Book 7: Funeral for a Mouse
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
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.
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 kağıthane escort 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.
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.
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 kartal escort 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.
She was out of patience.
* * *
“Oh, God, I’ve missed you, Michael. Oh, fuck, I’ve missed you so much.”
Michael, for his part, had a hard time responding. He fucked her with a passion he thought he could no longer achieve. His body raked up hers, dragging her along the sheets with the force of his thrusts. As hard and brutally as his cock plowed into her, it wasn’t enough. He fought an uncontrollable urge to fuck her harder each time.
He missed her tight, little incestuous cunt so fucking much.
“Yes, Michael. Rip into me, Michael. Rip into your little sister’s lonely cunt. Fuck my lonely cunt with your lonely big brother cock, Michael.”
Michael clenched his eyes shut, momentarily annoyed at the reminder of his own solitude, his own sad existence, but he was spurred on by the memory of how exciting incest was for them both. In a moment of sorrowful anger and unexpected arousal, he found a way thrust up into her even harder than before, and he stayed there, embedded inside her body, as she screamed her pleasure at the ceiling.
“Oh, fuck, Michael. Fuck, yes. Come in me, baby. Come in me. Give me a baby now. Give your little sister a baby, Michael.”
She sent him over the top. She wanted a baby, and he was going to give her one. He was going to pour his cum into his little sister to give her a baby. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to make her happy and give her the child she so desperately wanted.
She screamed for him.
The velvet blanket of her cunt over his cock constricted spasmodically as she came, tugging on his cock in a way no other woman ever had. He felt the sensation building. He felt his cock filling like a dam subjected to the torrent of a flooding river, its top barely overflowing while the bulk of it was ready to burst.
Then it did. He flooded his baby sister with a gushing wave of cum while barking her pet name over and over.
“Mouse, Mouse, fucking Mouse, Mouse, fucking beautiful Mouse…”
“Yes, Michael, fuck me full of cum. Fuck me full of loving brother cum. Fuck me full of cum.”
“Mouse, my beautiful, perfect Mouse.”
As she settled down from her own euphoric perch, she chirped her own soft, recurring reply at him, ignoring his words while thrilling him with her own.
“I love you so much, Big Brother, I love you, I love you, I’ve missed you, I love you…”
The two estranged, adulterous, incestuous lovers clung fiercely to each other, with their fingers digging into each other’s flesh in a heedless, painless moment of frozen passion. Their bodies were locked together, more tightly than if they had died in their forbidden embrace, with rigor mortis setting in, rigid, immovable and inseparable.
Michael found her mouth with his own and melted into the kiss, basking in the pleasure of her tiny tongue dancing in his mouth once again, as his cock subsided, shrinking inside of her, after giving her a tangible, lasting memory of his love for her.
* * *
He stared down at her face as she breathed easily, seemingly asleep, safely nestled under the crook of his arm.
She was so beautiful. So fucking beautiful.
He hadn’t taken care of her properly, he hadn’t protected her, he hadn’t saved her from herself, or from Paul, yet here she was, still beautiful, still magnificent, tucked under his arm as if she’d never left.
He studied her every feature. She’d barely aged herself in the past few years, while he felt he’d at first has a swig from the fountain of youth, and then aged a century in a year after Kate was taken from him.
Her smooth, dark skin, her delicate mouth, her sharp cheekbones and chin. She was so beautiful. She wasn’t like a mouse küçükçekmece escort at all. She was, but she was too beautiful, to him, to be a mouse.
He let one finger trace the bridge of her nose, memorizing it’s beautiful, slightly too large curve and bump.
Her eyes snapped open. She looked up at him, with dark smoldering eyes, centered with wide, black, cavernous pupils.
He lost himself in them.
* * *
His lips hovered over hers. His eyes burned, right in front of hers. His breath tickled her lips.
He kissed her gently, lingering, lingering, lingering, then pulled away.
“I can’t believe you did it twice,” she told him.
“Did what twice?”
“Kissed me, unasked and unwanted,” she said. She twisted one of his chest hairs, painfully, she was sure, in two fingers. He didn’t flinch. He never flinched.
“Unwanted? You never in your life didn’t want me to kiss you.”
She smiled and giggled. She reached up to kiss him quickly, briefly.
“Yeah, okay, that’s true. You always could, and always may, kiss me whenever and however you want.”
She stared at him a moment, at his warm, dark, smiling eyes and his full, inviting mouth, and his awkwardly too big nose. She felt the smile drain from her own face as she filled with passion for her brother. Her hands reached up to hold his bald scalp and pull his lips against hers.
His lips were warm and soft, and too hesitant. She covered his with hers feverishly, trying in one kiss to make up for lost years and years of kisses. When she still hadn’t had nearly enough, but felt the need to tease him again, she released him from her grip.
“But you still forced your lips onto mine,” she said. “I’m a married woman, too.”
“I did not. You grabbed my hand and pulled me into you.”
“But I didn’t kiss you. You kissed me. You almost raped me.”
He laughed. His voice was a melodic baritone in the darkness, peppered with a wonderful, calm stuttering rhythm when he laughed.
“I did almost rape you, once we kissed again, but I remember it differently.”
“I wish you’d raped me. I think I’ve wished that you’d rape me ever time I’ve seen you.”
His mouth came down, but it found her collar bone, then worked further down to her breasts. His too large nose flicked her nipples, which warmed and threatened to come to life.
“Are you ready so soon, Big Brother?” she asked.
“I’ll be ready for you for the rest of my life, if you want…”
* * *
Here she was, committing adultery, yet feeling righteously secure in the knowledge that she’d never really cheated on Michael, ever. From the first day he had kissed her the way she needed him to, she had never touched another man, not once. Even after she’d pushed him away, for his sake, she’d kept Paul at arms length for so very long. Maybe that was what had drawn the bastard closer to her.
But even when she’d been with Paul, she wasn’t. Her first night with him she felt like a prostitute, turning a trick, just waiting for it to end, and then she felt guilty after that, both about wanting Michael, and being with another man. It really had been like that every time.
She’d never been able to get Michael out of her mind. She’d really never, ever been with Paul at all, at least, not in her heart and her mind.
* * *
Mouse watched in frightened concern as Michael thrashed in the bed in the dark. He would lie still, but with his face contorted, then suddenly kick or jerk, mumbling and snapping, then be still again. His words were unintelligible, but Mouse didn’t need to understand them. His tone and expression conveyed it all.
She reached out to him, taking hold of his hand, squeezing it to show him, even in his dreams, that he wasn’t alone. She was there.
He calmed when she touched him. His hand gripped hers more tightly in response, hanging on as if afraid she would go. She looked at his strong, ever sexy hand, with his wedding band still tightly in place. He refused to take it off, even so long after her death.
He said he relived the accident too often. He couldn’t shake the memory of it. It crept into his dreams almost whenever he slept. He thought with time it would fade, but not yet. It hurt too much. It was a nightmare that was a reality, returning time and again to punish him by making him relive all of the pain.
She wanted to cry. The poor man deserved so much better. He deserved to be happy. He deserved a companion. He was so special, but the women in his life kept checking out. His first wife, then Mouse, then Kate. At least Kate hadn’t left by choice. But he deserved so much more than life was giving him.
Mouse lowered her face to within a whisker of his chest, enjoying the tickling brush of his chest hairs on her cheek, before settling against him.
When she held his hand and he felt it in his dream, was it her own, she wondered, or was it Kate’s? Did Kate return to him the only way she could, in his nightmares and his dreams? Was there any room left in there for Mouse?
She fought back a tear, trying instead to relax and sleep herself. She couldn’t be his, anyway. She still had that bastard Paul. She didn’t have Michael, and she couldn’t, ever. She didn’t even have Paul, really, except in name. It was all written down and very legal, but that’s all it was, nothing more.