The Most Painful Gift – CAW 9
by Duskshade
11/25/2011-

Her name was Noelle and she was lost in guilt and pleasure as her lover licked her clitoris, sending her hips upward in pleasure and her heart downward. The small gold ring of her triangle piercing wiggled up and down as the girl between Noelle’s legs licked her clit with earnest. Noelle’s hands caressed her breasts, tweaking each nipple that was pierced and set with a flaming sun nipple shield. She looked down past the small landing strip she maintained – bald pussy was sexy, but some hair made it look like a woman’s pussy.

The girl in between Noelle’s legs had a name – her email name said Buttercup Florin but Noelle knew it was fake – as fake as her own Leigh Christmas alias. Buttercup was short, petite and Mexicana – lush body, soft dark skin with sexy breasts and a round, curvy ass, a complete contrast to Noelle’s pale skin, flaming red hair and long, tall body. Noelle had no idea who she really was – it was something to put into gmail to make sure that no one knew it was her. No one would be the wiser about Noelle’s dalliances – the likes of which she could never let go of, even after ten years of marriage. It was her sexy, dirty secret that she liked to fuck girls. She would even love some of them, but they never lasted. It didn’t have to at the moment. Buttercup smelled like a cheap whore and fucked like an experienced one and Noelle liked the tawdriness of it all.

Buttercup worked a finger inside Noelle and found her G-spot, tingling and swollen in her vaginal canal. Noelle moaned and fisted hair in her hands, her wedding ring emeralds twinkling like Buttercup’s green eyes. After a long moment, Noelle groaned through a long, well-stimulated orgasm, a deep, groaning release that only a girl could draw from her.

Buttercup came up, her chin and lips slicked with Noelle’s pleasure. They kissed and rubbed, Noelle relishing the smooth, lush skin and plump breasts. Buttercup sucked hard on Noelle’s neck for a moment, teasing like she would mark Noelle. Noelle eased her back, though before she could, and leaned forward. Buttercup’s nipples went into Noelle’s mouth, suckling and tickling as she lavished sapphic lust on Buttercup’s dusky skin.

Noelle kissed her way down, nipping at the sensitive skin over each hip, and kissing the sensitive inner skin of Buttercup’s inner thigh. She was completely smooth, Brazilian waxed and baby-soft skin. Noelle relished the taste of Buttercup’s fluids as she began to pleasure Buttercup, each kiss, nibble, and lick exploring and stimulating Buttercup’s pleasure as she moaned and groaned.

Noelle’s eye caught the cheap neutral bedspread pattern – the same as a dozen other no-tell motel spreads that she’d seen over the years. She felt a pang of guilt again, but subsumed it as wet pussy ground against her face and lips – she loved the scent of well-aroused pussy. God, she thought as she slipped a hand between her own legs and began playing her own stiff little clit, how did she think she could even go without being a woman again?

She lost herself in her pleasure and Buttercup’s hot body, not thinking about her life outside of this little cocoon of this little motel room and the anonymous hot body under her. Noelle felt Buttercup’s body tensing as she began to buck furiously and Noelle rubbed herself to her own wet climax. Noelle felt her pleasure explode as Buttercup’s hips flew upward, and held there as she groaned out a final orgasm, her hips frozen for a moment until she pistoned back and forth.

Noelle slid upwards, basking in the slickness, the smooth skin, the rightness of her pleasure with another woman. After a few minutes of kissing, Buttercup sat up, sighing with satisfaction.

“Wow that was great!”
Noelle stretched, ignoring a germ of regret, even with such a sexy woman. “Yeah, that was nice. I haven’t cum like that in a long time.”
“So, you wanna do it again sometime?”
Noelle blinked at that. “What?”
“That was really good. It’s hard to find someone you click with, right? Well, that was the best sex I have ever had and I definitely want to do it again.” Noelle wasn’t sure. Buttercup was bubbly and happy, unlike Noelle’s more reserved normal demeanor.
Noelle looked at Buttercup. “I don’t know. I don’t even know your real name.”
Buttercup looked at Noelle and picked up her hand. “Yesenia.”
Noelle smiled and squeezed. “Noelle.”
The two smiled at each other. “Your screen name makes sense.” said Yesenia. “You looked like Christmas morning after we were done.”
“I figured yours out, too. The Princess Bride is one of my favorite movies.”
The two shared a laugh, and leaned in for a deep, wet kiss. After a moment, Yesenia broke the kiss and picked up her travel kit of toiletries. Noelle followed her into the bathroom, and they shared a warm shower and a hot makeout session in the warm spray.

They dressed quickly. Noelle smiled at Yesenia’s tight clothing, almost-clubwear halter top and spangled skinny jeans. Paired with a set of gold come-fuck-me heels, Yesenia was a headturner. Her curly hair fell nearly to her waist and her skin and eyes were rich, lush brown. Noelle’s own clothes were casually sexy – a drapey handkerchief blouse over a pair of slim-leg jeans with flats. Her own rich red hair fell casually to just below her shoulders, and her creamy white skin was still firm and taut despite having crossed the upper half of her thirties.

The two made a tentative date for coffee and clothing-only date, and left the cheap motel. Noelle had paid cash, and tipped an extra $20 to make sure that the clerk didn’t check her ID. Yesenia left with a bounce in her sexy strut, and Noelle with a smooth gait to her car. She slowed until she saw Yesenia’s car, an old Hyundai Sonata, turn left as it left the parking lot. With that, Noelle finished walking to her car. When she got into her Chrysler Pacifica, she looked in the back at the trappings of her life with her husband. Two kids’ worth of stuff laying all over the place, and his stuff – a Brazilian instrument called a berimbau, and a pair of capoeira uniform pants, complete with school logo emblazoned on the left hip crease.

She drove home, to a small house in the suburbs of town. It was an older house. She stepped in to a house in bright, warm colors and Spanish tiles. Each part of this house bore her own stamp – her caring husband had let her put her stamp on everything. The tiles that decorated the landing on the stair as it went upstairs. The warm Brazilian koa that lined the downstairs. His stereo and home theater dominated the living room, but her furniture decorated the living room, her colors on the wall.

She stopped and looked around. The years of working together, laughing together, and moments of tender passion in this house overwhelmed Noelle. She wondered if the hot passion she shared with Yesenia could ever be worth losing all of this, the years of happiness. It wasn’t the hot passion of stolen sex and pleasure, but the banked warmth of a hearth fire tended daily for years.

She was alone in the house – the kids were at their grandparents’ house. Her husband was at work in the studio tending to the business aspect of their life. Their combination of dance, martial arts, and yoga drew people in from all over. The Academy of Cultural Arts was the culmination of their skills, desires, and talents and was a thriving facility that brought people in balance through physical activity and spiritual creativity.

Noelle put her purse down and sat down on the couch. Her own pleasure throbbed, but the pleasant tingle of good sex rapidly became an albatross around her neck, dragging her down in a miasma of guilt and self-doubt.

Noelle put her face in her hands and sobbed for the quiet desperation she felt in the middle of suburbia, for her near-perfect life and her secret actions that could blow it up, and for the sinking feeling that she was doomed to blow her life apart even if she managed to keep her indiscretions quiet.

It was the day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday.

Miguel enjoyed his life. He was a capoeira instructor, 12 years of hard training and sweat that brought him here. He loved Noelle, their kids, and the studio that was their vision and livelihood. It wasn’t many that could do what they loved and make a living at it. He came in early, as was his habit. He stretched, working on his flexibility and tone. He was in his late thirties, physically past his prime but muscled, lithe, and well-developed. His usual clothes were casual to the point of bumhood, a colored tank top and shorts. In deference to the chill of the fall, he was wearing long, workout pants instead of his usual shorts, black with a vicious yellow diagonal slash, and a black tank-top. His hair was long and lush – his own rebellion against the world. Generally he kept it braided and back, but today it was in a simple ponytail. He’d brought the motorcycle in today, as Noelle was out since early morning doing Black Friday shopping. He smiled as he thought about his hot, sexy wife.

He was finishing the last of the paperwork when Noelle walked in. She was a wet dream in the flesh – her clothes emphasized her dancer’s lithe, strong body. Dressed in a off-the-shoulder peasant blouse and a broomstick skirt with a set of black come-fuck-me heels, she was bohemian and drop dead sexy. She smiled at him, full of warmth in her eyes and something else. Miguel filed it away, his customary smile in place. He was a smiling kind of guy in general.