All characters in this piece of fiction are role-playing adults.
The first thing he hears is the door opening.
The second thing he hears is the shushing. Shh, shh, you'll wake him up!
The third thing he hears is the giggling.
He smiles to himself, sitting in the living room with all the lights off. He hears the door shut, the tripping of clumsy feet in heels on hardwood floors. More giggling, more shushing. Silence for a moment, then the wet noises of kissing. A deep groan.
He waits, patient in the dark. There's no point staying up until 2a.m. for them to come home only to ruin it by announcing himself too early. He waits while they make out in the hall. He waits when Melissa breathes, "You were dancing like a slut tonight." He waits when June laughs and says, "Are you going to tattle on me?"
(He wonders what dancing like a slut looks like. He wonders if they flirted with other people. He wonders if they let men buy them drinks.)
He waits until they come into the living room, hand-in-hand and giggling, listing against each other.
He says, "Where the hell have you been?"
He takes far too much delight in watching them jump and cling to each other.
"Daddy," June says, a hand at her chest. "You scared us."
He makes a show of raking his eyes over them. There's something delightfully teenaged about it all -- sneaking into the house late at night, trying to be quiet. (Like they didn't want to be caught.) They've dressed for the part, too. June in a short denim skirt and a low-cut top; Melissa in a tight black dress that shows off her curves. Both of them wearing too much make-up, both of them with dishevelled hair from dancing all night. Both of them drunk and trying to pretend that they aren't.
"What time do you call this?" he says.
They glance at each other. Melissa bites her lip. June begins to giggle again.
(Don't smile, don't smile. Come on, man, keep it together.)
"Late," he repeats. "Late would have been eleven. Maybe midnight, if you were really pushing your luck."
Melissa plops herself down heavily in his lap and winds her arms around his neck. "Daddy," she says, dragging her lips over his cheek; he feels the waxy smear of lipstick. "We weren't doing anything bad."
He cups her ass, giving it a pinch to make her squeal. He wonders if she's wearing underwear. (Probably. Melissa gets wet easily. It's so easy to make her drip down her thighs. Going out dancing without panties would be asking for a wet spot on her skirt.) "I heard something about someone dancing like a slut."
She keeps trailing kisses over his face. His cheek, his jaw. Down his neck. "Well, it wasn't me," she says.
"Bitch," June says. There's no heat in her voice. She has her hand over her mouth, like that's doing anything to hide her smile, like he can't see it in the creases in the corners of her eyes.
Melissa tugs at the neck of his T-shirt. "Why aren't you wearing something with buttons?" she says. "I like undoing them, it's sexier that way."
Another pinch to her ass. "Because," he says, "it's two in the goddamn morning."
Maybe it would have been more stern and fatherly if he had been waiting in slacks and a button-up. Maybe he should have been wearing a loosened tie. He should have a glass of whiskey with a single ice cube that clinks against the glass when he swirls it.
But, once again, it's two in the goddamn morning. He's been in his pyjamas for hours now -- flannel pants and an old band T-shirt. He did have the glass of whiskey, but he finished it a while ago. The glass is still on the coffee table.
"Daddy's angry," June says. She comes closer, wobbling a little on her heels when she steps onto the rug. (They're stupidly high. They make her legs look stupidly long. Stupid shoes that he is stupidly attracted to.) "I'm sorry we made you wait up past your bedtime, old man."
Melissa shifts on his lap, moving to sit on his left thigh and making room for June to perch on the other one. She joins Melissa in trailing kisses over his skin. He's going to be covered in lipstick by the time they're done with him.
He's hard in his flannel pants. "Don't think you can sweet talk your way out of a punishment," he says.
"Daddy," Melissa says, sounding utterly dismayed that he would think they would ever stoop to such unbecoming tactics. "We would never."
"It's worth a try, though," June says. Melissa laughs, her breath warm against his spit-wet skin.
"It's true," she says. "You have to let us at least try, Daddy. It's only fair."
They both end up bent over the bed with red asses. Still wearing their heels, their skirts pulled up and their panties pulled down. Their mascara smearing on the duvet cover.
But it's only much, much later. He had to let them try talk him out of it first. After all, like Melissa said, it's only fair.
He has their lipstick smeared over his dick from their attempts. June still has come smeared on the corner of her mouth. Melissa's pussy is dripping with slick and June's spit. (He's not sure how the last one was meant to convince him to do anything, but he enjoyed the show.)
He walks back and forth behind them, the palm of his hand stinging. He flexes his fingers. "Maybe you girls will try harder next time," he says. "Or maybe you'll get home on time."
Judging by their giggles and the shiny wet marks on their thighs, it's unlikely.
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