Old Tu in Sai Gon
Copyright© 2026 by duhless_90
Chapter 29
Incest Sex Story: Chapter 29 - 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 returned to the rental block feeling much lighter.
Fucking Mrs. Hong made the old man feel as if a stone had been lifted off him.
Turns out living was not that hard. People did not grow old because their hair turned white. They grew old because they locked themselves into a hammock, then lay there guessing what the world thought of them.
And thinking it through, what fucker really thought about him anyway?
He walked and muttered:
“What the hell do I gotta think about them for.”
The more he said it, the truer it felt. His whole life, he had gotten too used to pretending he did not need anyone. Then when he really needed someone, he did not know how to open his mouth. Liked someone, he hid it. Hated someone, he only cursed behind their back. Wanted to fight for something, he did not dare fight properly. Then when someone else reached in and took it away, he lay there choking on anger.
No.
Old Tu pushed open the iron gate and stepped into the yard. In his head came Mr. Quan’s smug face. The way the man led Lan’s motorbike out. That kiss he deliberately showed off. That hand put on the woman as if stamping ownership.
Old Tu clenched his teeth.
“All right, Quan. I’ll throw your ass out of here.”
He walked past the familiar hammock, but this time he did not lie down. He looked at it once, then cursed under his breath:
“Planning to fuck every woman here, huh? You think this block’s got nobody left?”
After saying that, he found himself funny. It had been a long time since there was hot blood like this inside him. Not the heat of useless anger, but the kind that made a person want to stand up and do something, even if he did not yet know what to do.
At the same time, Mai brought Quoc to Hoang’s company.
Quoc walked half a step behind her. He wore the clothes Mai had just bought him, a little too loose on his body, the collar pulled high to cover some of the red marks on his skin. He had washed clean and put on medicine, but that lost look still clung to him. When he entered the company and saw vehicles, workers, people moving around with work and a place to stand, Quoc naturally slowed down.
Mai turned to look at him.
“Go on. Don’t be scared.”
Quoc nodded, his face still wary.
“Can you see if you can arrange work here for this kid?”
Hoang was looking over papers with a worker. Seeing Mai, he immediately brightened, but did not show it too much. He looked Quoc over once, then called inside:
“Nhung.”
Nhung stepped out.
“Yes?”
“Take Quoc down to the warehouse. See what he can do and give him something.”
Nhung looked Quoc up and down. She did not ask much, only nodded.
“Follow me.”
Quoc glanced at Mai.
Mai said softly:
“Just go.”
Quoc lowered his head and followed Nhung. His thin figure blended into the workers in the yard, small enough that almost no one noticed. But to Mai, just the fact that he had a place to stand, a job to do, was already much better than lying out on the street.
Hoang waited until Quoc had disappeared before turning to Mai.
“Come inside a bit. I have something private to tell you.”
Mai looked at him once and understood.
“Yeah.”
The two of them stepped into the office. Hoang closed the door. The space inside was cut off from the noise in the yard, leaving only the steady sound of the air conditioner and white light falling across the desk.
Hoang pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
Mai sat, as natural as if she had gotten used to this place. Hoang did not circle around long either.
“I had someone ask around. Quoc told it right. His mother died in the hospital. His father and older brother died back home a long time ago. And the older sister he mentioned, patients around there said she was his older brother’s girlfriend. Later she pitied his family, so every two weeks she came by to help.”
Mai gave a soft “oh.”
She was not very surprised. Some things, hearing Quoc tell them, already did not sound like ordinary kinship. But they were not exactly love either. For people who lost too much too early, anyone who kept coming back regularly had already become family.
Hoang sat down across from her.
“To be honest, the company shouldn’t take in a stranger like that.”
Mai looked at him.
“But it still did.”
“Because you brought him.”
Mai smiled faintly.
“Want me to owe you?”
Hoang was smiling, then suddenly stopped.
His eyes stopped on Mai’s neck.
Right below the hairline, near the back of Mai’s neck, there was a small red mark. Not big, but a little raw, and the skin around it had already swollen. Hoang stood up at once.
“What happened to you?”
Mai touched her neck lightly and lowered her head.
“Caught it.”
Hoang’s face darkened.
“You’re really stupid.”
Mai looked up.
“I just helped someone and already I’m getting scolded.”
“It’d be strange if I didn’t scold you. He’s only a stranger, and you worried over him enough to let it spread to you?”
Mai was silent for a moment.
Then she said, her voice calm but lower:
“Maybe because I always longed to be someone’s older sister.”
Hoang said nothing more.
The sentence was short, but it made the room go heavy. Mai did not explain much more. She did not need to. Hoang already knew enough about her to understand that some wounds were not on the skin, and growing up did not mean they healed.
After a while, Hoang asked:
“Can you put medicine on it yourself?”
“The neck, yes. My back, probably not.”
“I’ll call Hang.”
“No need.”
Mai looked straight at him.
“Can you put it on for me?”
Hoang paused slightly.
“Yes.”
The office door closed behind them. Outside in the yard there was still the sound of the forklift, workers calling to one another, Nhung telling Quoc what to do. Inside the room, everything naturally slowed.
Mai stood with her back to Hoang. She undid a few buttons and pulled the collar down, exposing the nape of her neck and a stretch of white back. There were a few more small red marks there, newly risen, not yet spread wide, but anyone could see they could not be ignored.
Hoang took the tube of ointment.
He stood behind her and squeezed some medicine onto his fingertip. Before touching her, he asked:
“You don’t mind?”
Mai tilted her face, voice calm:
“You’ve seen my back already, haven’t you?”
Hoang laughed softly.
“Yeah. Right. That day you were the hottest one at the party.”
Mai laughed too.
“I thought you didn’t notice girls.”
The words fell lightly, but the air changed.
Hoang lowered his head and rubbed ointment onto the first red mark. The medicine was cool against her skin. His fingertip was very gentle, as if afraid of hurting her. But Mai still felt that tiny tremble. Not trembling from clumsiness. The kind of tremble from someone trying to keep himself calm.
Hoang said, his voice low:
“I don’t notice anyone ... because I’m busy noticing someone else.”
Mai did not answer.
She lowered her head and let her hair fall to one side of her shoulder. Her ear reddened a little. A woman like Mai hated being pushed into a weak position, but right then she did not feel weak. She only felt something quietly spreading under her skin, not sickness, but something warmer, harder to name.
Hoang’s hand continued rubbing medicine over her back.
Careful. Slow. No more teasing. His silence right then was clearer than his usual jokes. Mai realized that a man who seemed afraid of nothing did know how to tremble after all.
Mai felt Hoang’s hand tremble.
The tremble was very slight, almost not worth noticing, but because his fingertip was touching her back, Mai noticed it at once. The ointment was cool on her skin, but Hoang’s hand was warm. A person like him, always smiling faintly, always talking as if he had calculated every path in advance, also had moments when he could not hold his calm.
Mai lowered her head and asked softly:
“You’re trembling?”
Hoang did not answer right away. He took a little more ointment and rubbed it slowly onto the red mark near her shoulder blade. After a while, he said:
“I’ve gathered enough money for the fund.”
Mai paused slightly.
“The fund for the orphan kids?”
“Yeah,” Hoang said. “Soon you’ll be named as manager of that fund.”
Mai was silent for a few seconds.
“That fast?”
She stood still, letting him keep applying the medicine. Outside the office, the voices in the warehouse still rang out, the forklift backing up with short beeps. Life out there was busy and ordinary, while inside this room, Hoang’s words made the air slow down.
Mai asked:
“Then after that, what are you planning?”
Hoang lifted his eyes to look at her back, but did not answer.
Mai went on, her voice smaller:
“Will you quit the company? After all...”
She left the sentence hanging.
No need to say it all. Hoang understood what she meant. This company was only the surface. The part sunk underneath was what Mai always wanted him to leave. The money for the orphan fund, no matter how good it sounded, still came out of a dirty place. Mai did not want to stand in that place all her life, and even less did she want to see Hoang sink deeper into it.
Hoang rubbed the ointment as he spoke:
“I understand. You want to stop, right?”
Mai sighed.
“Yeah.”
Hoang’s hand stopped for a moment, then continued spreading the ointment evenly over her skin.
“Once you’ve stepped into rotten water, you can’t wash yourself clean no matter how much you scrub.”
Mai tilted her face slightly.
Hoang spoke very calmly, but that calm made the words heavier.
“This world is like that. It’s not that you say stop and you can stop. It’s not that today you wash your hands, and tomorrow you’re a clean person. I already know too many secrets. The network, the people behind it, where the goods go, where the money flows ... If I quit, they won’t leave me alone.”
Mai said softly:
“They’ll hunt you down?”
“Yeah.”
The room went quiet.
Mai lowered her head. The front of her shirt was held in place with one hand, the other rested on the edge of the desk. She could not see Hoang’s face, but hearing his voice, she knew he was not exaggerating. Some things, once you were stuck to them, getting out did not only require courage. Sometimes courage was not enough either, because behind it was a whole net that had tightened around you long ago.
Hoang continued:
“Besides...”
Mai asked:
“What?”
Hoang took more ointment and rubbed it onto a small mark near the back of her neck.
“We still have one thing we need to do.”
Mai froze slightly.
“We?”
“Yeah. Me, Nhung, and Hang.”
The names Nhung and Hang fell into the conversation very lightly, but Mai heard that behind them was not an ordinary work relationship. Those three had long had another kind of tie. Not loud, not said out loud, but tight enough for them to stand together in a dangerous place like that.
Mai asked:
“What thing?”
Hoang was silent for a few seconds.
“Take revenge on someone.”
Mai turned her head back a little.
“Who?”
“The kingpin in this area now.”
Mai looked at him.
“Bigger than you?”
Hoang let out a very soft laugh, as if he had heard something funny.
“I’m just a mosquito, Sister. One small territory, a few small contacts, a few underlings. Compared to him, I’m nothing.”
Mai lowered her head.
She already knew Hoang was not clean. She also knew he was far more dangerous than he looked. But this was the first time she saw that behind him there was an even bigger shadow. Something not only about money, goods, or power in a few alleys. It was a world where one wrong step could really cost a life.
Mai said softly:
“Can you not take revenge?”
Hoang’s hand stopped on her back.
This time he was silent longer.
Then he said:
“I can’t stop.”
Some stories, if people did not want to tell them yet, forcing them was useless. More than that, she heard something very hard in Hoang’s voice. Not impulsive. Not anger from one moment. It was hatred fed long enough to become part of who he was.
Mai said:
“One day, can you tell me about your past?”
Hoang looked at her.
His eyes softened a little.
“I’ll tell you.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He smiled lightly. “But another time.”
Mai nodded.
“Yeah.”
Hoang rubbed the last of the ointment onto the skin near her shoulder. This time his hand no longer trembled like at first, but it moved slower, more carefully. He said nothing more. Mai was also quiet. Between the two of them there was only the faint smell of medicine, the sound of the air conditioner, and the muffled noise from the yard outside.
After a while, Hoang said:
“Done.”
Mai pulled her shirt up.
Hoang immediately turned his face away. He walked toward the desk and grabbed some random stack of papers as if reading, but his eyes were not looking at the words. He did not turn back and did not glance over. That decency was very clear, clear enough that Mai could not fail to notice.
She buttoned each button again.
Her heart was still heavy because of what he had just said: rotten water, being hunted down, revenge, the kingpin of the area. But among those things, there was still the image of Hoang standing behind her just now, his hand trembling very slightly as he put medicine on her.
Mai fixed her collar and pulled her hair down to cover the back of her neck.
“Thank you.”
Mai took her bag and went to the door. Before opening it, she paused slightly, but in the end she said nothing more.
She opened the door and left.
Hoang stayed standing in the office.
The door was left half-closed behind Mai. Through the glass, he watched her walk out into the yard, her back straight, hair tied neatly, her face returned to its usual calm. She passed the warehouse and said something to Quoc. Quoc looked up and answered, then lowered his head and kept working.
Hoang watched Mai for a long time.
His eyes no longer had their joking look. They were heavy, deep, and full of infatuation. A kind of infatuation hidden very carefully, but the more it was hidden, the clearer it became. Like a person who had stood in the dark too long, suddenly seeing a lamp in front of him, wanting to step closer and also afraid his hands were too dirty and would put the lamp out.
.
.
.
A month later, that night, Vy’s whole department celebrated because they had hit KPI.
It was the kind of party people had promised from the beginning of the quarter. If they hit the target, they would go sing one night for real. If not, everyone went home, knowing enough to lower their heads. For three straight months, the whole department had been forced into a grinder: files, customers, targets, calls, reports, debt-reminder messages, tired smiles in front of clients. When the final number appeared just pretty enough, everyone felt as if an iron ring had been taken off their necks.
The karaoke place sat on a big road, its green and red lights blinking. The private room was cold. The smell of beer, cigarette smoke, and cheap perfume mixed together. On the table were glass cups, beer cans, a fruit plate, a few packs of tissues torn halfway open. The music was loud. The screen kept changing through meaningless scenes of beaches, fields, and cities at night.
Everyone raised their glasses.
“We survived this quarter!”
“Our department is the best!”
“Vy, drink. You pulled in several big contracts this month.”
Vy smiled and lifted her glass.
Her dimple showed again.
Before, every time Vy smiled, her whole face lit up. It was a lively, quick smile, with a little stubbornness in it, the smile of a girl who believed life was tiring but still had many fun things left. It was because of that dimple, that chirping energy, that Tai had noticed her long ago.
Since she was still an intern.
Back then she wore a white shirt and black trousers, hair tied high, holding a stack of files and following the older staff in the office. She bowed to everyone, but her eyes were sharp. She asked a lot, laughed a lot, worked hard, and especially knew how to make people feel comfortable. Tai had watched her longer than he needed to even then.
But Vy always kept her distance.
She was not cold, and she was not too intimate. Whoever joked, she smiled, but after smiling she stepped back. Whoever invited her out alone, she refused smoothly. Whoever messaged after work, she answered just enough, then went quiet. Tai had wanted to move closer many times, but every time, Vy’s gentle cleverness blocked him.
Only today, Tai saw Vy was different.
She drank more than usual.
At first it was only a few congratulatory glasses. After that, anyone who toasted her, she did not refuse. She smiled, clinked glasses, drank it down, then smiled again. But Tai saw that in her eyes there was a very thin sadness, like a layer of water over glass. If you did not pay attention, you would think it was just the beer. But Tai was the kind of man who had watched women long enough to know when a woman was truly happy, and when she was only trying to make the karaoke room louder so she would not hear her own heart.
Vy was truly sad.
Not sad because of work.
Work was tiring, but after being tired, you could sleep. The sadness inside Vy was the kind that still sat at the head of the bed at night, still followed her into the bathroom, still appeared when she saw an old shirt, an old bowl, an old corner of the yard in the rental block.
The people closest to her had each left her life in ways no one could explain.
Minh betrayed them.
The man she had once considered part of the family, once believed to be decent, turned out to have another life hidden behind Ngoc’s back. Then after that, everything blew apart, leaving in Vy a feeling of disgust mixed with helplessness. Not only disgust toward Minh. Disgust toward herself too, because she had once believed, once smiled, once talked normally with him as if everything in the house was still whole.
Her mother killed herself.
That death was not loud in Vy’s memory. It was like a door closing very softly, but after that no one could open it again. There were days Vy asked herself: what had her mother thought in the final second? Did she remember Vy? Did she regret it? Or had she been so tired that love no longer had enough strength to pull her back?
Her father had died too.
The people who had once been good to her, who had lived decently, endured, tried to love others, why did they all end up suffering like that?
Vy could not find an answer.
She only drank.
One glass after another.
Tai sat beside her and, seeing that, gave a slight smirk.
He did not ask whether she was sad. He did not advise her to drink less either. He only ordered more beer.
“Vy’s strong today. If you can drink, go all in.”
One woman in the department forced a laugh:
“Come on, boss, let Vy rest a little. Her face is red already.”
Tai waved his hand.
“I’m here. What’s there to be scared of? Today is a happy day.”
The sentence “I’m here” sounded like protection, but there was nothing protective in his voice.
Vy did not notice.
She held the microphone and sang. She was not on beat, but her voice was clear and high. Then she stood up and danced along with the music. Her office shirt had come undone by one button at the collar. Her hair fell over her shoulders. Her face was red from alcohol. The dimple when she smiled made her look younger than her age, almost like the intern girl from back then.
Tai stood up too.
He pushed in beside her, pretending to dance along. At first he only stood close. Then his hand hovered at her back. Then it slid down to her waist.
Vy dodged a little, but she was not sober enough to dodge clearly. She still smiled, still sang along with the screen, eyes half open and half closed.
The others in the room saw it.
No one said anything.
A few people pretended to choose songs. A few lowered their heads and tapped their phones. Someone looked elsewhere. The air in the room suddenly had a thin layer of awkwardness, but no one dared pull Vy away. Tai was the boss. He decided targets, reviews, chances for promotion, rewards and punishment. In an office, sometimes silence was not because people did not understand what was happening, but because everyone understood too clearly.
Tai bent close to Vy’s ear and said something.
Vy laughed and shook her head, unclear whether she heard it or not.
After a while, Tai winked at a few people in the room.
“All right, you all go home first. Work tomorrow. Vy’s drunk. I’ll take her home.”
Someone hesitated:
“Or should I call a taxi for Vy?”
Tai looked at that person.
Only one look.
The person went quiet.
“I can take her. I’m her boss, what’s the problem?”
That sentence fell down, both reasonable and dirty.
Everyone slowly got up. The laughter from before turned into scattered goodbyes. Someone patted Vy’s shoulder:
“Vy, we’re heading out.”
Vy lifted her head and smiled vaguely:
“Yeah ... home...”
Tai helped her out of the room.
The karaoke hallway was long and darker than inside. Purple light spilled over the walls. Music from other rooms echoed out in a mess. The smell of spilled beer, cigarettes, floor cleaner. Vy could not walk steadily. Tai looped an arm around her waist, supporting her less than pulling her close to his body.
When they reached the lobby, the night wind from outside made Vy shiver.
She mumbled, “So cold!”
Tai laughed.
“In a bit I’ll warm you up.”
He helped her toward the car parked nearby.
Just as Tai opened the car door, a hand from behind held his shoulder.
Not hard right away.
Only held.
But enough to make Tai stop.
He spun around.
In front of him stood a tall young man with broad shoulders, wearing a black T-shirt and faded jeans. His face was still young, but his eyes were not young. They were the eyes of someone who had been hungry, had slept on the street, had been stepped on by life, then survived by gritting his teeth and growing.
Vy, drunk and hazy, saw that person.
At first she did not recognize him.
Then the name drifted over her lips, very softly:
“Quoc...”
Quoc had changed a lot.
He no longer had that skinny, scabby, curled-up shape in Hung’s old clothes from the day he had first come to the rental block. Several months working at Hoang’s place had pulled him out of the shape of a sickly kid. He ate better, slept more regularly, the sores on his skin had faded. Heavy work made his shoulders broaden, his arms harden, his back straighten. He did not talk much, but his silence now was no longer the silence of fear. It was the silence of someone who knew he could take a hit, and could hit back too.
Tonight Quoc had gone to deliver goods to the karaoke place.
Whatever Hoang gave him, he did it. Loading goods, clearing the warehouse, carrying boxes, delivering things, watching shipments, running small errands. Quoc had never refused. He worked like someone who believed that if he stopped, the ghosts behind him would catch up.
When he had just finished delivering, he happened to see Vy.
Saw her dead drunk.
Saw Tai holding her waist.
Quoc tightened his hand.
“Hey.”
Quoc’s voice was low, not loud.
“Where are you planning to take my older sister?”
Tai looked Quoc up and down.
He was lecherous, not brave. With subordinates, with new female staff, with people who needed him, he could joke, paw, and act like a powerful man. But in front of a tall young man with a cold face, hands still dusty from moving goods, with two more people dimly walking up behind him, Tai’s swagger deflated at once.
“Ah ... no ... I’m Vy’s boss. I saw she was drunk, so I planned to take her home.”
Quoc was still holding his wrist.
“Do you know where she lives?”
Tai stammered:
“Well ... I was about to ask...”
“How do you ask when she’s drunk like this?”
Tai swallowed.
“Who are you?”
Quoc looked at him.
“Her younger brother.”
Vy leaned on Quoc’s shoulder, eyes shut tight, mouth mumbling something unclear. Her shape right then was weak and pitiful. Quoc lowered his head briefly to look at her. In his eyes there was a flicker of something very quick, maybe pity, maybe hatred, or maybe only memory.
Then he turned back to Tai.
“I’ll take Sister Vy home. You go home yourself.”
Tai forced a smile:
“That won’t do. I’m her boss. I have a responsibility...”
Before he could finish, Quoc twisted his wrist backward.
Not enough to break it.
But enough to make Tai open his mouth.
“Ah...”
Tai was about to yell when the two men with Quoc stepped up. They were also people from Hoang’s company. They said nothing, only stood on both sides. One lit a cigarette. The other looked at Tai with lazy eyes.
Quoc leaned close to Tai’s ear, his voice still very even:
“Try yelling.”
Cold sweat beaded on Tai’s forehead.
He looked around. At the karaoke entrance there were security guards, a few customers coming and going, but no one wanted to get involved. The two men behind Quoc did not look like the type who could be reasoned with using company rules.
Tai muttered:
“I ... I only wanted to take her home.”
“No need.”
Quoc let go.
Tai immediately held his wrist and stepped back. His face was embarrassed and scared. The power he had in the karaoke room, in the office, at the meeting table, once outside on the street, suddenly became thin paper. He looked at Vy, then at Quoc, and in the end did not dare say another word.
“Then ... then you take good care of Vy.”
Quoc did not answer.
Tai hurried into the car. The door slammed shut. The car started and shot away, so fast it looked almost like fleeing.
Quoc turned to the two men with him.
“Thank you, brothers.”
One waved it off.
“Nothing. That kind makes my skin itch too.”
The other looked at Vy and asked:
“Family?”
Quoc was silent a moment, then nodded.
“Yes.”
No one knew whether he nodded because he was acting, or because in that moment he wanted to believe he truly had family to take home.
The two men went ahead.
Quoc helped Vy toward his motorbike.
Quoc said goodbye to the two men from the company, then kept guiding Vy out to the bike.
Vy was so drunk she almost knew nothing. Her body was limp, hair falling over her face, feet staggering as if stepping on uneven ground. Quoc had to hold her shoulders, pull her onto the back seat, then loop her arms around his waist.
“Hold tight. If you fall, I ain’t catching you.”
Vy did not answer. She dropped her head against his back.
The motorbike started and rushed out from the road in front of the karaoke place.
The city at night was still bright. Vehicle lights, signs, voices, music from still-open drinking shops flowed past into one muffled roar. Wind hit Vy’s face and made her shiver. She held Quoc tighter, cheek pressed to his back.
After a while, in her drunkenness, she mumbled very softly:
“Dad...”
The call nearly dissolved in the wind.
Then she spoke again, voice choked and broken:
“Mom...”
Quoc did not answer.
He only rode.
Vy went quiet for a while. Her heavy head sagged on his back. The beer in her stomach began to roll. The smell of alcohol, food, and cigarette smoke from the karaoke room mixed together and rose into her throat.
Quoc had just stopped at an intersection when Vy’s body suddenly curled up.
He tilted his head:
“Hey-”
Before he could finish, Vy vomited hard all over his back.
A hot, sour gush thick with the smell of beer spilled out, splashing onto Quoc’s shirt, running down both sides of his waist, sticking to Vy’s own hands where she held him. Quoc immediately pulled the bike to the curb and put his foot down.
The stink rose thick.
He looked down at his shirt, then turned his head to look at Vy. She still had her eyes shut, face white, filth on her mouth, no sign at all that she knew what she had just done.
Quoc stood still for a few seconds.
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