Friday, March 27, 2015

The Art of Fellows

So if you are following Michael Alexander Stories on tumblr, or Michael's "Riding the Wooden Horse" tumblr, or even Michael's "Cream of Venus", then you should probably check out F.Fellows work at "The Art of Fellows."  It's definitely worth a look! I love the smile on the horse.

Visit "The Art of Fellows"

Thursday, March 26, 2015


My phone rang and I sighed heavily, throwing down the rope.  I was out in the pen dealing with a few of our more arbitrarily contrary goats who didn’t want their vitamins.  I tugged off my heavy leather gloves and pulled out the smartphone Kari had given me a year before and suppressed a smile.  I recognized the number, slid my thumb across the screen, and said hello.
“Hey darlin’,” Julie drawled in a fake west Texas slang.  She likes to tease me about being a cowgirl and for some odd reason thinks that talking like a yokel from Lubbock or Midland is the end all and be all of Texas ranching.  I only speak with a drawl when I’m drunk.
I took a deep breath.  “Hi, Julie.” I glanced at my watch.  It was only ten in the morning, which meant she was at work.
“How ya’ feeling?” she asked.  I shrugged, even though I knew she couldn’t see me.
“As well as can be expected. The cramps haven’t started yet but I’m feeling,” I paused momentarily to think of the right word. “Peckish.”
Julie laughed. “Sorry.  I know how you feel.”
And she did.  All women do.  It’s just a fact of life.  None of us like it.  We all deal with it. My dad likes to tell friends a story about how he’d been sent to the drugstore to pick up some Midol for his teenage daughter.  He couldn’t find it so he had to ask this pretty, eighteen year old girl for assistance, who brightly and cheerfully showed him a large selection of various different kinds of Midol.  After rattling off a few options like “cramps, extra strength, teen” and some others, my father asked in a bewildered voice, “they come in flavors?”  The associate laughed and my dad then asked “is there one called ‘extra bitchy’?”
Ha ha ha.
Julie coughed lightly and then asked the question I knew was coming. “Have you gone out yet? Is it on?”
She was referring to the small, butterfly shaped sex toy I had strapped around my loins that morning.  It was dark pink, almost purple, and was nestled gently against my clit, outside my panties and high enough up that my pads weren’t in the way.  There was a switch on it with three options and to be honest, I had it on the first one: off.
“Um… no,” I admitted sheepishly. “To be honest, I wasn’t planning on going out today,” I muttered.  There was a pause.  The problem was that I’d told Julie I had errands to run the previous day.   I knew it was supposed to be on, but I just hadn’t felt like dealing with the nonstop rumble of a vibrator constantly rubbing my clitoris.  And now I knew I was in trouble too.  The exasperated sigh I heard on the other end of the line made that crystal clear.
“Breanne,” Julie said patiently, “I’m going to presume that you’ve got a good reason for not doing what I’ve required of you.  But that doesn’t excuse it.  So now you are going to be punished.”
I sighed. “Yes, Mistress,” I replied dutifully.  There was no way around it.  I hadn’t exactly been expecting it, but now… now it was trouble.
“So now, regardless of whether you need to or not, you will be going out. I don’t care where, provided it’s a public place and there are plenty of people.  And it will be on, full power.”
I groaned audibly, but she just continued.  “Oh. And why don’t you stuff that cute ass of yours with the vibrating anal beads as well.  Full power.”
“What?” I exclaimed. “Now wait a minute,” I protested.
“No buts, Breanne.  If you aren’t going to follow my orders then you pay the consequences.  I understand you don’t want to vibrate all day. Fine. I get it.  So you will instead suffer through having your ass shaken, along with your clit, through one very public orgasm.”
I bit my lip.  “Does the previous requirement still apply?” I asked timidly.
“Oh absolutely.  And maybe that will make you think twice about disobeying me."
I suppressed another shudder.
“Call me to tell me how it went.  Or better yet, write it up and post it.”  Then she hung up.
I put away my phone and slowly drew my gloves back on.  I snatched up the rope and yanked hard on it, the bleating goat at the end of my lasso squealing as I dragged it forward.  I plucked one of the vitamins out of my pouch and shoved it into the goat’s mouth.  Damn things are willing to eat anything but what they’re supposed to.  Arbitrarily contrary critters.  But then, so am I.


Two hours later I climbed into my truck wincing. I was still dressed in my blue jeans but I’d traded my tee shirt and flannel for a tight halter top that left little to the imagination.  It wasn’t see through or anything, just very tight; tight enough for practically anyone to tell that I wasn’t wearing a bra beneath it, the hard points of my nipples obvious and attention grabbing.  Of course anyone could also see the piercing through my right nipple, the outline of the ring and padlock that dangled from that side of my chest enough of an accessory to mark me as kinky.  
I shifted uncomfortably as the eight beads of increasing size moved around in my backside.  I’d spent ten minutes on my bed kneeling, my fingers slick with grapeseed oil, pushing each individual sphere in, groaning as my ass was filled.  I’m not a fan of having things pushed into my butt and that just seems to make my rear end a target for every Matt, Lyle, and Brandon who wants my butt stuffed.  Everyone seems to want to stick things in there.  Cock. Toys. Rocks. Sticks.  Whatever else happens to be handy… It’s frustrating as hell.
Of course there were worse anal toys than the vibrating beads.  Julie could have had me wear the Titanmen Inflatable Vibrating Plug. That thing goes in narrow and then you pump it up until it’s uncomfortably wide. And then it starts vibrating. Or the alien looking “Thrusting Anal Vibe” which not only vibrates but actually squirms inside you.  Alot.  So while I basically had the equivalent of golf balls on a string rammed up my butt, I was also cognizant that I’d gotten off easy.
The big issue was where to go.  
I had plenty of options.  Julie said public, with actual people walking around, which meant I couldn’t go for a walk over at Thomas Park and have myself a little private moment in the gazebo with just the risk of being seen.  I could go to the mall - there were several within driving distance - but malls tend to have security, not to mention a rather eclectic audience demographic that could be anything from uptight to ambivalent.  A bar would be a good place to sit down and have a nice orgasm, but dealing with the last little requirement of Julie’s orders would create problems with the clientele.  And I was out of commission, at least from a sexual coitus perspective.  I’ve learned that you don’t flash those kind of men the goods unless it’s okay for them to have some.
So I settled back on doing what I originally planned to do. Errands.
My first stop that afternoon was the hardware store and as expected I went to Mike’s place.  It’s a small place in Katy that caters to people who actually need hardware, and not the kind of folks who shop routinely at Lowe’s or Home Depot.  Not that there is anything wrong with those two stores, but I want you to understand what it’s really like.  I parked the truck against the side of his place, the gravel lot dry beneath the wheels of my pickup.  Then, before I even got out of the truck, I plucked the black colored controller out of my pocket, the wire disappearing into my waistband, heading toward my bottom.  I thumbed the wheel clockwise and clenched tightly as the eight beads I’d stuffed in my back door began to throb, pulse, and shake.  It was a difficult sensation to deal with, especially on full power.  
After slipping the controller back into my pocket I swung my hips forward, trying to ignore the vibrations, and unbuttoned, then unzipped my jeans.  A deft touch of my hand added a whole new level of intensity to the torment as the butterfly vibe began its own dance, this one above the tiny stem of my clitoris.  Had you been standing there looking in the window you would have seen this pale, red haired girl almost swooning, eyes closed, mouth partially open, hunched over as she dealt with the trauma of direct sexual torment.
I shuddered, took a deep breath, did up my jeans, and got out of the truck.  There was an audible hum permeating up from my pants and for a moment I wondered just how much horsepower was going on down there.  I may have waffled a bit, standing there in the lot, struggling to adjust to the situation, before finally summoning up the courage to actually take a step.  And when I finally did move forward, it wasn’t exactly the normal walk of a healthy, satisfied, and proper girl.  I moved like a marionette puppet operated by a motorcycle accident victim.  All jerky and hesitant, as if I were walking on egg shells.
Except, you know, the egg shells were stuffed up my ass.
I went into the store and immediately headed toward the aisle that had a few of the items I actually needed.  Every step seemed more difficult than the previous one and I found myself biting my lip as waves of sick pleasure seemed to flow up from between my legs.  My pussy began contracting in pulses, matching the almost incessant throbbing in my bottom.  By the time I had found the first two or three items I needed and dropped them in the small basket I was holding my hips were jerking back and forth in a hip rolling wave that made my situation not only apparent but obviously so.  Or maybe it was the expression on my face.
And I wasn’t alone.  There were customers in the store.  Sure, not that many, but this one guy, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt seemed to make it a point to always be in the same aisle as me.  I tried to ignore the implications and was mostly successful thanks to the fact that I was having a hard time dealing with the vibrations.  Some fifty year old guy following me around just wasn’t that big of a deal.
I was standing at a shelving unit full of thick bolts, several of which I needed to replace a few fasteners on our plow when I finally couldn’t take it.  The vibrations were just too intense, too focused on my clit and insides.  I may have been sexually empty, but my God did I need to cum!  My mouth opened in a tiny whimper as a shudder raced through me.  I froze in place, one hand pressed tightly to the bump at the front of my jeans as the wellspring of intensity blossomed and erupted like a bursting volcano, and it was only at the last second that I remembered Julie’s order.
My hands came up as I turned slightly to face him, his eyes glued to my trembling body.  I grabbed the bottom of the halter top and without a second’s moment of hesitation I pulled the cotton upward, baring my breasts.  The tips were hard and raised, perfect points of attraction, the piercing and padlock rising and falling with speed as the orgasm consumed me.  Our eyes met and the look of stunned appreciation on his face just made me groan.  My breath spurted, little intakes and exhalations that replicated the jerking movements of my libido as I blew a gasket and came.
It only lasted twenty seconds.  Maybe not even that long.  We stood there in that aisle, me half naked, wearing blue jeans and boots, not even looking like the slut I am.  And then, despite the still rumbling vibrations, the orgasm ebbed and ended and I dragged the halter top down back over my boobs.

It was like a spell was broken.  He stood there gaping at me and I licked my lips, breathing deeply and slowly, still overwhelmed by the euphoria of climax, I walked past him with languorous steps, our eyes locked together.  It was intercourse of a sort, a sort of shared secret, and then I was past him.  He turned to look at me. I know it.  I could feel his eyes on my still rumbling ass.
I made my way to the cash register and was in the middle of paying for my purchase when Mike showed up.  He crashed to a spot when he saw me and I smiled and waved.  He followed me out the door as I headed back to my truck.
“Hey.  Weren’t you going to stop and say hello?” He asked me, putting a hand on my shoulder and turning me around.  I looked up at him, my throat tight. All I wanted at that particular moment was to get back in my truck and turn off the vibrators!
“I…uh…” I said intelligently and then his eyes narrowed, a quizzical look crossing his face.
“What’s that hum?” He asked, looking around.  But it only took him half a second to locate the source as he glanced down at my jeans.  He rolled his eyes and gave me a slightly amused look.
“In my store? Really?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I needed a few things.”
“And I didn’t even get to watch?” He demanded, spreading his hands.  Just at that moment the other man, the one who did see the show came out.  He paused momentarily, then smiled warmly at me.  As he walked past his smile was huge.
“Nice tits,” he complimented me, then went past, heading to his car.
Mike gave me that look.  You know… THAT look.
“I thought it was your time of the month?” He asked.
I nodded. “It is.  Julie.”  It was enough of an explanation.
He cringed. “Butterfly?”
“Yep. And the anal beads.  Full power,” I said, already starting to twitch again.  The vibrations against my clitoris and in my bottom were uncomfortably erotic.  Mike noticed.
“What did you do to piss her off?”
I took a deep breath. “I didn’t leave the farm.”
“So now what?” He reached out and laid a gentle hand on my cheek.
“Now I get in my truck and turn these things off before I have another orgasm and have to flash the world my tits!” I waved my hand at the nearby road and said with a little more heat than I intended.  I turned and stalked off toward my truck.  Mike followed me.  I jammed the key in the lock, but his heavy hand fell on the door and the hard tug I gave the thing only rocked him an inch.
“What if I want you to stay?” He asked delicately.
I bit my lip again.  The butterfly was over-sensitizing my clitoris, the packed bundle of sex laced nerves handling the direct waves of the off balance motor in its usual way.  There was discomfort, a sort of rasping tingle that built and built.  In a normal girl, this would be enough to make her go nuts, to turn off everything.  But if she were fucked up, with one or two screws loose, with some sort of psychological problem of masochistic proportions, where just a bit of that physical distress becomes arousing in its own right, then she might let out a quiet, gasping sob.
I turned into Mike and wrapped my arms around him, my hips swinging forward to mash the butterfly between his meaty thigh and my clit.  I shuddered as the next wave rose up, a second orgasm threatening to swamp me.  My bottom shuddered, oscillating in time with the pulses of confused sensation coming up from my slit.  I could feel myself tightening, desperate to be filled, the discomfort of my abraded clit adding its own spice to the conflux of sensation.  I groaned, then whimpered and Mike held me as the explosion started.
I writhed in his arms, pushing against him, and he let me go in surprise.  I fell back against the side of my truck, my hands coming up, grabbing hold of the halter top, my breasts bursting free.  Mike’s eyes widened and he reached out, taking hold of my boobs with both hands and kneading them.  Behind us, on the other side of the truck, the cars streamed past us.  My knees buckled and for a moment the only thing holding me up was Mike’s grip on my nipples.
I let out a sigh as the wave swept past me and I pushed forward.  Mike let go and held me, his fingers caressing my naked back.
“There, there.  See?  It went just fine.”  
Slowly I straightened and looked up at him.  I rose up on tiptoe, gave him a kiss right on the lips, and then pulled my shirt back down.  I turned and climbed into my truck, immediately fighting with my jeans as I shoved a hand down between my legs and in relief, turned off the butterfly.  In short order the vibrating anal beads went silent too.
“Was it that bad?” He asked, putting his arms on the door as I rolled down the window. I gave him a small smile.
“It never is with you.”
He grinned and his finger stretched out and he rubbed the slope of my breast through the halter.  “So  you headed back home?”
I shook my head and chuckled. “No.  I’ve got to stop at the feed store and the grocery store too.”
His eyes widened slightly. “And you have to turn the beads and butterfly on whenever you aren’t driving?”
I nodded.  “That’s what Julie ordered.”
Mike sighed. “And if you happen to cum again? In public?”
I didn’t say anything. Instead I just gave him a wicked, sinful, naughty smile.  He laughed and tapped the door.  I turned the key in the ignition and the motor started up. He took a step back.
“I hope you cum again,” he said brightly. “At both stores.”
I shook my head and gave him an evil, but playful glare. “You just want me exposed, my tits bared!” I accused him.
He shrugged and held out his hands. “I think everyone does.  It’s what we love about you, Bre.  And it’s more than that too.  We love that you love cumming.  We want it to happen all the time, the more sadistically and violently the better.”  He waved. “Enjoy having your clit buzzed off.”
I put the truck in gear. I had places to be.  Things to do.  And in all honesty… more people to flash.  Why?  Not because I needed it or wanted it.  But because that’s how I do things.  I’m arbitrarily contrary.  
And bared.

Monday, March 23, 2015

Lost Love

“Okay, so who would you do?” Mike the Hardware Guy asked, turning his head to look at Julie.  I looked upward and got a good look at his profile from an angle I have to admit wasn’t that unusual.  My head has been in his lap a number of times and I’ve always admired his strong chin, the squarish masculinity of his face, his full mustache that made him look a tad bit like a cop.  His fingers were lightly running through my hair, caressing my head, keeping the headache that was accompanying my cold at bay.

“Any of them,” replied Julie confidently.  She was sitting about a foot away from Mike.  We were all on the couch and while my hips sort of occupied the space between them, one of my legs was draped high on Julie’s lap.  The other was splayed wildly off the couch, the heel thumping on the floor in time with the maddening slow, but wonderfully deep thrusts of the vibrator Julie was manipulating in and out of my soaked slit.  I’d already cum a half hour before, so it wasn’t like I was on edge or anything, but it did make watching the movie a bit more interesting.

Mike sighed in exasperation and moved his right hand to my bare breast.  His fingers teased my nipple mercilessly, mostly by fiddling with the piercing and gold colored padlock that dangled from the tip.  “That’s the problem with asking bi-sexuals open ended questions,” he sighed.  “Who would you do first?” He amended.

Julie pursed her lips and studied the screen.  We were abusing her new Netflix account and despite the ratings we were nearing the end of “Horns,” a sort of comedy/horror/fantasy movie starring Daniel Radcliffe.

“Lee,” replied Julie after a moment’s thought. “I like his height.”

Mike snorted.  He looked more like the second gay cop in the movie, the one with the mustache.  

“And then Merrin,” Julie said, giving the vibrator between my legs a rather firm thrust before pulling it out and placing the tip against my clit.  I gasped, twitching, and I tried to bring a hand down between my legs.  Unfortunately my hands were tied behind my back so there wasn’t really anything I could do about it.

“Followed by Iggy, the blond chick Iggy screwed, Iggy’s brother, dad, and then mom.

Mike gave Julie a suspicious look, one eyebrow up. “His mother?”

Julie’s mischievous grin was almost wicked.  “I thought we were talking progression,” she said innocently.  I paid her no mind, mostly because of the vibrator doing this pirouette on my clitoris.  My hips were already churning and despite the fact that Iggy was reading Merrin’s love letter, explaining why she dumped him, I was just a little preoccupied.  

Mike hands suddenly stopped.  It took me a moment to realize it too because Julie had slipped the vibrator back into me.  Her thumb was pressed against my clit, and only a glance up to his face to see his stricken expression brought the clarity of what had just happened to mind.

“Julie!” I gasped, twisting off her lap before she could even catch me.  The vibrator slid out viciously, but I ignored it. My knees hit the floor and despite the cold I’d been suffering through all day I stood up and moved in front of Mike. Tears poured down his face and I realized what was going on.  Mike is a widower.  He lost his wife about eight years ago after she died of cancer.  And the girl in the movie – Merrin – a pretty redhead – pushed Iggy away, the man she loved more than life itself, because she didn’t want him going through the pain of her inheritable illness; cancer.  

I felt Julie’s hands on my wrists and a moment later the clip between the leather cuffs was open and I climbed up into Mike’s lap, my arms going round him as I brought his face down to my chest.  I held him there as the wounds opened and great wracking sobs shuddered through him.

Julie stood there wide-eyed, unsure of what to do.  She watched as I held that great bear of a man as he cried himself out.  I’m used to all sorts of fluids being deposited on my breasts, but tears?  That’s pretty rare.  Finally he sucked in a heavy breath and I felt his lips move against my skin, small kisses back and forth until he found my left nipple and suckled it.  I reached down, my fingers finding the bulge beneath his boxers, rubbing softly and gently, but with vitality.  I felt a hand on my rump and it wasn’t his and then Julie pushed in, her hand exposing Mike’s shaft, her mouth wrapping around it as surely as his lips encircled my nipple.  Mike moaned beneath us and all was lost in the sexual bliss. A moment later Julie came up for air and pushed me forward. She’d placed a condom on him, readying him for me. I felt the tip of his manhood against my slit, rubbing and straining.  A single tilt of my hips allowed him in and I dropped down, impaling myself on Mike’s pillar.  Julie moved behind me, grabbing hold of my hands and pulling them up above my head, a makeshift pinon as Mike leaned back and stared at my half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks.  My head spun, and not just from the Dayquil I’d downed a few hours before, or the chicken soup I’d had for dinner.  He erupted a moment later, exploding violently, straining upward as behind us, on the screen Daniel Radcliffe’s character sprouted wings which burned to a crisp as he fell to the earth.

I didn’t cum. Not enough energy I suppose, but after he grew limp inside me I continued to hold him.  Finally he gave us both a wan smile.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.  He pulled me down to him and I sighed softly. 
“She was wrong you know,” he said to me.

I blinked and twisted up to look at him, his moist blue eyes rimmed with red.   “Who was wrong?” I asked.

“Merrin.  She should never have driven him away like that.  She should have married him and lived every moment of it.”

I bit my lip.  “She didn’t want to cause him more pain,” I protested, trying to explain.

He nodded at me and sighed again. “I know. And it was still wrong.  What she doesn’t understand is that for, for men for me, the pain of losing the women we love is twice as hard when it’s because of something we did, or can’t do.”

I swallowed. He wasn’t talking about Merrin.  I glanced at Julie who gave me one of those “yup, huh,” looks.

I put a hand on his face.  I knew what he meant, though I’m not sure I can do anything about it.  Or if I should.  But the words are immortal.

“Tis better to have loved and lost, then never to have loved at all.”