Harvest moon hung low and swollen over Qingxi Village, turning every roof tile silver. The air smelled of ripened rice and the faint smoke of burning stalks. Chen Mu had spent the day hauling baskets of his first spiritual-spring fruits to the county market—those rose-gold peaches that made old women blush and young men pay triple without haggling. He came home with a thick wad of cash tucked inside his shirt and a pleasant ache in his shoulders.
Lin Xiu was in the kitchen courtyard, sleeves rolled high, stirring a pot of osmanthus-glutinous rice wine over a low fire. Years of fieldwork had kept her arms smooth and strong; the firelight painted soft gold across the generous swell of her breasts beneath a thin cotton camisole. Sweat beaded along her hairline and slipped down the column of her throat, disappearing into the deep valley between those heavy, maternal tits that had once nursed him.
She looked up when he stepped through the moon gate.
"Sold everything?" she asked, pride and worry mixed in her voice.
"Every single one." He pulled out the money, fanned it like a deck of cards. Her eyes widened—more than she'd seen in years.
Lin Xiu laughed, low and delighted, and ladled a bowl of the freshly fermented wine for him. The osmanthus flowers floating on top released their honeyed perfume. She had added a splash of spiritual spring water when he wasn't looking—only a little, just enough to ease the ache in her lower back after a long day. She had no idea what it truly was.
They sat on the stone bench beneath the old osmanthus tree. Crickets thrummed. Fireflies drifted like slow embers. Lin Xiu drank two bowls, then a third. Color rose in her cheeks; her eyes grew bright and a little unfocused.
"You're not a child anymore," she murmured, reaching to smooth an unruly lock of hair from his forehead. Her fingertips lingered at his temple, then trailed down to the corner of his mouth. "When did my little boy turn into such a man?"
Chen Mu's heart thudded hard enough to rattle his ribs. The spring water was working through her bloodstream now, loosening years of restraint, waking every neglected nerve. He could smell it on her skin—warm woman, sweet wine, and something deeper, richer, beginning to unfurl between her thighs.
He caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. "I never stopped being your son," he said roughly. "But I'm also a man who sees how beautiful his mother is."
Lin Xiu's breath hitched. For a moment shame flickered across her face—then the spring's warmth surged higher, drowning it. She leaned forward; the loose neckline of her camisole gaped, revealing the upper slopes of her breasts, full and creamy, swaying with her quickened breathing.
"Little Mu…" It was half protest, half plea.
He stood, pulled her gently to her feet. She came willingly, soft and pliant, the empty bowl forgotten on the bench. In the moonlight her nipples were dark shadows against damp cotton, stiffenly obvious. Chen Mu cupped her face and kissed her—slow, reverent, the way a man kisses the woman he has secretly dreamed of for years.
She tasted like osmanthus and forbidden sweetness.
Lin Xiu whimpered into his mouth, hands clutching at his shirt. When his tongue slid along hers she melted, knees buckling. He caught her around the waist, pulling her lush body flush against his. The weight of her breasts crushed against his chest; he could feel the frantic beat of her heart matching his own.
He walked her backward until her shoulders met the smooth trunk of the osmanthus tree. Petals rained down around them, sticking to her hair, her sweat-damp skin. Chen Mu dragged his mouth down her throat, teeth scraping lightly over the frantic pulse there. She arched, offering herself with a broken moan.
His hands found the hem of her camisole and peeled it upward. She lifted her arms like a docile child, letting him strip it away. Her breasts spilled free—heavy, pendulous, nipples thick and dark as wild berries. He groaned at the sight and buried his face between them, breathing her in, kissing every inch of soft skin until she was shaking.
"Touch me," she whispered, voice cracking. "Please, baby… it's been so long…"
Chen Mu dropped to his knees in the fallen petals. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the soft belly that had carried him, tongue tracing the faint silver lines of motherhood. Lin Xiu's fingers threaded through his hair, guiding him lower.
He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her loose sleeping pants and drew them down. No underwear—mountain women slept cool in summer. Her pussy was framed by a neat triangle of dark curls already glistening with arousal. The lips were plump, flushed deep pink, slick with the evidence of the spring's merciless hunger.
He looked up at her—his beautiful, lonely mother framed by moonlight and golden blossoms—and licked a slow, deliberate line from her entrance to her swollen clit.
Lin Xiu cried out, thighs trembling. The taste of her exploded across his tongue—richer than any fruit from his space, salty-sweet and utterly addictive. He licked again, deeper, spearing inside her clenching heat while his thumb circled her clit in steady, worshipful strokes.
She came quickly the first time, hips bucking against his face, flooding his mouth with her release. He didn't stop—couldn't—lapping gently through the aftershocks until she was sobbing with overstimulation and tugging at his shoulders.
"Inside," she begged hoarsely. "Need you inside me, Little Mu… fill your mother up…"
He rose, shedding clothes with shaking hands. When his cock sprang free—thick, painfully hard, the head already wet—she wrapped her soft fingers around him and stroked once, twice, eyes wide with awe and lust.
"So big," she breathed. "My baby grew up so big…"
Chen Mu lifted her, hands under the plush weight of her ass, pinning her against the tree. She wrapped her legs around his waist, ankles locking. The head of his cock nudged her soaked entrance; they both groaned at the contact.
"Look at me," he said roughly.
Her tear-bright eyes met his.
"I love you," he told her, and slid home in one slow, relentless thrust.
Lin Xiu's head fell back against the bark, mouth open in a silent scream. She was scorching, velvet-tight, fluttering wildly around the sudden invasion. He paused, buried to the root, feeling her stretch to take every inch of her son's cock.
Then he began to move.
Slow at first—long, deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive spot inside her. Each thrust pushed a soft, wet sound from her throat. Osmanthus petals clung to their joined bodies, to the sweat on her bouncing breasts, to the place where he disappeared into her again and again.
"Harder," she finally gasped. "Don't hold back… fuck me like you mean it…"
He did.
The courtyard filled with the slap of flesh on flesh, her broken moans, his guttural grunts. He pounded into her willing body, feeling her climb again, higher this time. When she came the second time her pussy clamped down so hard he saw stars, milking him in rhythmic pulses that tore his own release from him.
Chen Mu buried himself as deep as he could and let go—spurt after thick spurt of cum flooding his mother's womb, marking her from the inside in the most primal way possible.
They clung together, shaking, hearts hammering in tandem. Somewhere far off a night bird called. The osmanthus tree kept shedding its fragrant gold over them like a blessing.
After a long time Lin Xiu cupped his face, kissed him softly—tongue lazy now, sated.
"Stay inside me tonight," she whispered against his lips. "Don't leave your mother empty again."
He carried her to the wide wooden bed that had once been his parents', laid her down gently, and slid back into her welcoming heat. They fell asleep still joined, her legs wrapped around him, his cock nestled deep in the place he came from—warm, safe, and finally, completely his.
Outside, the spiritual spring in his hidden space shimmered brighter than ever, as if it approved.