Last autumn, I returned from Hong Kong to my hometown in Futian to handle some matters. Mr. Li, a factory owner who worked with me, invited me to dinner, and his purpose was obvious — he hoped to get more orders. At seven in the evening, we arrived at a seafood restaurant. Futian is not that big, and seafood already counts as high-end. We ordered quite a few dishes, plus two bottles of red wine. Mr. Li’s driver couldn’t drink, so the drinking was kept under control; mainly we ate, chatted, and built rapport.
The meal lasted over two hours, and both sides were a bit tipsy. Boss Li suggested going to a nightclub to continue. I didn't want to drink anymore, excusing myself by saying I had things to do tomorrow. But he insisted, saying it's rare to get together and we must enjoy ourselves to the fullest. I really couldn't refuse, so I suggested going for a foot massage to relax. Boss Li's eyes lit up upon hearing this and said we might as well go to a sauna, where the service is better and we can also rest. I had no choice but to agree.
The driver took us to the luxury sauna. Boss Li was obviously a regular customer and directly asked the manager to open two VIP rooms. He patted my shoulder and said the mature women service here was the best; mature women had charm, and he wanted me to enjoy myself properly.
My room is VIP No. 26. It's spacious, with a red-pole canopy bed, a sofa, soft carpet, and an inflatable exercise ball in the corner. One side of the bed is a full-length mirror, the other has a wall-mounted TV. The shower inside is also very roomy. I sat on the sofa casually flipping through TV channels, waiting for the service arrangements.
The waiter came in and asked if we wanted VIP service or individual items. I said VIP. He then asked what type I preferred. I casually replied, 'Mature, elegant, and with class.' He nodded and left.
About three minutes later, someone knocked on the door. The door opened, and a woman in her forties walked in. The high heels made her look about five feet three inches tall. When I looked closely, I froze completely.
It's Mom.
She was clearly taken aback when she saw me, her face instantly turning awkward and ashamed.
"Mom... why are you here? Weren’t you at the department store?"
She lowered her head, her voice very light: “The company’s doing badly, and wages are often delayed. This place... I only came not long ago. Nobody knows about this, you absolutely mustn’t...”
We stared at each other in silence for several seconds. She spoke first: 'Why are you here?'
“Brought in by a client, first time. I didn’t expect...”
The air grew heavy. She looked at me, hesitated for a moment, and still asked: 'Then... what should we do? Since you're already here, you're my guest now. Do you want to change to someone else?'
My mind was in chaos. Finally, I heard myself say: 'No need to change. Just proceed as usual. Who would have thought... it's such a coincidence.'
She looked up at me, her expression complex, but she still nodded. Then she took a step closer and gently kissed my cheek.
Only then did I clearly see what she was wearing: a dark gray shirt, a knee-length skirt, extremely sheer black stockings, and four-inch pointed-toe high heels. Formal with a hint of service-industry sexiness. She began unbuttoning, her movements not exactly skilled, but steady. The shirt opened to reveal a deep purple bra; the skirt came down to show black pantyhose and matching panties. Her figure was even better than I remembered. Her breasts were slightly sagging but still full, and the curves of her waist and hips were distinct.
My body had already reacted. She looked at me and whispered, 'Not taking it off yet?'
I quickly took off my clothes, leaving only my underwear. She went into the shower to adjust the water temperature, then turned and called me in. When I walked in, she was already completely naked. Hot water poured down, and she washed my body with professional and gentle movements. When she grasped my fully erect member, she whispered: 'It's... bigger than your dad's.'
I didn't respond. She didn't say more either, just carefully washed my body, dried it, and then had me lie down on the bed outside.
Lubricant was poured onto my body. She lay on top of me, using her breasts to clamp around me, sliding up and down for a chest massage. The softness and warmth of a mature woman made my scalp tingle. She whispered for me to lie still, but she herself occasionally let out subtle gasps during the movements.
After pushing for about ten minutes, she rinsed off the oil, dried me, and told me to wait on the bed. She then took a red cloth, tied one end to the beam above the bed and the other around her waist. She had me lie flat, then leaped up, hanging upside down, and directly took me into her mouth.
“This is called a red string,” she explained as she worked, her voice a little muffled, “taught here.”
Ice and fire follow closely behind. She first takes a mouthful of ice water, then alternates with hot water. The alternating cold and heat are so intense they almost make one lose control. When she lifts her head and asks if I feel comfortable, I can only nod.
She straddled me, gripping me with her inner thighs, moving up and down on her own. The lotus position let her completely control the rhythm. Halfway through, she got a bit tired and switched to lying down, letting me take the top.
The mirror clearly reflects the bodies of the two. The forbidden nature of their identities adds extra excitement to each entry. Her voice is more unrestrained than I've ever remembered, carrying the unique hoarseness and allure of a mature woman. We changed several positions, from the bed to the inflatable ball, then to the sofa. When she was entered on the ball, her body gently undulated with the elasticity, her moans intermittent.
As we were getting close, she reminded me: 'No condom... don't cum inside. Pull out, cum in my mouth.'
As instructed, I withdrew at the last moment, aiming at her open mouth. Some didn't land perfectly, splashing onto the tip of her nose and the corner of her eye. She wiped it away while whispering: 'So much... you must have been holding back for a long time.'
Afterward, the two were quiet for a long while.
She spoke first: “This can only happen once. Don’t forget I’m your mother. And you absolutely can’t tell anyone.”
I nodded.
She tidied herself up, returning to how she looked when she entered. Before leaving, she glanced at me, her expression complex, but she didn't say anything else.
After the door closed, I was the only one left in the room. The mirror still reflected the traces from earlier, and the air retained the scent of lubricant and desire.
After that night, I never went back to that sauna.
Mom never mentioned the matter again.
But some memories, once left behind, can never be erased.
That day, after leaving the sauna, the night breeze blew on my face, dispersing the lingering warmth of alcohol and lust, leaving only an indescribable emptiness. I didn't return to Hong Kong immediately, staying in Futian for two more days. During the day, I handled business; at night, lying in the hotel bed, my mind kept replaying the scene in the mirror—Mom hanging upside down taking me in her mouth, the warmth of her inner thighs when she straddled me, her voice when she reminded me 'don't cum inside.'
Those images were terrifyingly clear.
After returning to Hong Kong, life on the surface returned to normal. Company, clients, social obligations—everything followed the usual routine. But as long as the night was deep and quiet, my body would react on its own. I tried contacting my old fuck buddies, and I also tried taking care of it myself, but it always felt like something was missing. What was missing was that kind of forbidden stimulation, the kind that almost tore a person apart.
A month later, I went back to Futian once more.
The reason was that there were some procedures to handle at home. Actually, I couldn't clearly say myself whether it was truly because of matters or because I wanted to get closer to that door that might open again.
When I got home, it was afternoon. Mom was in the kitchen, and when she heard the noise she came out and saw me, freezing for a moment before quickly returning to her usual expression: “Why did you suddenly come back? You should have said something in advance.”
“Something came up temporarily.” I set down my luggage. “Where’s Dad?”
“On a business trip, back the day after tomorrow.”
There was a moment of silence in the air. She turned to pour water, and I watched her back—a casual apron, hair loosely tied up, completely different from the woman in the sauna wearing a uniform, hanging upside down on a red rope. But I knew it was the same body.
Dinner was very quiet. She asked about work, about the rent in Hong Kong, and whether I was eating properly. I answered each question, trying to keep my tone as normal as possible. After dinner, she went to wash the dishes, and I sat in the living room watching TV, but my gaze kept drifting involuntarily toward the kitchen.
A little after 9 p.m., she said she was going to take a shower. As the sound of water started, I sat on the sofa, unconsciously clenching my fingers. When the water stopped, she came out in pajamas, her hair still wet, telling me to sleep early.
I nodded.
But that night I hardly slept at all.
The next day I found an excuse to go out. Actually, I just wandered around nearby, eventually ending up near that upscale sauna. I didn't go in, just stood across the street smoking two cigarettes. I had her number saved in my phone. I stared at it for a long time, but ultimately didn't dial.
When I came home in the evening, she had already made dinner. There was an extra plate of steamed fish I liked on the table. When she saw me come in, she only said, “Wash your hands and eat.”
After the meal, she sat on the sofa watching TV, and I sat beside her. The distance was neither too far nor too close. During a commercial break, she suddenly spoke in a very low voice:
“About what happened that day... did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
“And don’t say it anymore from now on.”
“I know.”
She was silent for a moment, then said: 'If you feel uncomfortable, just pretend it never happened.'
I turned my head to look at her. Under the light, her profile was still the same, gentle, ordinary, the mother I had known for over thirty years. But uncontrollably, the image of her alternately taking hot and cold water into her mouth surfaced in my mind.
“I’m not uncomfortable.” I said.
She didn't respond further, just turned up the TV volume a little.
On the third day, Father returned. The house regained its usual liveliness, and I soon returned to Hong Kong.
But things did not end there.
Half a month later, I received a text message. The number was unfamiliar, but the content was only one sentence:
“Are you free on the weekend?”
I stared at that line of text for a long time, and replied: 'Yes.'
She sent back an address, not home, but an apartment in the east of the city.
On the weekend I arrived early. When the door opened, she was wearing that dark gray uniform—shirt, short skirt, black stockings, high heels. Exactly the same as in the sauna. When she saw me, she didn’t smile, just stepped aside to let me in.
As soon as the door closed, the world was only the two of us.
“Why are you still keeping this outfit?” I asked.
"Sometimes I wear one." Her voice was very even. "Got used to it."
There was a faint scent of perfume in the air, different from the mixed smell of lubricant in the sauna—cleaner and more private. She walked up to me and began unbuttoning my shirt. Her movements were unhurried, as if completing something long decided.
The clothes fell to the floor one by one.
This time, there were no red ropes, no ice and fire, no inflatable balls. Only an ordinary double bed. She had me lie down, straddled me, and slowly took me in with her already moist entrance. Both of us let out a soft gasp at the moment of entry.
“It’s... harder than last time.” she said softly.
I didn't answer, just gripped her waist and thrust upward. Her movements were restrained at first, but gradually she let go. A mature body finds the most comfortable angle on its own, each descent deep and steady. Watching her rise and fall on me, her breasts swaying gently with the motion, I suddenly pulled her down for a kiss.
This kiss was different from the one in the sauna. In the sauna, it was service, cooperation under the rules. This kiss now carried something long suppressed, tongues tangled together, breaths all hot.
I flipped her over and entered from behind. This position went deeper. She buried her face in the pillow, but couldn't suppress her sounds. I could feel her deliberately tightening, as if trying to remember something with her body. When I came, I didn't pull out, and she didn't remind me. Spurt after spurt filled her, her body trembling slightly, her inner walls contracting in waves.
Afterward, the two lay side by side. The curtains were drawn tightly, and only a very small lamp was lit in the room.
“From now on…” she began, her voice still a little hoarse, “don’t use text messages. Call me directly. I changed my number.”
I let out an "Mm-hmm."
“Over on Dad’s side…”
“You won’t know.” She interrupted me, “Only the two of us can know about this.”
I turned on my side, looking at her profile. A forty-one-year-old woman, fine lines already at the corners of her eyes, yet her body remained soft, her desires heavier, more greedy than those of the young.
"Why do you still want to continue?" I asked.
She was silent for a long time before saying: 'Because... I can't stop.'
This sentence was like a thorn, gently pricking the heart.
Since then, we began meeting regularly.
Most of the time it was in that apartment. Sometimes it was on weekends, sometimes on weekday afternoons. She would send the address in advance, or simply open the door and wait for me. The uniform was no longer the fixed outfit every time; sometimes it was a home robe, sometimes the old pajamas I remembered her wearing at home. But no matter what she wore, once the door closed, all that remained of identity was the distance between our bodies.
Once she took the initiative and asked to use a red rope.
The apartment had no beams, so she used the bed’s headboard rail instead. The upside-down position made her hair hang down, brushing over my lower abdomen. She took me very deep, and her technique was more skilled than last time in the sauna, and even more uninhibited. The alternating cold and heat stimulation made me almost lose control right away. But at the crucial moment, she stopped, lifted her head to look at me, and there was a hint of retaliatory amusement in her eyes.
“Why so impatient?”
I pulled her up and pressed her onto the bed to enter. This time was especially fierce. She was pushed upward with each thrust, only to be pulled back by me. When she climaxed, she cried—not from pain, but from being too full. After I ejaculated inside, she was still gently contracting, as if trying to keep everything in.
Afterwards she leaned against my chest, absentmindedly drawing circles with her fingers.
“In Hong Kong... do you have someone else?”
"I used to. Not anymore."
“Why?”
I didn't answer. She didn't ask again.
Time passed bit by bit like this.
Spring arrived, and the trees outside the apartment window sprouted anew. The frequency of our meetings changed from once a month at first, to once every two weeks, and then to almost every week. Sometimes after finishing, we would shower together. The hot water washed away the traces on each other's bodies, but some marks couldn't be washed away—the hickeys on her collarbone, the scratches on my back, and those unspoken, deepening dependencies.
Once after finishing, she suddenly said, 'Your dad hasn't been feeling well recently.'
My movements paused for a moment.
"It's just a routine checkup, nothing serious. It's just... age."
I held her a little tighter. Her breath sprayed against my chest, warm and steady.
"If one day..." She did not finish the sentence.
“There won’t be that day.” I interrupted her.
She raised her head to look at me, her expression complex. In the end, she just nodded and buried her face again.
When summer came, it was so hot you could hardly breathe. The apartment’s air conditioner was turned up high, but when our bodies pressed together we still sweated. She liked being entered from behind in weather like this, hands braced on the windowsill, looking at the blurred city lights outside. The curtains were only half drawn, and the windows of the building across the way could vaguely be seen. The thrill of almost being discovered made her especially excited, and her climax came fast and violently.
Once in the middle of it, her phone rang. It was her father calling. She answered, her voice steady as she responded, 'At a friend's place,' 'I'll be back later,' all while I continued to slowly thrust in and out. After hanging up, she turned to look at me, her eyes holding a nearly dangerous glint.
“You’re so bad.”
I didn't deny it, just picked her up, walked to the mirror, and had her watch how she was being entered. In the mirror, her cheeks were flushed, her breasts swayed gently with the impact, but her eyes met mine directly. That visual stimulation made us both reach the peak faster.
Autumn has arrived again.
It's been exactly a year since we first met at the sauna.
The relationship between us had long since surpassed 'a one-time accident.' It had become a hidden, regular habit that neither of us was willing to stop first. She would send me a photo when I worked late—only showing below the collarbone, her robe open, one hand placed between her legs. I would reply 'tonight,' then cancel all social engagements and rush over.
Sometimes we chat. We talk about her father's body, my projects in Hong Kong, and the days she occasionally still works part-time at a sauna. The conversation always skirts around the core layer—what exactly are we? But our bodies become more honest each time. She actively requests more extreme positions, cries out my name when she climaxes, and presses me against her after ejaculation, not letting me withdraw immediately.
One night after finishing, she leaned against the headboard smoking (she never smoked before). The smoke slowly dissipated under the light.
"Sometimes I think," she said, "if that day it hadn’t been you, but someone else who pushed open the door, would things have been different."
“Yes.” I said, “but the fact is, it’s me.”
She glanced at me and stubbed out her cigarette in the cup on the bedside table.
“Then keep going.”
When winter came, my father’s physical exam showed some problems. Nothing serious, but it required regular hospitalization for observation. She shuttled between the hospital and home, and we met less often. But whenever she had time, she would still send me the address. Once, when I arrived, she had just come back from the hospital, still carrying the smell of disinfectant on her body. As soon as the door closed, she almost扑 at me.
That time was especially fierce and urgent. It was as if trying to vent all the suppressed anxiety and fear through the body. After finishing, she cried for a long time, burying her face in the crook of my neck, her shoulders shaking. I didn't ask why, just held her, waiting for her to calm down on her own.
“Don’t leave.” She suddenly said, in a very small voice.
"I'm here."
“I’m not talking about now.”
I know what she's saying. But I didn't answer. Some promises, once spoken, can never be taken back.
Time continued to move forward.
The following spring, my father's condition stabilized somewhat. The frequency of our meetings resumed. The apartment mattress was replaced once, and the bedsheets were almost changed weekly. She started keeping small things in the drawer—lube, vibrators, thin silk ribbons. Sometimes she would actively ask to have her wrists tied, her eyes covered, relying only on touch and sound to feel my entry. That feeling of completely surrendering control made her climax long and intensely.
Once she asked me after climaxing, 'Have you ever thought about the future?'
I am silent for a long time.
"I have thought about it." I said, "but I can't make sense of it."
She turned onto her side to look at me, her eyes shining in the dark: “Then don’t think about it for now. Let’s just do this first.”
I pulled her into my arms.
Outside the door is her life, my life, the daily routine that must be maintained. Inside the door, however, is another set of rules—where one can freely act, freely shout, freely lay bare all the sides one dares not show outside.
And we all know that such days will not last forever.
But as long as it can continue, no one will be the first to say it’s over.
One rainy night, she sent a message: Come.
When I arrived, she had already showered and was wearing only a shirt, all buttons open. As soon as the door closed, she actively knelt down and took me into her mouth with her mouth. Her movements were urgent and deep, as if she had been holding back for a long time. I pressed the back of her head, making her take me deeper. She didn't resist; instead, she let out a satisfied whimper. Just as I was about to come, she pulled back, looked up at me:
“Shoot inside.”
I pulled her up and pinned her against the wall to enter. This time was especially fierce. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and each time she was thrust to the deepest point, she let out short cries. When her climax came, her whole body tensed, her insides gripping me tightly. I bit her shoulder and ejaculated everything inside.
Afterward, she leaned against me, her breathing still not steady.
“Next week... your dad is going to have a minor surgery.” she suddenly said.
My movements paused for a moment.
"It's not serious. Just needs someone to stay and take care of him."
“I took leave and came back.”
She shook her head: "No need. You do your thing. I can manage on my own."
But that night she held me very tightly, so tightly that it was almost hard to breathe.
The rain is still falling. The sound of water outside the window isolates the entire city. We leaned against each other, neither of us mentioning the future again.
Because everyone knows——
Some memories, once left, can never be erased.
And some paths, once taken, are hard to turn back from.
The door is outside, the world is outside.
The door is inside, only the two of us, we can continue to push this accident that started in the sauna deeper and deeper, time and again.
Until one day, it truly cannot continue anymore.
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