Old Tu in Sai Gon
Copyright© 2026 by duhless_90
Chapter 10
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 10 - At seventy-two, Old Tu leaves a forgotten village for Saigon after inheriting a rundown rental block. He comes looking for his lost children, but finds debt, lonely women, gangsters, shame, desire, and a city that will not let an old man stay dead inside.
Caution: This Incest Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Mult Coercion Consensual Drunk/Drugged Hypnosis NonConsensual Rape Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Humor Rags To Riches Restart Tear Jerker Workplace Cheating Wife Watching Incest Father Daughter InLaws Humiliation Rough Spanking Group Sex Anal Sex Cream Pie Facial Masturbation Oral Sex Petting Squirting Voyeurism Public Sex Size Caution Revenge Slow Violence
Old Tu changed completely.
Not just changing clothes, changing his hair.
He changed from inside his belly.
The old man who used to lie in a hammock smoking tobacco, cursing the porters because they set a box crooked, who used to sit drinking coffee at the alley mouth with Mr. Van, who used to think one hundred million was as big as a mountain, now began to get used to the feeling of being lifted up by others.
And once a person gets used to being lifted, it is very hard to stand on his old legs again.
Nhung became almost like his shadow.
In the morning she brought his schedule.
At noon she took him out to eat.
In the afternoon she chose his clothes.
At night she led him to places Old Tu would not have dared look at for long before, even if he only passed by.
Pubs with yellow lights, high tables, clear glasses of liquor.
Sidewalk beer places with beer promotion girls smiling sweetly.
Omakase restaurants, where the chef stood in front of him and sliced pieces of fish as small as two fingers, priced like a whole day of poor people’s labor.
One day Nhung took him to eat gold-leaf beef.
Old Tu chewed for a long time, then finally judged:
“Tastes like regular beef.”
Nhung laughed.
“But if Boss eats regular beef, who knows Boss is rich?”
Old Tu liked hearing that.
One day she took him to a bar on a high floor. Under his feet was the whole city lit up. People called him Brother Tu. Staff bowed their heads. Pretty girls passed by and smiled. Nhung sat beside him, long legs crossed, tight dress hugging her body, her hand pouring liquor for him.
“Brother Tu, try this one.”
Brother Tu.
Not Mr. Tu.
Not Uncle Tu.
The more he heard it, the younger he felt.
The younger he felt, the cockier he became.
He began to speak louder. Laugh louder. Walk more arrogantly. When he met the workers in the company, he no longer nodded curtly like before, but lifted his chin like a boss.
“Work properly. If I find any lazy bastard, I’ll fire him.”
The porters laughed heh-heh.
“Yes, Boss Tu.”
In the old days, Thang Scar played the tough guy with tattoos and knives.
Now Old Tu played the tough guy with a brand-name polo shirt, a shiny watch, neatly combed hair, a Ford waiting outside the door, and a long-legged secretary following behind him.
That whole week, he almost neglected the company.
In the morning he slept until almost noon.
At noon Nhung came to call him.
In the afternoon he went somewhere.
At night he came back dead drunk, or did not come back at all.
For company paperwork, Hoang brought over a small device and said it was a digital signature.
“Uncle doesn’t need to sign so many papers. Whatever is needed, I’ll handle it.”
Old Tu did not understand.
“You can sign for me?”
“Not sign for you. The system records everything. Uncle, just go have fun. Leave the work to me.”
Old Tu patted Hoang on the shoulder.
“You’re useful. I trust you.”
Hoang smiled.
“Yes.”
So the old man felt even more at ease.
What Hoang did, he did not ask.
Goods coming in and out, he did not look.
Money collected and spent, he did not bother counting.
At the end of the month, Hoang still placed three stacks of cash on the table.
One hundred and fifty million.
Enough.
Not missing a single bill.
Old Tu looked at the money, then looked at Hoang, laughing ho-ho.
“There. I go play all month and the money still comes in. Being a boss really is damn nice.”
Hoang only smiled.
Nhung stood behind him, her hand resting lightly on the back of the chair.
“Brother Tu should enjoy life now.”
Hearing that, Old Tu felt as if his life had just opened a golden door.
An old man who had eaten dried fish and boiled vegetables all his life, slept on an old mat, now got to taste foreign liquor, pretty girls, cars, and people calling him brother, calling him boss. How could he not get drunk?
He was drunk.
Drunk on money.
Drunk on being called that.
Drunk on the smell of perfume on Nhung’s neck.
Drunk on the feeling that he had the right to step into places he used to only dare stand outside and look at.
Until one night, Nhung led him past Quynh’s DJ cafe.
The sign blinked in the night. Heavy beats pounded out from inside. The glass doors were dark tinted, and inside red and green lights drifted past like demon eyes.
Old Tu looked at the sign and suddenly remembered.
This place.
That night Hoang had once brought him here.
That night he had still been country, stunned, teased by the dancers until his face went red, hands and feet awkward, eyes not knowing where to look.
Back then he was still an old bastard who did not know the smell of life.
Now it was different.
He had gone to pubs.
He had drunk foreign liquor.
He had Nhung, had Hang.
He had pretty girls wiping his face, washing his hair, pouring liquor, calling him brother.
He looked at the door of the place, and some stupid confidence rose in his heart.
“Go in here.”
Nhung was a little surprised.
“Brother Tu wants to go into this place?”
“What? Can’t I?”
“Of course you can.”
Nhung smiled, but something very quick flashed through her eyes.
Old Tu did not see it.
He straightened his polo collar and lifted his chin.
“Let’s see if they still dare tease me now.”
Nhung hooked her arm through his.
The two of them walked in.
The music hit at once.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
Lights swept across Old Tu’s face, sometimes green, sometimes red, sometimes bruised purple. The smell of liquor, cigarettes, perfume, and drunk men all mixed together.
The place was crowded.
On the DJ platform, Quynh was playing music. Loose hair, red lips, cold eyes. On the floor, waitresses in cut-up clothes moved back and forth between the tables. Dancers shook to the music. Guests threw money around. Glasses knocked together. Men’s laughter rose in clumps.
As soon as Old Tu stepped in, a young waitress hurried over.
“Which table would you like, sir?”
Nhung answered for him.
“A good table.”
The waitress glanced at Old Tu, saw the watch, saw the new shirt, saw Nhung walking beside him, and her smile immediately grew sweeter.
“Yes, please come with me.”
They were led to a table near the stage.
The young waitress sat down beside Old Tu as soon as the liquor was brought out. She wore a short dress, glossy lips, and kept smiling.
“Brother Tu, what would you like me to pour?”
Old Tu felt a little pleased.
But before long, his eyes suddenly stopped at another corner.
Section B.
A woman was bending down to write an order.
Mai.
Old Tu froze.
Mai wore a white shirt that had been altered, a high-slit skirt, her hair tied neatly behind her neck. Her figure was still beautiful, but it was completely different from the beauty she had the day she came down and invited him to eat. Back then she was beautiful in a small room, in the smell of rice and braised fish, in the look of a poor woman still trying to keep some proper ways.
Now that beauty was dragged down by nightclub lights, stuck with cigarette smoke, stripped bit by bit by men’s eyes.
A male guest at the table Mai was serving pretended to reach for a glass and brushed her waist.
Mai dodged very skillfully.
No fuss.
No hard face.
She only leaned aside, set the glass down, gave a faint smile, and pulled back.
Another man said something that made the whole table laugh.
Mai still bent her head and wrote in the book.
Old Tu looked, and his heart was mixed up.
Hate.
Because he still remembered Mai being unfilial to her husband’s family. Remembered the meal she invited him to, remembered her tears, remembered the way she had tried to use softness to borrow money.
But also pity.
Because even if he hated her, he still knew Mai had once been a decent factory worker. Used to leave in the morning and come back at night, her worker’s uniform dusty with fabric. Used to call him Uncle Tu in a patient voice. Used to look at him like an elder in the rental block.
Now she stood here, letting people tease her, look at her, drop a few bills on the table.
Life really knew how to cut people down finger by finger.
The waitress beside Old Tu pressed closer now.
“Brother Tu, who are you looking at?”
He did not answer.
She smiled and poured liquor.
“Or don’t you like me? I’m sitting with you and you keep looking at another table.”
Nhung sat across from him, taking a sip of liquor, saying nothing.
The young waitress put her hand on Old Tu’s shoulder.
“Are you free later? We can go play alone.”
Old Tu frowned.
“Move.”
She thought he was joking and smiled even more.
“You’re so difficult.”
“I said move.”
His voice grew heavier.
The waitress paused a little.
“I’m sitting at your table...”
Old Tu pointed toward Mai.
“Call Mai over here.”
The waitress’s face fell.
“This table is my slot. How can you call someone else?”
“What slot?”
“Tables are divided here. If I sit at this table, the tips from this table are mine. If you want to call someone else, you have to...”
Before she finished, Manager Binh appeared.
He walked very fast.
As soon as he saw Old Tu, Binh’s face changed at once.
“Boss Tu?”
Before the waitress could turn around, Binh had already swung his hand.
“Smack!”
The slap whipped straight across her face.
She staggered, holding her cheek.
Binh ground out:
“Are you blind? Boss Tu is here and you’re still standing here yapping?”
The waitress’s face went white.
“I ... I didn’t know...”
“Get lost.”
She lowered her head and backed away.
Binh turned to Old Tu, bending with a smile.
“I didn’t know you were coming, Boss. Please forgive the girls.”
Old Tu saw that groveling posture, and the familiar feeling of these past days rose in his belly again.
The feeling that he had power.
He lifted his chin toward Mai.
“Tell that girl to come over.”
“Yes, yes.”
Binh immediately turned and called loudly:
“Mai! Come to Boss Tu’s table.”
Mai was carrying a tray in section B. Hearing her name, she turned back.
She saw Old Tu.
Her face stiffened for a moment.
Only one second.
Then she lowered her head, set the tray on the counter, and walked over.
The closer she came, the more uncomfortable Mai felt.
Old Tu was different today.
Brand-name shirt, shiny watch, combed hair, the smell of men’s perfume mixed with liquor. Beside him was Nhung, beautiful and calm like a secretary to some big boss.
Mai stood before the table.
“Uncle Tu called me?”
Hearing the word “Uncle” suddenly annoyed Old Tu.
Here, people called him Brother Tu, Boss Tu.
Only Mai still called him Uncle, as if pulling him back to the old hammock, the old tank top, the old poor rental block.
He frowned.
“Sit down.”
Mai paused.
“I’m working...”
Binh, standing nearby, immediately said:
“Boss tells you to sit, so sit.”
Mai looked at Binh, then at Old Tu.
She slowly sat down beside him.
The slit skirt made her close her legs very carefully. But the sofa was low, and the lights swept across, and just sitting down made the line of the skirt pull upward. Mai lightly tugged the hem of the skirt, her face a little red from embarrassment.
Old Tu saw it.
In the old days, if he saw a scene like this, maybe he would have turned his face away.
But over the past week, too many people had spoiled him. Too many girls had smiled at him. Too many soft hands had touched him. The line inside him had loosened without him knowing when.
He poured a glass of liquor and pushed it in front of Mai.
“Drink.”
Mai shook her head.
“I’m working. I can’t drink.”
“You work here and don’t drink?”
“I’m serving. I don’t sit tables.”
Old Tu gave a scornful laugh.
“Now I’m calling you to sit.”
Mai was silent.
Nhung sat across from them, eyes on the glass of liquor in her hand, the corner of her mouth slightly curved. She did not interfere.
Old Tu leaned back in the chair.
“How’s it going? Making decent money here?”
Mai answered softly:
“Enough to live.”
“Enough to pay rent yet?”
Mai’s face went a little pale.
“I will pay.”
“Yeah. Remember to pay.”
The two were silent for a while.
The music filled the space between them.
Old Tu drank a mouthful of liquor.
The alcohol, plus the lights, plus the feeling of Binh bowing his head, of staff being afraid, of Nhung sitting beside him, made him forget who he was sitting with.
He put his hand on Mai’s thigh.
Mai went stiff.
“Uncle Tu.”
Her voice had turned colder.
Old Tu smiled.
“Every customer here does that.”
“Take your hand off.”
“You work in this place and still act pure?”
Mai turned and looked at him.
Her eyes sharpened.
“I said take your hand off.”
If it had been another guest, maybe Mai would have forced a smile and dodged. Maybe she would have endured a little longer, for tips, for the job, because she feared Binh, because she feared losing this place to earn rice money that she had just managed to cling to.
But this was Old Tu.
Someone she had once respected.
Once thought that though he was crude, though he was country, though he was hot-tempered, he still had some heart. He had once stood up for Thao. Once scolded Mai until it hurt, but scolded right. He had once been the old worn pillar in the rental block that people could lean their backs on for a while.
Yet now he sat here, wearing new clothes, drinking liquor, eyes red, hand on her body like those men out there.
The disappointment stabbed straight up into Mai’s throat.
Old Tu, swollen with alcohol and his new ego, did not stop.
His hand slid higher and touched Mai’s panties, rough and clumsy, as if he wanted to prove he also knew how to play like other people.
“Smack!”
The slap rang out through the music.
Not louder than the speakers.
But enough to make the whole table go quiet.
Old Tu’s cheek jerked to one side.
Nhung’s head snapped up.
Binh, standing nearby, froze dead.
Mai sprang to her feet, eyes red with anger.
“What do you think you are?”
Old Tu held his cheek, dazed.
Mai pointed at him, her voice shaking but every word clear:
“You get a little rich, people call you boss a little, you have a girl sitting beside you a little, and now you think you’re like the men in here?”
Binh rushed over.
“Mai! Are you crazy?”
Mai did not look at Binh.
She looked straight at Old Tu.
“I used to respect you. Really. I used to think you were rough but still had a heart. You cursed me, it hurt, but I took it because you were right. Now look at yourself.”
Old Tu sat there blankly.
Mai went on, tears already falling but her voice still hard:
“How are you different from those cheap little boys with some dirty money out there? Wearing nice clothes, wearing a watch, calling girls, then thinking you’re so mighty. You’re old already and still letting people lead you around like a child who just learned the smell of life.”
Nhung set her glass down, her face going cold.
Binh grabbed Mai’s arm.
“Get out!”
Mai jerked her hand free.
“No need to throw me out. I’ll go myself.”
Binh raised his hand as if to slap her, but Old Tu suddenly spoke hoarsely:
“Let her go.”
Binh stopped.
“Boss...”
“I said let her go.”
Mai looked at Old Tu one last time.
In her eyes there was anger and sadness both.
Then she turned and walked straight away.
Binh hurried after her, scolding under his breath, but did not dare go too far in front of Old Tu.
The liquor table was quiet.
The music still pounded.
Quynh on the DJ platform looked down for a moment, then turned away again.
Nhung sat beside Old Tu and put her hand on his shoulder.
“Brother Tu, don’t mind it. That girl doesn’t know her place.”
Old Tu did not answer.
His cheek burned hot.
That slap was not as hard as the slaps life had given him.
But it hurt much more.
Because it hit the exact place he had just lost.
He looked at the glass of liquor before him.
Looked at the polo shirt on his body.
Looked at the shiny watch.
Looked at his own hand.
The hand that had just been on Mai’s body.
Rough.
Old.
Stupid.
He muttered:
“She hit right.”
Nhung frowned.
“What did you say?”
“I deserved it.”
Nhung went silent.
Old Tu raised his head, eyes muddy.
The last week or two appeared in his head like a film being fast-forwarded.
Cars.
Pubs.
Liquor.
Girls.
Tailor shop.
Salon.
Nhung.
Hang.
The sound of “Brother Tu.”
The sound of “Boss Tu.”
The bills he never asked the price of.
The sweet smiles he thought were real.
The mornings he woke up unable to remember how much he had spent the night before.
The times Hoang brought him money and he accepted it like it was natural.
He thought his life had changed.
But it turned out only the shell had changed.
Inside, he was still a country old bastard who got stupid as soon as he had money, who saw girls smile at him and thought he had become a king.
He stood up.
Nhung hurriedly asked:
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“Let me call a car.”
“No need.”
He stepped away from the table.
Binh ran over and bowed his head.
“Boss Tu, I’ll handle Mai. I’ll fire her right away.”
Old Tu stopped.
Turned to look at Binh.
“Whoever fires her, I’ll break that person’s teeth.”
Binh went pale.
“Yes ... yes.”
Old Tu walked straight to the door.
Nhung stood behind for a few seconds, then hurriedly grabbed her bag and ran after him.
But Old Tu did not wait.
Outside, the night wind slapped his face.
He stood on the sidewalk, pulling at the collar of his polo as if choking.
A taxi had just rolled up. He opened the door and got in.
Nhung ran out and called:
“Brother Tu!”
Old Tu shut the door.
“To Minh Tu Fruit Juice Company.”
The taxi drove away.
Leaving Nhung standing before the bar doors, under the purple-red lights, her face for the first time unable to keep its smile.
When Old Tu got back to the company, it was already late.
The taxi stopped outside the gate. He stepped down alone.
No Nhung walking beside him.
No clack-clack of high heels following behind.
No arrogant walk from these past days.
He walked into the yard, the brand-name polo wrinkled, the hair that had been combed in the evening now messy. One cheek still red with a handprint. A few porters on night watch saw him and stood up.
“Boss Tu.”
He did not answer.
He walked straight inside.
Hoang was sitting at the desk, laptop and several stacks of papers before him. Seeing Old Tu come back alone, he raised his head.
“You’re back, Uncle?”
Old Tu did not answer.
He walked past Hoang as if he had not heard.
Hoang watched him.
His brow tightened slightly.
Not much.
Only for a moment.
Like someone seeing that something was wrong.
“Uncle?”
Old Tu still did not answer.
He walked straight into his private room.
A little later, the sound of things being thrown onto the floor came from inside.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Polo shirt.
Dress pants.
Leather shoes.
Several brand-name bags.
Hoang stood up and walked closer to the door.
Old Tu was pulling the old trunk out from under the bed. The trunk was dusty, its lock already rusted. Inside were the old clothes he had worn when he first came back to the rental block. Faded shirts. Khaki pants frayed at the hems. A thin ba ba shirt. An old checkered scarf.
He took off the new clothes.
Put the old clothes back on.
The movements were slow and heavy.
Like a man who had gone very far away, and in the end still had to return to his original body.
Hoang stood outside the door and did not ask more.
His face was calm, but his eyes held some displeasure.
Right then, from the yard came the hurried sound of high heels.
Clack clack clack.
Nhung ran in.
Her hair was a little messy, her face pale, lipstick still on her mouth but the usual sweetness gone. As soon as she saw Hoang, she hurried over.
“Brother Hoang...”
Hoang turned back.
“What happened?”
Nhung looked toward Old Tu’s room, then lowered her voice:
“Something happened at the bar.”
Hoang said nothing.
Nhung swallowed.
“Brother Tu called Mai over to sit. Then ... maybe he was drunk. He went a little too far with her. Mai slapped him.”
Hoang looked at Nhung.
“Slapped him?”
“Yes. Slapped him in front of customers. In front of Binh.”
Inside the room, Old Tu stayed silent.
Nhung went on, her voice smaller:
“She also cursed him. Said he had changed. Said he was like those cheap playboys. Binh was going to fire her, but Brother Tu wouldn’t allow it. Then he left right away.”
Hoang listened and did not answer at once.
He looked into the room.
Old Tu had already put on his old clothes again. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back to the door. His old back was a little hunched, completely different from the high-chinned posture of the past few days.
Hoang frowned slightly.
Very faint.
As if he did not like seeing that.
Nhung stood beside him, worried, asking:
“Should I go in and talk to him now?”
Hoang turned to her.
“No need.”
“But he is...”
“Go home.”
Nhung paused.
“Brother Hoang...”
Hoang looked at her.
His voice was still gentle:
“I said go home.”
Nhung fell silent at once.
She lowered her head.
“Yes.”
She turned and walked out.
At the door, she looked back into the room one more time. But Old Tu did not turn around. Nhung pressed her lips together, then went straight out.
The sound of high heels faded in the yard.
Hoang stood there a while longer.
Then he stepped into the room and bent down to pick up each item thrown on the floor.
Polo shirt.
Dress pants.
Belt.
Leather shoes.
Watch.
The things that had made Old Tu happy like a child just yesterday now lay scattered, wrinkled, meaningless.
Hoang folded them and set them aside.
“Rest, Uncle.”
Old Tu did not answer.
Hoang continued:
“I’ll clean this up.”
The old man stayed silent.
After a while, Old Tu lay down on the bed, facing the wall.
His old back curled under the faded old shirt.
Hoang looked at him.
He said nothing more.
He picked up the bags of clothes and walked out. At the door, Hoang paused a little.
The room was very quiet.
Quiet enough to hear the fan turning, the sound of trucks far away on the road, and a very small sound being forced down in an old throat.
Old Tu was crying.
Without sound.
No sobbing.
Only his shoulders shaking slightly, bit by bit, like an old child trying to hide his face against the wall.
It had been a very long time since he cried.
Hoang stood outside the door, holding the heap of brand-name clothes.
His eyes darkened.
Then he quietly pulled the door shut.
In the small room behind him, Boss Tu lay with his back to the wall, wearing his old clothes again, crying for a very long time.
That night, not only Old Tu cried.
In another room upstairs, Mai cried too.
She got back to her room near two in the morning.
Hung had not come home. Or maybe he had come home and gone out again. These past few days she could no longer tell clearly. The room always looked as if someone had left it halfway through. An unwashed bowl. An old worker’s shirt hanging behind the door. The iron box under the cabinet. The wall fan turned slowly, making a dry sound like an old person’s throat.
Mai closed the door.
She stood leaning against it for a long time.
Then slowly slid down to the floor.
The slit skirt was still on her. The shirt had been temporarily fastened with a small safety pin she borrowed from Dung. The smell of liquor, cigarettes, cheap perfume, and men’s sweat still clung to her hair, her skin, her collar.
She raised her hand and looked at it.
The hand still stung a little.
That slap was not a slap against a customer.
Not a slap against a boss.
Not even a slap against a drunk old man.
She had slapped the last image of Old Tu that still remained in her heart.
A crude old man, rough, hard to listen to, but once there had been a moment when he made her think: at least he is still human.
Yet tonight, under the green and red lights of the bar, he was like other men too.
With money.
With liquor in him.
With a beautiful woman sitting beside him.
With the right to imagine another person’s body was just part of the liquor table.
Mai could not bear it.
If it had been someone else, maybe she would have endured.
A month ago, even half a month ago, she did not even know how far she could endure. Every night at the bar, she learned how to smile when people said dirty things. Learned how to step back half a step when people pretended to touch her waist. Learned how to take money with both hands, even when inside she wanted to throw the bill on the ground. Learned how to print bills, write orders, carry glasses, count money, bear the music pounding into her head, bear cigarette smoke stinging her eyes.
Half a month.
She had earned seven or eight million in tips.
Her wage had not reached payday yet.
Those seven or eight million lay in the small bag under her pillow. Small bills, big bills. Every bill wrinkled. Every bill smelled of other people. Mai had counted them over and over, she no longer knew how many times. Every time she finished counting, she felt both happy and humiliated.
That was money she had earned.
With her body for others to look at.
With a fake smile.
With bending down.
By tearing off a little more self-respect each night, folding it very small, and stuffing it into her apron pocket with the tips.
And tonight, one slap could lose it all.
Binh probably would not let her come back.
That place did not lack people.
A twenty-nine-year-old woman, married, only half a month into the job, daring to slap a customer in front of the manager, in front of the liquor table, in front of the whole unspoken law of the bar. Why keep someone like that?
Mai thought about tomorrow.
Then everything before her eyes went dark.
No workshop.
No Mr. Tu’s company.
No bar.
No money.
No road.
She pulled her knees up and hugged herself.
Then she cried.
At first it was only choked breathing. Then tears fell onto her knees. Then her whole body shook. She bit her lip so she would not make a loud sound, afraid the neighbors would hear, afraid Hung might suddenly come home, afraid she herself would hear the sound of her own crying and become weaker.
She cried because she was sad about Old Tu.
Cried because she was sad for herself.
Cried because of the mud pit she had thought she only needed to step carefully across, only to find the farther she walked, the deeper she sank.
Some mud pits do not lie in the street.
They lie in the way people look at you.
In the way people pay you.
In the way you smile back even when you do not want to.
In the way you tell yourself: just one more night, just one more bill, just one more time enduring.