On My Knees Before Breakfast

It started with a game… and ended with my lips too full to speak.

It started like any other slow morning. I was dressed for work—mini skirt, fitted blouse, sheer panties underneath, just because I felt sexy.
My husband's friend had stopped by early, hanging out, waiting with me for him to swing by for breakfast. We'd just broken in the new espresso machine, and we were sipping coffee, chatting casually.

But the way he kept looking at me…
I knew what I was doing when I crossed my legs, then slowly opened them, flashing just a glimpse of soft lace beneath.

His eyes dropped. I smiled.

“Truth or dare?” I asked, voice low and playful.

He smirked. “Truth.”

“Did you just look between my legs?”

“No hesitation. “Yes. I always look when you do that.”

That sent a shiver through me.

We kept going—truths got deeper, dares got darker. There was this wicked tension building between us. And then came the one that tipped everything over.

“I dare you,” he said, leaning in, “to drink your coffee with cum instead of creamer.”

I blinked, heart racing. “Well… I would, if my husband were here.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “But I’m here.”

Oh—I wanted to say no. But the game had already turned me on, and the thought of doing something so filthy, so forbidden, was just too much.

I got up, walked to the counter, and made a fresh espresso—ground the beans, poured the shot, added a splash of milk. Then I dropped to my knees right there by the machine and unzipped him.

I stroked him slowly, teasing, then faster—his breath hitched, and with a soft grunt he came, thick and hot, into my cup.

I stirred the thick swirl of his cum floating in the espresso. It barely mixed, just curled around like cream too heavy to blend.

My heart pounded in my chest as I lifted the mug, eyes locked on my husband’s best friend—his daring smirk, his still-hard cock glistening in front of me.

I brought the cup to my lips and took a deep sip—rich, bitter, and indecently salty. A warm glob clung to my lip.

I licked slowly, teasingly—

Then we heard the key in the front door.

Shit.

Pure panic surged through me. In a blink, I swallowed hard and grabbed another desperate gulp, trying to finish as much of the coffee as I could. But there was too much. The creamy load was still thick, coating my tongue, sliding down my throat.

I set the mug down—too quickly. Some sloshed over the side. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, but I already knew—

It was too late.

The front door swung open.

There he was—my husband. Casual. Comfortable. Home.

He didn’t look at us. Didn’t suspect a thing. He just spotted the mug on the counter, picked it up without a word, and took a sip.

My stomach twisted.

He paused, face contorting. “Ugh. What the hell? Is the creamer bad?” He tilted the mug, inspecting it. “There’s something floating in here.”

My lips still tingled. I could feel it—something thick still stuck to the corner.

He looked right at me. “You’ve got something on your lip.”

I faked a confused blink, then slowly dragged my tongue across it—one clean, sensual lick.

He made a face. “That’s disgusting.” He dumped the mug in the sink, tossed the creamer in the trash, and grabbed his keys. “I’m gonna run out and get some proper half-and-half. Be back in ten.”

The door shut.

My husband’s friend looked at me, wide-eyed… and hard again.

“You remember that scene from Babygirl with Nicole Kidman?” he asked, stepping closer.

“Where she’s on all fours drinking milk from a plate?” I asked, biting my lip.

He grinned. “Dare you.”

My knees hit the tile. I got down on all fours, skirt riding up high, panties a soaking mess.

He placed a shallow dish of milk in front of me. I dipped my tongue into it and started to lap it up like a kitten, slow and sensual.

“Such a good little babygirl,” he murmured, stroking himself behind me.

I arched my back, letting my hips sway. The milk dripped from my tongue as I kept licking, one naughty flick after another, like I was born for this. The thrill of being used, watched, almost caught—it was intoxicating.

Then—his hand came down hard on my ass.

The slap echoed.

“Faster,” he ordered, spanking me again, lifting my skirt fully.

I whimpered and licked faster, the milk splashing lightly under my tongue.

Another smack.

“Slower.”

I obeyed instantly, tongue dragging through the milk, savoring the mess I was making.

His hand gripped my hip, holding me steady. The dominance in his voice, the sharp sting of each slap, the way I moved exactly how he told me to—I was completely under his control.

Then he moved in front of me, stroking himself, watching me.

“Open your mouth.”

I did. Tongue out, eyes wide.

He groaned, then came—right onto my tongue—hot, thick, and sinful.

But he wasn’t done.

He held my head down, guiding me back to the milk dish, cum still fresh in my mouth, some dripping into the bowl.

“Now finish it,” he growled.

I moaned, licking every drop, swirling it with the milk, drinking like a messy little pet on command. He spanked me again, gently now, almost approving, as I finished the last sip.

Milk. Cum. Obedience.

But I wasn’t done.

I stayed on all fours, milk dripping from my lips, skirt up, my panties clinging to my soaked pussy. I reached back, pulled them down slowly, leaving my ass high and bare—an open invitation.

“Do whatever you want,” I whispered.

He stepped behind me.

I waited, aching, breath held—ready to be taken.

Instead, I felt one slow, teasing finger slide between my folds, pressing in just enough to make me gasp.

Then—he pulled it out.

Pulled my panties back up.

Lowered my skirt.

“You need to clean up the mess,” he said darkly, tucking himself away. “He’ll be back any second.”

And just like that—he left me. Dripping. Desperate. Denied.

I cleaned everything up with shaking hands, still throbbing between my legs, trying to steady my breath.

By the time my husband walked back in, I was dressed, composed… and soaking wet underneath.

He didn’t notice a thing.

Just handed me the half-and-half.

We poured new coffee and sat down like nothing had happened.

But inside, I was still buzzing—still tasting that secret dare on my tongue.