Book 7: Funeral for a Mouse
Chapter 3
This is the final chapter in Mouse's story.
The "Mouse" tales are a wild, erotic, incestuous, romantic fantasy. It's not meant to be entirely realistic, and it's not always meant to be arousing. The sex can be hot, while the events enveloping the sex acts can be wildly unrealistic, but the interactions are also meant, on some level, to be real. The real world feelings that make incest a difficult act to pursue, the guilt and reluctance and hesitation, often intrude on the otherwise shameless desires of the characters.
This last chapter is the end of a long, involved and complex series of events. Do
not
start
here
! You can start with any of the other books, although the first would obviously be best, but this chapter will be meaningless to you, and disappointing, if you don't understand and appreciate the characters.
So, if you are looking for an involved story and something intricate to chew on, while maybe getting a little bit hot and bothered, please go back and start from the beginning.
If you are looking for a raw, pleasing release through unrestrained, intensely sexual writing, then you should probably move on to something else. This story is likely to disappoint you.
— The Author
<8 Death
Michael watched Mouse wipe her eyes again. They were already puffy and bloodshot from too much crying. This was the third time she'd simply burst into tears out of nowhere. Nothing seemed to set her off. It just happened, although Michael could see her mind careening with thoughts and memories, leading her there, every time she even glanced at the casket.
Kate was with her now, hugging her, while Paul stood awkwardly uncomfortable, one short step away.
Madelyn writhed in his own arms, as if sensing that Daddy's attention was elsewhere, and reminding him the she was in his charge. He looked down at her tiny hands, so incredibly small compared to his own. She couldn't even encircle one of his fingers in her minute grasp.
Amelia clung to his leg, frightened by all of the big people in their gloomy gray suits and black dresses. She kept asking why people were crying. How do you explain something like that to a two year old?
"They're sad. Grandpa is going away for a long time, and they won't see him for a while, so they're sad."
He looked at his father's peaceful form in the casket. His skin looked plastic. He didn't look like he was asleep. At other funerals, with other people, the departed had looked to him like they were asleep. Not his own father. It didn't even look like him at all. It looked like a plastic mannequin, laid out in the casket to fool him.
He felt tears abruptly welling in his own eyes. He fought them back, for Amelia's sake. She didn't need to see him crying, too. Neither did Mouse.
He thought about the basketball games, the little ones they'd played together that really mattered to him now, and the then so important high school games his dad had come to watch, that didn't really matter at all. He thought about the pride his dad had shown in him, and the things he'd been taught by him, and how little time they'd spent together after Michael had become an adult.
He almost felt like he'd abandoned the poor man. Life got too complicated, too fast, and too soon. He became a man. He had a job, and a wife, and another wife and finally a family. It just never seemed to leave any room for being a son anymore.
Now he was alone. He hadn't needed his father in years and years, but it was still nice to know that he was there. It was important to have someone who had once cared for you, and that you could trust to care for you again, even if you'd never really need it. He was a man. He didn't need a father anymore. But he wanted one, none the less.
Michael saw Mouse staring at him from across the room. She'd wandered away from the casket, alone, to a corner. Paul was talking to their mother. Kate was coming to Michael, now, to take the children and free him from their clutches.
A part of him resented that. More than ever, just now, he wanted to hold them and hang on to them, while they were small, and they needed him, and he was their father. Time would him away from them some day. Some day, a day like this would come for them, too, when they would say goodbye to him, and that saddened him further.
"I'm sorry, babe, I need to nurse her, I think," Kate said.
She took Madelyn and Amelia from his arms, and from the room, looking for a private corner to sit in. Michael went to Mouse.
"You okay?"
She looked at him, eyes quickly filling with tears again, before she lunged forward to bury her head in his chest. He held her tightly, trying to use his strength to calm her quivering body, and to let her know that he was still there. He was still strong. She still had men around that would protect her, if she needed it. She had a husband now, and he was still her brother. She wasn't entirely alone.
He knew how she felt. He felt that way, too. He wanted her to know that she wasn't left here all alone.
Michael looked across the room at her husband. Paul looked back at him with a bored, emotionless stare. Paul knew he should be the one holding Mouse, but it wasn't his thing. This wasn't his thing. Comfort and support weren't his strong suits.
Michael turned away to hide his scowl. He liked Paul less and less every time he met the man. He knew what had attracted Mouse to him, but he was also sure that marrying him had been a mistake. He told himself it wasn't jealousy, either. They'd both outgrown that, he was sure.
He could never tell her that, though, especially not when he was so very happy with Kate. When it came to Mouse and men, and love, Michael had to mind his own business. He, of all people, had no right to say anything to Mouse.
Mouse laughed into his chest, unexpectedly regaining her composure again, and once again being embarrassed that she was losing it.
"Where the hell is Melanie?" she asked him, while wiping at his shirt, trying to dry the damp, dark spots she'd created there with her tears.
Taking control, Michael thought. Making sure that everything was running smoothly. That was how she dealt with her loss. They each had their own way with dealing with this loss, or any loss, he thought. Michael thought deep thoughts. Melanie controlled things. Mouse felt things.
He looked at Paul again. He decided, then and there, that he really didn't like the man at all.
<8 Adultery
The phone rang. Life had become a sequence of interruptions for Michael. It never stopped, and there was never any continuity to anything. His life was a mess, and even this one, small, twisted escape wouldn't let him elude the tangle.
"Hello?"
Michael looked into Mouse's dark, welcoming eyes. She stood before him, waiting impatiently. It had been so long, so many years. She clearly didn't want to wait one more moment.
"No, no, it's okay. Just put her on... Hi, Sweetie? Yeah, okay, look, you have to go to sleep for Auntie Mel. Okay? No. Just tell her to read the Bumble Bug story, and close your eyes, and the next thing you know the sun will be up and I'll be there to take you home.
"Did you say your prayers? Yes, of course Mommy can hear you from heaven. No, she knows you're at Auntie Mel's house, that's not a problem. Okay? Okay? Yes, yes. Okay. Daddy loves you. Okay. You take care of Maddie, now, you hear? You're the big sister. That's your job. Okay. Okay. Okay. Good night, sweetheart."
"Wow," Mouse said. "Talk about needy kids. Maybe I'm not so sad that Paul and I can't seem to have any."
"Don't talk about my angel that way. And did you come here to talk about kids?"
Mouse started to answer, then was thoughtfully silent. She probably did need to talk, he thought, and he should start it, but now wasn't the time. That wasn't why she was here. He let his eyes rove up and down over her still delightful form. She never seemed to age in his eyes.
She postured then for him, arching her back, curling one foot behind the other, leering shyly, showing off the same pouting breasts, slim waist and delicious curves that she'd always had, enticingly revealed beneath the sheer black baby doll. It had been so long since he'd seen her like this, but he could swear that in the intervening years she hadn't changed at all.
She was still his delightful little Mouse, his sexy little sister, and a woman that brought his cock to life like no other woman ever had, not even Kate.
Like a feline stalking it's prey, she crawled onto the bed with him and toward him, while he lay frozen, eagerly waiting to become her next victim.
* * *
She watched his bare shoulders rhythmically expand and contract, ever so slightly. Michael lay naked, on his stomach, breathing evenly. Mouse, having performed an erotic strip tease herself for his entertainment, now insisted on exploring his body. She traced the lines of his calves and thighs with one finger, memorizing the length and look of every single hair, every blemish, every patch of skin.
She placed her face against the sole of his foot. Eyes closed, she brushed the ridge of her nose up to his heel, then along the back of one strong, muscular calf. He tensed as her nose tickled the back of his knee. She playfully lingered there, letting her tongue slip out to tease him further.
She continued her tour, up the back of one thick, hairy thigh. She lowered her cheek to it, pressing her face down into the hard bulk of muscle there. She slipped her cheek up until her nose touched the bottom of his ass.
It had gotten flabby, more like it was when they'd first become lovers, when Michael was spent and depressed from years of marriage to his own curse. She pushed the thought aside. Tonight was not a night to think of curses.
Mouse moved her face across the flesh of his buttocks, left, right, trying to touch every inch of it. When she'd had her fill, she slipped easily on up to the small of his back, and on up his spine, letting her small breasts, her nipples hard and eager, whisper over the flesh of his ass.
As she moved up his back, she pressed her face, and then her ear, to his skin. She heard his breaths moving inside his body. She heard the easy, unstoppable thundering pulse of his heart.
He lived for her, she thought. Her brother lived for her, and she for him. They'd been fools to let the world ask something else of them.
With her face against his shoulder blade, she kissed his skin. He smelled like Michael, a smell no one could duplicate, a mix of musk and worn off cologne and starched shirts and a thousand other things, all uniquely blended to smell like Michael.
She planted a kiss on his back, just a small one, and then two more. She was wet. She pressed her clean shaven pussy against the flesh of his ass. As soon as she did, it sent a charge through her. She pressed harder, letting him feel the heat and wetness he'd inspired in her.
She rubbed her cunt against his bare ass. She moved and wiggled, as if trying to somehow fit his entire body inside her. She'd tried to let this last so long, as long as she could.
Her beautiful brother. Her only perfect lover. Her soul mate.
