Book 5: Mouse's Rival
Chapter 3
<8 Regret
Melanie felt awful. Her stomach hurt. Her head hurt. Her heart hurt.
And her soul hurt.
In the stabbing light of the morning, it was all so obviously wrong. It was incest. It was repugnant and repulsive. The thought of it made her sick. In fact, she thought she might physically be sick. Again. She'd already completely, uncontrollably purged everything from her stomach, food, the alcohol, Michael's gift, everything. But she still felt physically ill.
She at least had the presence of mind to be embarrassed by the racket she was making, as she heaved, until she later discovered that Michael had already left. He himself had had the self control and the good grace to awaken, dress, and silently retreat from the house, leaving Melanie alone to face herself.
Now, today, Melanie felt as badly as she had the morning after losing her virginity. That was supposed to have been a night of romance and passion, with a perfect enough guy, followed by a morning of breakfast and companionship.
It was a painful disaster.
She was hardly silly enough to hold out for "the one," but it should have been better than choosing the first guy at a frat party to make a grab for her tits. She'd gotten drunk, lost control, and dove in far too quickly and easily. She didn't remember it clearly, but she knows she never remotely protested.
That next day, in the painful morning light, she'd woken up in her dorm with a hangover. Her roommate was out. She didn't know how she'd gotten home. She didn't remember that part. Her head had hurt, her stomach had hurt, her heart had hurt and her soul had hurt.
There was no one there with her, no one to share the morning after, no companionship, only a gaping loneliness and a sense of loss, a feeling that she'd done something irrevocable, that she'd let something go that could never come back.
Meanwhile, her own memories of sex were dirty. Sex was all fluids and smells. It was saliva and cum, her cum, his cum, and other unclean things. It wasn't romantic. Apart from the feelings in the heat of the moment, it was foul.
If it weren't for the overpowering urges and powerful sensations, no one would ever do it.
Melanie smiled sourly at her silliness then. That attitude hadn't lasted long.
She wondered briefly if, twenty years from now, she'd be smiling again at this sad memory.
* * *
Melanie had dressed primly. Feeling physically, if not emotionally, better, she sat upright at the kitchen table. To confirm, or assuage, her guilt, Melanie did what she always did. She made a list.
Tried, and failed, to seduce a strange, young woman.
Cheated on husband.
Made brother cheat on his lover.
Raped a man.
Committed incest.
Raped my brother.
Then she added one more item.
Loved it.
So that was it. Short, simple, organized.
It was no surprise that making the list didn't change her mood at all.
As a last recourse, trying to shake the burden of her guilt and sorrow, Melanie did the same thing she'd done the morning after ignominiously and embarrassingly losing her virginity.
She put her head in her hands and cried.
* * *
He should feel hungover, but he didn't. He was in pain, but it was hard to separate the physical after effects of his drinking from the reaction he had to what had happened.
Michael drove past Melanie's house for the third time. He wanted desperately to talk to her. He wanted to talk to Mouse. They seemed to be the only two people in the world he had left to talk to about something like this. And he couldn't talk to either of them, about this. He couldn't talk to anyone about this.
Each time he repeated that line of thinking, it made him that much more angry at Melanie. He pounded the steering wheel with the heel of his hand, a short, sharp thrust intended to break something, somewhere. It hurt, for a moment.
She'd violated him in ways she couldn't even imagine, but worst of all was by taking herself away from him as a friend. She took herself away from him as his big sister, the friend he could go to with his troubles.
That wasn't fair, he thought, making a half hearted effort to calm himself. There were a lot of things he had never told Melanie. He'd certainly never told her about Mouse, or talked to her about Mouse, until Mouse herself got things started.
But she was a confidant, now. She was his big sister, more now, since his forbidden relationship with Mouse, than ever before. And because of that, he needed her now more than ever before. He'd never realized how much he needed his big sister.
She was his friend. She was one of very, very few people in the world that he trusted to look out for him. She'd helped him so much through his failing marriage, and painful divorce. She was one of the few people that made Michael feel less alone against the world, and more secure.
She'd destroyed that in a single, drunken night.
Be honest, he thought, be fair. He was just deflecting. He felt guilty himself, so he was looking for ways to make Melanie into the villain. He'd enjoyed it. He didn't ask for it, he had protested, feebly, but he could have done more. He had enjoyed it far more than he wanted to admit.
The foggy memory of her mouth on his cock suddenly, unexpectedly excited him.
Melanie was the villain. Or, at least, he wasn't as evil as she.
Michael took a right turn, heading toward the park in Melanie's neighborhood, the one where he used to meet his nephews for pick up basketball games. He wished he had a ball in the car, to work off his frustrations. He was relieved that Melanie's sons couldn't possibly be there, that they were away from home. Seeing them would be awkward.
What had gotten into Melanie?
Michael parked beside the chain link fence. The court baked quite innocently in the sun on the other side, just out of reach.
He tried to slow his racing thoughts. He tried to calm himself by picturing Mouse's face, smiling cutely, adoringly up at him with that look that only she had. It made him feel strong and wanted and special. It made him feel both loving and loved.
When he closed his eyes, he could feel Melanie's hot, feverish mouth descending smoothly and unstoppably down onto his cock, as her cool, soft, fleshy breasts pressed into his thigh. He felt it all as if he were still there. His cock, embarrassingly, came instantly to life at the memory.
It was calling him a hypocrite.
Melanie was too much of a woman, to Michael. She always had been. Mouse was cute, and vibrant, and young. She was feminine and irresistible, in a girlish, vigorous, youthful way. She was his perfect girl.
Melanie was feminine, too, and so beautiful to Michael, but she was a woman, not a girl. Melanie was the epitome of a woman to Michael, strong, curvaceous, calm, reserved, and always, always attractive. She didn't have perfect features or hair, or even a perfect body. She had a pleasing face, with a well defined chin and cheeks and intelligent eyes and soft enough looking lips, and a constant, unflappable air of femininity, all continually drawing his eyes away from her very shapely woman's body.
Sex with Melanie would be so good, Michael had always imagined. She was a woman that could easily please him, and that he would give anything to please as well. It could never be, but if it was, it would be good.
And it had been good. And he had pleased her, immensely, or so it seemed.
His heel hit the steering wheel again. He was so fucking angry with her.
He shouldn't have enjoyed it. She shouldn't have put him in this position.
The anger welled up again. If she had tried to seduce him, if he weren't drunk, if he weren't chained, if he'd been given a choice, he knew he would have refused. He might have hurt her with his rebuttal, but he would have rejected her, he was sure of it. The fact that he enjoyed it, when forced, when raped, didn't change the fact that it wasn't his choice.
Where had it come from? She'd given him no clue. She'd never come onto him in any way. If anything, she touched him less, or when she did it was more sisterly. She'd never betrayed her lust with any expression, any lingering glance, any comment or hint of interest. If she had, he could have rebuffed her, and it might never have happened.
Even when she'd watched him with Mouse, when he'd entertained the idea of ravishing and being pleasured by both of his sisters at once, as Mouse's cock worked artfully and delicately on his cock, even as Melanie had watched and Michael had silently urged her to join them, she hadn't budged, or even shown a sign that she would ever do so.
What had made her do it?
