Mouse B. 03

8> Thursday: Engagement

The night had gone badly.

Understatement, Mouse fumed to herself. Gone badly. The cock sucking bastard. The sister fucking cock sucking bastard.

She stomped through the snow toward her apartment, with Michael carefully staying a single half step behind her, like a giant shadow just over her shoulder. She could feel his discomfort, his tension.

Good, she thought. Bastard. Feel like shit. Feel the way you made me feel, she raged.

The evening had started nicely enough, an engagement party for Michael and Mona, with all of her friends. She gleefully made the rounds through Alicia's apartment. She beamed as she showed them all her ring, one by one, and they oohed and grinned with mostly feigned jealously. Their eyes always went wide when they learned it wasn't a prop, that he had really bought it for her. Then the jealousy became real.

No one voiced it except Alicia, but they were all thinking the same thing. Was it real, not just a real diamond, but maybe even intended to be a real engagement ring? Maybe he was ready to ask for real. Maybe the game wasn't necessary, or it would unexpectedly change from a game to the real thing. There was a buzz throughout the room.

Cock sucking bastard, she thought again, fumbling with her keys in her fury, trying to open the security door.

They had all gotten drunk. They'd all danced. Michael was timid and stiff, of course. He graced her with one dance, then she let him off the hook. After that, Mona only danced with other women, mostly Alicia and Tania. She commanded the dance floor, as she always did, and she could feel every man's eyes on her. It always happened. She made it happen, and she had always loved it. But this time it made her uncomfortable.

She didn't want them to look at her. Only Michael, only he should look. And most of them didn't just look, they blatantly leered, even if they didn't realize it. She usually reveled in that, in stealing other women's men, at least in their fantasies, with her dancing. But not this time. This time her motion, her erotic, luring movements, were all for Michael, all for her brother Michael. She wanted the rest of them to look away.

Jeff spent a lot of time talking to Michael. It started early in the evening. The two of them were almost the same height. Jeff's very dark, black african features contrasted sharply with Michael's pale, bald head. She watched them talking, looking at her, leaning conspiratorially close to each other exchanging comments. She could feel Jeff making lewd suggestions. She could feel it in her blood. She hoped Michael was defending her honor.

And that was a silly thing to think, she thought, raping herself in self punishment. Mouse stormed up the stairwell, distractedly watching the wet prints she left on each stair. She had eschewed the elevator and the need to wait for it with her brother. This was easier on both of them.

Like Michael would defend his incestuous sister slut, she thought as she climbed. Like he would defend her, knowing the way she went around sucking and fucking her brother's cock at every opportunity. Of course he didn't defend her. She was a slut, and he had no room to argue. She had no right to protest. But he still should have defended her. He was her brother, and he should have defended her.

But he didn't. She knew he didn't.

At the end of the last dance Mouse had wandered over to talk to Tania, to pretend to talk to her, but actually to listen in on what Jeff and Michael were saying. Tania did as always with Mona, she moved in close. She immediately brought their bodies and faces close together, as if she had no sense of personal space, or as if they were lovers and their space was supposed to be shared. They joked and laughed, and with each laugh Tania brought a hand up to brush Mona's arm, or to helpfully brush her hair out of her face, or to grab and hold Mona's hand for a tad longer than a brief second. It was admittedly erotic. Mouse often enjoyed their little sport, but not tonight.

"She's a hot little piece," Mona had heard Jeff say. Michael muttered something non-committal.

He could have at least agreed with that, Mouse fumed. She opened her apartment door and threw her coat and bag across the room as hard as she could. If he wouldn't defend her, he could at least boast about her.

"Tania likes her," Jeff had said. Tania had leaned close, as if on cue, to whisper something inane directly into Mouse's ear. Her pretense was the noise of the party, but Mouse had felt her hot breath tickling her earlobe. It felt as if Tania's mouth was just moments from flicking her ear with her tongue. Mona resented it, because it kept her from hearing Jeff and Michael.

"She likes her a lot," Jeff continued. Mouse thought Jeff knew she was listening, that he was saying this partly for her benefit. "Tania thinks she could set her off the same way she hears you do it, through the walls."

Mouse could hear the grin in Jeff's voice. She wanted to slap him. She wished she could turn and see Michael's expression, too. To see if he was angry or jealous or turned on.

"Tania thinks she could make Mona squeal and squirm and beg," Jeff elaborated. "She's sure of it, and she's itching to try."

There was a pause, while Michael considered it. He was considering it. At their engagement party. Mouse felt her anger growing.

"Tell me the truth, man to man," Jeff asked, lowering his voice, but not enough to hide his words from Mouse. "You don't have to, but I have to ask. Has she ever had a black cock? Has she ever admitted that she wanted one?"

He asked the question like everyone knew that the answer was yes. It was always yes. Mouse had heard Michael's hesitation. Don't answer, she'd thought. Don't answer.

"Yes," he answered quietly, at least appearing uncomfortable with the question. "I know she has."

Mouse could almost hear Jeff's eyebrows raise, she could almost hear the blood pounding and filling his cock at the thought. She could hear him already fucking her in his mind, telling her that she loved his big black cock better than Michael's. They were both being bastards.

"You know, you could come over and watch Tania get her going," Jeff said, almost with disinterest, like it was just some polite offer to come over and watch a ball game.

"Once they get far enough along, you could give Tania a try," he continued, his deep voice only a half whisper. "She's a sweet, tight little blonde. She'll give you a taste of what you'd miss if it were a real wedding."

"She is a hot one," Michael had said, this time without any sign of hesitation.

A hot one. The fucking, fucking bastard, Mouse thought. A taste of what he'd miss if he married her. If he really married her. If it were real.

She tore her dress off and left it lying on her bedroom floor. Michael stayed carefully away in the kitchen. She ripped through her drawers to pull out a black dance leotard. She didn't have any clean tights, so she left her legs bare and pulled on knitted leg warmers. They were rainbow colored, a silly pair she'd had since college. They didn't suit her mood, but they did the job. She needed to get out. Now.

"I don't think we know how hot we could get her," Jeff had gone further. "I'll bet if we double teamed her, both at once, with Tania helping too, we could make her scream so loud that everyone in the building would hear her."

Mouse was out of her bedroom already. She pulled on her boots, stuffed some dance slippers into her coat pockets, and was out the door again. Michael followed hastily. She snarled at him to stay away. He still came. She tried to sprint down the stairwell to escape him.

She could remember the first times she had felt jealousy about Michael, even before she knew what it was. In high school, her girlfriends all fawned over him. They all tried to sit next to him. When they came over, they looked about nonchalantly to see if he was around. They thought they were being so subtle, and they weren't. It pissed Mona off then, the way they tried to latch onto him and draw him in with them. She wanted him to stay away, and she wanted them to stay away from her brother. She didn't completely know why. She didn't understand what they saw in him.

He was just her dorky big brother. He was fun to fantasize about, sometimes, for her, but he was a dork. She'd guessed that to them he was cool, a much older guy with a car and an apartment and a job. He represented something none of the guys in high school could match. He was a man, not a boy. A dorky man, to Mona, but a man.

Mouse pushed through the security door, into the bitter cold night air, with Michael still at her heels. He'd run out without a coat to keep up. Serves the bastard right, she thought. Freeze.

"Mouse, stop," he ordered, but with a whine in his voice. "Where are you going? It's too late for you to go out alone."

"Oh, so you're going to protect me, now?" she screamed back at him, still striding away. "Big Brother is going to keep Little Sister safe, instead of fucking her like a sex toy?" She had screamed that part, too, only louder and more shrilly. Her voice was cracking near the end.

At that moment, Jeff and Tania came around the corner, arm in arm. She could see in their faces that they had heard every word. She didn't care, and pushed her way between them, separating them momentarily. She heard Michael mumble an apology as he hurried to keep up with her.

In college, Mouse had understood her own self better. By then she'd been fantasizing about her brother constantly. Once she'd gone away to school, and couldn't see him at all, he wasn't just an occasional fantasy lover like he'd been in high school. He was her only fantasy lover. She couldn't get off thinking about anyone else, and she didn't try. That was when she first started imagining that other lovers were him. That was when she first picked out guys at frat parties, took them home, fucked them silly and screamed his name in her mind as she came.

And that one time that he came to college to help get her home for the summer, that one time the jealousy had broken through like a fever. Her girlfriends at college were just like the sluts at home, but worse, because they were all whores that might actually do something with him. They flirted and strutted. They pawed at him, the tall, older man out of college with more than a real job, with a career. He still wasn't cute, he was just a guy, but the kind of guy they couldn't have. So that was what they wanted.

She saw how they let their tits accidentally brush up against his back or his arms, and how they'd play a silent game of maneuver with each other to see which of them could wind up next to him. The winner would move in so close that he could smell them.

When she finally got them both into the car that day, all packed, finally alone, with her college friends receding in the rear view mirror, she celebrated her victory. She did it the only way she knew how, by tormenting him and fighting with him for the whole twelve hour drive. She looked at him, right there beside her, wishing she could touch him, wishing she could just rape him.

She couldn't, so instead she told him how silly he'd acted. She teased him by asking if he really thought they had liked him, and by telling him that they flirted with him just to make fun of him. Sh'de told him they were probably back there right now, laughing at him.

Mouse turned the corner through the snow, into a biting winter wind. She ducked her head low for protection, and bulled ahead toward the dance studio. She began to fumble in her pockets for the key.

To break up the long drive, they'd had to stop for dinner, and then for the night. Michael had wanted to keep going, to get the drive over with as quickly as possible. Mouse insisted they stop at a motel and continue in the morning. They couldn't afford two rooms, so they got one room with twin beds. Michael put on a goofy pair of old-man pajamas and quickly crawled into bed. Mouse teased him about how goony he looked. He rolled away from her to insult her by immediately falling asleep.

So Mouse had laid there, staring at him in the dark room. She'd let her hand slide down into her pussy, and imagined herself over in her brother's bed, cuddling up to him, then feeling his hand slipping down into her wet cunt. She'd imagined her brother's smell, and the feel of his body. She'd imagined him losing control and taking her, forcing himself into her as she protested feebly. She came at least four times that night, unable to stop, unable to rest, obsessed with the act of bringing herself to orgasm in the same room as her big brother, even if he couldn't be the one doing it to her. It was, to her, the first night he'd made love to her. He was so achingly close.

She'd always regretted that night. It was her one chance, the chance that always haunted her. She should have gotten out of her bed, climbed in with him and made love to him then. She should have made him want her, made him take her. She could have, and she should have. But she hadn't.

Mouse found the key to the dance studio. She quickly unlocked and opened the door. She tried to get in and slam it behind her before Michael could follow, but his foot wedged itself in. She immediately gave up fighting him. Fucking son of a bitch bastard, she thought, climbing the stairs in threes. Go watch Tania.

Not long after their night in the motel, Michael had met his wife and was soon married. It was as if her fantasy had been stomped on, killed dead and buried with a wedding ceremony instead of a funeral. Mouse hated that day. She hated the memory. Shed known she was being an utter terror to both Michael and his wife, but had made no effort to restrain herself.

She'd stormed around insulting everything. She'd also hung fecklessly on every guy she met, as if doing so might make Michael jealous enough to call off the wedding and end Mouse's torment. She hadn't seriously believed it, but she at least had hoped that in the end she might find a lover good enough to take her mind off of her brother. That would show him. And maybe it was meant to be.

Maybe her destiny was to lose her brother-lover and find true love all in the same day, at his wedding.

Once in the dance studio, Mouse ripped off her coat and dripping boots and pulled on her dance slippers. She fumbled with them, too, in her hurry to get moving. She didn't bother to look for any particular music, she just hit power and play on the CD player, trusting to whatever disc was left in it. It was something fast and frenetic. Good.

Fucking prick, she thought. Let's use little sister for an orgy.

She started moving immediately, dancing her way to the center of the room. She purposely danced too fast, still in rhythm with the music, but making two or three motions for every beat, instead of one, squeezing in as much activity as she could with every note.

Michael stood near the door, looking lost and uncomfortable, an uninvited guest hovering near the exit. He was an audience of one without a ticket. Mouse tried to keep him out of her view, turning her back on him as much as she could, but she kept seeing him in the mirrors lining the walls of the room, or out of the corner of her eye as she turned. He was always there.

The night of her parent's anniversary party had been just like Michael's wedding, in a way. She still went from man to man, trying to make Michael jealous, and she could see that this time she was succeeding.

Michael had been so lost and forlorn since the divorce. Mouse didn't understand why, because he didn't love his bitch ex-wife, and life with her had been hell long before they'd split. He should have been happy to get away. He should have enjoyed the change, the chance to escape and start over. Mouse was. Mouse was overjoyed. She'd eyed him the whole night, trying to constantly be in his way, trying to insert herself back into his life, now that her rival had foolishly surrendered and left the field of battle.

The song ended, and Mouse hadn't yet worked up a sweat. The next song was slower, more melancholy, but Mouse didn't care. She danced the way she felt. She imagined it must look comical, to see her whirring and zipping about at one speed, while the music played for a different show, for a different troop, to a different audience. She didn't care.

The bastard.

And then it had finally, amazingly happened. Years and years had passed, she had tried and failed, and then it had actually happened. She didn't know how. She didn't engineer it, at least not entirely. She wasn't in control. But neither was he.

He had kissed her. Her brother had kissed her.

The cock sucking bastard.

He'd kissed her and she'd instantly felt herself falling, shrinking into a tiny, helpless, little girl in his arms. His mouth was so rough and eager at first, so foolishly clumsy, but she didn't care. It felt wondrous. It was the most amazing kiss she'd ever had. Her fantasies paled into nothing. They seemed silly and frivolous, compared to the harsh, slamming reality of her brother's lips on hers.

She'd stood there, in his arms, feeling him force his lips against hers. As if he had to make her! As if she had any power or will to stop him. His hands were so strong and so large. With his fingers spread they seemed to cover her entire back. They felt like wings, folded down against her, as if she were an angel. He made her an angel. She lost herself in him, mostly. One small part of her was conscious of it all, frantic and panicked that at any moment it would end. This might be all she ever got, this one erotic, incestuous kiss.

Mouse began to use her hips more in her dance. She gyrated and pulsed, moving far faster than the music, making love to the song at her own pace, like a mistress urging her body to orgasm against her partner's own needs and wishes. She felt the sweat gathering above her sweatband, and in the crease of her cleavage. She saw Michael watching her, glowering at her from his corner. The fucking pig.

He had been kissing her that night, but that was all. It was marvelous, the tease of the beginnings of a dream come true, but that was all. Then she'd felt his cock pressing against her, growing larger. The thrill stunned her like the touch of ice on bare feet. She pressed against him, helpless to resist, aching to feel how large his bulge would get, aching to make it larger, to finally be the woman to do this to him, to make her brother feel the heat and excitement and lust that he'd made her feel all these long, torturous years.

Mouse glanced at Michael in the corner. She started to dance for him. She still burned with anger, but she wanted to tease him now, to torment him with what he would be missing. She fell into a long series of sexual gyrations, moving her hips and her legs, her ass and tits, her shoulders and neck, all in an effort to bring Michael to a slow burn. All to drive him into a fruitless lust, a passion to match her anger in its intensity. Prick.

When he'd moved her hands to his crotch that night, when he actually put his little sister's hands on his beautiful cock, she'd felt she was going to die. She knew then that she had done it, that she had finally broken through. She knew that no matter what, she would be his that night. She would find a way to get his cock inside her and he would finally discover that his little sister loved him in a way she never should but always had and always would. She had gotten his cock in her hands and she had sworn then and there that she would never let it go. His cock became hers.

Michael came towards her now. She still danced, but she faltered, as he left his spot and strode across the dance floor to her. She stopped her dance. Sweat poured down the sides of her face. She blew a sharp puff of air to push a stray lock of hair from her eyes. Her hands were on her hips, and her chest was pushed out not in enticement, as she so often did, but in defiance. She looked up into his face as he towered over her, daring him to try to apologize, daring him to say anything about how he had hurt her. She was daring him to make another mistake. Pig.