Every Tuesday and Friday he loaded his bamboo baskets with spiritual-spring peaches, translucent grapes the size of pigeon eggs, and tiny crimson strawberries that made customers moan out loud at the first bite. Word spread faster than wildfire: the quiet young man from Qingxi Village sold fruit that tasted like sex and left you hungry for more hours later.
One Friday, just as he was packing up, a woman in a wine-red silk blouse and tight black skirt stepped up to his stall. City heels, city perfume, city everything—except the faint mountain accent when she spoke.
"Two jin of the strawberries," she said, voice like smoke curling from an expensive cigarette.
Chen Mu recognized her instantly. Zhao Mei, forty-one, wife of Village Chief Zhao Dagui. Ten years ago she had been the most beautiful bride in three townships; now she was still stunning, but in the sharp, polished way of a woman who spent her husband's bribe money on facials in the county seat. Her blouse strained over full, surgically perfected breasts; the skirt hugged the dramatic hourglass of her waist and the ripe swell of an ass that turned heads from here to the provincial capital.
She paid triple without blinking, fingers brushing his as she took the paper bag. Her nails were long, blood-red. When she leaned forward to smell the berries, her cleavage threatened to spill right onto his fruit.
"Chen Mu, isn't it?" She smiled with glossy lips. "Your mother and I went to school together. She brags about her talented son nonstop."
He murmured something polite, but his eyes betrayed him—dropping to the way her nipples had hardened visibly under silk the moment she tasted a single berry. The spring's essence worked even faster on women who were already simmering with unsatisfied desire.
Zhao Mei licked a drop of juice from her lower lip, slow and deliberate. "My husband's in the city till next week. The house feels… empty." Her gaze flicked down to the front of his trousers, then back up. "Drop by tomorrow afternoon. Bring more of these. I'll pay whatever you ask."
She turned and walked away, hips rolling like a promise.
Saturday noon found Chen Mu climbing the stone steps to the chief's compound on the eastern ridge. The house was the biggest in Qingxi—three stories, red tiles, a courtyard full of potted orchids no one tended. Zhao Mei opened the gate herself, wearing a thin linen sundress the color of fresh cream. No bra. The outline of her stiff nipples pressed against the fabric like an invitation.
"You came," she said, stepping aside. Her voice was already husky.
The moment the gate closed behind him she was on him—back against the wooden door, mouth hot and demanding. She tasted like the strawberries she'd been eating all morning, sweet and faintly feral. Her hands went straight to his belt while she ground her lush body against his growing hardness.
"Been thinking about this since yesterday," she panted between kisses. "Those damned berries made me soak through three pairs of panties."
Chen Mu groaned as her manicured fingers wrapped around his bare cock, stroking with practiced greed. He shoved the straps of her dress down; her breasts bounced free—round, high, impossibly firm, nipples a dark rose against pale skin. He bent and sucked one hard, rolling it against his tongue while his hand delved under her dress.
No panties today either. Her pussy was bare, smooth as silk, lips already swollen and dripping. Two fingers slid inside her easily—she was molten, clenching around him like she was starving.
"Fuck me right here," she demanded, guiding his cock to her entrance. "I don't want to wait."
He lifted her effortlessly—she weighed nothing in his arms—and impaled her in one smooth thrust. Zhao Mei's head fell back against the door with a thud, a guttural moan ripping from her throat.
"God, you're huge," she hissed, legs locking around his waist. "Chief's little prick never filled me like this—"
Chen Mu shut her up with a hard kiss and started moving. Long, deep strokes that dragged over her front wall and made her eyes roll back. The sundress bunched around her waist; her perfect tits bounced with every slam of his hips. Wet sounds echoed in the empty courtyard—her soaked pussy taking him again and again, greedy and loud.
He carried her like that, still buried inside her, across the courtyard and into the main hall. Laid her out on the expensive rosewood table where the chief held village meetings. Zhao Mei laughed breathlessly, spreading her thighs wide, dress rucked up to her neck now, exposing every inch of her flawless body.
"Fuck your chief's wife on his own table," she taunted, fingers spreading her glistening lips so he could see how ready she was. "Do it. Make me scream where he counts his dirty money."
Chen Mu growled and drove back in. The table creaked under them as he set a punishing rhythm—hips snapping, balls slapping against her ass. She clawed at his back, heels digging into his thighs, begging in broken Mandarin and mountain dialect.
"Deeper—yes—like that—fill me up, you bastard—"
He felt her tighten, flutter, then convulse around him in a violent orgasm that left her shaking and sobbing. The sight of her—elegant Zhao Mei reduced to a writhing, dripping mess—pushed him over. He buried himself to the hilt and came with a hoarse shout, pumping thick ropes of cum deep into her spasming cunt until it overflowed and trickled down her thighs onto the polished wood.
They stayed locked together, panting. Eventually she traced lazy circles on his sweat-slick chest.
"Your fruit isn't the only thing addictive," she murmured, clenching deliberately around his half-hard cock still inside her. "I want more. Every week. Whatever price you name."
Chen Mu kissed her slow and filthy. "No charge," he said against her lips. "Just keep that pretty pussy ready for me."
Zhao Mei laughed, low and wicked, and rolled her hips. He was fully hard again in seconds.
Round two was slower—her riding him in the chief's leather armchair, breasts swaying in his face as she took him to the root over and over, grinding her clit against his pelvis until she came again with a muffled scream against his shoulder. Round three found them in the marital bed, sheets that cost more than most villagers made in a year soaked with her juices and his cum. He took her from behind this time, hands full of that perfect ass, watching himself disappear into her swollen, creamy pussy until she was babbling apologies to a husband who would never know.
By late afternoon the sun slanted gold through the windows. Zhao Mei lay sprawled across the ruined sheets, thighs trembling, cum leaking steadily from her well-fucked cunt. She looked like a satisfied cat who'd stolen an entire jug of cream.
"Leave the berries on the table downstairs," she murmured drowsily. "I'll tell Dagui they're a gift from the township. He'll eat them and wonder why he suddenly can't get hard for his little mistresses anymore."
Chen Mu dressed slowly, body pleasantly heavy. Before he left he filled a small jar with pure spiritual spring water and set it beside the fruit.
"For your evening tea," he said.
Zhao Mei's eyes gleamed with understanding. She crooked a finger until he bent close.
"Next time," she whispered, "bring enough for my sister-in-law too. She's been married three months and still tighter than a nun. I want to watch you ruin her the way you just ruined me."
Chen Mu kissed her one last time, tasting himself on her tongue, and walked out into the cooling mountain air.
Behind him, the chief's wife stretched luxuriously on sheets that would never smell the same again, already planning which bedroom to use next.