Book 6: Mouse Trapped
Chapter 3
<8 Storm
Michael looked up at Mouse, beautiful in the moonlight, perched upon his cock like a succubus, riding him as she pleased, daring him to come inside of her. There were no games this evening, no pretense, no play acting, no complications. This was sex, raw, passionate, and without rules.
Michael did as he pleased, thrusting his hips upward, lifting his ass up off of Mouse's narrow single bed, almost tossing his petite little sister into the air. Mouse, for her part, bit back the wonderful musical sound she would usually make, punishing him with a cruel silence.
They were playing a game after all, he realized, a game of self control. They hadn't discussed it. They hadn't planned it, or agreed to it, but that was what it had become, a game of self control. It just happened.
It was another way for them to fight, but this time, during sex.
She dared him to come inside of her. He didn't have the will to restrain himself. He couldn't possibly. She felt too good to him, embracing his cock with her magnificent cunt. She was too good for him.
He dared her to whimper, to scream, to make the noises that were strangled inside her throat, bottled up, but whirling and pounding and struggling to get out. She tried to stay quiet. She couldn't possibly. He felt too good to her, filling her with his magnificent cock. He was too good for her.
He dropped his hips, then thrust them upward again. She bit her lip, looking wickedly beautiful, if silent, in the moonlit room. The moonlight played across her breasts, its flat, blue light and shadow magnifying their size in his eyes. Her waist was narrow. Her hips and ass spread magnificently out in a wonderful inverted heart atop his cock.
She was beauty. She was sex. She was lust.
She was incest.
Michael closed his eyes, fighting back the wondrous sensations. With his eyes closed, the fires of her cunt consumed his cock. The liquid heat of her cunt bathed his cock. The fierce, burning strength of her cunt strangled his cock.
She moved on him, as he held himself still. She wriggled and squirmed, making him feel her, making every inch of his cock aware of her presence. With his eyes closed, nothing existed except his cock, and her body around it.
When he opened his eyes, he was struck by her sensuality. It was awesome, watching her writhe atop him, her nipples peaking and thrusting, her hips gyrating, her head whipping with dark hair flying, or falling, and her eyes, coal black eyes locked immovably on his.
He thrust up into her, not ready to surrender yet. He lifted her skyward, then repeated the action, almost trying to toss her from him, forcing her to grab him to hang on. Her fingers grabbed tufts full of chest hair, pulling painfully, as her hot mouth descended on one of his nipples in a sudden attack.
Thunder cracked in the distance. Clouds threatened to steal the moon from them.
"Your cock is a storm cloud, Michael."
She kept her tone even. There was no squeal or whimper there, no sign of the pleasure he was giving her.
"My cunt is the hot, humid air, crackling with the electricity of the coming storm."
He thrust up into her, silencing her, forcing her to focus her mind on fighting off the pleasures of his cock, instead of her game with words. With his own act, he felt the cum building in his balls. He felt his body constricting, preparing to blast his cum up into her.
"Your cum will be the rain, sheets of rain pouring out of the cloud."
She was smiling now. She could see it in his face, he knew. She was going to win. She writhed atop him as if she were being blown about by the approaching storm's winds.
"And your orgasm will be the thunder, Michael."
Her muscles clenched tightly, squeezing his cock with her cunt, forcing him over the edge. He thrust upward again, no longer able, or willing, to hold back.
"Take my cock, you fucking slut. Take all of my fucking cock," he half growled, half raged.
"Thunder, Michael. Thunder. Thunder and rain. Rain in me, Michael. Rain in me. Rain in me."
"Take my fucking cock and cum, Mouse, take it all, take your brother's fucking cum..."
Michael held her in the air as he shuddered. He held her up as his cock did thunder, as it rained drop after drop of his precious cum up into her body. His body was wracked with spasms, as he lost his mind to her body. His hands, unknowing, gripped her thighs with an animal ferocity, holding her to him, holding her down on the only thing that mattered, his powerful, spouting erection.
"That's a good boy, Michael. That's a good boy. Come for Little Sister. Come inside me. Be a storm for me."
Michael settled back, panting, wordless, listening to her soothing, sensual voice. He relaxed back into the pillow, and the bed, sated, defeated, and happy.
<8 Breakup
At least the 400 Club hadn't really changed much over the years. In fact, Mouse wasn't sure that it had changed at all. It was exactly the same, a dark, musty little dive with pub food and an over active bar crowd, and random things hanging on the wall that looked like they'd been left behind by a twister, then gathered up and nailed where ever they fit. There was a boat's oar, a baseball bat, a bird cage, a broken clock, and old doll, a number of antique looking signs, and dozens of other things.
This was where Mouse had lost her nerve. This was where Mouse left for Chicago, leaving Michael, and all of her childhood, behind her.
She'd been a different person then, grown as it were into her twenties. She'd given up on Michael. She'd almost given up on Michael. He was married. He was her brother. It was just a silly, little girl's fantasy that was never going to come true, no matter how much or how hard she wished it. She had made her mind up to leave, and she'd made all the arrangements, and that was it, she was leaving. She was moving to Chicago to make herself into a new woman.
For her and Michael, this was goodbye. This was where she'd said goodbye.
But that night, that hadn't been her plan. She didn't intend, entirely, to say goodbye, or at least, that wasn't all she was going to say.
She was going to tell him that night. She had thought about it long and hard. It was insane, but she had nothing to lose. She was leaving town, so if he freaked on her, if anything went wrong, that was fine, because she'd be hundreds of miles away the very next day.
So it all made sense. Before she left, she was going to come right out and say it, to tell him what she wanted, and how badly, and he could do whatever he wanted with that.
She'd hoped that he would kiss her. And more.
Except that it hadn't happened that way. Mouse, when it had come down to it, had chickened out. She left for Chicago the next day with one huge regret in her life, something she could never get over, while thinking to herself that she'd done the mature and responsible thing, that keeping her secret was for the best, that it was what any normal person would have done.
And now that she knew how he might have reacted, how he probably would have reacted, she hated herself for it. She'd wasted years.
Yes, he'd been married. Yes, he might have hidden his own desires, even once faced with hers, and her courage to open herself up to him. He could have shunned her, and pretended that he felt nothing, leaving her broken and embarrassed.
But probably not. It was what he wanted, deep down. Even then, his marriage was already souring. She would have offered him what he really wanted, and he knew it. He would have found a way to be with her, and she with him.
It would have worked.
At least for a while.
So here they sat, ready to do it again. She was ready to do it again. She was ready to do it right, the way she should have. She was just sorry that it didn't take any courage this time. There was no doubt about the outcome.
Although, if he didn't play his part properly, she was going to kill him.
The waitress took away their empty plates, but brought them fresh drinks. Mouse smiled politely, and a little shyly, at her, waiting for her to go away. That part had really happened. That was exactly what she had done. She could remember it very clearly to this day. That was where she had choked.
With dinner gone, with the room quiet and dark, and no one there but Mouse and her wonderful big brother, looking lost and bothered and shockingly sad, she was supposed to say her piece. Instead she had attacked. She did as she always had, teasing him and tormenting him until he actually said that he was glad she was leaving, even if every sign he'd given her through the night betrayed his lie.
For most of this night, he'd gotten that part right. He was somber and forlorn, just like then, just as if she were really leaving him again to live alone in a world of her own, in another city, without him.
"Mouse..."
Mouse looked at him, confused at first, then stern. Her look commanded silence. He knew the rules tonight. He was supposed to wait for her to tell him. He was supposed to let her do it right this time.
"Mouse, I have something to say."
His tone was all wrong. Something was wrong. Mouse felt a knot forming in her stomach.
Michael looked off into the distance, at an empty table, unable to make eye contact.
"I'm sorry," he said. "This is hard. Harder than I thought it would be."
Mouse held her stare, along with her breath. She felt her entire body tighten as if a boa constrictor were wrapping itself around her and squeezing.
"I don't want you to move to Chicago."
Mouse paused to puzzle that out, scrunching her nose up in a way she'd mostly learned to stop, the way that had helped her to earn her nickname to begin with.
"You mean go back to Chicago."
Michael looked at her now, widening his eyes, signaling that Mouse was "out of character."
"No, you don't live there yet," he said. "I'm saying don't move. Stay here."
Mouse was still confused, but played along.
"But you're married..."
"So what? You're my sister. My kid sister. I'm just saying I don't want you to go. Ever."
"Did you want to say that back then?"
"Yes. Desperately."
"And?"
"That was all. Just that."
"Just that?"
"Come on, I would never have had the nerve to say anything else. To admit anything else. As it turns out, I didn't even have the nerve to say that much."
"That would have been enough."
"To keep you here?"
"No. Maybe. It would have been enough to give me courage. It would have goaded me into saying my piece."
