As those here at Lush who know me already know, I’m twice divorced. And things haven’t been good at all with my third husband these past 8 or 9 years. As in, I can barely stand him, and I have a separate bedroom. But my second divorce nearly bankrupted me, so I won’t go through that again in a third divorce. I love sex and still want it and need it, so I’ve had a series of lovers over the last few years. The latest, Dave, has been sweetly and wonderfully banging me for about two years now. (I also have my first-ever female lover these past 6 months, but that’s for another story).

One drawback to affairs is I have to spend holidays with family, so the true holiday with my lovers has always had to be the day before or the day after, not on the holiday itself.

So yesterday, I decided to celebrate Valentine’s Day with Dave a day early.

I slipped into a black miniskirt, matching black blouse, black fishnet stockings, black high heels, no bra or panties. My intent was to get my Valentine’s banging before I had to go to work for the day.

My husband didn’t even notice or comment on how sexy I looked. He never does any more. There was a time when one look at me made him very hard, and one look at his bulge made me unzip him and suck him hungrily. But those days are long gone, due to his descent into mad obsessions about perceived wrongs done to his family decades ago.

But Frank (my husband) did say something: “Don’t forget to get me a 12-pack of beer before you get home tonight.”

I let into him. “You haven’t had a job in 9 years. You sit around the house all day moping or you go drinking with your brother or you go file more legal papers about your family that get you nowhere. You have a car and a driver’s license, so get off your ass and go get your own damned beer! Besides, you know I’m a recovering alcoholic and I can’t have beer in the house. Get it yourself and keep it in your own room!”

I slammed the front door behind me and sped off in my car. The only thing that calmed me down was the happy thought that in a few minutes, Dave’s entire 8 inches were going to be down my throat.

I knocked on Dave’s door, and when he opened it I flew into his arms and kissed him fiercely. I led him by the hand to his bedroom, and sat on his bed to show him that all that was under my skirt were my fishnets and my bush.

“What’s wrong, Kat?” Dave asked with genuine concern. Dave is so much more perceptive and so much more caring than Frank.

“Oh it’s just that Frank was being his usual asshole self this morning!” I kissed Dave, playfully snaking my tongue into his sweet, hot mouth. “Let’s not talk about him, OK?”

“Are you sure you want me to bang you when you’re this upset?”

“It will cheer me up!” I grin.

“I’m not sure banging you will be so good, Kat, when you’re not in a happy mood. Besides, I really do have to get to work this morning.”

I looked at Dave all pouting, so he promised that we could have a nooner. That cheered me up a little.

I went to work and I felt all deliciously naughty at the office all morning, in fishnets and mini. Did any of my coworkers sense that I was pantiless?

Dave stopped by my desk at 11:00 a.m. and whisked me off in his car back to his place.

I hadn’t noticed, until I tugged his belt open, that he had button fly jeans on. He knows I love the sweet sexy pop-pop-pop as I rip open his jeans to get to the thick hardness my mouth almost constantly craves.

“Is that my Valentine’s present?” I grinned.

“All for you, Kat.” Mmmm, just what I needed to hear!

It felt so good to finally start working him into my mouth, after dreaming about this very moment for the past eighteen hours.

He is so thick and tastes so damned good. The taste of his cock flesh, and of what explodes out of it, I love both flavors.

After about fifteen minutes of my intensely hungry sucking, Dave was about to explode, and I was hungry to feel every tasty drop on my tongue before gulping it all down my throat. But he stopped us and moaned, “Kat, today I want to pump every drop up your pretty little pussy.”

That sounded great to me, so I climbed aboard and rode him, slowly at first and then building up to about Mach 3 speed, bouncing up and down all that wonderfully thick hard shaft. He had been right on the brink for quite a while, and he moaned that he really needed to come.

That was all I needed to hear. Trembling, my pussy squeezed his cock tight and began to pour girl-come all the way down his deeply-buried shaft and out onto his balls. Feeling me come, Dave finally let himself explode deep up into me.

I sucked him again and drained every remaining drop that he hadn’t pumped up my pussy. Mmm, as always, Dave tasted so good.

Dave spent the next twenty minutes skillfully working his mouth on me, eating me hungrily, passionately through three powerful orgasms.

With tears of the purest joy and desire in my eyes, I lay flat on my back, widened my legs, and begged, “I need you to bang me! Very, very, very hard!”

His rapid banging brought forth four more orgasms from me, and two from him.

Sore but very happy, we both had to get dressed and return to our jobs then. All afternoon at work, I felt even naughtier. Not only still pantiless, but now with my sore, thoroughly banged pussy completely filled up with warm, gooey Dave-juice. And my pussy lips clenched so tight as to not let even one wonderful drop escape from me.

This morning, Valentine’s Day, my husband handed me a box of chocolates and mumbled something charming and endearing about, “Here, I guess I had to get you this.”

“Had to?”

“It’s expected.”

“I long ago gave up expecting anything from you,” I hissed.

I thought about it. I walk and bicycle and work damned hard to keep my hips and ass curvy and cute and sexy and very desirable… for my own feeling of sexiness and of course also for Dave. The last thing I’m going to do is spoil that with a whole box of chocolates. So I ate one in front of Frank to placate him, and gave the rest to my coworkers when I got to my office this morning.

And I thought about the flavor of the chocolate from my husband. And I thought about how much better taste than chocolate Dave had left on my tongue yesterday.

Frank made the same stupid, not at all funny joke he makes every year: “Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re going to get.”

I had to bite my tongue not to shoot back: “I know exactly what I’m going to get! Chocolates and the same stupid, boring movie quotes from my moody husband. And a pussy full of warm, sweet, wonderful come from my lover.”

What would Frank think if someday I stopped holding it in and actually said something like that to him? Well, I’m not about to risk financial ruin to find out.