Last autumn, I returned from Hong Kong to my hometown in Futian to handle some matters. A boss surnamed Li, who cooperated with manufacturers, invited me to dinner, and his purpose was obvious — he wanted to get more orders. At seven in the evening, we arrived at a seafood restaurant. Futian isn't that big, and seafood was already considered high-end. We ordered quite a few dishes, plus two bottles of red wine. Boss Li's driver couldn't drink, so the alcohol was kept under control. Mainly we ate, chatted, and built rapport.
The meal lasted over two hours, both sides were a bit tipsy. Boss Li suggested going to a nightclub to continue. I didn't want to drink more, excusing myself with having things to do tomorrow. But he wouldn't let it go, saying it's rare to get together, must enjoy 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, saying why not go to a sauna, the service is better and you can rest too. I had no choice but to agree.
The driver took us to Haomen Sauna. Boss Li was obviously a regular; he directly asked the manager to open two VIP rooms. He patted me on the shoulder and said that the mature women’s service here was the best, that mature women had charm, and that I should enjoy myself.
My room is VIP No. 26. It's spacious, with a red canopy bed, 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 spacious. I sat on the sofa casually flipping through TV channels, waiting for the service arrangement.
The waiter came in and asked if I wanted VIP service or individual items. I said VIP. He then asked what type I liked, and I casually replied, 'Mature, elegant, and classy.' He nodded and left.
About three minutes later, there was a knock on the door. The door opened, and a woman in her forties walked in. High heels made her appear about five feet three inches tall. I took a closer look and froze completely.
It's Mom.
She saw that I was also clearly taken aback, my face instantly turning awkward and ashamed.
"Mom... why are you here? Weren't you at the department store?"
She kept her head down, her voice very soft: "The company isn't doing well, salaries are often delayed. Here... I haven't been here long. No one knows about this, please don't..."
We faced each other in silence for several seconds. She spoke first: 'What brings you here?'
“Brought in by a client, the first time. I didn’t expect...”
The air grew heavy. She looked at me, hesitated for a moment, then still asked: 'Then... what should we do? Since you're already here, you're my client 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... such a coincidence.'
She looked up at me, her expression complex, but she nodded anyway. Then she stepped closer and gave me a light kiss on the cheek.
Only then did I see what she was wearing: a dark gray shirt, a knee-length skirt, extremely thin black stockings, and four-inch pointed high heels. Formal yet with a hint of service-oriented sexiness. She began unbuttoning, not very skillfully but steadily. The shirt opened to reveal a deep purple bra; the skirt came off, showing black pantyhose and matching panties. Her figure was better than I remembered, her breasts slightly sagging but still full, with distinct curves at the waist and hips.
My body was already reacting. She looked at me and whispered, 'Aren't you going to take it off?'
I quickly took off my clothes, leaving only my underwear. She entered the shower stall 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 for me, her movements professional and gentle. When she grasped my fully erect member, she whispered, '...bigger than your dad's.'
I didn't respond. She didn't say more either, just carefully washed me clean, dried me off, and then had me lie down on the bed outside.
Lubricant was poured on me, and she climbed on top, using her breasts to clamp me, sliding up and down for a chest rub. The softness and warmth of a mature woman made my scalp tingle. She whispered for me to lie still, but she occasionally let out faint gasps during her movements.
After pushing for about ten minutes, she rinsed off the oil, dried me, and told me to wait on the bed. She herself took a red cloth, tied one end to the beam above the bed and the other end 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 slightly muffled, “that’s what they teach here.”
Ice and fire followed right after. She first took a mouthful of ice water, then alternated with hot water. The hot and cold stimulation was so intense it nearly made one lose control. When she lifted her head and asked if I felt comfortable, I could 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 changed to lying down, letting me be on top.
The mirror clearly reflected their two bodies. The forbidden nature of their identities added an extra thrill to every thrust. Her voice was more uninhibited than I'd ever remembered, carrying the huskiness and allure unique to a mature woman. We tried several positions, from the bed to the inflatable ball, to the sofa. When she was entered on the ball, her body gently undulated with the elasticity, her moans coming in broken gasps.
As we were getting close, she reminded me: 'No condom... don't cum inside. Pull out, cum in my mouth.'
As instructed, I pulled out 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 it in for a long time."
Afterward, the two of them stayed quiet for quite a while.
She spoke first: 'This can only happen once. Don't forget I'm your mother. And you mustn't tell anyone.'
I nodded.
She tidied herself up, returning to how she looked when she entered. Before leaving, she glanced at me with a complex expression but said nothing more.
After the door closed, I was the only one left in the room. The mirror still reflected the traces from earlier; the air retained the scents of lubricant and desire.
After that night, I never went back to that sauna.
Mom never mentioned this matter again.
But some memories, once left behind, can never be erased.
That day, after leaving the sauna, the night breeze hit my face. The lingering warmth of alcohol and lust dissipated together, 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 on the hotel bed, my mind kept replaying the scene in the mirror—Mom hanging upside down taking me in, the warmth of her inner thighs when she straddled me, her voice reminding me 'don't cum inside.'
Those images are terrifyingly clear.
After returning to Hong Kong, life superficially returned to normal. Company, clients, social engagements—everything proceeded as usual. But whenever it was late at night and quiet, my body would react on its own. I tried contacting old flings and tried taking care of it myself, but I always felt something was missing. Missing that kind of forbidden, almost tearing stimulation.
A month later, I made another trip back to Futian.
The reason given was that there were some procedures to handle at home. In truth, even I couldn't clearly say whether it was really because of matters at home or because I wanted to get a little closer to that door that might open again.
When I got home, it was afternoon. Mom was in the kitchen, and when she heard me she came out. She froze when she saw me, then immediately returned to her usual expression: “Why did you suddenly come back? You could have at least said something in advance.”
“Something came up temporarily.” I put 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. I watched her back—a casual apron, hair loosely pinned up, a world apart 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 one by one, 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.
After nine in the evening, 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, and told 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 in the end, I didn't dial.
When I came home in the evening, she had already finished cooking. 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, I sat beside her. The distance was neither far nor near. During a commercial break, she suddenly spoke, her voice very low:
“About what happened that day... did you tell anyone?”
“No.”
"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 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 my mind uncontrollably flashed to the image of her alternating between hot and cold water in her mouth.
"I'm not uncomfortable," I said.
She didn't respond further, just turned up the TV volume a bit.
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 contained only one sentence:
"Are you free on the weekend?",
I stared at that line of text for a long time, replied: 'Yes.'
She replied with an address, not her home, but an apartment in the east of the city.
I arrived early on the weekend. When the door opened, she was wearing that dark gray uniform—blouse, short skirt, black stockings, high heels. Exactly the same as in the sauna. Seeing me, she didn't smile, just stepped aside to let me in.
With the door closed, the world was just the two of us.
“Why are you still keeping this set of clothes?” I asked.
“Sometimes I wear it.” Her voice was flat. “Got used to it.”
There was a faint scent of perfume in the air, different from the mixed smell of lubricants in the sauna—cleaner, more intimate. She walked up to me and reached out to undo my shirt buttons. Her movements were unhurried, as if completing a long-decided task.
Clothes fell to the floor one by one.
This time there were no red ropes, no ice and fire play, no inflatable balls. Only an ordinary double bed. She had me lie down, then straddled me, using her already wet entrance to slowly take me inside. We both let out soft gasps at the moment of entry.
"Even 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 rules. This kiss now carried something that had been suppressed for a long time; tongues tangled together, breaths were all hot.
I turned her over and entered from behind. This position went even deeper. She buried her face in the pillow, but couldn't suppress her voice. I could feel her deliberately tightening, as if trying to remember something with her body. When I ejaculated, I didn't pull out, and she didn't remind me. The semen poured in in spurts, her body trembling slightly, her inner walls contracting in waves.
Afterward, the two of them lay side by side. The curtains were drawn tight, 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've changed my number."
I let out an "Mmm."
“That side of Dad...”
“Won’t know.” She interrupted me. “Only the two of us can know about this.”
I turned over, 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 even heavier and greedier than a young person's.
"Why do you still want to continue?" I asked.
She was silent for a long time, then said: 'Because... I couldn't stop.'
This sentence was like a thorn, gently pricking into the heart.
Since then, we began meeting regularly.
Mostly in that apartment. Sometimes on weekends, sometimes on weekday afternoons. She would send the address ahead of time or just open the door waiting for me. The uniform was no longer a fixed requirement every time; sometimes it was a casual robe, sometimes the old pajamas I remembered her wearing at home. But no matter what she wore, once the door closed, our identities were reduced to just the distance between our bodies.
Once she asked to use red rope.
There were no beams in the apartment, so she used the bedhead railings instead. The inverted position made her hair hang down, brushing my lower abdomen. She took me in very deep, her technique more skilled than that sauna time, and even more uninhibited. The alternating ice-and-fire sensations of hot and cold made me nearly surrender immediately. But at the critical moment, she stopped, lifted her head to look at me, and there was a hint of retaliatory amusement in her eyes.
"What are you in such a hurry for?"
I pulled her up and pinned her down on the bed to enter her. This time was especially rough. She kept being pushed upward by the force of the thrusts, and I kept pulling her back. 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.
Afterward she leaned against my chest, her fingers unconsciously tracing circles.
“In Hong Kong... is there someone else?”
“I have. Not now.”
“Why?”
I didn't answer. She didn't ask again.
And so, time passed bit by bit.
Spring arrived, and the trees outside the apartment window sprouted anew. The frequency of our meetings changed from once a month initially, to once every two weeks, then to almost every week. Sometimes after finishing, we would shower together; the hot water washed away the marks 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 well lately.'
My movements paused briefly.
“It’s just a routine checkup, nothing major wrong. It’s just... age catching up.”
I held her a little tighter. Her breath was warm and steady against my chest.
“If one day……” she didn’t 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 arrived, it was so hot people could hardly breathe. The apartment's air conditioning was on full blast, but when bodies pressed together, they would still sweat. She liked being entered from behind in this kind of weather, hands braced against the windowsill, watching the blurry city lights outside. The curtains were only half-drawn, vaguely revealing the windows of the building opposite. This thrill of almost being discovered excited her greatly, making her climax come fast and intense.
Once, in the middle of it, her phone rang. It was her father calling. She answered, calmly responding with 'at a friend's place' and 'will be back later,' while I continued to slowly thrust in and out. After hanging up, she turned to look at me, her eyes gleaming with an almost dangerous light.
"You're so bad."
I didn't deny it, just picked her up, walked to the mirror, and made her watch how she was being entered. In the mirror, her cheeks were flushed, her breasts swayed gently with each thrust, but her gaze met mine directly. That visual stimulation made us both reach the peak faster.
Autumn has come again.
It's been exactly a year since we first met at the sauna.
Our relationship had long since transcended 'a one-time accident.' It had become a secret, regular habit that neither of us was willing to stop first. She would send me a photo when I was working late—only showing below the collarbone, her robe open, one hand placed between her legs. I would reply 'tonight' and then cancel all social engagements to rush over.
Sometimes we would chat. We talked about her father's health, about my projects in Hong Kong, about the days when she still occasionally worked part-time at the sauna. The conversation always skirted around the core layer—what exactly were we? But our bodies grew more honest each time. She would voluntarily ask for more extreme positions, cry out my name when she climaxed, and press me against her after ejaculation, not letting me pull out immediately.
One night after finishing, she leaned against the headboard smoking (she never smoked before). The smoke slowly dissipated under the lamplight.
“Sometimes I think,” she said, “if that day it hadn’t been you, but someone else who pushed the door open, things might have been different.”
“Will.” I said, “but the fact is, it’s me.”
She looked at me, then stubbed out her cigarette in the cup on the bedside table.
“Then keep going.”
When winter came, my father's physical examination revealed some problems. They were not serious, but he needed to be hospitalized regularly for observation. She shuttled back and forth 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 got there, she had just returned from the hospital and was still carrying the smell of disinfectant. As soon as the door closed, she almost pounced on me.
That time was particularly fierce and urgent. It was as if all the suppressed anxiety and fear were being vented 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, her voice very soft.
“I’m here.”
"I’m not talking about now."
I knew what she was 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 after orgasm she asked me: 'Have you ever thought about the future?'
I was silent for a long time.
“I thought about it.” I said, “but I can’t figure it out.”
She turned to look at me, her eyes bright in the darkness: 'Then don't think about it for now. Just like this.'
I pulled her into my arms.
Outside the door was her life, my life, the daily routines that had to be maintained. Inside the door, however, was another set of rules—where we could do as we pleased, scream as we pleased, and lay bare all the sides we dared 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 the buttons undone. 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 swallow deeper. She didn't resist; instead, she let out a satisfied whimper. When I was about to come, she pulled back, looking up at me:
“Cum inside.”
I pulled her up and pressed her against the wall to enter her. This time was especially rough. Her legs were wrapped around my waist, and each time I thrust to the deepest point, she let out a short cry. When her climax came, her whole body tensed, her insides gripping me tightly. I bit her shoulder and came inside her completely.
Afterward she leaned against me, her breathing not yet steady.
“Next week……your father is going to have a minor surgery.” she suddenly said.
My movements paused for a moment.
"It's not serious. She just needs someone to take care of her."
"I’m coming back on leave."
She shook her head: 'No need. You do your thing. I can manage on my own.'
But that night she held me so tightly that it was almost hard to breathe.
The rain was still falling. The sound of water outside the window isolated the entire city. We leaned against each other, neither of us mentioning the future again.
Because it's all clear—
Some memories, once left behind, can never be erased.
And some paths, once taken, are difficult to turn back from.
The door is outside, the world is outside.
The door is inside; only the two of us are here. We can continue to push this accident that started in the sauna deeper and deeper, time and again.
Until one day, it truly becomes impossible to continue.
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