I was all tapped out by the time that I crashed on that bed. Between booze, pitching in at the bar, several rounds of hot, steamy, sweaty sex with three gorgeous women, and all of that delicious food, I was sleepy as fuck. I dozed off for what must have been hours when I felt kisses on my face, neck, and chest revive me at last. I had no idea what time it was, but I knew that my bladder was full and needed emptying, so I instinctively rose and headed for the bathroom.
"I see that you helped yourself to my bathroom as you did to my wife and my girlfriends," a male voice told me from behind as I washed my hands.
I looked in the mirror and saw an aging fellow, rather burly in fact, with white hair and sideburns. He smiled as he noticed me flinch and startle, but he also waved his hand a bit as if to calm me down. He waited until my hands were clean and I turned around to speak to me again.
"Relax, I'm not Michelle's first hubby, Warren. He's into men. I'm not. I definitely prefer women. And I was also being a little facetious. You're more than welcome to make yourself at home, stud. I could use the help with all three of my lovely ladies. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a fifty-seven year old man to keep up with three constantly horny sluts, not that I mind, but I suspect that I was going to be fucked into the grave, sooner or later. There are worse ways to go, but I'm just saying that I could definitely stand for the helping hand there," Brian chuckled.
"Michelle said that, well ... I don't want to insult you, but she brought up something else," I hinted at the sterility, but Brian wasn't one to be evasive.
"My sterility, yeah. The mumps. Fuck me sideways, the damn mumps got me. I've been sterile ever since, though I've used that to great benefit in the past. I could fuck any woman that I wanted and not have to worry about paternity suits or anything that might interfere with business. Now, however, I want to be a father, forget grandfather, I won't live long enough for that. The only way to do that is raise another man's child, and why not in a way that no one is aware of the fact? The kid doesn't need to know that he or she is adopted, do they? So, I, Brian Killian, must essentially encourage my wife to do what she already wants to do, namely fuck around, which I do as well. There you go. You get to be Daddy four times over. From having your own daughters from your recent marriage to siring children on my three ladies," Brian bluntly encouraged me to boff his wife some more.
"Okay, but only the ones by Michelle are legally presumed to be yours, right?" I stipulated, getting an easy nod on that.
"That's all I need for my legacy. Someone to pass the bar down to in the future. Nothing against Warren or his boyfriend, I'm no racist, but I can't let it be obvious while I'm married that Michelle is pregnant to someone else. If she wants them to breed her, she needs to wait until I'm dead first. It's just a practical issue, if you will. There needs to be no question of paternity in the public eye, at least. My family and friends must assume that Michelle's baby is mine," Brian leveled with me some more.
"Good thinking. It's not racist to want the children to not be obviously another man's. That's just common sense. You're not Charlie Baileygates, after all," I alluded to Jim Carrey's character from Me, Myself, and Irene, "anyway, let's continue this discourse away from the bathroom, shall we?" I laughed a bit as we joined Michelle, Karen, and Ashley at the breakfast table ... along with Kayla and Carmen.
"Ladies," I smiled at them as they all sat there, naked, eating the breakfast that Ashley made for us all, one of ham and onion omelettes and hash browns.