Revenge As Sweet As Honey

"Do you mind if I feed him while we talk?" she asked, as she sat down.

Of course I did not mind. She reached behind her neck and opened the bow tie there that I had undone a year before. She lowered the bib of the apron from her breasts and moved the bundle to bring the baby's head to her right breast leaving her left breast bare for me to admire. A tiny hand appeared from a fold of the blanket. Then I heard the gentle sounds of suckling.

"Mine?" I risked asking.

"My husband had a vasectomy a few months after we were married," was all the answer that I needed.

Her tone was pleasant, factual, no hint of accusation, or regret, or claim on me. It was my child, but it was hers, and she was not asking for anything from me, or so it seemed. I said nothing, still taking in what she was telling me, not just the certainty as to whose child this was, but the strange timing of her husband's vasectomy, a pretty permanent procedure, only a few months after they had married.

"I'd always wanted children," she continued. "He had two, with his previous wife. He promised we could try once we were married. I believed him."

Again I said nothing. I was not the only person he had shafted then, and what he had done to me was mild, by comparison with breaking that kind of commitment to your wife.

"I thought..." she said, more hesitantly now, "when you, did that to me... with the honey, I mean... and then you offered to use protection... well I thought that... it seemed like a chance to... and he deserved it."

That was when I remembered what she had said when we lay together after I had filled her with my semen underneath the apple tree, that he had deserved it. He had denied her the possibility of having a family. She had decided to take the risk with someone else, with me. Revenge is sweet.

"How did he take it?" I asked, wondering what had been in her real motive, the desire to have a child, with anyone, or her desire to take revenge on a husband who had gone back on a promise, and not just any promise, but one central to her sense of being, and to their relationship.

"I filed for divorce," she said, "before he knew I was expecting. Just before you came to do our garden, I found out he was shagging someone at his office."

"He deserved it."

Her words, one year before underneath the apple tree, but not just because of the vasectomy. Because he had fucked someone else as well. He really was a bastard.

"So now it's just you and..."

"I called him...", she told me the baby's name, a smile lighting up her face. "Do you like it?"

"It's a good name," I said.

"I wanted something strong, like his father," she said.

"And now..." I asked.

"Maybe a brother... or a sister... if you're willing," she answered.

Like I said, I was already experiencing the beginnings of a hard on. Try sitting in a perfect garden with a cute female walking around naked other than an old style, country apron, without some reaction at your groin. But I was also still processing what she was telling me, and what I was seeing right before my eyes. I suddenly had become father to a baby boy, who was suckling on his mothers breast just feet in front of me. hat takes a little getting used to.

Just the same, there was something incredibly sexy about the way that she was sitting nonchalantly feeding her son, our son, her breasts exposed, her apron the only thing that she was wearing, butt naked on the rattan, that would make a cross-cross pattern on her bare flesh.

The thought of the rattan criss-cross reminded me of something, which in turn threw an image onto a screen in my head. A year ago, she had accepted a little pleasure-pain, my nipping of her nipple with my teeth. She deserved some more. Pleasure-pain of a different kind. The kind that leaves marks on your butt.

"Stud for hire?"

"Something like that," she grinned.

I was still thinking that the way she had done things, using me to get herself pregnant, saying nothing all the way through until now, three months after the baby had been born, and then presenting my with a fait accompli, no going back, that deserved a little punishment at least.

"Underneath the apple tree?"

"It worked before," she said.

We waited until the baby had been fed and tucked into his cot in the shade on the patio. I had her kneeling on the grass. Doggy. But first I used the flat of my palm. Both white buttock cheeks. At least they were white when I started. They turned a nice shade of red before I fucked her.

"You..."

"should..."

"have..."

"told..."

"me!"

Five words. The sound of strong hand smacking soft flesh ringing out after each, right, left, right, left, right again. Pause.

"I'm sorry," she said.

Then I moved behind her, slid my cock into her wet cunt, and started fucking her. If she wanted a brother or a sister for our son, then she would get one.

That was more years ago than I care to remember. Exactly what brought us together for the forever is hard to say. Fucking her again was incredible. Sex brings people together. So do children, and we had three in all, still do, except they no longer think that they are children. The apple tree turned out not to be so sinful a place to consummate a growing relationship.

Sometimes when people get together they sell up their respective homes and buy a totally new place together, with no preceding memories, but we decided that we quite liked the apple tree, and so I sold my place and moved in with her, and we had some wedding bells ring out for us a few months later.

Having a family also cramps your style. Making love beneath a tree is not exactly appropriate in a family home while kids are growing up. There were occasions, when they were all at school, or with grandparents, but not as many as we would have liked. Still, sex in a bed with Egyptian cotton sheets can be pretty good as well. But last autumn our youngest left to start her three year course at university, so term time now, my wife and I enjoy the house alone, and use the garden as we wish.

I still tend the flower beds and trim the lawn. My loving wife still buys honey. Once in a while, she even comes back from the store and stocks up our fruit bowl with rosy apples, bright coloured oranges, and nice firm, green ban-anas.