Late to work

The sporadic clinking of silverware from the meal above you is replaced with the rhythmic clinking of a fork shaking on a plate as your brother resumes fucking your ass slightly enough to not spill your father's meal. Your father is eating much slower on account of only being able to eat with one hand, having to use the other to ensure his cock remains lodged in your throat.

Mercifully both had removed their coffee quickly, your father trying to be kind to you while your brother held his in his hand against your lightly jiggling ass, which was significantly less painful than your exposed back.

As your father finishes his breakfast he begins to leisurely thrust his cock in and out your throat without a care in the world. Your mother clears the dishes and Pete begins rapidly thrusting into your overworked asshole, reigniting your gag reflex as you attempt to scream. Your father looks down at you with surprise as though he just remembered you're human.

"Oh! Sweetheart!" He looks at the clock on the wall "Fuck it's AFTER eight? I gotta go!"

Your father suddenly begins rapidly skullfucking your mouth like a man possessed, whatever glint he remembered about your safety already long gone. Now you're being arrhythmically brutalized from both ends. Your mother hums in the kitchen.