Mouse B. 05

Book 5: Mouse's Rival

Chapter 1

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.

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 read on. If you haven't read the first books, you can start here easily enough and then go back, but this book will mean more if you start from the beginning.

If, on the other hand, 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 Chaos

For emphasis, in an added touch of cruelty, he was bound upside down, naked, with his ankles cuffed together to one side of the top of their high headboard. His arms were cuffed to the foot of the other side of the bed, touching the floor. His ass and abdomen were suspended somewhere in between, depending on how he writhed.

Melanie reclined comfortably on the bed, propped up on full, soft pillows, in easy reach of his swelling cock.

She had pictured Dan in this position when they first bought the bedroom set, decades ago. She had insisted on the high headboard for just this reason, but somehow they had never even come close to using it as she had intended. Kids intruded. Work intruded. Life sped up. She and Dan, overwhelmed and distracted, had slowed down, like old fashioned spring wound clocks that no one had bothered to rewind.

She hesitated for a moment, contentedly watching him struggle in the handcuffs, twisting his body uselessly, tensing his strong leg muscles, arching his back, thrusting his hips. He did it as a show for her, of course. She appreciated his efforts, admiring his body as it went through its gyrations. It had been a long time since they had played this game.

It was as if her body had been asleep all these years. Now it was awake. Now she was making up for lost time.

When his pointless protests subsided, she glared down at him. His eyes stared defiantly back into hers before closing in submission. Melanie smiled. It was the cold, wicked smile of a woman in unquestioned control, ready to take what she wanted after years of hunger.

Things had been too tame. Things had grown stale. A long time ago, things were fresher. He and she had been young. They had played games. She had played games.

Melanie lowered her head to Dan's cock. She took her time, as she always did, nuzzling it with her cheek as she purred, admiring it, teasing it, urging it to slowly grow. It was hers. She knew it. He knew it.

With the cock pressed against the side of her nose, she paused to look down at Dan's face near the floor, flushed a ruddy pink with the rush of blood and gleaming with sweat, perhaps from his struggles, but mostly from his awkward position. He was uncomfortable. Good.

Melanie could make it all better. Only Melanie could make it all better. She held his cock gently between two finger tips as she placed her lips against its head. She took one brief moment to collect herself. She'd been practicing this often. She was getting good at it. She took pride in her own self control, in everything she did. She took pride in this, the ultimate sexual act of self control for a woman.

Melanie felt the taut skin of Dan's thick, semi hard cock sliding past her lips. The head pressed down on the top of her tongue, then past it. With concentration, her whole mouth relaxed, her tongue relaxed, her throat relaxed as the meat of his cock pushed deeper and deeper into her mouth. She could feel the veins along the sides of it with her lips, ever so slightly, the smooth, mild texture of his shaft brushing against them. She could feel the stiffening, subtle ridge along the underside of his shaft. Deeper it went.

She felt his cock growing even as she took it into her. She felt it stiffen, growing harder and smoother. Tastier. For a moment, the tip of his cock touched the roof of her mouth. Instantly, almost panicked, she drew back, just a centimeter, forestalling her gag reflex. She'd gotten careless. She was too eager.

She willed herself to proceed more slowly, as she pressed forward again, lowering her mouth further onto his shaft. This time, the head of his cock slipped down her throat, along and against her tongue, without touching the roof of her mouth. She relished the thought and feeling of sinking her head onto him, devouring him, having her head thoroughly fucked by him, but under her own control, as she lowered herself further, willfully taking him ever more deeply.

Dan didn't move a muscle. He knew better. If he did, if something went wrong, causing Melanie any discomfort, and it was his fault, at all his fault, then that was it, she would leave him there, bound upside down, alone and deprived, until her temper had subsided, maybe for hours.

But it wouldn't happen. Melanie didn't worry. She trusted him, as much as he trusted her.

And then it was done. She had his entire cock in her mouth and down her throat. She held his pubic hairs aside, flattened with one hand, to keep them from tickling her lips and face, as she went about massaging the very base of his cock with her lips. Inside, she used her crowded tongue as well as she could on his shaft, tracing the veins along the unyielding sides of it within what little room she had to work.

She took her time, breathing through her nose, relaxing, enjoying the feeling of success, and control, over both his body, and hers.

Dan emitted a stream of soft, short, restrained, unintentional grunts as he fought to control his entire body, to hold himself still as he enjoyed the exquisite torment of Melanie's artistic and athletic mouth. At the same time, Melanie enjoyed the musky smell of his groin, with her nose almost pressed against his skin, tickled by stray pubic hairs she'd failed to hold aside. She breathed gently, in and out, through her nose, feeling her body calm itself even as her own excitement grew, even as her lips and tongue began to work more frantically, and eagerly.

She listened to a delicate clank from the cuffs above her, as Dan dared to move, just an inch, and then obediently froze. Melanie froze with him, for a moment, ostentatiously waiting, measuring his movements before returning to her pleasing task.

When she couldn't hold it any longer, she began to withdraw, squeezing his shaft tightly with her lips while slowly pulling his cock from her mouth. Dan let out a long, low moan of appreciation, ending in a loud snarl when his cock was finally free. Inside and out, Melanie smiled, as she prepared to take him yet again, more quickly, more aggressively.

His cock was going to rabidly fuck her mouth, her face, her entire head, under her control.

She loved this.

* * *

It seemed like hours. She'd made love to his cock, swallowing it, teasing it, tasting it, torturing it, for as long as Dan could hold back. That was his only assignment, that and staying perfectly still. He had to make it last. He had to hold back. The longer he could restrain himself, she'd learned, the more cum he would give her in the end. That was Melanie's ultimate goal, her favorite reward, a fountain and a bath of her man's uncontrolled love for her.

Her own hand gently pressured her warm, wet pussy. One finger moved in and out, applying constant pressure to her clit, helping to draw her closer to her own orgasm.

Now, after all of her attentions, she felt him stiffen. She heard his breathing become louder and quicker, his restrained moans growing more emotional. Her own hand worked faster on her clit, driving herself closer to orgasm. A guttural moan flowed from deep within her, vibrating her throat against his cock.

She had promised herself she wouldn't do it, that this time she would be with Dan and Dan alone, but now, at the moment of climax, as she prepared herself to take and taste and swallow his sweet blast of cum, she lost her own self control. Her mind wandered, indulging in the thoughts that invaded all of her love making these days.

She imagined her baby brother's thick cock in her mouth. Melanie remembered Michael's cock, it's look, it's size, it's curve. Most of all she remembered his cum, drawn out by their baby sister doing to him what Melanie wished she could do herself. Mouse brought Michael to orgasm, delivering his tantalizingly generous load of incestuous cum to where Mouse, and Melanie, could revel in it.

The cock stiffened further in Melanie's mouth, portending the blast of sweet juice she now not only wanted but needed. She moaned again, more loudly this time, as she withdrew, letting the beautiful cock leave her mouth for just a moment, before descending on it, devouring it totally and completely in a violent, twisting dive.

Michael was her brother. She loved him. She adored him. He was always her awesome baby brother, the boy and then the man she grew up with and protected and nurtured and loved and respected. He was the handsome young man she'd somewhat jealously helped to get dates. He was the man she had politely and discreetly danced with at both of their weddings. He had been the one man she could love and admire platonically, without any distorting intrusion of lust.

Melanie moved quickly now, up and down, fucking the cock with a wild abandon. She needed his cum. She need to taste it and feel it. She needed the hot, wicked sensation of the cock jerking and twitching in her mouth. She needed to feel that last moment of lost restraint, when his pelvis would thrust up at her, trying to force the power of his cock as far into her as he could.

Mouse had shown her how much cum their brother Michael could give to a woman.

So now Dan was gone. It was Michael. In her mind, Melanie held the head of her baby brother's cock in her mouth. She worked it, she ministered to it, she urged it to give her everything she wanted in this one moment, the one thing that would send her over the edge, the one thing that, to her, was the apex of love between a man and a woman, of a man's love for her, and her love for a man.

She urged her brother's cock to fill her mouth with glorious, hot, fulfilling cum. As the cock stiffened, as the grunts and pants grew louder, Melanie knew that he was past the point of no return. She eagerly moved one hand to her breast, grabbing and squeezing, sending jolts of pleasure through her entire torso, driving her own body right to the edge.

Another moan escaped her lips, almost a scream. He moaned loudly with her. She squeezed her pale, full, fleshy breast more tightly, almost violently, twisting and crushing it, eliciting a marvelous explosion of pleasure that seemed to set of further explosions down in her dripping pussy.

Melanie's hand became Michael's in her mind. It groped her ruthlessly. One hand rubbed her clit frantically, the other hand squeezed and massaged her breast violently, while she struggled to keep the cock in her mouth without the use of either. Her head moved frantically, no longer trying to deeply swallow her baby brother's cock, but instead thrusting quickly, fucking him fast, coaxing the cum up and out, waiting for that unbearably exquisite moment when his forbidden cum would satisfy her.

That thought forced a loud moan from her, one that tipped her lover over the edge. Streams of cum caught Melanie at a moment when the cock was half out of her mouth. Some of the cum deliciously hit the inside of her mouth, while a short stream landed on her cheek and chin. Her own orgasm struck in response. She lost control as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her, while her baby brother's cock covered her face and filled her mouth with what she desired most.

Drops hit her face and his belly. A rivulet ran down her cheek. She grinned, laughing, as her body quaked. She rubbed the cock over her face, over the come, while moving what she held in her mouth about with her tongue. Her tongue met the head of the cock to gather more, cleaning it from the head with one long, powerful, sloppy suck. She released it, to slip down to instead gather up all she could from his belly.

One well-manicured finger slowly and intentionally smeared the cum from her face into her mouth. She didn't swallow a drop, not yet. She held it there, savoring it, imagining what it was, her baby brother's delicious, unmatchable gift of forbidden cum.

Her mind floated in a drunken fog of lust.

It was too bad Dan didn't give nearly as much cum to her as Michael did to Mouse, as much cum as her baby brother had to offer. If only Mouse had never let her see that one lure. If only Michael weren't so special in that regard. Melanie didn't want to commit incest. She didn't want her brother. She wasn't wicked, like Mouse. But she wanted his cum.

Mouse didn't even seem to notice the difference. Maybe most women wouldn't. Melanie certainly did.

The fog lifted slowly. Melanie swallowed the cum, not in one gulp, but slowly, as if she were sipping a fine wine. She relished every drop, every sensation. She rubbed his shrinking cock against her face, purring to show her pleasure, while pressing the flesh of her breasts against his ribs, eliciting a few lingering sparks of pleasure.

Dan didn't give her a lot of cum. She often regretted having settled in that respect, when of all things that was so important to her. But Dan had a lot more to give her, in bed and out of bed. He was a good lover, well endowed. He was a good provider and companion.

It was just that now, with this unexpected, twisted fantasy, with her brother in her mind and his copious cum in her memory, she felt a little bit cheated. After twenty years of competent, proper, dull marital sex, she wanted more.

She would feel a wave of guilt soon, she knew. It happened every time. She'd feel guilt at "cheating" on Dan by imagining herself with someone else. She'd feel guilt at imagining an act of incest. She'd even feel guilt for the fantasy of stealing her own sister's lover, incestuous or not. There would be a lot of guilt to manage later, and for some reason the guilt always lingered long after.

But right now she glowed. She lay warmly content, nearly satisfied, her head resting on her lover's belly, her tongue tasting and playing with her favorite treat, as small, diminishing crackles of electricity seemed to slowly arc out of her breasts and pussy, coursing through her entire body, the dying sensations of an unconscionable, subsiding orgasm.

"That was unbelievable, Six-pack," Dan intruded. He was never, ever allowed to call her that anywhere but in bed, but here it was like calling her a queen. She glowed at the sound of that name.

Still, she resented the invasion of his voice into her thoughts. She had been clinging to the now shattered image of her brother's cock before her. Dan's voice broke the spell, the fantasy of being with Michael, the feel and taste and pleasure of having her brother's cum in her mouth.

Now it was Dan's. It was good, marginally satisfying, but not Michael's. She swallowed it in a few quick gulps.

She didn't answer him. It wasn't out of cruelty, or anger, or frustration, or even indifference. It was what she always did, it was part of their game, part of his role as her plaything and her inferior. She left the room, and him, still uncomfortably bound, while she went to have a quiet glass of merlot, alone, while he lay here, uncomfortable, but satisfied.

She was the queen, after all... Six-Pack.

<8 Collision

Mouse was stumbling, only half consciously, in the bluish darkness of her apartment, through what had become a weekend late night ritual for her, taking off her jewelry, washing up, getting ready for bed, and thinking about the guys, or maybe one or two girls, that she might have brought home to take the edge off. Yet Michael never once left her thoughts.

She took off her earrings. She fiddled with the necklace Michael had given her, the mouse reclining on the moon, then reluctantly undid the clasp to place it in its special spot on her dresser. She moved Michael's rings, the engagement ring and the wedding band he had given her for their mock wedding, from her right hand to her left.

She never took them off. By day she wore them on her right hand, to avoid questions and misconceptions, but she always, always wore them. At night they moved to where they belonged, on her left hand, showing her love for and unbreakable bond to her brother and lover.

Sometimes she even put them on her left hand when going out, ostensibly, to her friends, to keep guys away, but really just to make herself feel better. It made Michael seem closer. It made her feel married to him.

She told herself she didn't need to stay faithful to Michael. He was her brother. Yes, he was her lover, her best, favorite, special, perfect lover. He was the one man in the world she truly wanted. But he couldn't ever be her husband. He couldn't be there forever.

He couldn't even hold her hand in public, at home.

He certainly couldn't take her home to meet his parents.

So they had agreed that they would date other people. They both adamantly insisted it wasn't what they wanted, but they would both do it for each other. They'd make themselves do it, for each other. It was the sane thing to do, the rational thing.

They would still talk, they would still meet, they would still fuck, but they wouldn't even try to be "a couple," at least, not completely. They would only pretend to have what they couldn't have, nothing more. There would be no illusions, and no pain when it inevitably ended.

At least not for him.

Mouse had only suggested and agreed to the whole thing to make sure that Michael didn't go anywhere.

He would never actually date anyone else. She'd make sure of it. She called him, e-mailed him, texted him. She teased him, and excited him, and, as often as she could, she visited him. She stayed in his mind and his heart. He could date someone, if he could only stop thinking about her, but she wouldn't let that happen. He thought he was free, even if it wasn't what he wanted, but he wasn't even close.

The thing was, though, that Mouse wasn't free, either. She couldn't bring herself to touch another man, or woman, even just for release, just for sex. She wasn't free, and she didn't want to be, either. She didn't want that. But she didn't want "this," either, to be in love with her brother, to want and need him like she'd never needed anyone, all the time knowing that it could never be anything but a sinful, immoral game, and one that eventually had to end.

She felt the emotion welling up again as she stared at her dim reflection in the window, naked and alone, backed by the dark night. Tears were in there somewhere, waiting to seep out. They were always there, awaiting their chance to remind her how she felt these days.

The phone rang.

Mouse looked at the clock. It was just a little past two AM. It was probably Michael, ready to act nonchalant, but transparently jealous, as he tried to check up on her, to see if she was alone.

Or else it was Melanie.

That part was a bit of a puzzle. After her last trip home, after the bizarre insanity that had gone on amongst the three of them, Mouse figured that Melanie would heave a sigh of relief after she finally left. Melanie would gratefully watch Mouse go, then pretend she'd never been there. Mouse would be safely out of sight and out of mind, and the sooner forgotten, the better.