Andrew leaned back in his classroom chair, watching the notifications on his screen with a smirk. Another confession. Another woman spilling her most intimate fantasies, believing she was safe behind the veil of anonymity. This time it was no other than his Asian professor Lin who really was a true submissive slut for cock.
They app users never realized the truth. That he could see everything. Their names. Their photos. Their locations.
It had been his idea to create the app. A simple, elegant trap. A place where women could share their deepest, darkest secrets, thinking no one would ever know. And yet, here he was, reading every word, every craving, every desperate little thought they tried to hide.
His eyes flicked up from the screen, locking onto the woman who had just posted. Professor Lin.
She actually sat across the lecture hall, unaware that he was watching her trying out his app at this very moment. Petite, delicate, yet always dressed to command respect. Today, she wore a fitted white blouse, tucked neatly into a pencil skirt that hugged the curve of her hips. Her legs, crossed just enough to remain modest, were wrapped in sheer stockings, and her heels clicked softly whenever she shifted.
She looked so proper. So controlled. Still she was taking deep breaths typing on her phone and only he knew she was excited to spill her secrets for the first time. He had just read her posting some secret fantasy. He made a quick glance at the text she had posted.
Lin wanted to be surrounded. Wanted to be claimed. Not as a professor. Not as a woman in authority. But as something else entirely. An oriental slut. Andrew smirked, his fingers tapping against the desk.
Oh, Professor. You have no idea what you've just done. He started to read the entire entry making sure none of his classmates busy studying next to him could see his screen.
Entry #001 user #orientralprof
I don't know why I'm doing this. Maybe because it's anonymous. Maybe because I can't say these things out loud--not to anyone. But lately, I've been feeling... different.
I've always been the picture of professionalism. A professor. Respected. Admired, even. But inside, I feel like there's another version of me--one that no one sees. One that no one should see.
It started with a dream. A party. Not the kind I usually go to--the kind where young people drink too much, where the music is loud and the air is thick with heat and sweat. I was there, standing in the middle with a masquerade mask over my eyes of it all, feeling out of place in my transparent blouse, no underwear and mini skirt while the other girls wore dresses and bras. I was thankful my face was anonymous since I recognized some from my work.
Then they noticed me. The young white men. I always had a fantasy about white boys. Their blue eyes locked onto me like they knew something I didn't. And suddenly, I wasn't the professor anymore. I was just a chink slut. Small. Vulnerable. Excited.
I don't remember who touched me first. A hand on my waist. A voice in my ear, low and teasing.
"Are you lost, China girl?"
The words should have reminded me who I was. But in the dream, it only made me shiver.
I let the white boys surround me. Let them touch my small tits, ass, put their finger into my mouth making me suck it then take my hands, guide me through the crowd. I felt the press of their bodies--strong, young, confident. They knew I didn't belong there, but that only made them bolder.
The upstairs room had a madras on the floor. I should have said no. I should have walked away. But in the dream, I wanted to stay. I wanted to be theirs. They started fucking me taking turns first standing than when my legs couldn't keep me up they fucked my on the floor.
When I woke up, my heart was pounding. I couldn't stop thinking about it. And now I'm here, writing this. Confessing. Does that make me a bad person?
--orientalprof
Entry #002 - User #orientalprof
I don't know why I keep coming to write in this app... but I can't stop.
Maybe it's the contrast--the way my real life is so controlled, so proper, so... expected. And yet, in my mind, I am somewhere else. Somewhere forbidden.
A world where I am not the respected professor, not the obedient daughter, not the dutiful wife in name only. A world where I have no choice but to surrender, to be taken, to be claimed.
I picture the scene so vividly. Stone walls, flickering torches, the scent of damp air. The weight of cold metal around my wrists and in my behind, locked naked in place. A rough voice in my ear, taunting me, telling me I don't belong, that I am just a helpless little brown foreigner in a land of powerful white men. And yet, the way he looks at me... the way they all do... I know it's not contempt they truly feel. It's something deeper. Something darker.
I shiver at the thought.
Because the truth is--I want to be looked at like that. I want to feel small, powerless, but desired. I want to be the rare, exotic oriental prize they fight over, the captive who turns submission into seduction.
I feel his big cock enter me as he call me his little gook slut. Would I break? Would I beg? Or would I discover something inside me that I never knew existed?I shouldn't be thinking this way.
But I do. I moan. I beg. I cum. Again and again.Am I the only one?
-- #orientalprof
Andrew had seen enough he started up a private DM with orientalprof.
Andrew: Hey. I saw your post. You probably don't know this, but the app has a private message function. Thought I'd reach out.
Professor Lin: Oh... I didn't realize. I thought everything was just anonymous posts.
Andrew: It is. Don't worry, I don't know who you are. But I did read what you wrote. And I think I can help.
Professor Lin: ...Help?
Andrew: Let's just say I know where to find the kind of party you were dreaming about. No strings, no names, no pressure. Just an experience. If you're curious.
Professor Lin: I don't know... It was just a fantasy. I wasn't really thinking of doing anything.
Andrew: That's why this is perfect. You don't have to be you. You can just be. If you want, I can get you in. Mask over your eyes. No one has to know who you are. You don't even have to talk if you don't want to. Just feel.
Professor Lin: ...I don't know. It's risky.
Andrew: The riskiest thing is letting that fantasy stay locked inside your head when you could live it. But it's your choice. No pressure. Just an invitation.
(Seen ✅)
Lin sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her phone. The last message still lingered on the screen.
"The riskiest thing is letting that fantasy stay locked inside your head when you could live it."
She bit her lip. Her fingers hesitated over the keyboard.
Her marriage had always been about duty. A proper match. Stability. Her husband, a quiet, polite man, had never even touched her beyond the obligatory kisses in front of family. Their wedding night had been nothing more than an exchange of words before turning off the lights in separate beds. She had told herself that was normal. That love and passion were distractions.
But now, here she was, considering this.
She opened the sms app with her husband.
Professor Lin: I'll be home late tonight.
She sent the message to her husband. No excuse. No explanation. He wouldn't ask. He never did.
Her heart pounded as she grabbed her coat and drove her small electric Chinese car to a downtown sex shop she had found on google maps.
Lin didn't know exactly what she was looking for when she stepped into the store. The sign out front was subtle--an elegant black and gold design that hinted at luxury rather than anything explicit. Inside, the atmosphere was dimly lit, with mannequins wearing shimmering, barely-there dresses, silk lingerie, and accessories meant for indulgence.
"Can I help you find something?" The salesgirl, a stunning young woman with long blonde hair and nose piercing approached with a knowing smile.
