Write your fantasy,
make it real.

Twenty-three days after night one, Lao K makes good on “a different person, a different position”: this time nobody is invited. Xiaoman goes out in a short skirt and black pantyhose with nothing underneath to flash at the riverside, gets dragged into the back seat, her hose torn open and fucked from behind, and sits down in a bar reeking of cum. The terrace of the top-floor pool suite is separated from the one next door by a half-open partition. Lao K has her kneel naked in the shallow pool and spread herself, and A-Yan, the lone business traveler next door, climbs onto his sofa and sees. Lao K nods at him, and then says: the door is not locked.

Night Four almost did not happen: in the days before her period Xiaoman’s mood is foul enough to cancel three times, and Lao K never pushes, waiting until the morning she says go on her own. All three of them work late and meet at eight at the hotel where she and Lao K first took a room, with a full Italian dinner downstairs first. A-Mu is a professional Lao K sought out, explaining each oil, testing one on her wrist, and after the test cards come back clean he says one word: lie down. His hands from the soles of her feet up leave her running down to her thighs while lying face down, she comes on his fingers first, then two cocks take turns front and back, and in the sandwich it is Lao K who finishes first. Hotel diary, Night Four.

After Night Four, Lao K said the next one should be someone doing it for the first time. Two rooms on the same floor, for safety. A-Ning has never done this; he knocks like opening a blind box, and behind the door is Xiaoman, naked in a collar, waiting for him. He flinches from the camera and never even takes the leash. Test cards, the wait, Lao K off to the shower, and she has his trousers down before anyone gives her leave. The leash, one mouthful left and one right between two cocks, her first deep kiss with anyone but her husband, a cushion of flesh beneath her and a big cock behind, and a novice ridden until he begs. This is Lao K’s hotel diary, Night Five.

On a weekday morning Lao K asks Xiaoman to talk about before, and by the time she is done a wide patch of the sheet is soaked. She names three things she wants: a big one, one with hair and a smell, and to be tied up and taken front and back at once. A few nights later she kneels on a hotel bed, tucks a deep red rose into the crack of her ass, and sends the photo to Lao K. The door sounds, and she smells Leon before she sees him. Red jute rope in diamonds across her chest, wrists bound behind her; Lao K beside them calling the angle, while she needs to pee and cannot, convulsing again and again. Then cowgirl, then front and back together, and when the rope comes off the white runs out of both holes at once. Hotel diary, night six.

Xiaoman is twenty-eight. In the car, down in the underground garage, she said yes to her husband K out loud: tonight she would be used by two men at once. A high-floor room with a single lamp on, the river outside the window. A knock, Ache walks in, K gives nothing but orders, and Xiaoman goes from muffled whimpers to filthy words she can’t hold back, her cunt, her ass, her mouth, opened one after another. This is K’s hotel diary. Night one.

Four years into marriage, an art teacher discovers her husband hides a cuckold-wife fetish. Worn down day by day by the films he plays and the whispers on the pillow, she finally relents — agreeing only to let a single man “watch.” But that night at the hotel, once the blindfold goes on, it is her husband doing the foreplay and a stranger doing the taking. She lets a sixteen-centimeter stranger pound her hard for fifty minutes, still thinking it is her husband “harder than usual” — until, her face drenched in cum, she pulls the blindfold off and sees whose crotch she is lying beneath. Three points of view: the swapped wife, the cuckold husband who staged the double act, and the single man who was set up to take her.

The pandemic restrictions had just lifted, and the cinema was so empty only a scattered few remained. Her husband picked the film for her, packed a trunk full of toys into the car, and then handed her over to a stranger she had met only twice. Two-plus hours in the dark: she crawled across the carpet wearing a collar, knelt between a stranger’s thighs, went to the restroom to wake her husband over the phone camera — and in the end she was pressed down into the seat and taken from behind, a scalding load fired into her bowels, the anal plug shoved right back in to seal it, a vibrating egg pushed into the other place. They left before the film ended; she went down to the underground parking garage with her thighs clamped shut, the things inside her rocking back and forth with every step. Three people, three heartbeats: the wife used in public, the single man who treated her as a trophy, and the husband on the far side of the screen, proud and aching all at once.