This part continues directly from Part 4. The porn video described in this part is straight out of the deep, dark recesses of my depraved imagination. Any reference to any actual porn video is entirely coincidental. This will not surprise anyone, as even porn has a better storyline than whatever shite my imagination managed to contrive.
The sun streamed in through the slats in the Venetian blinds and across the pillow. Bill shielded his eyes as best he could, but the light in the room was stopping him from going back to sleep. Groggily, he looked around, initially surprised to realise that he wasn't in his own room - and not even in his own house.
Slowly, the memories of the night before came back to him. He smiled, thinly, as he remembered plunging his cock into the woman's beautiful arse.
Sarah. Her name was Sarah
his mind told him.
Frankly, Bill couldn't have given a shit what her name was, but it was good that he remembered, he guessed. He remembered other bits from the orgy the night before. No doubt about it, that was what it had been. Bill found himself adding a line to his bucket list and instantly ticking it off: be part of an orgy. Tick.
He looked around the room. A few feet away sat a bedside cabinet with a digital clock on it, which politely informed him that it was just a few minutes before 8 o'clock. Bill groaned - his head hurt a little.
A smell of frying bacon assaulted his nostrils. The joke about Sarah liking sausage came back to him. Bill liked sausages and had been promised that there were some. At that memory, his stomach informed him that he was very hungry. Bill tried to ignore this feeling, but his stomach quickly decided that, if he was going to be a prick about it, then it - the stomach - was going to be in charge. It rumbled and gurgled several times until Bill resigned himself to his fate and folded out of bed.
Bill was surprised at both his energy and the lack of pain in his knees. He had enjoyed a number of "birthday whores" in his time and had always been utterly exhausted the following day (no matter how insistent his stomach happened to be!) Further, he had been suffering from osteoarthritis in his knees for several years and they often ached in the mornings.
Yet, today, he was full of energy and his knees made no complaint at all as he stood up and headed to the bathroom. The bathroom was empty and Bill emptied his bladder before he made his way downstairs.
Following his nose, he found his way into the kitchen where he found Sarah wearing a white apron with a rather hideous representation of a toucan on it, serving bacon onto a plate in front of her son.
Robbie
, Bill remembered as he watched the young man nod at his mother and begin loading bacon and beans into his mouth.
Robbie was topless, Bill saw, and he was quite well defined. Bill, however, could not get the picture of the young man ploughing his cock into his sister out of his head.
I slept in his bed last night
, Bill recalled.
I wonder where
he
slept?
But that was painfully obvious, he realised. Robbie had, presumably, been with his sister last night.
Robbie looked up from his breakfast for just long enough to nod at Bill and try and say something around a mouthful of scrambled egg, nodded again and turned his attention back to his overflowing plate.
Sarah looked over at Bill. "Good morning, Bill, dear," she said.
"Morning, ma'am," Bill replied.
"Oh, stop that," Sarah laughed. "Any man who has had his cock up my arse is free to call me by my first name. Sarah. I insist."
"OK, mum, Sarah it is," Robbie said and laughed.
Sarah looked at her son. "I meant what I said, Robbie," she said. "
Any
man." Bill took this to mean that Robbie had fucked his mother's arse at some point. The thought should have disgusted him - hell, this entire family was fucking disgusting and immoral and should all be fucking locked up in theory. Instead, he found the idea erotic and he began to get hard inside his trousers.
"So, what do I call Dad," Robbie asked.
"Well, you've not fucked his arse yet, so I assume it's 'Dad' for now," Sarah laughed.
"I'll sort
that
out soon enough," Robbie grinned and winked at Bill. Bill found himself grinning back.
"Well, Bill, dear," Sarah turned back to him. "Whilst my son ponders how he's going to do that..."
"Shouldn't be too hard," Robbie muttered only half to himself.
"...what would you like for your breakfast," Sarah said, pointedly.
"I...er... what... Um..."
"Sausage," Robbie said. "He likes sausage, remember?"
"Oh, I remember," Sarah said. "Would sausage be good?"
"If it's not too much trouble," Bill answered.
"Of course not," Sarah said. "They're in the air fryer now. It'll only be a minute or two. Toast? Beans? What do you like?"
"Everything on there," Bill said, pointing to Robbie's plate. "But, really - whatever you have will be fine."
"Excellent. Give me a few minutes. Take a seat." So saying, she turned to the cooker behind her. Bill's mouth dropped open. Behind that horrendous (and desperately in need of a wash) apron, Sarah was completely naked.
"How do you like your eggs," Sarah asked and turned back around again for a moment. She saw the look on Bill's face. "What? Oh. Yes. Well, I've not cooked in the nude since about the time that the kids were born, but I've always enjoyed the freedom of it. I hate the apron," she continued, "but I hate fat scalds on my tits even more!" She laughed.
Bill shook himself awake again. "Fried," he said.
"What?"
"The eggs?"
"Oh, yes! Fried. Of course. Just a minute!" Sarah turned back to the cooker.
Bill noticed that Robbie was not shy in staring at his mother's bare arse as she cooked. Robbie turned and winked at Bill again, nodding his head in his mother's direction and raising an eyebrow. Bill winked and nodded back. The two of them grinned as if sharing a secret.
If it was a secret, it was the most open secret in the history of open secrets. Sarah turned to the table with a plate covered in bacon, beans, eggs, beans, sausages, beans, toast beans, beans and beans and plonked it in front of Bill.
As she stepped away from the table, she playfully clipped him on the back of the head. "Stop staring at my arse," she said, smirking. "Do you think I'm stood here cooking breakfast for you so that you can stare at my arse?"
