She Is 6
Copyright© 2026 by RogueTen
Chapter 12
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 12 - 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
You step onto the stairs quietly, carefully. You are afraid the rattle of trash, or crumbling steps, will give you away. But no. Fate has no such plan. You are meant to be an observer, not a participant. Though quantum physics tells us an observer changes the world ... but You don’t know that. Let’s not break character.
You reach the room where there is clutter and dusk. The stink of unwashed dishes. It’s hard to believe a man who gets paid to make the world cleaner lives like this. Loud dripping somewhere, but louder still -- the sound of your wife’s voice.
“My husband says I look sexy. So come on -- people say a half-dressed woman is sexier than a naked one. You’re just not trying!”
“I’m truly trying, daughter!” your enemy says in that oily, pitiful little voice of an innocent wanker-goat.
“Try HARDER,” Ann says sternly.
You glance inside and a shiver runs through you. Wanted the truth? Here it is. Your wife is standing with her skirt hiked up in front of an old man sprawled on a couch, masturbating. Ann is showing him her panties. Not enough? Then you notice her eyes -- again and again they drop to the old man’s rigid cock. God. Can she not turn away like a normal person? What is stopping her?
One question is answered. You understand your wife is once again trying to help the old man with his “ailment.” By an unacceptable method, of course, but still trying -- and trying not to undress. So that is why she dressed like this and asked You if she looked sexy. She was preparing for Omar. The same way ... she prepared for your birthday.
The vulgarity of the situation takes you by the throat. What your wife allows herself with this immigrant -- it’s astonishing. It is ... exciting. Do You feel it? How your breathing stumbles in this stale hole, how you soak up the local spirit of filth?
“God, you’re impossible!” your dazzling wife stamps her foot. By the way -- are You jealous of me? I love her too ... All right, all right. Not about me.
“Daughter, forgive me...” the old man says, shrinking with guilt, stopping his stroking. It’s as if he has surrendered and admitted he cannot come like this.
“Do not stop dr ... doing that!” your wife says. “And turn around. What am I supposed to do with you ... I’ll undress. Fine. Can I take this gift ribbon? Is it at least clean?”
“Clean ... A guest of your neighbor once gave me a present so I’d say, if anyone asked, that I hadn’t seen him.”
“Oh, what passions our neighbors have ... How disgusting it is to cheat on your husband -- what people spend their lives on...” your wife says, skirt still lifted.
“Yeah ... Daughter, not everyone can be like you -- faithful and good. And what will you do with that ribbon?”
“I’ll make you a gift. Turn around already!”
The old man obediently turns away and starts masturbating again. He doesn’t see, but You see how your wife takes off all her clothes. ALL of them. Including underwear. She drops everything onto a chair with a grimace, as if afraid of getting dirty. And it really does seem as if dirt is everywhere in this basement room.
And here it is: your wife is absolutely naked in front of another man. She bites her lip, as if debating whether she truly needs to do what she is about to do. What is driving her? Guilt toward a sick old man she threw out? Or attraction to him? That can’t be ... can it?
Annette picks up the gift ribbon.
“Why did you keep it?” she asks.
“Used it as a belt for my robe.”
Your wife lets out a nervous little laugh and shakes her head.
“I’ll give you my own -- don’t turn around! Too soon...”
She starts wrapping the ribbon around her body. Studies it skeptically, tosses it off, wraps again -- making herself into a “present” in packaging. And at the same time hiding her breasts (or rather, her nipples -- the ribbon cannot hide breasts completely). She looks at the masturbating old man with contempt.
Omar really does look pathetic. For a moment it seems Ann might abandon the whole idea, but then something inside her wins. Covering her crotch with her hand, she calls him.
“You can turn around.”
“ ... O Allah!” the old man blurts, stunned. He even stops stroking, shocked by what he sees. Annette does not notice that the edge of one areola peeks out from behind the ribbon.
“No, my name is Ann,” she says, flattered by his awe. Something inside You clenches at your wife’s reaction to a stranger’s admiration.
“But Allah truly sent you to me!”
“Get to work. We can talk later,” Annette says, setting one leg out coquettishly.
“Of course, of course, daughter!” the janitor cries, and now he strokes with even more enthusiasm. You can practically feel him sending waves of lust at your wife. Those waves break on You, too. He openly WANTS Annette -- and your wife accepts his doglike wanting.
Unable to endure it, You, wanting to do the same thing the old man is doing, reach into your jeans.
Of course, your cock is already hard. You start to stroke yourself. Annette just stands there. She is clearly uncomfortable. She covers her crotch with her palm, shifts from foot to foot, bites her lip ... Her breathing is off, you can see it in how fast her chest moves. The longer she stands there in front of him, the more You get turned on. You lose track of time and only realize how long it’s been when she rolls her eyes and says:
“Seriously? Still not?”
“Daughter, you can see I’m trying...”
Annette looks at him with contempt mixed with pity. And ... begins untying the ribbon.
“I honestly feel like I’m your daughter or some other relative,” Ann says. “I’m married. What am I doing for you? What does this look like...”
“A striptease,” You think. “You’re a stripper, Ann.”
From that thought your cock jerks. Your wife, meanwhile, slips the ribbon off, and out of habit she half-covers her breasts with her hands --
but she does not cover her crotch at all. And it is there, low on her belly, that the old man’s goat-eyes dart.
“Omar,” your wife says, “do you want to ... fuck me?”
At those words from your cosmic Annette, You can’t take it and you come. For a moment happiness floods you. Thoughts flash through your head like lightning:
“Yes, love, be like that. Be a slut. A whore. Be an available woman, be a free fuck.”
The words tear out of the secret depths of your personality. You amaze yourself. And yet the fact that you are losing control over your demons, letting them out into freedom and strength, fills you with a bright, almost holy joy.
“Y-yes?” the old man says uncertainly. He is clearly afraid to say too much. What if it’s a test?
“I’m asking you,” Annette says, laughing. “Do you want me the way a man wants a woman? Want to take me?”
She is playing with him. Playing -- with a passionate, sexual look on her face. And as she plays, she opens her breasts fully.
From the sight of her nipples displayed to another man, your cock, still smeared with cum, rises again.
“Yes, daughter, I want it so much!” the old man whines, almost pleading with his tone so Ann won’t get angry. But she isn’t angry.
“Finally, you’re honest. But we can’t. I’m married. Just ... think about it. Think about taking me. And you’ll come fast.”
Your wife’s filthy words drive you insane, words beyond all boundaries. Resentment and jealousy only heat your arousal. You know you could, listening and watching her, come many more times.
The old man strokes fast. His gaze turns glassy; he is clearly imagining what Ann suggested, imagining fucking her.
And your wonderful wife, meanwhile, plays with her breasts using the ribbon.
So quickly she has shed her modesty. You are stunned at the depth to which your life has been thrown. Not long ago you were a happy husband to a special, faithful wife. Today that wife is showing her breasts and her pussy to another man -- and You are watching and masturbating. What happened to you both?
“Omar, what is this? Nothing helps you!” she says, annoyed. “Tell me what you want. What’s your erotic fantasy? Within reason, of course. What could actually turn you on?”
The old man hesitates. And You hesitate too, remembering the last time your wife asked You that question, the last time she cared what turned You on.
“I ... no, that’s too much!” the old man decides.
“Say it. I’ll decide what’s too much and what’s not. You are not guilty for your desires -- speak freely!”
“Daughter ... don’t take the old man for a pervert, but I would like to see a collar on a woman. Like ... on a dog.”
Ann freezes. You do too. She clears her throat.
“In principle ... I’ve heard some people like that...”
“Oh, forget it! I’m so sorry I blurted that out! Old fool -- I should have kept quiet!”
He even stops stroking in shame. Annette looks at him, thinking. Then slowly, with the most sexual, feline composure, she tears off a strip of ribbon and ties it around her neck.
And she looks at Omar, languidly. From the overflow of arousal You not only stroke your cock, you rub your own nipple. Your blood boils, your hands go numb, you are drunk, you understand nothing.
The old man is not in a better state. His mouth falls open; it seems his old age has been ended by a sudden death of admiration. But no -- his chest starts pumping again. He grabs his cock with fury, like an enemy, and starts strangling it.
“How do I look in a collar?” your star-wife asks.
“You’re gorgeous,” You think.
“You’re gorgeous!” the immigrant says.
I see you’re starting to resemble each other.
“Thank you,” your wife smiles sweetly. “I’m always gorgeous, except for those times when I’m not gorgeous.”