Chapter 9

That afternoon, Old Tu was lying crooked on the folding hammock.

The ceiling fan turned slow. Outside in the yard, a truck had just pulled out, leaving the smell of machine oil and cement dust hanging in the air. A few porters squatted under the awning smoking, talking quietly. In the office, Hang was typing, the keyboard clacking steady like rain on a tin roof.

Old Tu half closed his eyes.

Since the company had risen, his life had become easy.

Coffee in the morning. Hammock at noon. Chess in the afternoon. At night, radio or old comedy shows. Money, Hoang brought to him. Paperwork, Nhung and Hang pointed where to sign. Goods, the people below handled. Sometimes he felt like the little king of this warehouse.

Only this king still wore an old tank top, knee-length shorts, and honeycomb sandals.

He was drifting when the sound of high heels rang outside the door.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

That sound was different from the slippers of the women renting rooms. Different from the sneakers of the loading men. It was neat, firm, and smelled like an office woman.

Old Tu cracked one eye open.

Nhung stood in front of him.

But today Nhung did not look like the usual accountant.

She wore a black bodycon dress, tight against her body. She was already tall, and in high heels she looked even longer. Her hair was lightly curled, her lips painted a moderate red, a small shiny watch on her wrist. Her whole body carried a cold sweet perfume smell, and the moment she stepped over, Old Tu’s hammock corner seemed to brighten.

Old Tu sat straight up.

“Huh ... Nhung?”

Nhung smiled.

“Boss Tu, get up.”

Old Tu hurriedly smoothed his wrinkled tank top.

“Paperwork? Put it on the table. I’ll sign in a bit.”

Nhung giggled.

“Not paperwork, Boss.”

“Then what?”

“Brother Hoang told me to take you somewhere.”

Old Tu stared.

“Where?”

“To change.”

“Change what?”

Nhung tilted her head, her smile soft as candy.

“Change Boss Tu.”

Old Tu heard it and did not understand, but seeing Nhung standing there so pretty, he suddenly did not want to ask too much either.

“Where’s Hoang?”

“Brother Hoang is busy at the warehouse. He told me to take care of Boss.”

The words “take care of Boss” came from Nhung’s mouth so sweetly that Old Tu felt his back go a little numb.

He stood up and slipped into his sandals.

“Then let’s go.”

Nhung walked ahead, the tight dress swaying lightly with each step. Old Tu followed behind, sneaking looks and then pretending to cough.

Outside the gate, a black Ford Everest was waiting.

Glossy car. Tall body. Strong shape. Dark glass. Bright rims. Just looking at it, you could smell money.

A young driver stood beside it, white shirt, black trousers, hair combed neat. Seeing Old Tu come out, he immediately opened the rear door.

“Hello, Boss Tu.”

Old Tu stopped short.

In his whole life, no one had ever opened a car door for him.

Before, wherever he went, it was bicycle, motorbike taxi, or sitting behind some beat-up scooter. Cars, to him, belonged to officials, rich men, people on television. Now the glossy black door opened before his eyes, leather seats clean inside, new-car smell mixed with perfume, and suddenly he did not know what to do with his hands and feet.

Nhung stood beside him, covering her mouth as she laughed.

“Get in, Boss.”

Old Tu pretended to stay calm.

“Yeah.”

He said that, but he nearly crawled into the car. One hand holding the seat, one leg going in first, body tilted as if afraid of dirtying the car. Nhung giggled outside, then climbed in and sat beside him.

The driver closed the door.

Click.

A light, expensive sound.

Old Tu sat in the car, eyes moving around.

Soft seat. Cool air conditioner. Outside the window, the porters looked in, one of them even giving him a thumbs-up. Old Tu suddenly felt his chest puff out.

The driver asked:

“Where are we going, Sister Nhung?”

Nhung crossed her legs, the dress pulling up a little, her voice casual:

“To Toan Tailor.”

“Yes.”

The car rolled away.

Leaving the familiar alley, the Ford merged into traffic thick as running water. Houses on both sides grew taller. Signs shone brighter. People went back and forth thick as weaving thread. Old Tu sat in the car, overwhelmed at first.

He had lived in this city for decades, but it felt like today was the first time he had seen it.

On normal days, riding a motorbike outside, he only saw dust, smoke, horns, people squeezing past each other. Now, sitting in a car, cold air blowing into his face, windows sealed shut, the outside noise blocked away, everything suddenly became a big screen running past his eyes.

People were looking at his car.

Or at least he thought so.

The longer he sat, the more he enjoyed it.

Nhung sat beside Old Tu in the back of the Ford Everest. The black bodycon dress hugged her body like a second skin. The dress was short, and when she crossed her legs, the hem slid high, exposing smooth, firm white thighs. Old Tu glanced down, trying not to look, but his eyes stuck to that stretch of white flesh. The cold sweet perfume from Nhung drifted over, making the old man breathe in hard.

“Nhung ... you’re wearing too little cloth today, huh?” Old Tu said hoarsely.

Nhung smiled prettily and leaned a little closer, letting her shoulder brush his. “Yes. I dressed like this to match Boss.”

Old Tu swallowed. The old cock in his shorts stirred a little.

His heart thudded.

That Hoang bastard really knew how to pick people.

He had chosen Old Tu one frighteningly pretty secretary.

The car stopped in front of a large tailor shop in the central district.

Bright sign. Tall glass doors. Warm yellow lights inside. Several suits were displayed on mannequins, standing straight like faceless Western men. Old Tu looked in and suddenly felt his throat go dry.

“Toan Tailor” was not like a tailor stall at the market.

It looked like a place people entered to spend big money.

The driver opened the door.

Nhung got out first, then offered her hand to help him.

“Careful, Boss.”

Old Tu felt a little embarrassed, but still let her help him.

Inside Toan Tailor, Nhung walked ahead leading the way. Her round ass swayed under the tight dress, each step in high heels making Old Tu swallow hard.

As soon as they entered, several employees hurried out.

A young woman in a black skirt and white blouse, hair neatly tied, bowed very sweetly.

“Hello, sir and madam.”

She glanced at Nhung, then at Old Tu. She must have seen how his tank top, shorts, and honeycomb sandals did not match this shop, because her eyes paused for a second.

Nhung smiled.

“Mr. Tu.”

Only two words.

The employee understood at once.

The smile on her face turned even sweeter.

“Yes, please come inside, Mr. Tu.”

Mr. Tu.

Old Tu heard it and his ears went hot.

All his life, people had called him Old Tu, Uncle Tu, Mr. Tu in the ordinary way. No one in a fancy place like this had called him Mr. Tu in such a honey-poured voice.

He was led into a large lounge.

Leather chairs. Glass table. Fabric shelves arranged neatly. Yellow light shining down on each roll of cloth. On the wall hung photos of men in suits, each one looking successful, clean, and fragrant.

Old Tu had just sat down when another employee opened a bottle of water.

“Please have some water, Mr. Tu.”

Another girl brought out small cakes.

“Have a little cake while you choose fabric.”

Then another brought a cold towel.

“May I wipe your face?”

Old Tu froze.

“Huh? Wipe ... wipe what?”

The girl smiled.

“Just a cool towel, sir.”

Before he could say more, she gently lifted the towel and wiped both his cheeks, his forehead, his neck. The towel smelled cool and fresh. Her fingers were soft. Old Tu sat stiff as a block of wood.

He had never had this feeling before.

Like an emperor in an old costume film being served by a whole line of beauties.

After decades living at the bottom, suddenly someone was wiping his face, pouring water, offering cake, calling him sir. His body felt light.

Nhung sat beside Old Tu on the leather sofa. She bent over the table to choose samples, her short dress riding high, clearly showing thin cream-colored lace panties. Fine lace edging, tight around her white ass, the cleft of her ass marked clear. Old Tu sat right beside her, eyes stuck there, imagining what it would be like if he reached out and touched it once.

“Do you like this color, Mr. Tu?” Nhung turned to ask, deliberately leaning so he could see deeper into her cleavage.

Old Tu could only nod again and again. The cock in his pants had started to harden.

The young employee added:

“Mr. Tu’s build suits darker colors. A navy or charcoal suit would look very refined. Add a few shirts: white, light blue, black. Tailored trousers. If you like comfort, some linen sets too.”

Old Tu heard it like a duck hearing thunder.

Suit what.

Navy what.

Linen what.

But Nhung nodded very confidently.

“Make Mr. Tu enough sets for meeting clients, going to parties, going to the company. Not too young, but with shape.”

“Yes, I understand.”

So Old Tu was led into the measuring room.

A young tailor, about twenty-eight, wearing black-rimmed glasses, stylish and professional, came out to receive him. She wore a tight white blouse and fitted black trousers.

She measured his chest first, then reached around Old Tu from behind. Her arms circled his body, her firm breasts pressing lightly into his back. Old Tu clearly felt those two warm soft lumps pressing against him, the scent of her hair drifting into his nose. He stiffened, trying to hold back, but his old cock was already hard.

When measuring his back, the tailor stood in front of him, both hands reaching behind him, body pressed close to his chest. Her breasts rubbed lightly against his belly. Old Tu breathed in hard, face flushing red.

When it was time to measure the trousers, the tailor knelt in front of him. The tape measure slipped between his legs. When she pulled it through his crotch, her finger accidentally brushed the old cock that was hard and pointing straight forward like it wanted to break through the pants.

“Oh...” The tailor jolted slightly, but she did not pull her hand away at once.

Old Tu’s cock was big and hard, pointing straight out, the head marked clearly through the thin fabric. Nhung stood beside him and saw it clearly, covering her mouth to giggle. The tailor also smiled, face a little red, but still keeping her professional manner.

She put her hand lightly around the old cock through the pants and gave it a small shake as if weighing and measuring it. Then she looked up at Nhung, her voice half joking, half real:

“Sister Nhung, what should I do now? Mr. Tu’s little brother is protesting hard. This stiff, I can’t measure...”

Nhung laughed louder, glanced down at Old Tu’s cock, then looked at him, eyes shining.

“Mr. Tu, calm down. Or do you want me to wait outside while you ‘handle’ the little brother first, then we continue measuring?”

Old Tu froze dead, face red as a gac fruit, mouth open and unable to speak. His cock still twitched in the tailor’s hand. Both girls giggled, and the air in the measuring room suddenly became filthy and awkward in a way hard to describe.

Nhung leaned close to his ear and whispered sweetly:

“Boss, if you keep staying hard like this, I’m afraid I won’t sleep tonight...”

Nhung covered her mouth and laughed, eyes shining as she looked down at the big bulge under Old Tu’s pants, then turned to the tailor:

“You have to measure ‘it.’ How else can you make sure Boss doesn’t hurt when he gets hard? Let me see.”

The tailor in glasses, face flushed but still smiling prettily, glanced at Nhung and then looked at Old Tu.

“Yes ... I’ll measure it properly, Mr. Tu.”

She reached out and pulled the elastic waistband of Old Tu’s shorts down in one motion. Old Tu’s old cock sprang out, hard, veined, large, the head dark purple, stretched glossy, twitching powerfully in front of the two girls.

“Oh my god...” the tailor cried softly, eyes wide.

Nhung stood behind Old Tu, both arms reaching around him, her right hand grabbing the old cock tightly. Her smooth fingers squeezed lightly, stroking slowly from the root to the head.

“Mr. Tu really is big ... so hard...” Nhung whispered beside his ear, her hand stroking steadily, thumb rubbing the leaking head.

The tailor knelt down and wrapped the tape measure around the shaft. The tape pressed lightly into the taut cock, making it jerk harder. She measured eighteen centimeters long and five centimeters across, but she did not pull the tape away right away. Instead she stuck out her pink tongue and lightly licked Old Tu’s wrinkled, heavy balls.

“Ah ... uh...” Old Tu groaned hoarsely, both legs trembling.

Nhung sped up her hand, squeezing harder, her other hand reaching down to massage his balls to help the tailor. The tailor opened her mouth and took one ball in, sucking lightly, her tongue licking nonstop, then moved to the other. Wet smacking sounds rang filthily in the closed measuring room.

Old Tu could not stand it anymore. Both hands gripped Nhung’s shoulders, his hips jerking with the rhythm of her hand.

“Nhung ... I ... I’m coming...!”

Nhung laughed softly and stroked faster.

The tailor said:

“Come, Mr. Tu ... come in my mouth...”

The tailor immediately lifted her head, opened wide, and took Old Tu’s big head into her mouth. In that instant, Old Tu roared. His cock jerked hard, spraying streams of hot thick semen deep into her mouth.

The tailor swallowed loudly, not letting a drop fall out. She sucked the head hard, the wet sounds coming nonstop, her tongue wrapping around the tip and rubbing out the last drops.

Old Tu shook all over, eyes rolling white, both knees buckling. Nhung still stood behind him holding him, her hand still gently stroking a few more times to empty him.

The tailor pulled her mouth off, licked her lips, and smiled at Nhung.

“I swallowed it clean, Sister ... Mr. Tu is strong. He came so much...”