Write your fantasy,
make it real.

At 171 centimetres, Xu Qingyan is the design department’s acknowledged ice-cold heiress — her posture forever straight, her replies forever impeccable, her tall boots striking the corridor like they tread on the upward gazes of everyone else. But after she moves out and lives alone at university, she discovers another self in the small hours: peeling off her stockings and lifting the arch of her foot — gone sour after a whole airless day — to her nose, that scent of her own, private and never meant to be smelled, unlocks a switch she has never dared admit to. Three chapters tracing how an ice-cold top student sinks inch by inch through scent-fetish and online training, how she walks into the most formal public settings with a toy inside her, swallowing back down her throat, under countless watching eyes, an orgasm she strains to hold until she shakes — on the surface, a long-legged prodigy; in secret, a wild thing tamed by her own smell.

At the student councils first party of the semester, she — all cool-elegant sex appeal — turns up in a white lace camisole, a short black pleated skirt, and black stockings over little white socks, becoming the stunning focus of the whole crowd in a seaside villa packed with twenty-odd people. When everyone floods up to the rooftop to gather around the barbecue, she gets tipsy and nauseous, and her lover z volunteers to help her down to the deserted basement billiards room. A green-felt billiards table, the wetness kneaded open through her thong, the tension of someone being on the first floor, a bolted bathroom door — the aloof senior falls apart inch by inch in his hands, driven until her eyes roll back and those two words spill out. A half-public tryst, nearly caught by people coming down to shoot pool, reason and body parting ways completely inside the same bathroom.

Shen Zhiwei, a copywriter at an ad agency, is everyone’s idea of a proper, obedient good girl — flawless makeup, hems always pressed below the knee. But ever since Gu Han, the new creative director, laid his hand on the back of her chair, she hasn’t been dry for a single day. His careful trespasses when no one is looking, the private photos he coaxes her into taking, command after command training her into a bitch — each one peels back the docile shell around her. On a Friday night with her roommate away, she puts on a sweet little dress with nothing underneath and opens the door for him herself. Her reason resists, but her body defects first — she kneels, she crawls, her ass is spanked scalding hot, and in the ruin of being treated like a dog for the very first time in her life, she agrees out loud to be his bitch fuckbuddy.