Write your fantasy,
make it real.

To everyone who knows her, she is the good girl everyone praised growing up - sweet-mouthed, soft-faced, quiet. But no one knows that on an anonymous account where nobody can recognize her, she hides another side of herself: a red bikini, a see-through nightgown, selfies shot from a low angle. Over a long holiday, a group of old classmates who grew up together - now all working or home from university, all adults - gather at the four-story villa a guy just bought, drinking, singing karaoke, playing truth or dare. As the alcohol hits, secrets get pried open layer by layer. The guy who stays the night finds her anonymous account - and from then on, her good-girl shell is peeled open from the inside, inch by inch.

The private training history of two adult university students — starting with a collar, a maid outfit, and one escalation into blindfolds and bound wrists, she sinks deeper and deeper into shame and submission. Two years later, a third person joins them in the bedroom, and she becomes their shared prey. Her POV is a confession both bashful and wanton, his POV is a possessiveness that ratchets up inch by inch, and the third man’s POV is the greed of an intruder.

Twenty-five-year-old Su Ran is his girlfriend, and also the pet he trains. Today’s assignment: put on the crotchless panties lined with hidden pearls, hold a remote-controlled bullet vibrator inside her, and go to a packed, roaring arcade to play the dance machine — swallowing back every near-breaking loss of control under the stares of a whole room of strangers. Whether she can last until the stage clears is decided by the remote in his hand.

At forty, she had lived her marriage as a room where the light was never switched on. Then the tall stranger at the gym, with eyes that saw straight through her, hauled her up out of the chair she had sat withering in for ten years—her first affair, larger in size and in patience than anything she had imagined. Afterward she ran into a rugby player six years younger, one metre ninety tall, and every rule between an older woman and a younger man was rewritten from scratch: this time, he was the one who would teach her. A mature woman’s first-person confession—about the emptiness, the hunger, and the afternoons that finally left her full.

She’s a thirty-year-old independent designer whose studio is barely staying afloat. A big client who controls a whole year’s budget slides his offer under the table — an unspoken exchange, an intimate tug-of-war between ambition and self-humiliation. She loathes herself even as she discovers her body is more honest than her mind.

To everyone else, I was the untouchable ice goddess—until two years ago, when I uploaded my own nude photos onto foreign sites. I became addicted to being turned into someone’s sexual fantasy, wet beyond all reason; my husband could not satisfy me, so I secretly masturbated again and again and posted my own footage online. Then I met that executive from headquarters, and with a single glance he saw through the hunger beneath my cold, aloof skin—a six-month affair that delivered me before him and his wife, from “Master” and “Mistress” all the way to the moment I promised, with my own lips, to be their bitch.

Off the bed she is a poised, porcelain-pure classical wife, all soft smiles and blushing modesty. On it, she is a hardcore submissive — craving to be bound, choked, spanked, watched. At one private meetup, this demure lady unravels, before the eyes of her own husband and a young couple, from a shy Eastern beauty into something wild and unrestrained.