[Lin · Heroine]
Before Yunting, I built myself a whole set of reasonable excuses: keeping my best friend company on a business trip, clearing my head, browsing the old streets over there while I was at it. In the entryway my husband carried my suitcase down the steps, told me to be careful on the road and to text him when I arrived, and tucked my scarf up a little for me. I rose on my toes and kissed his chin and said I would be back in three days. He smiled without a shred of suspicion. In that moment something dropped inside me — I knew I wasn’t going to clear my head, I was going to give myself away. But the guilt lingered in my chest for only an instant before something deeper and hotter pressed it down. I had waited too long for this trip.
[Lin · Heroine]
A and I go back ten years. To everyone else she is my most proper friend — we get our nails done together, complain about our husbands together, post afternoon tea together. Only I know that the two of us are soaking in the same deep water. Half a year ago, on a night when we’d both had too much to drink, we laid our cards on the table and discovered we were hiding the exact same secret in our phones — the same scene, the same craving, the same trick of locking our hungriest selves behind the respectable faces we wore in public. She was the one who said it first: I know a few people, out of province, open-minded, reliable, clear about the rules. Do you want to come with me. My heart pounded as if it would leap out of me, and I said one word: yes.
[Lin · Heroine]
The high-speed train took a little over two hours; A dozed against my shoulder, but I didn’t close my eyes the whole way. The fields outside the window slid backward frame by frame, and my mind turned over and over the four men whose faces I’d only ever seen on a screen. A had already been straight with me: all adults, boundaries spelled out one by one beforehand — safe word, what could and couldn’t be touched, whether it would be recorded, whether it would be sent, all of it gone over in black and white. She said that was the rule; the deeper you play, the more you say up front. I trusted her. But the more I trusted, the tighter the string inside me pulled — not fear, but the dizziness of knowing you’re going to fall and being unable to stop wanting to.
[A · Girlfriend]
I watched Lin pretend to sleep in her seat, her lashes trembling the whole time, and I knew the pot inside her had long since come to a boil. This girl — in public the most virtuous wife in the whole building, in private hungrier even than me. When she confessed to me half a year ago, that light in her eyes, ashamed and shining at once, I remember it to this day. I brought her here not to drag her into the water — she was already in the water. I only pointed her to a place where she could swim to her heart’s content. Those four men I’ve known for two or three years; I have their measure. Who’s heavy and who’s light, who’ll take care of a person, who’ll keep the rhythm steady — I know it all. What I have to do is hand her over safely, and take her back safely.
[Lin · Heroine]
The hotel was in Yunting’s most bustling district; A had booked a room on the twentieth floor. The moment I walked in, that wall stunned me — a whole wall of glass, ceiling to floor, and beyond it the busiest commercial street in the city, neon signs, rivers of cars, pedestrians, all of it flowing at our feet. The curtains were open. A tossed her bag onto the sofa, came up behind me, laid both hands on my shoulders, her voice soft: “Warm-up first. No one’s here yet tonight, just you and me.” I knew what she wanted. My heartbeat slammed straight up into my throat.
[A · Girlfriend]
I made her stand at the window, facing the street straight on. She hesitated, looked back at me, her eyes begging for permission. That’s exactly how I love her — wanting it plainly, yet insisting on waiting for a nod. I put my hand at the small of her back and gave a gentle push forward: “Take it off. Let all those lights down there look at you.” Her shoulders gave a shiver, and then I watched her hand rise slowly to undo the first button of her trench coat. Twentieth floor, a pane of glass and a whole city between them and her — no one could really make her out, but she believed it herself, believed she was being stared at by tens of thousands of eyes. That belief burns hotter than being truly seen.
[Lin · Heroine]
The trench coat slid to my feet. Underneath I wore what I’d picked out on purpose for this — a wine-red lace bandeau and a matching thong, both in fabric so thin it was nearly translucent. The glass mirrored my outline: five foot five, a waistline shaped by years of Pilates, and at my chest that pair of breasts the bandeau hoisted high, swollen and gleaming, the lace pattern climbing all the way into my cleavage, squeezing the two white mounds into one deep crevice. The light from the street fell on me through the glass; I was like a thing set on display in a shop window. Shame burned from the soles of my feet all the way to my ears, and yet at the very same time, that scalding wetness between my legs had already quietly begun to spread.
[Lin · Heroine]
A came over and unhooked my bandeau from behind. That pair of breasts, bound the whole way, sprang free at once, dropping heavily and swinging apart, the nipples stiffening instantly into two hard red points at the sudden touch of the cool air. Her palms covered them, lifting from below, cupping my breasts toward the window and pushing them up so every single light down there could “see” more clearly. “Look at you,” she laughed at my ear, “breasts this swollen — haven’t you been wanting to be looked at all along?” I couldn’t speak, could only let out a small “mm,” my knees weak, my forehead pressed to the icy glass. The glass was cold, my body was burning, and between them lay this whole dazzling city.
[A · Girlfriend]
Half a year of looking at that body and I still haven’t tired of it. Slim waist, wide hips, that gorgeous curve where her backside turns up — in a dress she’s as proper as any wife, but stripped she’s all the parts that hook you. I had her turn around, back to the window, both hands braced on the cold glass, and push her backside out. She did it, arching high and obedient. I reached over and peeled that thin thong down, down to mid-thigh, baring the two full cheeks of her backside, white gone faintly pink, one deep line down the cleft, the crease already glistening with wetness. I gave it a slap and watched the soft flesh quiver. “Shaved really clean,” I said. She buried her face in her arms, her ears burning through.
[Lin · Heroine]
Before coming I’d cleaned myself smooth down below, not a single hair left. That too is a nicety of the scene — A had told me long ago that bare looks better, and is more convenient. Now, backside pushed out with my back to the whole commercial street, that clean-shaven place was fully exposed under her gaze: the mound round and full, one thin seam closed neat and tidy, soaked glossy by the wetness of the whole way here. A’s fingertip probed down along the seam, parted it gently, and the hidden soft flesh came into view. I let out a stifled “ah,” my legs buckling, nearly dropping to my knees. She steadied my hips and said, laughing, don’t rush, this is only the beginning.
[A · Girlfriend]
I didn’t let her get there so fast. The beauty of exhibition is in keeping that breath of “I don’t dare, yet I want to” dangling. I had her hold the pose, backside out, straight on to the window, knelt there in front of the glass, knees pressed into the carpet, backside lifted high, while I sat on the sofa behind her and took my unhurried time admiring. Left hanging there, she shook all over, muttering under her breath, “A… don’t look at me…” — but her back sank lower and lower, her backside rose higher and higher; her body far more honest than her mouth. Ten thousand lights blazed beyond the window, and she knelt in the light like an offering laid out for sacrifice. I took out my phone and didn’t film her, only let her think I was filming — that thought alone was enough to make her tremble for ages.
[Lin · Heroine]
The four of them arrived one after another a little after eight in the evening. When the doorbell rang, my whole body went taut — I was still kneeling at the window, without a stitch on. A told me not to move, to let them see me just like that as they came in. Four men walked in one by one, and the gazes landing on my bare back I could feel with perfect clarity, like four hands pressing down at once. I didn’t dare turn my head, could only hear their low, satisfied laughter, hear one of them say: “A, this one you’ve brought — she’s got it.” Shame and a near-dizzy excitement rushed to the crown of my head together; I knelt there, knees weak, and yet down below another gush of heat spilled out of me.
[Zhou · Single Man]
A and I have known each other over two years; every time she brings someone, I’m the first to arrive. This one stopped me dead the moment I came in. She knelt with her back to us at the floor-to-ceiling window, the whole street’s neon thrown across that white back of hers, sliding from the nape all the way to her upturned backside, light pooling in the two shallow dimples at the small of her back. Shaved clean, nothing hidden. I didn’t rush to lay hands on her — A lays out the rules for whoever she brings, no hurrying. I went over, crouched at her side, didn’t touch her at first, only brought my mouth to her ear and watched that hidden ear of hers redden inch by inch. “Lift your head,” I said, “let me see your face.” She turned around slowly, her eyes wet, her lips wet too. And I knew — these three days would be worth playing.
[Lin · Heroine]
They had me kneel; the first night began with the mouth. Zhou — the one who had spoken to me first — lifted my chin, pressed his thumb to my lower lip and pushed down gently. I opened my mouth. His was thicker than my husband’s, and hard, and that first press against my lips sent a flutter of panic through me. I took him in, starting at the tip, swallowing him little by little. He didn’t move at once, only gripped my hair and let me do the work, watching how deep I took him, how hard I tried. The other three sat off to the side, drinking, watching in silence. Doing this thing ringed by four men, scrutinized, the shame burned my scalp numb — yet I took him deeper and deeper, my throat pushed again and again into a muffled “ungh,” saliva running from the corner of my mouth all the way to my chin.
[Zhou · Single Man]
Her mouth wasn’t skilled, but that lack of skill was exactly what killed me — the way she strained to please and got shoved until her eyes rolled back beat any technique. I gripped her hair to control the pace, and with every inch I fed in I watched her brow crease, watched a little more of her tears squeeze out. Her breasts swayed in front of her, swinging with my motion, nipples stiff and reddened. I freed one hand, seized one of her breasts and squeezed; the soft flesh bulged out between my fingers, and with me in her mouth she moaned from deep in her throat, her body shuddering. A laughed beside us: “Her breasts are the most sensitive — you’ve found just the right spot.”
[Lin · Heroine]
The four of them took turns. This one pulled out, that one moved in; I knelt in place, my mouth filled one after another. I lost count of how long I swallowed, knew only that my jaw was sore and numb, my throat aching from being pushed, and yet I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. Reason poked its head out now and then, asking me in a shrill voice: what are you doing, you’re a married woman. But every time, that line was drowned by the surging heat of my body — I had never wanted like this, never been needed so completely. Kneeling among these four men, taken by turns by their gazes and by them, I was like a fuse finally lit, burning from the inside out.
[Lin · Heroine]
As the first night drew to its close, I lay on the carpet, my cheek against the velvet nap, all my strength gone. A came over, tucked my disheveled hair behind my ear, and asked me: “Scared?” I shook my head. She asked again: “Sorry you came?” I shook my head again, and yet tears fell without any warning — not from sorrow, but from a fullness beyond words, of being wholly seen, wholly accepted. Out the window the lights of that commercial street were still on, not one of them dark. I knew this was only the first night. There were two days still to come. And I — I didn’t want it to end, not for one single second.