Mouse B. 04

Book 04 Chapter 01: Mouse Exposed

<8 The Show

Melanie felt the tequila burning her mouth and throat as it went down. She licked her lips to clean off the extra drops she had drunkenly sloshed on her mouth in her haste. She watched, completely absorbed, as her baby sister knelt naked before her brother, devouring his cock like an expensive whore.

Mona slavered it with kisses, racing her tongue along its length. She held it in both hands, pressing it lovingly to her face as she grinned wickedly at Michael. Then she fell on it, instantly taking its entire length and width into her mouth and throat, all the way to the base. She held it there, deep in her throat, for what seemed like minutes, then released it quickly, only to immediately swallow it again.

Melanie jerked the bottle to her lips, taking another mouthful that dribbled this time down her chin. She held that relatively small amount in her own mouth without swallowing, while wondering how Mouse could take that entire cock into hers.

Melanie gulped down the mouthful as Mouse released the cock again. It was so huge, Melanie thought, so thick. Her little brother's cock was everything she had ever imagined, and more. Melanie, unlike Mouse, didn't think of cocks as "beautiful". They weren't something to be worshipped. They were just something that you made grow and ached to have inside you until they'd served their purpose. Then you put them away, or wanted them to be put away, until you needed them again.

But if any cock was ever beautiful, her brother Michael's was. She jealously watched her little sister kiss it's tip and hold it in her hands.

Her brother's cock, Melanie thought. She was lusting after her own brother's cock. She couldn't believe that she was here, watching this obscene spectacle.

<8 Long Talk

Mouse had pulled nervously into the driveway at her sisters house. She was unsure what was in store for her there. It was her third trip home in half a year, which was unquestionably unusual. She'd been in Chicago for half a decade, and in all that time had been home at most twice a year. Now it was suddenly three times in six months.

She had stayed with her despised brother Michael each time, too, and that was creating a stir in the family. She was sure it was okay for now. Everyone, or at least Mom, Dad and her sister's husband Dan, assumed it was just another way she had discovered to annoy him, and that Michael was too kind and compliant to refuse her. Her sister Melanie wanted Mouse to stay here, with her, but Mouse had put her off, for now, so that she and her brother Michael could indulge themselves with utter, wicked abandon.

Melanie worried her, though. This visit worried her especially. Melanie had almost, maybe even had, caught Mona – that was her given name, Mouse being the pet name the whole family had adopted for her – straddling their brother on the couch, kissing him, after the three siblings had all gone out for a few drinks. Since then Mel had been a little too alert to their interactions, paying close attention whenever Michael and Mouse talked, hanging on every word and look and touch. Spying, it seemed.

Melanie guessed something, Mouse knew, and Mouse wasn't entirely sure of herself when it came to hiding their affair. She wanted so much

not

to hide it, to brazenly show her affection in public, that she suspected she might have subconsciously sabotaged things herself.

And now Melanie wanted to talk.

Alone.

Shit.

* * *

It was a sunny late morning. Melanie and Mouse were together in her older sister's bright, immaculately finished kitchen. Melanie's husband was at work, and their three teenage kids were away at college or in class in high school. The two sisters wouldn't be interrupted for a while. They had time for a long talk. Too much time, Mouse thought, with too little chance for escape if things got hot. Melanie had planned it this way, Mouse was sure, but it was too late to back out now.

Melanie sat down at the table. She nodded for Mouse to sit, too.

"No thanks, I'll stand," she said, trying not to sound cold. She wouldn't stand too close, either, she thought. She stayed well out of range.

"I know what's going on with you and Michael," Melanie stated flatly, but with a hint of anger.

Mouse kept her face composed, betraying nothing. Inside she was already a turbulent, panicked windstorm of emotions and thoughts, all banging into each other and keeping any one from taking control. This had happened far more quickly than she had expected, putting her off balance. No testing the waters, no probing for weakness for Melanie. Not even a little small talk to soften her little sister up, first. Just "bam, accusation" from Melanie. That was her style.

"Which is?" Mouse asked.

"You haven't been good at hiding it at all, you know. Anyone with half a brain can see it. Lord help you if Mom and Dad figure it out. Dan did, and he's as thick as they come with things like that. You'd usually have to hand him a script and act it out right in front of him, complete with special effects, for Dan to get it. Typical man."

I'd like to see that script myself, Mouse thought. She still didn't answer, but she wasn't doing well at maintaining her composure at all. She felt the heat rising in her face. She hated,

hated

getting lectures from Big Sister. And a short temper was one of Mouse's trademarks.

"Where's it going, Mona? Where's it going to end? You're messing him up. Michael deserves better. He deserves a chance to get his life together, now that his wife has left him. This is just going to tear him up and make things worse. There's nothing happy at the end of this story."

That really got to Mouse, the thought that Melanie felt she knew more about Michael's happiness than Mouse did, the thought that Melanie believed she cared more about Michael's happiness than Mouse did. It was a blaring, trumpeted implication that somehow Melanie was right, and Mouse was a silly little girl with no concept of what was going on.

Michael was happy now because of her, not in spite of her.

Melanie was close to crossing a line, Mouse thought, and if she did, the Mouse was going to fight back. Melanie had never gone toe-to-toe with Mouse. Their fifteen year age difference meant that they didn't cross paths much. They didn't come into conflict over anything, ever. It was time for Melanie to see how Mouse can fight, Mouse thought to herself.

"You have to stop", Melanie ordered. "You. Must. Stop."

Mouse rolled her eyes. Her older brother and sister both did that, and it drove her crazy. They added emphasis by speaking. In. Halting. Sentences. With. Too. Much. Punctuation.

It was infuriating.

"I can't stop. I don't want to stop," was her artificially subdued reply.

"You have to."

"Don't give me orders. I'm not a little girl," Mouse said. They were quick, sharp, little words, backed by growing fury. She was loosing control, loosing her temper far too quickly, she knew.

"You're a silly, selfish, little girl with no self control. You're being stupid. I want you to stop."

"No." The reply was terse, but the emotion behind it was a black storm that covered the whole horizon, carrying the threat of approaching, deafening thunder, and worse.

"Mona, you are going to stop. This isn't a request. Just back off. Why is this so important to you?"

Pushed too far, with too much dancing around the subject, Mouse snapped.

"I love fucking him!" she shouted. "There, I said it out loud. I. Love. Fucking. Him." The words had tumbled out, one by one, each in turn, mocking Melanie with her own tone. There, bitch, she thought, try it on for yourself.

"You're doing what?" Melanie asked in horror, the words fading at the end as if she were losing the ability to speak.

Mouse's mind raced, automatically replaying the conversation quickly in her head. Melanie had just said "Why is this so important to you?". What did that mean? Why ask that?

Oh, shit, Mouse thought. Shit, shit, shit. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She didn't know. Why did she do that, Mouse asked herself. She didn't know. Why didn't she know? She said she knew.

Her eyes darted around the room, as if looking for a way out.

"Ohmygod," Melanie said, finishing with her mouth frozen in a small "o".

That's a new one for her, Mouse thought. No punctuation at all. Suddenly the anger was gone, Mouse realized. Cold rational thought had returned. Too late. The game had changed.

"You're fucking Michael?" There was a definite tremble in Melanie's voice.

Mouse bit her lower lip, watching Melanie carefully. Her sister's eyes were wide in shock. For a moment Melanie seemed to be holding back tears, then quickly regained her composure. Good, old, solid Melanie, thought Mouse.

"You're fucking our brother?" Melanie repeated. "Our brother? Our? Brother?"

"I thought you knew." Mouse whispered, cowed by the unexpected, lowering her gaze to the floor, avoiding the sight of Melanie's tortured expression. Mouse kept her head down, but raised her eyes to study Melanie's face. The blood had completely drained from it. Now it was quickly refilling with a pool of cold anger.

"How would I know?" she responded with a question. "How the hell would I know? You're fucking him? Since when? More than once?"

Mouse considered lying. It would have been so easy to say "Just once, really, I promise." She could have sold it. They were drunk, she could claim, which was true anyway. She should have tried, at least. But she didn't want to. In her heart, all along, she had wanted someone to know. And maybe the secret would be safe with Melanie.

Maybe.

"Since Mom and Dad's last anniversary. When I stayed overnight with him," she answered partially, dodging the question of "how often".

"Oh, god! And more than once?"

Shit.

"I was there three nights, actually. I guess we were kind of like teenagers that weekend. I don't remember exactly how many times."

"Oh, gross. I don't need details like that," Melanie shot back. Now it was her turn to study the walls and floor in discomfort.

"You asked."

Melanie's eyes jerked back to hers. Now they were burning black with anger again. They narrowed on Mouse like a lance pinning her to the wall.

"How often since then, since the anniversary? I know he's been to Chicago for business, and you've been home a lot more than ever, and always staying with him. Now that makes sense. What, two, three, four times each way, and days at a time?"

Mouse hesitated, marveling that Melanie could turn even something like this into a cold calculation. Now her big sister's mind was racing, filling in the blanks for herself. She was clever, Mouse had to admit. If you got her started, that was, like by blurting out something she really never would have guessed on her own. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Five," Mouse supplied for her.

Melanie froze the air solid between them with her look. "You said 'fucking', not 'fucked'. You said you can't stop. Is that why you're trying to get him to move to Chicago, so the two of you can play some sick, twisted game of 'house'?"

"It's not sick and twisted. Well, it is, but in a good way!" Mouse countered, trying on a small smile, to see if it fit.

"MONA!" Melanie bellowed.

Uh, oh, Mouse thought. Misjudged that, too. Shouting match time.

"Mona, this isn't funny! It's not a joke, it's nowhere near a joke. I don't think anything in my entire life has been further from a flip, little joke. It's

incest

."

She hissed that last word, the "i" word, as if just saying it boiled the saliva from her tongue into steam.

"Don't judge me," was all Mouse could think to say. To her own ears, her voice sounded distant and tinny, as if she had already been locked down in the cellar for her crimes. She just wasn't as prepared for this argument as she'd thought, intellectually or emotionally. Shit.

"Judge you? Judge you? Oh. My. God. Mona!"

Mouse wanted to slap the extra punctuation out of her. It grated, like the sound of someone incessantly tapping a pencil while you were trying to concentrate.

"Yes, Judge! Judge!" Mouse echoed back, louder. "That's what you do, that's what you're good at, that's your hobby! Well guess what, the answer isn't so easy this time. You don't have all of the answers, no matter what you think."

The tears started pouring down Mouse's face. She felt them fill her eyes and burn her cheeks more quickly than she could ever hope to restrain them. God, she hated crying! Weak little girls cry. Losers cry. Not Mona. Not Mouse. And absolutely not in front of Melanie. But this was it, there was no stopping it now, whether she liked it or not.

"I love him, Melanie, in a way no one in the world will ever understand," she said, her voice cracking. More lame, pitiful tears came flooding out. The storm had broken in a way neither woman had expected.

"It's not love, little girl, it's sex. It's just horny, unrestrained, ill-considered, adolescent sex, and it's... wicked."

"It's not! It is and it's not!" she cried, sobbing. "It is love, and it is wicked, and it's

not

wicked, too. The very first orgasm I had was with his face in my mind. I think every orgasm I've ever had has had him in there somewhere. I've tried everything else. I fucked short men, fat men, black men, other women, anyone that wasn't like him."

She was pacing around the room now, a tiger locked for too long in too small a cage, then starved and teased. Except tigers don't cry, and the tears kept coming.

"It didn't work. It never worked. I tried fucking men that looked just like him, too. That didn't work, either. Every single time, before they fucked me I thought about Michael, while they were fucking me I thought about Michael, after they fucked me I wanted to rush into the shower and stay there for a week, washing their touch and smell off of me, washing them out of me, thinking instead about Michael."

"Mouse, " Melanie said, unexpectedly softly now. "Calm down. You have to stop, and you know it."

"And it's not 'me', it's 'we'. Don't you get it?

We

fuck! We! I don't do it by myself. And he loves me, too! He loves what I do for him, to him. No one else has done it for him. His ex-wife sure didn't. She wasted half of his life, trying to rot him from the inside out. I'm good for him, I'm making him happy. And you know it, that's why you're here. Because I'm making him happy and it confuses you. It bothers you. It scares you. And he's good for me, too. He's keeping me grounded, or, well, getting me grounded," she finished lamely.

Melanie didn't answer. Mouse could see in her sister's face that she really didn't have all of the answers anymore, and Melanie knew it. This had caught her off guard, too. It was time for the big sister to listen, to stop judging for just a little while and to listen and understand.

And then judge.

"I don't think I've seen you cry since you were a teenager, Mona. In fact, I don't think I can remember ever seeing you cry," she said, demonstrating just a bit that she was affected by it.

Good, Mouse thought, so she knows this isn't just a sick, adolescent game to me. She knows this is important. Mouse finally dropped down to sit beside Melanie at the table.

"Go on," Melanie told her in a soft but controlled voice, putting her hand firmly on Mouse's and giving it a squeeze. Mouse wasn't entirely certain if the gesture was meant to be consoling or restraining. Mouse looked down at their hands, then back into her sister's eyes. They weren't unkind. They weren't punishing. They were familiar.

Mouse decided to trust her. Melanie was cold, but not cruel. She had an annoying motherly approach to everything, but had never hurt her. She'd trust her. For now.

Mouse smiled a bit. Sniffling, she wiped the corners of her eyes with the back of her free hand, looking away as she did so, ashamed that her sister had seen her crying. And that was truly wacked, she thought. She was ashamed of crying, but not of fucking her brother.

She allowed herself a small laugh, more to relieve tension than because she found any of this remotely funny.

"He is really, really, really good," Mouse said through the tears, turning her head from side to side with each repetition of the word. She kept her smile, a small, honest one, while daring to look unblinking into Melanie's eyes. It was Mouse's turn to be stern now.

"I know that's not something you want to hear," Mouse continued more soberly, "and maybe it grosses you out, but he is so, so good at...". As she saw Melanie stiffen, Mouse adeptly switched words in mid-sentence. " ... it. At least for me. To me.

With

me." She laughed again, self-consciously, looking at the ceiling, as more tears welled up. It took another sniffle to force them back. "And I would know. I went around fucking virtually everything that moved, for a while. Before this."

"And you really think this is different, Mona? This isn't just another hunt for the ultimate orgasm?" she asked.

It wasn't as accusing as the words sounded. It was an honest question, if one that Melanie thought she already knew the answer to, and one that she thought Mouse was too stupid to ask and answer properly herself. She probably also thought that asking it would inevitably lead Mouse to the same conclusion that was obvious to her big sister.

"If it is, the hunt is over, I've definitely found it. The ultimate orgasm," Mouse responded with no sign of hesitation. Melanie's face betrayed, Mouse would swear, a hint of envy.

"Wow, yes. Definitely yes," Mouse continued, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, then letting them drift off, avoiding eye contact again. "I feel so... free with Michael. I shouldn't, you know?" She looked at Melanie now. "I should feel the opposite. I should feel caged and ashamed, having to hide it, unable to kiss him in public, or hold his hand for more than a moment, or even at all if you guys are around."

Melanie knew that "you guys" meant their family; Mom, Dad, Melanie, her husband and their kids. It meant everyone that "knew" that Michael and Mouse loathed each other.

"I should feel guilty and ashamed. I can only have him every few months, and only when we can sneak it in. When he's in my apartment I have to bite my tongue and hold all my words and feelings in so the neighbors won't hear me scream my passions when he overwhelms me. When he fucks me."

Mouse made certain that she held Melanie's eyes as she said this, that Melanie understood that Mouse was hiding nothing, and was proud of it. "Then when we're here we have to fight in front of every one, and pretend that nothing has changed. We can never marry, never be 'a couple', never go to parties together."

Mouse didn't mention the games they played in Chicago, where everyone thought they were a couple, and they did go to parties and they fought only because they liked to. She certainly wasn't going to mention the mock wedding and honeymoon they'd shared.

"I can't even hold his hand at dinner," Mouse said, looking at Melanie's grip on her hand now.

Melanie let go abruptly and leaned back, sitting up straight. Uh, oh, Mouse thought. That was quick. Judgement time.

"Well," was all Melanie got out. "Well." There it was again, followed by silence.

So, it wasn't as easy as it looked for Miss Mature-knows-what's-best, Mouse thought.

"So what do we do? What do I do?" Melanie asked, as though asking herself, not Mouse.

"You won't do anything," Mouse said firmly, leaning back herself, regaining some control, though her face was still wet with tears.

Melanie raised an inquiring and-what-does-that-mean eyebrow.

"You can't do anything," Mouse declared. "What would you do? Tell Mom and Dad? It would kill them. Tell Dan? He'd keel over with a heart attack, and then either keep the secret, too, or worse yet tell it to someone else. And then what? You'd have to move! You'd have to leave your pretty, little, white picket fence suburb and drag your tail out of town in shame!"