It’s fucking Valentine’s Day. And I’m alone, single, and stupid enough to think my ex might actually text to say he misses me but nothing, not so much as a dick pic. Not a goddamn thing. I’d dumped his ass months ago, but that’s no reason for him to be rude and not beg for me back, and now here I was, sitting alone with a half-empty wine bottle, my pussy throbbing with frustration instead of desire. Fuck flowers. Fuck chocolates. Fuck all the happy couples making out on Instagram. I was done moping. It was time to get reckless.
I slid into a little black skirt— one so short my ass cheeks peeked out when I bent over—and a sheer black top so thin my nipples were like two hard pebbles begging for attention. No bra. No fucking apologies. High heels and a thong so small it was basically dental floss up my cunt. I checked myself out in the mirror and smirked. Yeah, I looked like a slut. A hungry, pissed-off, ready-to-get-railed slut. Valentine’s Day could suck my dick.
The club was pulsing with horny energy, bodies grinding, drinks flowing. I didn’t waste time. Two strangers—one with rough hands and a smirk, the other bulging in his jeans—bought me shots before leading me to a dimly lit corner near the bathrooms. They didn’t ask my name. I didn’t want them to.
One’s fingers were already under my skirt, working my clit while the other shoved his tongue down my throat. I moaned, wet and shameless, as they took turns fucking me in the bathroom stall—one in my pussy, the other in my mouth—until my legs shook and my makeup was ruined. Coming in my pussy and down my throat, they left me gasping and dripping.
Despite my efforts to straighten up, I still looked rather disheveled. I had that drunken, just-fucked look as I stumbled through the crowded bar.
“Hey, you look like you could use a drink,” I heard someone say during a momentary pause in the loud music. I turned and drunkenly gazed at my ex.
“Ummm, yeah, that would be great.”
The next thing I knew, we were parked in front of my apartment building, and I was riding his cock in the front seat of his car. The slick, sticky friction between my thighs was a delicious secret, a filthy reminder of the two strangers who had just used me.
Now, grinding down onto my ex’s familiar cock, the sheer depravity of the moment made my head spin. I was soaking wet, filled with their cum, letting him slide right into that mess without a single clue. God, I was such a whore, getting back together with him while still dripping with the loads of men he’d never meet.
He moaned against my neck, whispering how much he missed me, how good I felt, totally unsuspecting that he was stirring up the cocktail of seed inside me. The car windows were fogged up, sealing us in this steamy little bubble of rekindled romance, completely at odds with the fact that my pussy was still throbbing from being stretched by two different cocks not even an hour ago.
I kissed him harder, tasting the absurdity of it all, loving how I was pulling off this perfect deception. Looking into his eyes, seeing nothing but love and lust, while my cunt was full of strangers’ cum, was the most thrilling high I’d ever felt. Happy Valentine’s Day to me, indeed.
