Old Tu in Sai Gon
Copyright© 2026 by duhless_90
Chapter 13
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 13 - 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 was asleep when someone shook his shoulder.
At first he thought he was dreaming. His old body, after several days of being dragged out to exercise, to walk, to eat on time, had gone limp like a wet sack. He lay curled in the hammock, his mouth still dry, his ears still mixed with the clack-clack sound of the old fan turning. That hand shook him harder.
“Uncle Tu.”
He opened his eyes and frowned. In the weak yellow light outside the hallway, Nhung stood there, her hair a little messy, her face no longer quick and sharp like usual.
He startled and pushed himself up.
“What is it? What happened?”
Nhung tried to smile, but the smile came out crooked.
“Uncle Tu, Brother Hoang told me to wake you up right away.”
He rubbed his eyes, his throat thick and hoarse.
“What is so urgent? It’s the middle of the night.”
Nhung swallowed dryly.
“Save Sister Mai.”
Only those three words, and Old Tu sprang up as if someone had pressed burning coal to his back. The sleep vanished clean. The body that a moment ago had been limp suddenly shot upright. He fumbled for his shirt, shoved his feet crookedly into his sandals, asking as he dressed:
“What happened to Mai? Where is she?”
Nhung had not answered yet when he had already rushed for the door.
“Uncle, wait for me!”
Nhung’s voice chased after him from behind, but Old Tu did not turn back. He only vaguely heard his own feet pounding down the stairs, his heart thudding in his chest, and an old, strange fear had just risen up and already squeezed his throat tight.
At the party, the air had changed color at some point.
Old Manh’s big villa was lit bright, but that light did not make anyone feel warm. It was cold, glossy, and sharp like a newly sharpened knife. Outside in the yard were luxury cars, bodyguards, the proper lowering of heads. Inside, only a few people were allowed to step in: a few owners, a few men used to sitting on other people’s heads, a few girls brought in like living decorations. The rest, even with money, with position, with cars, still had to stand outside.
Mai stood among that line of women.
She stood out so much people did not need anyone to call her name to see her. In that group there was even a runner-up beauty queen, a few girls with faces pretty as wax statues, expensive dresses, perfume so strong it choked the breath. Even so, Mai still had something that pulled people’s eyes toward her. Not a cheap showy kind. Not a beauty trained by the stage either. Stranger than that. The dim sadness in her eyes, the silence forced down her throat, and the drug slowly seeping into her blood made her whole body seem covered in a dangerous layer of light.
She stood in one place, tried a little wine, nibbled a small piece of meat. Every movement was slow, as if she were trying to keep herself from falling off the ground.
Old Manh had noticed.
He sat in the main chair, short and thick, heavy-faced, small-eyed but sharp. The kind of man who did not need to speak loudly to make the whole room go quiet. He tilted his head and crooked a finger, calling the factory director over.
“What flower is that?”
The director immediately bent, his mouth smiling until both cheeks stretched tight.
“Yes, a jewel from my factory. Today I wanted to offer her up to you, boss.”
Old Manh looked at Mai for another beat, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“Good. Good.”
Those two words were like honey poured into the director’s ear. He bent lower, his eyes flashing with the dirty hope of someone about to use another person to redeem his own mistakes.
More liquor was poured. Food was served. Laughter scattered around the room like broken glass. After everyone had taken a little liquor, eaten a little something for form, the black-shirt bodyguards began to step forward, inviting the chosen men deeper inside.
The girls were led in too.
No one said it straight, but everyone understood. They were lined up under white lights and under the eyes of the powerful. The wide room suddenly felt narrow, not because there were too many people, but because the air was too heavy. The women stood there like objects placed on a table, and the men looked at them with a silence more naked than any words.
Mai stood in the middle of the line.
She lifted her head a little, then saw someone.
Hoang.
For one very short moment, both of them froze.
Mai recognized him first. That thin, bookish, nearsighted guy who usually followed Old Tu like a shadow, today dressed neatly, standing mixed among the people allowed to step into this room. But only one second later, Hoang turned his face away. Not the kind of not recognizing. The kind of recognizing very clearly, but being forced to ignore it.
Mai lowered her head too.
She understood the air here did not allow one extra look.
A butler in black stepped to the middle of the room. He held a stack of papers, his voice flat and cold, like reading a list of goods in a warehouse. Each company was called. Each number was read aloud. Whoever was praised breathed out. Whoever was questioned went pale.
A seafood company was called first. The owner stepped up, stooping, holding out the paper with both hands.
The butler received it and read the number aloud.
The whole room went silent for a moment.
Old Manh slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair.
The owner immediately dropped to his knees.
“Yes, boss, this year the shrimp crop had problems, export orders were not as expected, so...”
Before he could finish explaining, Old Manh flicked his hand.
Two bodyguards moved up and dragged him away. No one asked where they were dragging him. No one dared look for long. The girl who had come with him was also held by two black-shirted men, then pulled along. She wanted to cry out, but the sound stuck in her throat. Here people were so afraid they did not dare make a sound.
Only then did Mai truly understand where she was standing.
Not a party.
Not a meeting with leadership.
Not a year-end social gathering.
This was a place where people weighed lives, weighed money, weighed women, weighed loyalty. Everything had a price. And when the price was not enough, people were dragged outside like a sack of defective goods.
She went cold, but inside her body there was a heat slowly soaking in, uncomfortable, twisted. The drink Hung had given her before leaving suddenly appeared in her head like a black dot. She did not dare think further. She only felt her head grow heavy, her skin and flesh restless in a frightening way.
Then the name of Old Tu’s fruit juice company was called.
Mai unconsciously lifted her head.
She did not understand why, but anything related to Old Tu made her heart tighten. Maybe because these last few days he had clumsily practiced each movement, breathing and laughing, embarrassed and trying. Maybe because among all the people around her, he was the only one who gave her a real feeling, country, not calculating. That company name rang out in the party room and suddenly made Mai nervous, as if she herself were about to be called.
The butler opened the paper.
“This year, net profit: twenty-five billion.”
A sound of surprise rose.
Not loud, but enough to make the air in the room tremble lightly.
Old Manh sat up straight, then burst out laughing. He laughed for real, not the pale laugh from earlier. He stepped down and went straight to Hoang, clapping him hard on the shoulder.
“You really do satisfy me.”
Hoang bowed his head very slightly.
Old Manh turned to look at everyone.
“Look carefully. This young man, in only six months, brought back twenty-five billion. Do you people understand?”
No one answered. But everyone understood.
“Today, he is my honored guest. Bring him a chair.”
A large chair was carried out.
Hoang sat down.
Only that one act of sitting made Mai suddenly feel he was completely different. The thin, hungry-looking, nearsighted, calm young man from before no longer looked like Old Tu’s assistant. That straight back, that calm face, the way he placed his hand on the arm of the chair, all of it said he was not someone standing in the wrong place. Somehow he had crawled his way here, and now he belonged to this room far more than many people thought.
Then the garment factory’s name was called.
The factory director immediately stepped up. He held the paper with both hands, stooping like someone handing over his own death certificate.
The butler took it and opened it.
“Profit this year: one billion.”
The room went dead silent.
Old Manh slowly turned his head.
“One billion?”
His voice was very light.
Because it was light, the director shook all over.
Old Manh suddenly cursed:
“A garment factory with nearly two hundred workers, and one year’s profit is one billion? Are you fucking joking with me?”
The director collapsed to his knees right there.
“Yes, boss, this year the situation was hard, orders were squeezed on price, labor costs went up, then expenses...”
“Shut up.”
Only one word, and the man went silent.
Sweat ran down the director’s temple. He lifted his head, his eyes desperate, then as if remembering his last float, hurriedly pointed toward Mai.
“Today I brought a jewel. I hope it will ease your anger, boss.”
The whole room looked toward Mai.
Old Manh’s gaze fell on her body, slow and heavy, making her feel as if something were crawling over her skin. He looked for a while, and the anger on his face softened a little. That softness was even scarier than when he shouted. It was the sign of another thought, dirtier, more private, not needing to be said.
The director realized that. He immediately bent lower, thinking he had escaped.
But right then, Hoang spoke.
“Excuse me.”
Those two words cut across the room.
All eyes turned to Hoang.
Old Manh frowned.
Hoang was still sitting in the chair, his voice calm.
“This year, textile and garment export turnover across the country increased sharply. The riots in Bangladesh made many factories in the region fully booked until the end of 2027. Processing prices rose, orders shifted back here in large numbers. In that context, for this factory’s revenue to drop nearly five times cannot be called circumstances.”
Old Manh narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
Hoang looked toward the director.
“Either management is stupid. Or someone is skimming.”
The director went pale.
“You ... you’re talking nonsense!”
Hoang no longer looked at him. He turned to Old Manh.
“Also, that woman, I know her.”
The whole room fell silent again.
Old Manh asked:
“You know her?”
Hoang nodded.
“I do. She used to belong to Thang Scar. Spent a long time hanging around that area, passed through quite a few men’s hands. Now she has gone straight and entered the factory as a worker. She is beautiful, yes, but if you call her a clean jewel to offer up to you, I fear that is not right.”
Mai stood dead in place.
Each word from Hoang slapped her face before the crowd. Humiliating, bitter, cruel. But inside that cruelty, she suddenly heard something else. He was destroying her value in front of Old Manh. He was making her into something no longer worth keeping.
The director shouted:
“No! She is...”
A bodyguard stepped in from outside and whispered something into the butler’s ear. The butler then whispered into Old Manh’s ear.
Old Manh listened, and his face darkened.
That bodyguard spoke loudly, enough for the whole room to hear:
“It is true there was a woman who used to be in Thang Scar’s area, then went straight, currently working as a worker in the factory.”
The air froze solid.
Old Manh slowly stood up.
The director crawled forward one step.
“Boss, I didn’t know, I really didn’t know, Quy handled this, I only...”
Old Manh kicked hard into his shoulder.
“Dog. Daring to bring fake goods to fool me.”
Then he shouted:
“Call Quy in.”
Old Quy outside thought he was about to be rewarded. Hearing the call, he scrambled in, his face still wearing a flattering smile. That smile died at once when he saw the director kneeling on the floor and Old Manh’s face black as the bottom of a pot.
“Brother Manh...”
He had not said more when Old Manh flicked his hand.
“Take those two away and handle them.”
Two bodyguards stepped forward.
The director and Old Quy were grabbed by the neck and hauled up. They struggled, their mouths stammering pleas. A rag was stuffed into each man’s mouth. Their cries turned into thick muffled sounds, no longer sounding human. Both were dragged outside like two pigs being pulled from the pen before slaughter.
Mai watched that scene, and even though she hated Old Quy, even though she knew he had pushed her in here, she was still terrified to the bone. The fear was no longer in her head. It ran down into her legs, making her knees go soft. She understood that if people could drag two men with position and power outside like that, then someone like her was nothing.
Old Manh turned back to look at Mai.
His gaze still had not let go.
One underling stepped forward half a step, as if only waiting for an order.
Mai felt the room tilt. The drug in her body began to seep deeper. Cold sweat beaded at the back of her neck, while her skin and flesh were strangely hot. Her head thickened, her heart beat fast, her breath tangled.
Right then, Hoang spoke again.
“Mr. Manh.”
Old Manh looked at him.
“What?”
Hoang stood up and bowed very low.
“May I ask to take that woman back?”
The whole room was silent.
Old Manh looked at Hoang for a while, then gave a low chuckle.
“You want her?”
Hoang answered very slowly:
“Not want. Owe.”
Old Manh raised his eyebrows.
Hoang continued:
“Back when I was a beggar, crawling into this alley, there was a kind woman who gave me some money. She did not ask who I was, did not chase me away, did not despise me for being dirty. That person was Mai.”
Mai snapped her head up.
Hoang did not look at her.
He still looked at Old Manh.
“I count it as owing her one life. Today I want to repay it. You once taught that kindness must be repaid with kindness, grudge with grudge. That is your principle. I ask to do exactly as you taught.”
Old Manh looked at Hoang for a very long time.
Then he burst out laughing.
The laugh rang through the room, making several girls standing nearby tremble lightly.
“Fine. Kindness repaid with kindness. Good. I like it.”
He waved his hand.
“Take her outside.”
Two bodyguards came forward. They were not as rough as with the director and Old Quy, but they were not gentle either. Mai was pushed out of the line, then almost thrown toward the side door. She staggered and grabbed the wall to keep from falling.
Outside the hallway, the air was colder.
Mai stood there, humiliated and lucky at the same time, her head tangled like a wad of thread crushed in a fist. Her husband had brought her here. Her husband had given her that glass of water. Her husband had stood outside and told her to go in. And the person who saved her was Hoang, by trampling the last bit of her dignity before that crowd of men.
She did not know who to hate first.
Hate Hung.
Hate Old Quy.
Hate the director.
Or hate herself for walking in.
The heat inside her body grew clearer and clearer, no longer a vague feeling. It frightened her. She held her own arm, tried to keep breathing, tried to remind herself to stay awake.
The hallway door flew open.
Hurried footsteps sounded from the yard outside.
Mai turned her head.
Old Tu appeared at the end of the hallway, his shirt crooked, hair messy, sleep still marked on his face, but his eyes red with worry. He panted, one hand holding the wall, the other swinging out as if wanting to sweep away all the darkness in front of him.
As soon as he saw Mai, he froze.
Then he rushed over.
“Mai!”
That call was not elegant, not clean, had no power, no rewarded chair, no bodyguards lowering their heads.
But in the middle of that bright and filthy villa, it was the first human voice Mai heard that night.
Mai was helped into the car in a state where she almost no longer knew whether she was stepping with her own feet or being dragged. The lights of the villa retreated behind her, white and cold, while the yard ahead kept swaying like black water. Old Tu held one arm, Nhung held the other. Neither said much. Only hurried shoes on stone, the car door opening, then Mai dropping heavily into the back seat like someone who had just escaped a bad dream.
Nhung got into the driver’s seat.
Old Tu sat beside Mai, both hands awkwardly on his knees. He wanted to ask, wanted to curse, wanted to smash someone’s head into a wall, but seeing Mai with her head lowered, her breath broken, he did not know where to begin.
The car left the villa.
Outside, the night road was empty, streetlights dragging long streaks across the glass. Inside the car, the silence was suffocating. Only the steady sound of the engine and Mai’s breathing, getting clearer and clearer.
At first it was shallow, short breaths, like someone who had just run a long stretch. Then it grew tighter, faster, mixed with a panic she could not hide. Mai raised her hand to her neck, tugging lightly at the cloth over her chest as if short of air. Old Tu turned to her, his voice going hoarse:
“Mai ... what’s wrong with you?”
Mai shook her head, biting her lip tight, not answering. She tried to force herself to sit straight, but her body was burning like fire. The drug in the glass of water Hung had given her had now sunk deep. Her skin itched unbearably, her nipples were hard and aching, sharp under the thin fabric of the party dress. Her clit swelled, tingling, while her pussy was full of wetness, ready to spill out. Each time the car bumped lightly, her thighs rubbed together, making her grit her teeth to hold back.
Old Tu looked at her, his heart in chaos. Tonight Mai was beautiful to the point he did not dare look long. The glittering dress clung tight to her body, leaving her smooth white back open, the deep line of her spine and the light muscle at her shoulders, the chest showing the pale cleft between her breasts, the slim waist clearly showing the two lines of her stomach. Her body also faintly carried the smell of expensive perfume. He had gotten hard at some point, the old cock painfully stiff in his pants, but he did not dare do anything, only sat still, both hands gripping his knees.
He clenched his teeth and turned his face to the window.
“Hold on a little more. We’re almost back.”
Mai did not answer.
Her breathing grew more rushed. She curled up, then leaned back, as if unable to find any position that could bear the discomfort spreading through her body. One hand clung to the edge of the seat, her fingers squeezing white. The perfume, the smell of wine still clinging to her dress, mixed with the smell of the car leather, making the narrow car cabin even more stifling.
Old Tu wanted to support her, but as soon as his hand lifted, it stopped. Support her shoulder, he was afraid of touching where he should not. Support her back, the dress was too open. Hold her hand, her hand was shaking. He had never felt so clumsy. All his life he had been rough, carried loads, cursed, drank liquor, slept in hammocks, and when something happened either hit someone or walked away. But tonight, before a woman trembling from something he did not fully understand, he suddenly became a helpless old man.
Mai leaned over.
Her hand touched his hand.
He startled lightly.
That touch was not clear if it was accident or instinct. Mai seemed to be searching for a support, something real to hold on to between the heat and the fear. But to Old Tu, it was like a dull knife scraping across the rotten remains of his pride. He remembered that cafe that day, remembered his own hand once put in the wrong place, remembered the dirty desire of an old bastard who thought he still had the right to want.
Fate really knew how to twist a knife.
That day, he was the one who reached out.
Tonight, Mai unconsciously touched him.
But everything was not the same. Could not be the same. He knew if he let the animal part in him win even once, then he would be no different from the men in that villa. Maybe worse, because Mai now was not clear-headed, was being shoved into a chaos she herself did not understand.
Mai let out a soft groan from discomfort.
Old Tu had been hard for a while. His old cock was stiff and aching, swollen in his sweatpants, the head wetting a large spot. He squeezed both hands tight, trying to hold back, but the more he held back, the more unbearable it became.
Mai could not bear it anymore.
She reached over, trembling, and placed her hand on Old Tu’s thigh. He jumped but did not dare push her away. Mai’s hand slowly slid up, touching the large bulge twitching under the cloth. She squeezed lightly, stroked through the fabric, then slipped her hand inside, gripping his hot, veined cock.
Old Tu groaned softly, his voice shaking:
“Mai ... child...”
Mai said nothing. She only panted, eyes half closed, hand gripping his cock tight, stroking up and down without knowing what she was doing. Tears still clung to the corners of her eyes from the pain of her husband’s betrayal, but her body was burning from the drug. Those two feelings crashed against each other inside her, making her humiliated, hungry, ashamed, and unable to stop.
Old Tu sat still, both hands gripping the seat, both pleasured and in pain. The old man pitied Mai so much he wanted to cry, but his cock was rigid in her hand, twitching without stopping.
Old Tu bit his teeth hard and turned his whole face away.
“Nhung,” he said, his voice clenched low, “drive faster.”
Nhung looked through the rearview mirror. Her face was tense.
“I know.”
The car turned into the company area.
The gate was already open. Nhung steered into the inner yard, the tires grinding lightly over the layer of small gravel. The building area was dark, only a few yellow bulbs flickering near the stairs and the entrance to the row of rooms. The air here was completely different from the villa. No foreign liquor, no big chair, no black-shirt bodyguards. Only the smell of damp concrete, old walls, clothes hung out overnight, and insects rasping somewhere.
Nhung stopped the car.
Old Tu opened the door and got out first, then turned back to help Mai. Mai put her feet on the ground, but her knees softened. He hurriedly reached out, this time with no time to think too much, only supporting her so she would not fall.
Mai leaned against him for a moment.
Her whole body was hot through the thin fabric. Old Tu stiffened, his face red from shame and panic, but his hand still held her very carefully, as if supporting something breakable.
Nhung locked the car and ran over.
“Get her inside first.”
Mai shook her head, her breath broken.
“Here is enough ... I can go back myself.”
Her voice was weak, but she still tried to keep one last bit of clarity.
Nhung looked at her, then looked toward the upper floor. A difficult look flickered across her face, like someone holding a small knife and knowing exactly where it had to cut.
“You should not go back.”
Mai lifted her head.
“Why?”
Nhung was silent for one second.
Then she said softly:
“Your husband is up there with Thao.”
No need to say more clearly.
That sentence fell very lightly, but it shattered Mai.
Mai stood dead in place.
Every sound around her disappeared. The insects, the wind, her own fast breathing, all retreated far away. In her head there was only the image of Hung giving her the dress, Hung giving her the glass of water, Hung saying go in, I’ll wait outside. Then the room up there, the light up there, Thao up there.
Her husband had delivered her to someone else.
Then gone home with another woman.
Mai did not cry right away. She seemed frozen. But only a few seconds later, her face twisted, tears pouring out before she could hold them back. She folded over, one sob breaking from her throat, so pained and humiliated that Old Tu heard it and his hands and feet went clumsy.
“Mai ... Mai, don’t...”
He did not know what to say anymore. His words were too poor. All his life he only knew how to say blunt, rough things. When he needed one decent sentence to keep a woman from collapsing, he had nothing except her name.
Mai cried until she nearly fainted.
Not the noisy kind of crying. The kind broken from the inside. She held the side of the car, shoulders shaking, breath disordered. The drug was still tormenting her body, and the truth she had just heard poured more oil onto the fire. Pain and bodily reaction mixed together into a chaos that made her almost unable to stand.
Nhung stepped forward, much firmer than Old Tu.
“We can’t take her up there. Uncle Tu, take her into your room.”
Old Tu startled.
“My room?”
“Where else can she go right now?” Nhung said quickly, her eyes still glancing upstairs. “Let her lie down and rest. You go out and sleep in the hammock. I’ll figure out the rest.”
Old Tu opened his mouth to object, but seeing Mai shaking, every word died.
“Yeah ... yeah.”
The two of them helped Mai into the room.
Old Tu’s room was small, old, smelling faintly of tobacco and medicated oil. The single bed was against the wall, blanket and pillow wrinkled. In the corner stood a yellowed standing fan, beside the door was the hammock where he often lay. A place not elegant, not clean like the villa, but at least there were no men’s eyes lined up to examine her. At least this door could close.
Mai was placed sitting on the edge of the bed.
She was still panting, hair falling loose against her cheeks, face wet with tears. Old Tu immediately backed far away, as if afraid that one step closer would make him guilty. Nhung pulled the thin blanket over Mai, then turned to him.
“Don’t leave her alone.”
Old Tu swallowed dryly.
“I ... I’ll lie in the hammock.”
“Yes. But if anything happens, call me.”
Nhung looked at Mai one more time. Her eyes were hard to read, part pity, part calculation, part as if she were asking herself whether she had pushed everything too far. Then she turned and stepped out the door.
The door closed.
The room fell silent.
Old Tu stood in the middle of the room for a long while, his back bent down, both hands useless and not knowing where to put themselves. On the bed, Mai curled under the thin blanket, her breathing still rushed, each breath scraping at the air.
Old Tu turned his face away, stepped out to the hammock by the door, lay down but did not dare relax. He lay on his side, eyes wide open, staring into the dark in front of him. The hammock creaked very softly under his body.
Upstairs, maybe Hung was still in some lit room with Thao. Down here, Mai lay on the bed of an old man who had once been made cowardly by his own desire. And Old Tu, for the first time in his life, found that lying still was as hard as carrying a heavy sack of stones.
He pulled the thin blanket over his belly, but did not sleep.
Mai lay on the bed, her body burning like fire, her pussy clenching in waves, arousal soaking her panties. The pain of being betrayed by her husband, the humiliation in the villa, and the burning heat of the aphrodisiac were scorching her from the inside.
She lay there for a while, then could not hold back anymore. She sat up and stepped out to the hammock on trembling legs.
Old Tu was lying there. Seeing Mai come over, he startled and sat straight up.
“Mai ... child...”
Mai did not say a word. She knelt in front of the hammock, both hands trembling as she pulled down Old Tu’s zipper and took out the old cock that was already rigid. Without a word, she bent down, took the broad head into her mouth and sucked slowly, gently, her tongue circling the head with affection. Old Tu groaned softly, one hand stroking her hair, the other lightly stroking Mai’s cheek as if afraid of hurting her.
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