She Is 9
Copyright© 2026 by RogueTen
Chapter 6
Drama Sex Story: Chapter 6 - 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 Orgy 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
So -- Omar’s version of events, in brief.
He, Omar, is of course an old fool, and he’s simply never, in his whole life, dealt with women as breathtaking as Annette. He ran with plain girls and never learned how to treat a real lady with dignity. Anzur was a huge mistake. A mistake that isn’t behind them at all.
To Annette’s shock, Omar admitted his buddy had been taking photos, one of which Yuri had already seen, though his wife didn’t know it. And Anzur refuses to understand that Annette is “not that kind of woman.” He wants to hand the photos to her husband.
Omar knows his fellow immigrant well and understands that threats and blackmail won’t work on him. But there is a plan, a plan that will definitely help.
“ ... What plan?” Annette asked, shocked, after a silence.
Omar was still standing on the threshold; she hadn’t let him in.
“If we act like nothing happened, and you, little girl, are who he thinks you are...”
“Meaning a slut.”
Omar swallowed.
“ ... and if what he expected happens, he’ll simply forget his desire to show the photos to Yuri. We won’t have to persuade Anzur or threaten him. If he decides you’re a woman of easy virtue and you don’t even hide it, he’ll lose the urge to prove anything to you or your husband.”
“Are you serious? ‘What he expected’ -- you mean group sex?”
The old man pressed his lips together.
“You’ve lost your mind...”
“The main thing is you have to behave like ... well ... a shameless woman...”
“Stop explaining. None of this is happening!” Annette burst out, and slammed the door.
A knock came immediately.
The beauty opened it again. Grabbed a fistful of Omar’s work shirt at his chest.
“Listen, you -- if you show up at my door again with a proposal like that...”
“I ... I only wanted to say I invited him over to my place for seven tonight. I’m only trying to help!”
Annette shoved the old man hard enough that he stumbled down, and she slammed the door.
The yogi was shaking with rage. Not only at the janitor’s brazen suggestion -- but at the understanding that she had no other way out. Yuri must not, under any circumstances, learn what she’d been doing while he was away on business.
... There was only one thing she refused. This time. She refused for it to happen in that filthy basement.
At seven, Annette texted Omar to bring his friend to her place.
She was trembling as she waited. She’d already imagined, several times, how she would play a slut for that pathetic little market hustler, and something strange happened in her body. Her thoughts fogged. Breathing grew difficult. Sitting still became unbearable. Annette didn’t understand what was happening to her.
Or she understood -- and didn’t want to think about it.
When she opened the door, she saw a smile first, and then Anzur’s whole face. Whispering a mantra to herself, Annette smiled back.
“Come in,” she told Anzur and Omar.
She was wearing a deep green cocktail dress. Thin straps held up a generous neckline. The fabric had a festive sheen and didn’t need accessories. Annette looked stunning -- she never dressed like this for her husband.
She led them into the living room; pizza was waiting.
“Tea? Coffee?” she asked nervously, as if she’d invited them over like normal guests, not for filth.
She set mugs in front of the old men and meant to tell them not to be shy -- but saw they were already finishing their first slices. Annette stepped in front of the table to show off the dress.
“Pizza...” she said, just to start a conversation with two chewing men. “It kept its Italian name, but in truth it’s a bastard child of a crepe and a sheet of matzo...”
Pleased with her own cleverness, the beauty met only blank incomprehension in their eyes. They stared at her as if she’d switched languages.
“Did they even understand what I meant?”
Silence returned.
Anzur looked over the apartment, furnished with money earned by the man whose wife he’d come to fuck.
“Nice place you’ve got,” he said.
“Oh, please.” Annette waved it off. “It’s too eclectic. I wanted a renovation by a trendy designer, one style throughout, but my husband refused. We don’t have the kind of money the designer wanted.”
“To each their own sorrow,” Omar said -- a man who lived in a basement. “Some folks complain their soup is thin, others that their pearls are small...”
Silence again.
“You weren’t so welcoming last time,” Anzur remarked, not hiding the hunger in his stare.
“I’m always like this the first time. Otherwise later a man...” She stopped, unable to say what her role required.
“What is it, little girl?” Omar prompted.
Annette looked at him with gratitude. She felt the old man was on her side, that the two of them stood together against this market brute.
“Otherwise later a man isn’t interested in fucking me,” she finished. “Everyone likes a bitch.”
And between her legs the pulse hit -- clear as a bell. Never, not once, had she spoken about herself like that. Never had she played the whore.
“In the end it’s only a role, like an actress in a film. What am I embarrassed about? Omar knows it’s only a role...” the yogi thought.
Anzur looked at her with awe after the “confession,” then flicked his gaze to his buddy.
“Damn. I didn’t believe you,” the hustler whispered.
“Should have,” Annette said. “Everyone who doesn’t believe in me ends up without me. Men are afraid of me because I’m beautiful. And I’m not some iron lady -- I need to be fucked...”
“But what about your husband?!” Anzur blurted, scanning her and already picturing how he’d have her.
Annette’s smile slipped off her face.
“Let’s not talk about him,” she said.
But somehow, at the mention of her husband, she grew wetter.
“What is happening to me?” the beauty thought with a small panic -- she loved control, she wasn’t used to losing it. “Is it nerves?...”
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