'll be home.

Love, Your Little Sister

Michael stared out the back window as he started to fume. He should have stayed out with Kate.