She Is 5
Copyright© 2026 by RogueTen
Chapter 3
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 3 - 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
Omar led our heroes deeper into the market.
Annette looked around with a certain contempt. She hadn’t been to places like this in years, and the offers flying at her from every side irritated her -- as did the dumb assurances: “For you, discount!” When to get to a real discount you have to haggle, then change your mind, show you don’t want it anymore, and haggle again!
How nice that I don’t have to do that anymore, Annette thought -- but not with gratitude toward her husband, as she ought to have. She’d grown used to treating her comfortable finances as a given, without thinking about who earned that money for her and how. Yuri had truly spoiled her. He liked it -- spoiling her.
Omar spoke to one of the vendors in his native language and slipped behind a stall. The spouses traded a puzzled look.
A minute later the janitor returned with three older men from his community. One wore a yellow shirt, another wore a pair of white jeans, the third had a chain around his neck. All of them looked worn, no less than Omar. Their eyes held an unclouded stupidity. They had the look of men who love to “put on airs” while having no airs to put on.
Annette grimaced at them -- and immediately scolded her own inner arrogance. Every being is the One, wearing different faces. Between her and these grimy market men there was, in truth, no difference. In theory it was easy ... in practice the difference slapped you in the face, and the dislike clung hard. Yuri stood beside her, sunk in a work chat.
Omar, talking with his acquaintances, picked out a few items. Then, prodded by Annette, he stopped being shy and set aside much more for himself. Yuri -- who would be paying for his wife’s generosity -- watched with disapproval, but kept quiet.
Annette didn’t interfere with the janitor’s choices, but when it came time to pay, she decided to inspect the clothes. Complaints immediately began to rain down. Here a seam was sloppy, there a button was missing, here a collar was torn. It seemed the men had decided to dump all their defective stock on Omar. Annette’s anger kept rising.
“Hey. Stop your wife,” one of them muttered to Yuri.
“I’m not ‘hey.’ And Ann’s right -- you’re selling garbage,” Yuri said firmly, and stared with challenge at the short man in the yellow shirt. The man wilted, pressed his lips together, and shot an irritated look at Omar. The others did the same. In their looks Omar read:
Who did you bring us? You looking for a fight?
Omar wasn’t respected much by his own people. In fact, it’s hard to imagine anyone respecting him. Yes, many treated Omar with a kind of rough kindness, but respect? ... No.
The janitor nervously tugged at his pants while Annette kept finding flaws. She leaned over the pile; everyone stood behind her. Two of the men made little grunting noises to show they were listening.
Omar was in a bad spot. He valued his connection to these market “friends.” They had little in common with the word friend, but Omar had lived his whole life without much choice -- people didn’t rush to befriend him. He didn’t want to lose what he had.
You know, I had almost started to feel relief: in a proper story, the antihero gets his little reckoning. Not much, but still -- thanks, in principle, for that much.
But then the Tragedian intervened again.
A nasty wind swept the market, too cold for this time of year. No one sensed the darkness; they felt it as cold. People grimaced and hunched into their clothes. And only Omar lit up. The Tragedian brought him what is dearest in the world -- an idea.
Right in front of Yuri, the janitor gave an ugly little smile and ... winked at his pals. Then he moved closer to Annette. Yuri’s breath caught. He felt it: another wild stunt was about to happen. But that was impossible. There were people everywhere! And Omar knew -- knew for certain -- that Yuri was watching him. He wouldn’t dare do something beyond the pale!!!
Would he?
“No. We’re definitely not taking this and this,” Annette said, flinging aside a sweater and thermal bottoms. At that moment Omar, to distract her, pointed at the seam she’d disliked and started talking: it didn’t matter to him, people were giving it away cheap, she shouldn’t pick at details.
... And as he talked, the janitor behind her lifted her dress.
He did it carefully, almost tenderly, speeding up his speech so Annette would stay locked on what he was saying. Yuri nearly dropped his phone from his trembling hands. In plain sight Omar was showing Annette’s ass to his friends!!!
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