She Is 3
Copyright© 2025 by RogueTen
Chapter 7
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 7 - A saintly yoga wife, her burned-out "nice guy" husband, and a creepy basement janitor slip into one messed-up loop of lust, guilt and voyeurism. This isn’t about cheating, it’s about something worse: when you suddenly realize it turns you on to see your perfect little world get dragged through the mud – and you don’t want it to stop.
Caution: This Drama Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged NonConsensual Romantic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Sharing Slut Wife Wife Watching Wimp Husband RAAC DomSub Humiliation Light Bond Rough Spanking Gang Bang Group Sex Swinging Interracial Black Male White Male White Female Oriental Male White Couple Anal Sex Cream Pie Double Penetration Exhibitionism Facial Fisting Masturbation Oral Sex Spitting Squirting Voyeurism Public Sex Prostitution
The evening promised to be interesting for Omar. With his new knowledge -- that the local schmuck comes when another man wipes his cock on his wife -- the janitor felt his hands were untied. Hands that, by the way, still ached after scrubbing that insulting nickname off the wall.
It bothered the old man, really. He seemed to get what he wanted through cunning, and yet life kept reminding him who he was, never letting him feel proud. If it weren’t those teenagers, it would be someone else -- Omar was sure of it. Who enjoys being a target for the universe’s caustic jokes? But there was nothing to be done. You can’t fool Allah -- unlike that philosophizing bitch and her husband, the self-important schmuck.
Over dinner, Annette launched into a talk about ordinary people. In her opinion, almost no one truly lives -- they just run programs installed in them by society and upbringing. And they teach their children to live the same way, cutting them off from happiness. Annette called them “reposts of reposts.”
“They don’t even try to step outside the frames other people set for them!” Annette said, indignant. “They don’t try to find truth! They live hiding behind their boring little certainties, spending their precious, only lives on them...”
She spoke and smiled each time her husband nodded and agreed.
Annette clearly believed people were simply a herd of spoiled, pampered idiots -- that they’d closed themselves off from some truth revealed only to an elite.
“I don’t know,” said the immigrant, irritated by her self-importance. “If you ask me, you should live like this: buy yourself the most comfortable lie you can, and cling to it as long as you’re able. Hunting for truth has never made anyone happy.”
Annette raised her brows, gathered the plates, and carried them to the sink. A strange burn flared between her legs when the old man spoke. All day she’d been remembering her dream with a shiver. Why had she dreamed of Omar’s huge organ? What kind of subconscious games were these? Her dreams hadn’t betrayed her like this before. Something was off in her, she felt it. The anxiety wouldn’t go away; yoga didn’t help her pull herself together. The immigrant affected her strangely, and it became hard to look at him, to listen to his voice.
“But living in a lie ... that’s refusing your own life -- refusing yourself. Do you understand?” Annette asked. Her gaze made it plain: she was certain this dim janitor didn’t understand in the slightest what she meant.
Her breasts pushed forward, sexually, distracting Omar from the topic, keeping him from thinking too hard about what was said. And yet he still replied:
“And who says my life is so priceless that I have to live it ‘as myself’? Maybe society, parents, their rules -- maybe they gave me a chance to be better than what I am.”
“Maybe,” Annette said coldly. She wasn’t used to being argued with, and she realized how unpleasant it was. Especially from some ... janitor with a big cock.
“Just a janitor,” she corrected herself, biting her lip in a way that was, annoyingly, sexual.
“And still,” Annette said, “a person who wants to live with a clean conscience has to seek their own path -- not be part of the herd. There’s something vile in the lives of ordinary people.”
As she spoke, she shifted from foot to foot, and her breasts bounced so much you’d have roused demons -- let alone Omar, who wanted Annette and also hated her for her contempt toward others, and for looking at him personally like he was an idiot.
“My world is hardly viler than your fake-clean one!” he blurted.
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