I was startled awake by a loud clattering in the kitchen.
"What are you doing in there?" I called out, wiping the sleep from my eyes.
Heather poked her head around the corner, flashing an innocent smile.
"Just gettin' something to drink, Dad."
"What time is it?" I groggily wondered aloud.
"The clock on the wall says two o'clock," she replied with a smart-assed tone.
"Last call," I muttered, "for alcohol."
She giggled without knowing the reference, then returned to what she was doing. I heard her whispering to Sam as she poured their drinks. When they both entered from the kitchen I was at once stricken by the beauty of these two young women; then all at once, the shame of what took place only hours earlier hit me. The girls took the same seats they had occupied previously.
Heather was wearing a long t-shirt that fell just to the top of her thighs. When she sat down on the recliner, she allowed it to ride up slightly, exposing her nakedness to me. Immediately, I felt uncomfortable looking at her there, so I turned my attention toward Samantha.
She had on a light blue oxford shirt with my company's logo embroidered over the left breast pocket. I figured she had wanted something fresh to wear and grabbed the first available thing from the laundry room. I wondered if she walked through the living room naked to retrieve it. The long front shirttails were tucked between her legs so that I couldn't tell if she wore panties under there, but I doubted it.
I felt I should talk to the girls about what took place earlier in the evening. Without any notion of how to begin such a conversation, I blurted out:
"You know, I wanna talk about what happened tonight."
"Yeah, we were talking about it ourselves," Heather interrupted.
"You were?"
Oh shit
, I thought to myself,
my daughter's gonna need therapy now.
I flashed back to a time when she was six months old. It was a cold Saturday afternoon and I was lying on my back holding Heather up in my outstretched hands. Involuntarily, she held her arms straight in front of her, like Superman. I moved her back and forth over my head, cooing to my little "Supergirl". Baby Heather was laughing uncontrollably, so innocent, peaceful, easily amused.
What the hell have I done
, I wondered to myself.
"Yeah," Sam said, bringing me back to the present.
"Look," it was my turn to interrupt. "I just wanna say how sorry I am."
I didn't know where I was going with what I was saying. I didn't even know what I was going to say. I think both girls sensed it from my hesitation. Heather broke the silence and took control.
"We're sorry too, Dad," she leaned forward in her seat and pulled her shirt down, covering her smooth pussy. "Sorry for playing you like we did; for taking advantage of you like we did; and for putting you in that position, no pun intended."
I was stunned into silence at what she said.
My daughter set me up? She wanted to be fucked by me?
"Really," Heather continued, "we didn't expect it to go like it did, as far as it did."
Oh God, I did mess her up.
"But I'm not complaining either," she comforted.
Then again
… I was confused.
"Most of all," Heather went on, "Sam's sorry that she didn't get relief."
"Well," Samantha chimed in, "not from you, that is."
I turned toward Sam, my eyebrows raised in question.
"Well," she said, matter-of-factly, "Heather helped me out in her room."
"She did?"
"Uh-huh," Heather proclaimed proudly.
"And once more in the kitchen," Sam explained. "That's when I knocked a glass into the sink. Probably what woke you."
I rubbed my calloused hands over my face as I tried to make sense of it all.
My daughter didn't intend to do anything sexual with me, but her friend did. She's worried about how I have been affected by the situation, yet she still enjoyed it. Samantha still wants to be fucked, by me no less, and, I'm guessing, while Heather watches.
Heather moved from her chair and kneeled at my feet, along side the coffee table. She spread her elbows out on my legs, intertwined her fingers and rested her hands on my upper thighs, near my crotch. My cock responded with a few involuntary twitches. With puppy dog eyes, she looked into my eyes and said:
"If you don't want to, we understand, and we'll drop this whole thing." My cock was beginning to grow. "But, and I'm just guessing now, I think you do."
Very gently, she grazed a pinky over my lap. The feeling through the material of my flannel pants was muted, but still arousing. When my cock was nearly hard, Heather unbuttoned the fly of my pants and pulled me free. Her face was so close that I could feel her warm breath as she slowly played her hand up and down its length.
I looked at Samantha. She had moved so that she was laying back against the arm of the sofa, her feet drawn up onto the middle cushion. She had unbuttoned her shirt to that her entire body was on display. Her breasts flattened against her. Her nipples were fat and swollen and circled with large areolas. Her tummy was athletic and toned. Her skin was smooth, dark and inviting. As I suspected, she was not wearing panties. She sported a heavy tuft of pubic fur above her slit, but her light brown vulva was clean-shaven.
With both hands, she reached between her legs and brazenly pulled herself open, exposing the inner folds of her pussy. She was bright pink inside and shiny slick with excitement. She held her lips wide open as she began rubbing a finger over her clit.
