Helping Sela Has Surprise Benefits

Alana drove home confused, worried, upset.

So why was she also aroused, wet, nipples hardened and aching?

It was Sela's comments at the bar. Off-handed, outrageous comments made under the influence of way too many tequila shots — and anyone with even a rudimentary understanding of alcohol's effect on the human brain wouldn't give a second thought to the ramblings of a thirty-something divorcée celebrating a little too enthusiastically with a couple of friends in a South Beach bar.

Am I a perv? Alana thought. Why did what Sela said have such an effect on me?

Tammy, the other friend in the trio and the one who drove Sela home, had been stunned into silence at the bizarre pronouncement, and Alana could only assume the crazy monologue caused the same effect on her as it had when Alana heard it. Reacting quickly after the few seconds it took to understand what Sela was saying and where she was going with her tale, Tammy and Alana shushed their friend and hurriedly guided her to the bathroom, embarrassment flushing both their faces as they made sorry-you-had-to-hear-that expressions to the people around them.

"Sela! You're drunk, and we're going home," Tammy had said, her hand on her friend's shoulder as Sela sat on the padded bench in the restroom. "You never could keep your mouth shut when you got too much liquor into you."

"That's for sure," Alana corroborated, pushing a strand of auburn hair away from Sela's eyes as she leaned forward to look into her face, concerned at her friend's condition. "And what you were blurting out in front of those people out there! Damn! Are you crazy?"

Sela leaned back to rest her head against the wall. Her lanky frame was covered stylishly in a top and fake leather skirt that ended three inches above her knees, her tanned legs a perfect complement to the deep green color of her outfit. She said simply, "I probably need to go home, huh?"

"Yeah. And we'll talk about this later," Tammy said, "like tomorrow after you've done something to get over the hangover you're sure to have."

The three of them exited the bar. Tammy, the short blonde of the trio, had some difficulty guiding the much taller Sela to her car but made it without incident, swiveling her friend into the front seat, buckling her seat belt, and swinging the car door shut. As she walked around to the driver's side of her silver-blue BMW, she tossed a parting comment over her shoulder to Alana: "Thanks for coming, Alana — this is a night I know we'll never forget!"

God! The things Sela had said! Did she really do that with Roger? thought Alana, nearing her townhome.

Fucked him in the ass with a strapon dildo. Said he loved it. Said she loved it even more. Sela had emphasized how hot it was to do it — and then she said it again: "Fucking him in the ass with my strapon" — and in the last thing she'd announced before Alana and Tammy ushered her hurriedly to the restroom, she said that for all the crap Roger put her through with his affair, with all his lies, the thing she was most worried about when looking for another man — "and it'll damned sure be a fuckbuddy before I even think about another marriage," Sela had spat out — was finding a guy who would bend over for her and ask her to fuck him in the ass.

The warm flush of embarrassment rose again up the back of Alana's neck as she recalled the fiasco of the evening's events, but the warmth on her neck was matched by a warmth — accompanied by a tingle — in her pussy.

I've never thought of doing that, but—damn!—what would it be like? Why did Sela like it so much? Guiding her car into the narrow garage always required concentration, and Alana momentarily suspended her inner monologue of fascination and arousal, only to return to it immediately as she turned off the ignition. And why the hell did Roger like it?

Dropping her keys on top of the washing machine as she walked into her townhome through the laundry room, Alana made a beeline for the bathroom, the single Long Island Tea followed by a series of flavored sparkling waters she had at the bar creating an immediate necessity.

Flipping up the back of her sexy maroon dress as she slid down her panties in order to perch on the toilet emphasized the effect that Sela's pronouncement had created: a wet spot was evident in the center of the lining of the panties now stretched between her ankles. Alana stared at the wet spot, thinking, as the relief of peeing settled through her abdomen.

How did they do it? How often did they do it? Alana stood, flushed, then stepped out of her cream-colored panties with the damp crotch, stooping to pick them up and carry them to her closet. She dropped them in the hamper there before reaching behind to grab the zipper of her dress and slide it down. What position did they do it in?

Carefully hanging the dress after checking to see if it needed dry cleaning (thankfully, no), Alana turned away from the tightly packed, haphazard mash-up that was her wardrobe and unclasped her front-closure bra. Letting it fall off her shoulders and down her arms, she caught it and thought for a moment about whether it should join her panties in the hamper.

Noticing herself in the mirror on the closet wall as she hesitated with the bra-washing decision, Alana straightened, pushing her breasts forward with the motion.

Her nipples were very hard. They capped her B-cup tits with dark brown nubs, nearly the size of miniature marshmallows. Her areoloae were dimpled tight, and even given the caramel-cocoa color of her skin, the tell-tale signs of a sexual flush were evident on her shaved pussy.

God, what Sela said really is having an effect on me, she thought. Dropping the bra in the hamper, she reached one hand to a nipple and squeezed the hard nub between her fingers. The delicious tingle, dependable as always, spread down to her belly button.

Had the night ended as too many did — only approaches from definite losers and/or approaches from interested females (something that didn't hold the same interest for Alana) — she might have pulled the slim vibe from her dresser drawer and fantasized about a lover, a relationship, really good sex, as she held the buzzing shaft next to the hood of skin which provided just the right amount of padding to prevent overstimulation on her erect clit.

She would masturbate to a relatively satisfying climax, turn off the vibrator and place it on the nightstand, then snuggle into the sheets. A really good night would include a nice dream about a considerate lover who was an excellent kisser.

Tonight would be different, Alana knew. There would still be the vibrator. There would still be an orgasm.

But tonight's fantasy was going to be very, very different. And the orgasm would be one hell of an orgasm.

Her cell phone cycled through the tinny melody that announced an incoming call while Alana was brushing her teeth. Naked, she quickly spat out the toothpaste foam and hurriedly swished a mouthful of water, spitting it, too, into the basin before grabbing a towel as she walked into her bedroom. She knew it would be Tammy, calling to say she'd arrived home safely. Alana sat on her bed and reached into her purse to pull out the phone, quickly verifying it was Tammy's number, and clicked into answer mode.

"Hey. It's me," said Tammy. "I'm home okay after getting Sela home and at least stretched out on the bed in her bra and panties. She's gonna have to sleep a long time to recover from what she did to herself tonight."

"She was pretty plastered, that's for sure," Alana answered. "She didn't throw up in your car, did she?"

Tammy laughed. "No, thank goodness. I think the divorce has meant Sela is going a little extra on her drinking, but, well . . . can you blame her?"

Alana scooted up on the bed and settled against the headboard, stretched her legs out, crossed them at the ankles, and prepared to talk for awhile with Tammy about their friend. Pushing one of the copper-colored ringlets which was part of her beguiling hairdo away from her eyes ("Has Halle Berry ever worn her hair that way?" people would ask), she answered Tammy's question. "Just as long as it doesn't get out of hand, I guess it's natural that she may trying to drown her sorrows. I can't really blame her. I mean, five years with Roger, you know? Then finding out he was seeing that woman, sleeping with her, and then lying about it. That'd make anybody want a stiff drink."

"Yeah, I know," Tammy answered.

The two friends chatted for a few minutes about whether there was anything they could do for Sela, whether she'd rushed back into the dating scene too fast, all the kind of friends-worried-about-friends conversation that comes so naturally when someone you like and care about goes through a rough patch.

Alana, though, couldn't resist asking about the thing that had so distracted her thinking on her drive home.

"Can you believe what Sela said?"

"What? Oh, you mean about what she and Roger did?"

"Duh," answered Alana. "No, I was talking about when she said she thought the bar stool was uncomfortable."

"Okay," giggled Tammy. "I guess I shouldn't have been so nonchalant about it."

"So?"

"Sela hasn't told you that she and Roger did that?"

Alana leaned forward from the headboard. "She told you?"

Tammy sighed. "Yeah, pretty soon after the divorce. I was over there lending a shoulder to cry on, and she just started spilling her guts about how lonely she was, how horny she was, how much she missed Roger in her bed. She really unloaded."

"And she just said out loud that one of the things she missed was strapping on a dildo and screwing Roger in the ass?"

"Pretty much," Tammy replied simply.

"God! I can't believe it!"

"Neither could I. But apparently she was getting some kind of therapeutic benefit from talking about it, so I let her go on." Tammy paused. "It was kinda weird, I have to tell you, but Sela went into this . . . I don't know what to call it, Alana. It was like a trance or something, like she was actually back in time doing it to him, describing everything, remembering out loud all the details. Her eyes defocused, and out came this incredible story which — and I promise — left absolutely NOTHING out."

Alana was holding her breath, not even aware that her breathing had stopped as she listened to Tammy.

"But I didn't dare interrupt," Tammy continued. "You know how sometimes it's the only thing you can do to just let somebody keep going on with what they're saying — like they're on autopilot or something and it might be dangerous to snap them out of it? I kept my mouth shut and nodded when I thought it was appropriate." Tammy drew in a big breath before continuing, "But I gotta tell you, Alana, it was the craziest thing I've ever heard in my life. And embarrassing! I didn't want to know this stuff about Sela and Roger!"

It was the perfect invitation, and Alana eagerly voiced her question: "What did she say?"

Seconds ticked by as Alana waited out the silence on the other end of the phone. Finally:

"Promise me on all that's holy you will never, EVER tell Sela I told you this," Tammy whispered into the phone. "Maybe I shouldn't worry too much, what with the stuff she said tonight — I mean, how much more public a statement can you make than to announce something in a crowded bar? — but she may not even remember telling everybody in the bar what she did with her ex-husband."

"I don't think we can avoid telling her," said Alana reasonably (and congratulating herself on keeping the anxious excitement out of her voice).

"Hmmm, I guess you're right about that," Tammy said. "One way or another, Sela's gonna find out what she said in the bar tonight. Better that she hear it from us."

"Can you imagine?" Alana answered, realizing the embarrassment their friend would suffer if she were surprised by, say, the bartender the next time they went for drinks after work. If Sela knew what she'd done tonight, at least it would be her call about ever going back to their favorite establishment to unwind after a tough day trudging up the corporate mountain.

"No, I can't imagine, so that means we tell her the next time we see her, okay?"

"Promise," Alana replied. After a second of silence in the conversation, she hastily added, "And I also promise not to tell Sela what you're about to tell me."

"I can't believe I'm doing this," said Tammy, "but if I DON'T tell somebody, I'm going to go crazy myself."

Jesus! thought Alana, how kinky could Sela's tale have been?

"You're going to think I'm embellishing or adding things in, Alana, but I swear I'm not. I guarantee you, when you hear this, then you'll understand why there's no way I could have forgotten any of it."

"God, Tammy, what did she say?"

"First, she wasn't drunk. She was upset, sad, angry, sick of not being with a man — you know how boy crazy Sela has always been — but she wasn't, like, talking crazy or anything. I seriously think that things had just piled up, and she needed to tell someone, you know?" Alana nodded, then realized she was on the phone. I am so-o-o-o eager to hear this!

"Sela started by saying that the loneliness, even in spite of knowing Roger had been a true jerk, was just awful. It was the little stuff, she said, that hits you square in the face when you least expect it. Seeing a pair of cuff links he'd left in a drawer. Noticing the way he'd fixed the handle on a pair of scissors lying on the desk when she was looking for a stamp — that kind of stuff." Tammy paused. The silence only made the next words out of her mouth that much more of a shock for Alana. "Then she said that the little stuff was bad, but remembering the big stuff was worse, like how bad the ache was in every way when she thought about Roger, naked and bent over the arm of the sofa where we were sitting, his ass up high and his cock and balls hanging down between his legs so she could see and play with them before she lubed up his ass and her strapon and gave him a fucking that never failed to give them both the most incredible orgasms."

"Shit," Alana breathed into the phone, unconsciously hugging herself, her knees drawn up to her breasts, the phone cradled between ear and neck as she squirmed in place.

"Exactly," Tammy said, "and I have to tell you, I almost got up off that sofa that very minute."

Alana smiled at that, but noticed that her nipples had hardened during Tammy's frank description of the scene Sela had explicitly detailed about the "big" thing she missed with her ex-husband.

"But then, with this sad, far-away look in her eyes, she started telling me everything — and I mean EVERYTHING — about how she and Roger did it, what it felt like for her, what it looked like, how much she loved doing it . . . I mean, Alana, this was by far the dirtiest, raunchiest talk I've ever heard out of Sela's mouth. She didn't use a single euphemism, didn't try to clean it up, didn't shy away from a single detail or a single description."

Goose bumps were forming on Alana's arms as she listened.

"Now, none of us is an uptight prude who hasn't heard the f-word and nasty pillow talk. Hell, Alana, our conversations on girls' nights out get pretty risqué all the time. You know the times we've been to The Tuxedo to see the guys there strip down to their birthday suits? The three of us have no problem at all talking about the cocks and balls and the great-looking asses on our favorite entertainers."

Alana flashed back to the last excursion, a bachelorette party for one of the trainers at the gym where the three of them worked out. Tammy had leaned over to Alana at the front-row table where they were sitting and said, "Damn! That guy's cock looks so good. And he has those sexy eyes. I would just love to take him down my throat, fondle his balls, and then have him push me up against a wall, rip down my panties, and pound my pussy until I see stars."

Yeah, the three girlfriends were 21st-century women without the hang-ups that had saddled previous generations.

"But, Alana, Sela went into porn-talk mode or something. That's one of the reasons that I can't get this out of my head. She was talking in this perfectly normal way about these things she and Roger did, and the language she was using was so explicit."

Alana could tell Tammy was looking for permission to skip all the searching for more polite ways to say what Sela had told her using the frank language that she must have tossed out without a second thought

"I understand what you're saying. Don't worry about cleaning it up for me, Tammy. I'm a big girl."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Tammy said, "Good. That'll make it easier. But don't say I didn't warn you."

"Go ahead, Tammy."

"Sela said Roger brought home a video one night that had a scene in it where a woman seduces a guy in a club, teases him unmercifully with all kinds of dirty talk, then takes him to her apartment to have sex with him. But when they get into her bedroom, she tells him she wants an ass fuck, and the ass that's going to get fucked is his. She walks to her nightstand, pulls out her strapon and the lube, and tells him to get naked."

Alana's pussy started to moisten again this evening.

"Well, you know how pornos are. There's never any plot, never any reality. Like we both know any guy in that situation wouldn't be out the door in a New York minute. But, well, Sela kept on and on about what happened in that scene, saying that the guy was naked on the bed, his ass up and his face down into the pillow with the camera angle showing everything from his big, hard dick and his heavy balls swaying underneath him between his spread thighs to the way his asscheeks were parted with his naked asshole in full view, twitching and eager, and then the woman drizzled lube into his ass crack and pushed two fingers inside his asshole while she told him she was really looking forward to fucking him in the ass — stuff like that. I swear I must have been in shock, because Sela told me this like it was the most natural thing in the world, like she was describing a scene from some recently released romantic comedy or something."

"You were definitely right about the language," Alana said. "I wonder if she talked to Roger like that when they, um, well . . . you know . . ."

"Like I said, she was in some kind of trance or something. After she described the scene in the video, wrapping it up by saying the woman had an incredible orgasm from the assfucking she was giving the guy and that the guy was squirming his ass up and down and backing into her to take as much of her strapon as she would bury inside him while he moaned about how fantastic it felt to be fucked like that, she said that Roger's dick was really, really hard. Like it was about to burst out of his shorts. So she unzips him and pulls out his cock and asks him if the scene turned him on." "Tammy, I can't believe this! Swear you're not making this up," Alana said, now straightening her legs out and grabbing a pillow to put behind her back to get more comfortable as she sat against the headboard.

"Could I possibly make this up? Alana, I have been trying to forget that I heard this, but, well, can you understand that you just don't forget something like this?"

Alana knew that she wouldn't forget it.

"Then Sela says that Roger said to her, 'How hard is my cock? Would you say that's a pretty good answer for whether the scene turns me on or not?' And then, Alana, for maybe the only time that Sela's eyes focused on my face during the entire time she was telling me this stuff, she looked at me and said, 'I knew that he was asking me to strapon fuck him in the asshole, and that he wanted it bad.'"

"Jesus," whispered Alana. "Sela was telling you everything about her and Roger's sex life, about what they did. Didn't you feel like a voyeur or something?"

"Yes," Tammy answered quickly, "but, you know . . . somehow I knew it was going to help Sela to say all this, so I stayed put. I listened to the rest."