Write your fantasy,
make it real.

I have a very gentle boyfriend. We only ever used a handful of positions, never once tried dirty talk, and he couldn’t bring himself to say a harsh word to me. Mr. Liu was different — I met him at an industry mixer on Teachers’ Day, and over the next two-odd months I practically moved into his apartment. From the start he pinched my nipples, slapped my face, forced me to call him “husband” in the car. He pried open the back hole no one had ever touched, and with barely more than the wetness I couldn’t admit I had, he opened me there for the very first time. It hurt so much I thought I’d split apart; the tears wouldn’t stop. Yet the moment he drove in, I couldn’t help clenching, couldn’t help gushing. He came once in front and once in back. That mouth and that hole my boyfriend never used are now used by Mr. Liu almost every time. The low feeling isn’t fake — but I know we’re only fuck buddies.

Art teacher Su Wan was worn soft over two years of her husband’s pillow-talk—he loves watching her be taken by another, forcing her at climax to admit she wants other men. She finally gives in, going to a hotel to meet a bull she met online. Her husband says look but don’t touch, playing the mere spectator, using a black blindfold to win her trust. But beneath the blindfold, the one swapped out is the husband himself. Blindfolded, she praises “darling, you’re bigger today,” cresting three or four times across fifty minutes and being filled to the brim; only when the blindfold comes off does she see the stranger kneeling between her thighs, her husband looking on beside them with reddening eyes. She weeps and curses, so ashamed she wants to sink into the floor—but her body had defected long before she understood. Three interwoven POVs: the bull’s hunt, the wife’s betrayed trust and the body that fell a step ahead of her, and the husband’s jealousy and twisted pride.

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.

She is a structural engineer who does not suffer fools — by day she calculates loads and draws connection details, but at night she hands over control entirely. Between her and her longtime boyfriend there is a private code known only to the two of them: an immersive game called “The Blackout,” in which she pretends to be tipsy and half-asleep, letting a “stranger” take her apart roughly like an object — except that stranger is a man her boyfriend arranged in advance, a man she nodded yes to beforehand. There is only one rule: she can call out the real safeword at any moment, and the instant she does, the lights come on and the scene is over. But she has never once called it. She knows clearly that she is addicted to this contrast — being humiliated, dominated, filled up, and then the next day pretending to sob on the phone while her boyfriend uses the filthiest words to “praise” this horny little bitch. This is not losing control; it is a loss of control she handpicked and signed for with her own hand.

She has a boyfriend who picks her up on time and books the restaurant, and she has Apan, a fuck buddy she hasn’t touched in months but keeps sexting more and more filthily on WeChat. That day her boyfriend had a business dinner and told her to come to the restaurant alone in the evening. In the afternoon Apan came to pick her up, and while packing she had a sudden impulse—she stuffed the whole outfit she was supposed to wear that night into her bag, leaving only a trench coat and a pair of leggings on her body, and had Apan drive the car into her compound. A floor-to-ceiling window, the fourth floor, silhouettes that anyone downstairs could see if they looked up, plus a voice call that came in from her boyfriend—all of it pushed a cheating tryst to a place she herself had never imagined.

Xiaoyu was my first love — sweet, obedient, always giving in to me. A few months into dating, I took her to that patch of woods on the hill behind campus and had her go down on me — whenever I was in a bad mood, she would kneel on her own. Half a year later I got hooked on cuckold content, and whenever I fingered her my head was full of images of her pinned beneath some other guy. One thing I let slip pushed us into a game with no turning back: a name from the class next door, one call for every thrust, no call and I stop. From the woods to the foot of the dorm building, every time we passed that grove we played. Her mouth said “Classmate Chen,” but her body was more honest than anyone’s.

When we make love, I like Su Wei to tell me about her past. A few nights ago she told me about her ex-boyfriend, a doctor — and about his colleague, Dr. Chen. From a hand reaching out of the dark in an on-call room, to being held down by the head in a hotel bathroom, to being fucked while perched on the sink, forced to call her ex and say she forgave him, forced to cry out an old lover’s name… the more detail she gave, the harder I got. This is the night she was fucked on that sink by another man, cumming inside her while she was on the phone with her ex — and the same night I have made her retell to me ever since.

Almost ten years married, and all that was left in our bed was dirty talk neither of us took seriously anymore — “let Lei fuck you,” “let Qiang join in too.” Until one day I clocked off early and came home without a word. The iron gate swung open, and the sounds inside turned those words, one by one, into something real. I never went in. I stood in the stairwell with the door half-open and listened to the whole thing: they asked her where to come today, she said not inside, and then came a sobbing I had never once made her make, muffled grunts of it being poured in, the sound of water splashing on the floor. I closed the door, went downstairs to smoke, and waited until eight to call her and say I was almost home.

He never hid the fact that he was a cuckold in the truest sense — in bed he insisted she tell him about the other man, B, insisted she replicate onto his own body, exactly, every single thing she had ever done for B. Home after half a month away on business, the first thing he wanted was for her to lather him in body wash and give him a titjob while she talked about “showering with B”; a whole cleavage full of the cum he had saved up for two weeks. Then he wanted her to give him a footjob in stockings, wanted her to take him to the very hotel where she and B had first gotten a room, and reenact that whole night from foreplay to position. She played along, teased him, now and then deliberately said B was better, watching jealousy make him rougher — shame and control burning in her at the very same time.

She has a boyfriend who is always working late, and a fuck buddy named P who grows bolder by the day. From washing each other in the shower to him slipping his phone between their joined bodies and casting it onto the wall, from showing up to a date in nothing but a trench coat to being fucked hard against the floor-to-ceiling window—the most outrageous time of all, he put the call on speaker and made her talk to her boyfriend while he fucked her. Three people each hold a piece of the truth: she only knows she wants it more and more, P controls the whole rhythm, and the boyfriend on the other end of the line, half-aware, hands her over.

The reception is over, and two married couples end up crammed into the same suite. He has long harbored a craving he could never say aloud — the desire to watch his small, delicate wife pulled into another man’s arms; and she, the shy one who earned her master’s degree and works in an office tower, discovers that night a beast hiding inside her body that even she doesn’t recognize. Three lines of sight cross in the dark: her mix of shame and wantonness, his pride and jealousy, and the breath of a stranger drawing near.