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
