Morning Coffee for Sexwife Lesya

I always start my video diaries the same way. I smile into my phone camera, take a sip of cappuccino, and say, "Good morning, my darlings. It's your Sexwife Lesya again with your morning coffee."

Today was no different.

I was sitting by the window of a little coffee shop on the Sevastopol waterfront. The rain had just stopped, and the asphalt gleamed like wet silk. I was wearing a thin beige dress that clung to my tits and hips, stockings with lace tops, and the lingerie Zhenya had bought me last week. I slowly bit into a croissant, feeling the butter melt on my tongue, and stared out at the gray sea.

A plan was already forming in my head. A new one. A hard one. I pictured tying Zhenya to a chair in our bedroom tonight, making him watch as I slowly stripped for my subscribers on camera, and then... then teaching him what real service meant. I could already see his eyes—submissive, glazed with lust. The thought made me hot and wet between my legs.

I looked up and caught them staring.

At the table across from me sat a couple. She was a redhead with sharp cheekbones and a defiant smile. He was dark-haired, broad-shouldered, with a heavy gaze. Both were watching me. Not casually. They were undressing me. Slowly. The woman ran her finger along the rim of her cup like she was tracing it down my collarbone. The man leaned back slightly in his chair, never taking his eyes off me. I felt my nipples straining against the thin fabric of my dress.

We didn't say a word.

I licked my lower lip. She smiled with the corner of her mouth. He gave a nearly imperceptible nod. I stood up, left money on the table, and walked out onto the waterfront. The rain had started to drizzle again. Cold drops landed on my shoulders, trickled down my neck.

They followed me out.

"You sure?" the woman asked quietly when we were in the shadow of the old acacia trees by the water. Her voice was low, a little husky.

"Yeah," I breathed out. "Very."

He approached first. Laid his palm on my waist, like he was asking permission. I pressed into him myself, feeling his cock harden through his pants. The woman moved in behind me, pressing her tits against my back, her hot breath burning my ear.

"God, you're beautiful..." she whispered, then slowly hiked up the hem of my dress.

His fingers slid under my panties, found my already-soaked slit, and pushed in with two fingers at once. I let out a soft moan, gripping his shoulders. The rain picked up. Drops hammered the leaves, my skin.

"Look how wet she is," the woman said to her man, then dropped to her knees right on the wet stone.

She pulled my panties aside and pressed her tongue to my clit. I arched back, gasping for air. Meanwhile he pulled out his thick, heavy cock and ran it along my lips. I opened my mouth, took him deep, feeling him pulse against my tongue.

They fucked me long and skillfully.

First he bent me over, hands braced against a wet bench. He entered hard, all the way to the hilt. I screamed with pleasure as rain washed over my face. The woman stood in front of me, spread her legs, and made me eat her out while he pounded me from behind. Her moans mixed with mine.

Then they switched. She strapped on a dildo she pulled from her bag and slid it into my ass—slow, but deep. Meanwhile he fucked my mouth, gripping my wet hair. I came twice in a row—the first time so hard my legs gave out.

When they were both ready, he came on my tits, and she came on my face. Hot cum mixed with the raindrops. I knelt there, panting, smiling.

They helped me up, kissed me one after the other—gently, almost tenderly.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"We should be the ones thanking you," the woman replied, tracing a finger along my lower lip.

I went back into the coffee shop. My dress was soaked through, hair plastered to my cheeks. The barista—a young guy, maybe twenty-five—stood behind the counter staring at me with wide eyes. His cheeks were flushed. He'd clearly seen everything through the big panoramic window.

I walked over, sat down at my table, and said calmly:

"Another cappuccino, please. And a croissant. I guess I worked up an appetite."

He swallowed hard, trying to tear his gaze away from my nipples, which were clearly visible through the wet fabric.

"R-right away..." he croaked.

I smiled into my phone camera, which I'd discreetly turned on in my bag, and murmured softly:

"That's my morning coffee for today, darlings. Sometimes life just hands you the sweetest desserts..."