Author's Note: I got an email from a woman I'll just call Daffy, in which
she told me a story about her youth.  During that narrative, which shall
remain private, for the most part, she mentioned that she had to "play her
violin" a number of times because of the feelings a young man caused in
her. My admittedly twisted mind came up with the following story, and so,
it is in honor of Daffy that I present it to you.

   Fiddling Around With Uncle Bob By Beating Off Bob

   ===============================

   The usual hum of conversation faded like magic as, without preamble or
introduction, the tall curtains slid smoothly aside, and the brilliant
circle of a spotlight's white beam lit up the two figures on stage.  Both
were seated, half toward each other, and half toward the audience.  All
conversation died and an hush of anticipation took its place.  About half
the audience leaned forward unconsciously, while the remaining patrons
leaned back.

   With no visible cue, two violins snapped from where they had been on
laps, to be tucked beneath two chins, and two bows followed with only a
split second's difference in timing.  The first violinist, a short,
black-haired beauty, began to play a languid melody.  The second, a gangly
Nordic-looking blond, starkly different, but just as beautiful, joined in
ten measures later, a third apart, for the next twenty measures, providing
a counterpoint to the melody of the piece, in an almost languid rhythm that
almost made you want to close your eyes and sway with the music.  The
harmony was exquisite.

   Almost imperceptibly, the tempo began to pick up, and the counterpoint
began to stray from the third's harmonious accompaniment to the violin
playing the melody.  Suddenly, instead of accompanying the melody, it was
fighting to replace it.  The tone, and tempo of the melody didn't change,
and the other violinist seemed to flex her muscles, demanding that she be
allowed to romp and play, while the melody waltzed.  Soon, the second
violinist added a string, now playing two at once, her limber fingers
flying along the neckpiece of the violin.

   Now, the melody, which had been so sweet and tender, began to sound
plodding and sedate, while the second violin began building up a head of
steam that threatened to leave the first behind like a two-year-old in a
grown-up race.

   With an almost audible jerk, the first violinist began to stutter the
notes in the melody, playing two or three notes, where obviously only one
was meant to be played.  It sounded like the first girl had awakened from a
dream, to find herself far behind, and was trying to find a way to speed up
and join the second violinist.

   The initial stuttering sound made many members in the audience wince, as
if they thought the wrong notes were being played, but the stuttering notes
took on a faster cadence, until it became obvious that, rather than being
embarrassed, the first violinist was merely flexing her musical muscles
too, in tempo with the second violinist's now flying pace.

   Faster and faster both bows flashed in the spotlight.  The upper bodies
of the two women on stage began to sway and rock, as the violins dipped and
rose and twisted in their hands.  Back, and forth, the combatants raced,
first one taking the melody by brute force of skill, while somehow, the
other's notes blended in, before jumping out and wresting control of the
piece away again.

   The audience was enthralled.  People actually took sides, deep in the
recesses of their mind.  They weren't just listening to a piece of music,
they were watching and hearing an epic battle, and, somehow, it mattered
who won.

   The combatants began to tire, battle taking their youthful strength, as
the music began to slow, again, almost imperceptibly.  A great sadness
filled many of the hearts of the listeners, as they began to realize that
this particular battle, would be a stalemate.  There would be no winner. 
The flood of achingly vibrant music began to lose a note here, and two
notes there, until it seemed like each violinist was giving away the
melody, because she didn't have the strength to claim it now.  The
audience, with a jolt of almost palpable relief, recognized that they were
hearing exactly the same melody and harmonious counter point, a third
below, that had started the piece, but this time, the roles had reversed.
The first violinist sagged, and the bow dropped to her lap, as the second
violinist's sweet tones played the melody that had opened the piece, her
instrument's sweet soprano tones filling the hall.

   Then, on the last note, her bow, too, sagged, and then fell to her lap.

   Had any members in the audience had the strength left to check their
watches, they would have seen that twelve minutes and thirteen seconds had
gone by.

   The spotlight snapped off, leaving the huge auditorium in blackness, and
there was the hiss of a thousand indrawn breaths.  Then, staying off only
long enough that people's pupils expanded, the light snapped back on,
illuminating the two women, standing side by side, violins cradled lovingly
in their left arms, bows hanging at their sides.

   The audience lost its muzzy and tired aspect, a direct result of
emotions that had been played just as hard as the two violins had, and
leapt, as one, to its feet.  The roar of voices began and soared upward, to
be replaced by the almost frantic beating of hands together, as the two
violinists bowed regally, bending at the waist.  Then, with a blown kiss
from each, they bounded, in opposite directions, for the wings of the
stage.

   The audience went crazy, begging and pleading for more.  They had just
experienced a world-class exhibition of musical skill, and it was like the
memory of water that they couldn't reach, even though they were dying of
thirst.

   At first, the stage stayed empty, and the patrons cried, screaming for
just one more measure of music as the spotlight stayed on the two empty
chairs on the stage, showing that nothing would be happening.  It was
almost as if the light was taunting the audience, showing them the coffin
of a dear loved one.

   Then, the light snapped again, into twin beams, that lit opposite sides
of the stage.  The shorter one, with the long, raven tresses, was holding
her violin, as she walked slowly out on stage.  On the other side, the
taller blond, long-legged and svelt, carried a cello, its rounded, female
shape in contrastto her slim, almost boyish one.

   The crowd stopped their noise and sat as one, the folding seats making a
staccato thumping noise as hands flopped them down, and butts held them
that way.

   The encore was slow, and sad, as if the two on stage were saying a
heartbreaking farewell, and the audience was left with tears in their eyes
as it sank in that, when this was over, the night would be over.  They
yearned for it to go on forever, but it lasted only long enough for their
racing hearts to slow, and for breathing to return to normal, from where
they had been taken by the previous piece.

   This time, as the music faded, the spotlight faded too, dying, as the
music died.

   The crowd tried to regain their earlier manic demand for more, but their
heart wasn't in it, this time.  Their lover had kissed them good night, and
they knew they had to go home.  Slowly, they did, the hall emptying, a
feeling of profound sadness left, in place of the living bodies that had
filled it.

   Outside, though, in the lights of the city, the dark mood vanished, as
people came alive again, remembering what they had just witnessed.  Again,
their hearts raced.  Many looked for something else to do, to keep the
party going.  Many more stared into each other's faces, and sought some
private place, where they could act out what they had just been through
musically.

   Much love was made that night, a result of the music the two women had
shared.

   ==================================

   Backstage, Daphne and Gabriella Stockton carefully put their instruments
away.  It was known that they wanted time alone after a concert, and no one
bothered them.  What was not known, except by their mother, is what they
did in those private moments after they rocked the worlds of so many
people.

   Dapnhe stood, from tenderly placing her violin in its case, and her
hands darted to the zipper of her sister's dress.  Gabriella stood from
closing the cello case, and felt the cool air caress her back as her
sister's fingers did their work.  Then she turned, to help Daphne out of
her dress too.  Both girls, naked now, went to two chairs, sat, leaned
back, and sighed, as their fingers went busily between their legs.

   There was no talk.  They had done this many times in the past.  It was
what they looked forward to all night long, when a concert was scheduled.

   Before the concert, in the privacy of their dressing room, they looked
at their collection of favorite pictures, culled from magazines, or
downloaded from the internet.  They eyed the thick penises, some of which
were plugged into wet pussies, and dreamed of what it might be like to have
that penis plugged into their own virgin tunnels.  Other pictures, were of
gaping pussies, filled with thick, white fluid, and still others of naked
women, misshapen, because of the precious things that grew within them,
making their bellies bulge, and their breasts swell.

   Then, thoroughly excited by their fantasies, they went on stage, and the
sexual energy they had created, imbued their music with passion that
routinely left much of the audience with tents in their pants, or a need to
change panties.

   Daphne, at fifteen, was the more sensual of the two sisters, exuding sex
appeal, in both her physical persona, and her music.  Gabriella, the tall
Nordic blond, was athletic in the way she reacted to the hormones racing
through her bloodstream.  They teased each other throughout the concert. 
Afterward, orgasms were not only desired ...  they were practically
necessary.  The girls would have gone crazy without them.

   Deliah Stockton waited the prescribed fifteen minutes, and then tapped
gently on her daughter's dressing room door.  Reporters were waiting to
talk to the girls.  She heard the lock click, and opened the door, to find
the girls dressed and ready to face the world.  Both looked relaxed and
calm.

   "All done?" she asked, unnecessarily.

   "Yeah," sighed Daphne.

   Deliah Johnson had been the girls' manager ever since they had been
discovered in a regional talent contest, when they were only ten and
eleven. She had since been with them on two world tours.  When she had
discovered their carefully hidden secret - the routine, almost ritual way
in which they prepared for a concert - she had been scandalized and
horrified.  She had kicked her own philandering husband out when girls were
five and six, and, since she had no use for men any longer, she had no use
for sex either.  All her time and attention went into her daughters'
careers.  Finding that her daughters were not only aware of sex, but
actively fantasizing about it had shocked her.  They had been eleven and
twelve at the time.

   She soon found, though, that this kinky little ritual made all the
difference in the world, when they were performing.  They didn't do it at
home, during practice sessions.  Practice sessions were to learn the music
the way the composer had intended it to be played.  But, during actual
concerts, their interpretation of the pieces was directly connected to how
they felt when they went on stage.  If they were sexually excited, that
imbued their music with something that couldn't be reproduced in any other
way.  If they weren't sexually excited, as Deliah found out, they played
beautifully, but with little, or no heart.  In one case, they were
technical master craftswomen.  In the other, they were shockingly brilliant
in their interpretation of the musical notation on the dry and lifeless
pages.

   She had, therefore, acceded to their demands, ever since.  They got half
an hour to get ready for a concert, and fifteen minutes afterwards, to
finally achieve the climaxes that would render them normal, teenaged girls,
who just happened to be two of the most brilliant young violinists in the
world.

   It wasn't giving them much, really.  Their lifestyle was typical of
young prodigies.  They were on tour most of the year, though it wasn't the
grueling different-city-every-day kind of tour that rock stars complain so
much about, as it stuffs their pockets with cash.  Rather, they played at
some exotic venue about once a week.  Still, they couldn't go to a regular
school, and therefore the list of friends their age was limited in the
extreme.  Dating hadn't been an issue thus far, but Deliah knew that beast
would begin to snort and rear its ugly ...  and horny head, soon.

   That their list of people who wanted to spend time with them included
Kings and Queens, or the best musicians in the world, wasn't much comfort.
Most of those were at least twenty years older than the girls, and thought
grown-up things almost constantly.  Had they not gotten so much pleasure
out of their music, the girls' world might have seemed dim indeed.

   Which, one might hazard (wince), was why one of their favorite people
was Deliah's brother, Bob Hazzard.

   Now you know why I winced.

   Bob, having entered his teenage years in 1981, had heard every Dukes of
Hazzard joke in the book, usually aimed at him.  Rather than hate it all,
he had embraced it, asking every girl he was attracted to if her name was
Daisy when he introduced himself.  He still went by the nickname he'd been
unable to evade.  Even his sister called him Duke.

   At thirty-three, and having never found Daisy, he was single and well
off, due to his talent for recognizing real estate that was cheap today,
but would be valuable in months to come.  He had the same carefree and
somewhat irresponsible attitude as his erstwhile "cousins", Bo and Luke, as
well as the same purity of heart those actors portrayed on the screen. 
He'd do just about anything for a friend, and just about everybody was
counted in that category.

   This is not to say he was not sophisticated.  He had that knack that is
so interesting, the ability to fit in with almost any crowd, and be almost
indistinguishable from the natives, wherever he happened to be.

   As they were growing up, Bob and Deliah had both been required to play
an instrument in the band.  Deliah had chosen the violin, because that
would keep her out of the marching band.  Bob, a year younger, got away
with taking piano lessons, which kept him out of band all together, for the
most part, though he did get suckered into accompanying the choir at
school. That was because the teacher who directed the choir was young and
pretty.

   The ring on her finger didn't affect Bob's fantasies in the slightest,
and, on a trip to the State Choral contest, part of his fantasy came true,
when the young woman divested him of his virginity.  As is the case with
much music, their relationship was glorious, stormy, and temporary, in the
sense that, once played, it was over.  The teacher recognized the dangers,
both legal and emotional, and as much as both would have liked an encore,
it was not to be.  Bob, in a burst of surprisingly sophisticated insight,
understood why she refused him, and accepted that.

   In truth, the memory of the physical music they had created together was
part of what soured him on subsequent dalliances with girls his own age. 
It's hard to be happy with chopsticks, when you've played Rachmaninoff.

   The old walnut baby grand piano he had learned on and practiced on, was
still in the studio Deliah had built for her daughters, in the home they
had both grown up in.  It was rare for Bob to sit down at that keyboard,
and not think of Donna Hamilton, the woman who had made him a man.  It was,
perhaps, for that reason, that Bob was one of the few people who played
well when his nieces were jamming with him.  His passions, though unknown
to Bob, mirrored theirs when his fingers stroked those keys.  And he jammed
with them as often as he could.  They played a range of music, in the
privacy of their home studio, that would have astonished concert-goers all
around the world.

   A violin can be played as a fiddle, and a cello can be plucked like a
string base.  Additionally, both girls had learned the use of the more
adolescently acceptable guitar.  Daphne, who was more tuned to acoustic
sounds, was developing what she called her "private skills" on the twelve
string guitar, and five string banjo.  Gabby, whose tastes in music went
more toward ZZ Top, had picked up an electric guitar one day, and now owned
four of them.

   With an electronic drum track, and Uncle Bob, the girls could stretch to
the max in their home studio, playing wildly and covering old rhythm and
blues, bluegrass, and country tunes that made them feel like they were
flying, while standing, more or less, stock still.  The combination of
their ability to cooperate on levels most humans couldn't even understand,
and the competition resident in any good musician, just naturally resulted
in their favorite "private" piece being Dueling Banjos, by Arthur "Guitar
Boogie" Smith, and Don Reno.  Bob loved the sound of Gabby's whining
electric guitar in the piece, even though it sometimes drowned out Daffy's
banjo.  He was thinking of buying Daffy an electric banjo, so she could
compete.  He'd never heard the song performed with all electric instruments
before, but he thought it would be wild.

   It was against this backdrop, that a situation presented itself, which
would change the lives of Bob Hazzard and the Stockton women forever.

   Deliah was on a simple shopping trip to the grocery store, just being a
mother, for once, when an SUV, going twenty miles an hour faster than the
posted speed limit, ran a red light and T-boned her Camry, crushing it
between another vehicle.  Eleven bones were broken, and she lost a lot of
blood before the fire department was able to rip the roof off the car and
extract her from the crushed compartment.

   The prognosis was good, as she lay in the hospital bed, immobilized by
various casts and traction devices, but there was no one to take care of
her daughters, not only in their routine life at home, but in the upcoming
tour, scheduled in two weeks, for Western Europe.  The tour was scheduled
for three weeks, with ten performances, in nine cities, a departure from
their usual sedate concert schedule.  Deliah had been loathe to make such
an extended trip, but the money offered was so good that it would establish
a trust fund for the girls that could, with proper investment, be the seed
of a sum that could last them their entire lives.  It was only for that
reason that she had signed the contracts.

   Another reason she had agreed to the extended tour was that the public
was clamoring for recordings of the girls' music.  That was something they
hadn't done yet, primarily because the difference between how the girls
played on stage, after ...  prepping themselves ...  was so vastly
different than what they sounded like in the home studio.  Deliah had
planned on producing a live CD, based on the tour.

   The arrangements were already finalized.  It would be financial ruin to
break the contracts, especially since there was no reason, other than that
Deliah couldn't be with them, that the girls couldn't play.

   It was only natural that, when her brother visited her, Deliah broached
the possibility that he might accompany them on the tour.

   "You're kidding," he said gently, looking at her swollen and bruised
face.  Seeing her like this made him realize how transitory life can be.

   "No, I'm not," she said.  Her words came out in a lisping kind of
fashion.  Her whole face was swollen.  "I can't back out of the contracts,
and I'm sssertainly not going to let them go alone."

   "Of courssse not," said Bob, unconsciously copying her lisping voice.

   "Don't make fun of me," she said weakly.

   Bob blinked, and realized what he'd done.

   "I'm sorry, honey.  I wasn't making fun of you.  I love you."

   "It'sss about time," she lisped.  "You ssshould have loved your big
sssisster a lot sssooner than thissss."

   "I've always loved you," said Bob, sounding injured.

   "No you haven't," she said.  "If you'd have loved me, you wouldn't have
sssabotoged my prom dressss."

   Bob grinned as he remembered taking their mother's seam ripper and
carefully breaking every other stitch in the bodice of her off-the-shoulder
dress.  They'd been playing punk music at the prom, and her gyrations had
caused her to end up in the bottom of the dress, and, basically, her bra.
Tony, her date, and the man she would marry, had loved it.  He'd grabbed
her and prevented her from fleeing the dance floor, while all his buddies
ogled her.  That was the first clue that he was a bastard, but she'd missed
it in her embarrassment.  She'd had to change into her after-prom outfit,
and had been too embarrassed to return to the dance.  THAT resulted in Tony
getting her alone for a lot longer period of time than she'd planned, which
resulted in her losing her virginity, which had resulted in her deciding to
marry Tony.  She half-heartedly blamed all of that on Bob.  She'd had to
tell her parents about the dress, and Bob had been severely punished.  She
didn't tell anybody about the aftermath.  In the years since, she'd stowed
that memory away, and learned to love her little brother again.  He'd been
a rock she could cling to when their parents had died.

   "I apologized," he said, still grinning.

   "I need you, Bobby," she pleaded.  She used what was at hand to try to
get her way.  "You can finally make up for that night."

   "Not being allowed to go to the Junior Prom and being grounded for two
months wasn't enough?" he asked, still grinning.

   "Please, Bobby," she begged.

   "Oh, all right," he said, trying to sound disgusted.  "I'd have done it
anyway.  You didn't have to go and get yourself half killed to get a
vacation."

   Once he had given in, there were more meetings in her hospital room, as
she tried to educate him on all the things a manager is responsible for,
and what he'd have to do on the trip.  Naturally, she couldn't tell him
about the rituals the girls engaged in, before and after their
performances. Instead, she simply said that they required half an hour
before, and fifteen minutes after each performance, to "prepare and recover
from the rigors of playing", as she put it.

   Bob found her files at home, with the schedules of where they'd stay,
and the names of the companies that would provide transport, and all the
myriad of details he would never have dreamed of.  Gowns had to be dry
cleaned between performances, for example.  Instruments had to be packed in
climate-controlled crates.  Ground transport, for the instruments, at
least, was preferred to air transport, to avoid rough handling and loss,
even if it was temporary loss.  The girls still had to study, but they'd
also want to do some sight-seeing.

   Looking back on things now, it was amazing that, in all the preparations
they discussed, and all the lectures she gave him, Deliah forgot only one
tiny detail.

   She always stayed in the same room with the girls.

   Thus it was that, when Bob and his nieces deplaned in London, and were
met and whisked away to the Claridges luxury hotel, the ...  tiny problem
...  became apparent when the clerk at the desk smoothly passed one key to
Bob.

   "We're delighted to have your daughters with us in London, Mister
Hazzard.  The concert is sold out, or I'd be there myself.  Enjoy your
stay, and if you need anything ...  anything at all ...  don't hesitate to
give us a call."

   The girls were staring at the huge chandelier, above black and white
checkerboard tiles on the floor, that led to a sweeping staircase.  Their
home was modest, by almost any standards, with the possible exception of
the state-of-the-art studio.  They always saw luxury when they traveled on
tour, but had never gotten used to it.

   "Uh ..." said Bob, with pause.  "Aren't there two rooms?"

   The clerk looked horrified, and scanned the computer in front of him.

   "I'm terribly sorry, Mister Hazzard," said the clerk, frowning.  "Only
one room was booked, and we're completely full.  I can have a privacy
screen brought up, if that will make your daughters feel better."

   "My daughters," said Bob, off balance.  He blinked.  Everything had been
planned out, and he hadn't anticipated having to think on his feet.  He had
a whole notebook of lists, contact numbers and instructions in his
briefcase, but this problem wasn't dealt with in any of them.  "Just let me
confer with them," he said, backing away from the desk.

   The girls turned to face him, smiling.  He was their favorite uncle,
which wasn't saying much, since he was their only uncle.  Beyond that,
though, he was a compatriot.  He played music with them.  He was special in
ways that no other man had ever been special.  They really loved him.  In a
very real way, he was their favorite man, and that WAS saying something.

   Love comes in many colors and flavors.  Each is subtly different from
the other, but all have a common denominator.  That common denominator
allows for the different kinds of love to morph and stretch ...  to slowly
...  or sometimes rapidly ...  become a different kind of love.  The love
that they currently enjoyed was of the color and flavor that best friends
share, where any subject may be approached, without fear of judgment or
reproach.  It was a love that made them ever glad to see each other, and
always eager to spend time together.  It was a love that anticipated
amazing things would happen, though, to be truthful, the only things they
anticipated were musical.  At least at that point.

   "Got a little problem, my darlings," said Bob.  The girls looked at him
expectantly.

   "We sort of forgot to book two rooms," he said.

   Daffy tossed one hand negligently.  "Who cares?" she said.

   "They think I'm your father," said Bob.  Why he told them that, he
didn't actually know.  It didn't have anything to do with anything, except
the hotel's assumption that a father and his daughters could surely share a
room.

   "We wish you were," said Gabriella, speaking for both girls.  She hugged
him, to punctuate her announcement.

   "But I'm not," he said, feeling her supple body pressed to his.  They
were beautiful girls, and he was well aware of that.  It was part of why he
played so much better when he was in their company.  But he held his
fantasies at bay.  That was something he didn't want to give in to.

   "We love you more than we love our father," said Gabriella in his ear.

   "That's not the point," he said.  "You're teenagers.  You need your
privacy."

   "Nonsense," said Daphne.  "It's only for two nights.  What's the big
deal?"

   Gabriella let him go and stepped back.  "I'm hungry.  Let's change
clothes and find something to eat."

   And, just like that, it was decided that one room would be suitable.

   ==================================

   Bob sensed the continuation of problems, when the girls scampered out of
the shower, their hair still wet, and wearing only bras and panties,
ignoring him and chattering about what kind of food they wanted to eat.  He
reacted to their partial nudity, and was ashamed of himself for doing so.
He ducked into the bathroom, got in the shower, and stroked himself to
completion, just to get rid of the thoughts.

   That was fine until they had eaten, and walked around a while, taking in
the sights and ambiance of the city.  Then it was time to return to the
room.  The girls would have a practice session at the concert hall the next
morning, and the first concert would be the next night.  They were playing
twice, in London.

   The girls favored frilly ...  and brief ...  sleeping wear.  Their
mother did too, and it was a habit no one had thought about.  To the girls,
Bob was just an adult they loved and were comfortable around.  While they
were aware that they were showing him their butts and breasts, it didn't
seem all that important to them.  He'd seem them in bikinis, and those
showed even more.  Just as him staying in the room with them was no big
deal, this wasn't either.  Not to them.  He was family, after all.

   For Bob, it was devastating.

   Daffy was the worst.  Her top was a lacy thing with shoulders, like a
shirt would have, but it fell to only just below her breasts.  The matching
panties rode high on her well-rounded hips, with tiny bows on each hip,
just begging to be pulled.  Both top and bottoms were filmy.  Her puffy
looking nipples were clearly defined by the cloth covering them, and her
midnight pussy hair showed through.  She wore her hair up to perform, but
tonight, it was down, draped carelessly on her shoulders.  Bob was
astonished at how much she looked like a miniature of Catherine Bach, the
woman he unconsciously compared all women to, if they had dark hair.

   When he looked at Gabby, in an effort NOT to lust after Daffy, it wasn't
much better.  Her "pajama" bottoms covered more skin, technically, but were
even thinner, with lacy ruffles around her legs and a matching bra with a
filmy jacket.  The fabric was simple, a pale lavender color, and smooth. 
While her blond pubes didn't show through, the panties, snugged up as they
were, advertised her camel toe as if she meant it to, and her obviously
dark nipples spiked the tips of her top.  The jacket, which hung loosely
from her shoulders, wouldn't have obscured anything, even if it had been
wrapped around her.

   That they ignored their uncle, only made it worse, because he was able
to look all he wanted, as they chatted about the next day's schedule, and
in what order they were going to practice the pieces they were going to
play.

   Bob found himself sitting in a chair, with the magazine he had been idly
flipping through lying on his lap, instead of held up where he could see
it. It needed to be there, because if the girls saw what was under it, it
would scare them silly.

   The girls turned, standing beside the bed they were going to sleep in
together.  Thankfully, there were two beds in the suite.  About now, Bob
wished he'd taken the desk clerk up on his offer of a privacy screen.

   "Come kiss us good night," said Daffy, standing negligently, her dark
nipples screaming at Bob.

   "Um ...  you come over here," said Bob weakly.

   "Why?" asked Daffy.

   "I'm ...  um ...  too tired to get up," said Bob, feeling lame.

   It was while they were on their way to him that Bob remembered their
kisses, while infrequent for the most part, were always on the lips. 
That's how they kissed their mother, so that's how they kissed him too.

   When they bent over, Bob saw cleavage, on Daffy's part, creamy and deep,
the inner slopes of her breasts looking like something he'd like to slide
down some day.  As for Gabby, she was so flat he saw it all, including her
well defined and spiked looking, starkly pink nipples.

   "You need a shave," said Gabriella, as she stood up.

   "I'll ...  um ...  shave in the morning," croaked Bob.

   "What's wrong?" asked Dapnhe?  "You're all flushed.  You're not getting
sick on us are you?" She looked concerned.

   "It's just ...  stuffy in here," said Bob weakly.  "Go on to bed.  I'll
be fine."

   The girls ran, and launched themselves at the bed, landing on top with
giggles.  Then they writhed as they tried to pull the covers down while
still on top of them.  Butts and pussies flashed at Bob, and he closed his
eyes.

   Finally it was quiet.

   "Get the light please?" called Gabriella.

   Bob, only too glad to put the room into darkness, lurched out of his
chair, the magazine dropping to his side.  He was still dressed in his
slacks.  He habitually slept in his boxers, and hadn't thought about
packing anything else.  He'd planned on getting undressed in the dark, once
the girls were in bed.  His urge to darken the room made him forget about
his hardon.  It was only a few steps to the switch, and he sighed as the
room went dark.

   ============================

   "Did you see that?" asked Daffy in an excited whisper.

   "What?" asked Gabby, who hadn't been looking at her uncle.

   "The front of his pants are sticking out a mile," said Daffy quietly.

   "Really?" asked her sister, interested.

   "You should have seen it.  He must have a monster in there."

   "Daffy!" whispered her sister, poking her.  "He's our uncle!"

   "I know that, but he's killer gorgeous too, and he's got a lump to die
for!"

   Gabriella squealed.

   "What's going on over there?" came Uncle Bob's deep voice.

   "Nothing," sang out Daffy.  "We're just getting ready to go to sleep."

   "OK," said Bob, pulling at his belt.  They were on the fifth floor of
the Hotel, and he didn't realize how much light came in through the
curtained windows.  He dropped his slacks, stepping out of them, and
unbuttoned his shirt.

   "We're thirsty," came Daffy's voice.  "Can you bring us a glass of water
please?"

   "Who appointed me your butler?" asked Bob crossly.  His embarrassment
was beginning to turn to anger at the girls.  It was easy to blame them for
teasing him, even though, down deep, he knew they weren't.

   There were hissing whispers, and Bob saw movement in his peripheral
vision as the covers were thrown back.

   "OK, grumpy," giggled Gabby.  "We'll get it ourselves."

   Bob was standing beside the bed when the light at the bar went on.  Both
girls turned to stare at him.  He looked down in horror to see his boxers
standing six inches away from his groin, an obvious point in them, and
obviously pointing at the girls.  He leapt for the bed and heard more
giggles.

   ==================================

   Back in bed, Gabriella put her lips right next to Daffy's ear.

   "Boy!  You were right!  I can't believe it!"

   "It looked like it was hard under there," whispered Daffy back.  "You
think maybe that's because of ...  us?"

   Gabriella reached up and squeezed one of her nipples.  "Maybe," she
whispered back.

   "Go to sleep!" came Uncle Bob's raspy sounding voice.

   The girls subsided.  They were used to being horny on concert day.  They
loved that feeling, knowing that they'd be that way until after the
concert, that the passion would enter their performance, and that
afterwards, they'd finally get to feel the sweet agony of an orgasm, as
their fingers rubbed and pinched.  The excitement of being horny usually
started during their practice session, though.  They rarely went to bed
that way, and if they did, it was simplicity itself to merely rub off
again. Their mother ignored their habits, but their mother wasn't with them
this night.  Neither girl felt like she could do what she wanted to do,
because the man lying not ten feet away would surely hear her.

   Bob had a similar dilemma.  He'd relieved the pressure earlier, but now
it was back.  He couldn't go in the bathroom to take care of things.  He'd
be in there too long.  He certainly couldn't do anything in bed, not ten
feet from the girls.

   As a result, all three of them went to sleep horny, and had horny
dreams.

   Bob woke up titillated, if not actually horny.  That only lasted until
the girls jumped out of bed and scampered around.  For whatever reason, as
they got dressed, they weren't nearly as modest as they had been the night
before.  When they'd changed into their sleep wear, they did it in the
bathroom.  Now, however, Bob watched, almost groaning as both of them, on
their way TO the bathroom, pulled their tops off.

   True, they were both facing away from him, but still, the expanse of two
naked teenaged backs got him going again, before he even got out of bed.

   CHAPTER TWO

   In the bathroom, the whispers were excited.

   "Do you think he saw anything?" asked Gabriella.

   "Probably not," said Daphne.  "But it was soooo exciting to do that!"

   "I feel ready to play for real," sighed Gabby.  "This is so naughty!"

   "We're just teasing him a little bit." said Daffy quietly.  "It's just
for fun."

   "I wish I could really see it," sighed Gabby.

   Daphne stopped, in the middle of putting on her shirt.

   "I thought you were the one who was all outraged that he's our uncle!"

   "I know," whined Gabby.  "But it looked HUGE last night.  I couldn't
BELIEVE it!"

   "Maybe he'd let us see it," suggested Daffy, her face flushing.

   "Don't be an idiot," snorted Gabby.  "He IS our uncle."

   "I know, but I'd sure like to see one ...  for real, I mean."

   "Let's just get our practice session out of the way," said Gabriella. 
"Maybe we can do an extra rub afterwards."

   "You know that's not a good idea," chided Daffy.  "We need to be horny
to play our best."

   "If it gets any worse, we'll play the best we ever did tonight," giggled
Gabby.  "Now, come on.  He's got to shave.  We can't stay in here forever."

   ================================

   When the girls came out, Bob was ready.  He had a hotel bathrobe on, and
his clothes in front of his crotch.  He told the girls he needed a quick
shower, and then they'd go get breakfast.

   In the bathroom, when Bob got in the shower, he beat off immediately. 
He watched his spunk shoot out and drift in the water toward the drain.  He
shaved in the shower, and by the time he was done, was able to beat off a
second time.  He came just as hard, and felt drained when he finally shut
the water off.  He heard a hair dryer going outside, as he got dressed.  He
looked to make sure his slacks were smooth in the front, and sighed with
relief when they were.  He went out to find that both girls had wet their
hair at the bar, and were combing and drying it while they waited for him.
They both had appointments with the hotel stylist later that afternoon, so
all they were doing was getting presentable until then.

   Things seemed to settle down to the purely routine during breakfast, at
least as far as Bob could tell.  The girls were excited, but then, who
wouldn't be, if you were going to play for thousands of adoring fans later
that day?  The instruments had been taken to the concert hall, where they
were under lock and key.  A limo was waiting for them, and the girls spent
the time during the ride peering out at the scenery as it passed.  Bob
couldn't help but watch the girls.  He shook his head, at one point, amazed
that they had so captured his attention.  He'd been around them all their
lives, but they'd never affected him like this.  He tried to put it out of
his mind.

   The practice session helped, somewhat.  They were brilliant, playing as
well as they had ever played.  Both were flushed and sweating when it was
over.  Bob sat, like any others who were within hearing, amazed and awed by
what he'd just heard.

   Then it was lunch, and appointments in the afternoon.  They got their
hair done before they did interviews with the local arts media.  Bob had
nothing to do.  This was all old hat to them, by now, and all he could do
was stand and watch as they charmed the press like they had charmed him. 
They looked his way more often than he thought they would, always with a
smile on their faces.  When the interviews were over, he got twin hugs,
that were just a little more prolonged than what he usually got from these
two.

   "This is exciting, huh?" he asked, as he ushered them toward the limo.

   "You have no idea," sighed Daffy, taking his hand.

   They had just enough time to grab a bite to eat before it was time to go
to the Royal Albert concert hall, with its distinctive circular
architecture.  At this point, Bob was a bystander.  The staff of the venue
knew what to do, and the girls knew what to do.  All Bob could do was stand
and watch as final preparations were made.  He stood backstage, getting in
the way, primarily.  He moved, whenever it was obvious he was an obstacle
to progress, and finally the stage manager sent him to see the lighting
director.  That august personage turned out to be a geek, about the same
age as Bob.  He'd already received the instructions to illuminate the show,
and was sitting in his booth, a vast array of electronics in front of him.
He was reading a magazine when the stage manager ushered Bob in.

   "Ellow," said the man, his accent strong.  "Wot 'ave we 'ere?"

   "Bob Hazzard," said Bob, sticking out his hand.  "I'm the stand-in
manager for the girls who are playing tonight."

   "Well," said the man, standing up and shaking Bob's hand.  "Welcome to
me cubby 'ole.  Glad ter make yer acquaintance, Guvner."

   "I think I was just in the way down there," said Bob, looking through a
picture window at the seats where the audience would be sitting.  The stage
was lit with work lights.  "I'm kind of new at all this ...  standing in
for the regular manager."

   "It'oh be fyne," said the man.  "We got ever-fing under controw, we do."
He motioned to a chair against the wall.  "Ave a seat, Guvner, and we'ow go
over the program."

   Bob sat and was treated to an instructional session in which the man
referred to the program lighting notes, pushing buttons, sliding some knobs
and twisting others, explaining what each series of actions was intended to
do.  There was a separate sound board, in the orchestra pit, where the
recordings of the concert would be made.  Bob was amazed to learn that the
lighting was intended to control, at least to some degree, the noise of the
audience, to include applause.  At certain points, before and after a piece
was played, the house would be totally dark.  Bob learned that people
rarely clap in total darkness, and wait until they can see something. 
Additionally, if the lights went down suddenly, people would stop talking
almost completely, whereas if the lights faded slowly, chatter went on,
virtually undiminished.  Use of darkness was intended to buffer the
beginning and end of the music, so that applause wouldn't cross over and
ruin the start and finish of the music.  Further, appropriate lighting
could set the stage, so to speak, for whatever kind of performance would be
presented.  Something lively, or funny, as a musical, might call for lights
to roam and flash amongst the crowd, energizing them.  Tonight's schedule
called for various portions of the hall to be lit with colors, changing
slowly, as if the colors were drifting from one spot to another.  That
would have a calming effect on the crowd, and settle them down.  All that
was done with computers that controlled the pre-show lighting.

   By the time the tutorial was done, people were streaming into the
auditorium, taking their seats, or chatting with others they knew.  Though
he was invited to stay in the lighting booth, Bob wanted to be back stage
when the girls came out to go on stage.  He threaded his way through
security, using a badge he had been given, but had forgotten he had, until
he had to produce it to get through a curtained alcove.  He waited by the
girls' dressing room door, remembering not to disturb them just before the
performance.

   Then, a stage hand was there, rapping on the door, and announcing there
were five minutes until the curtain went up.  Bob checked his watch at
least six times before the door opened and the girls came out, holding
their violins.  They were flushed and giddy.

   "Oh, Uncle Bob," gushed Daffy, throwing the arm that held her bow around
her uncle's neck.  She pressed herself against him, and kissed him on the
lips, a kiss that was neither appropriate, nor expected.  Her eyes flashed
at him as she pulled away, leaving him teetering.  Then it was Gabby's
turn, and she kissed him just as passionately.

   "We're SO glad you're here," she whispered, kissing him a second time.

   Before he could reply, the girls were walking away from him, suddenly
calm and regal, with the measured stride of a ballerina, one foot being
placed almost directly in front of the other, the toe striking the floor
first, and then the heel.  They stood, side by side in the wings.  Daffy
turned and looked over her shoulder at Bob, who was still standing where he
had been kissed.  She suddenly looked twenty years old to him, and all
woman.  He saw the flash of pearly white teeth, and she turned away as he
groaned.  He felt his penis begin to inflate.

   Another stage hand appeared, and took his elbow.  He was led to a chair
in the wings, where he could sit comfortably.

   "You must remain quiet at all times," whispered the hand.  Bob nodded,
and sat, relieving the weight on his suddenly weak knees.

   ===================================

   Bob had been to exactly one of their professional performances, back
when they first started playing important gigs.  He had heard them play
countless times, at home, and had played with them dozens more.

   He had never heard them play like this, though.

   They played eight compositions, using various mixes of instruments. 
They took no intermission, but went from one to the next with only time for
applause and for the crowd to settle in the darkness before they started
the next piece.

   Bob was in awe, the entire time.  His erection was forgotten as the
music reached inside him and gripped him in places that made tears flow
from his eyes, or made his face split in an almost painful grin.  It was
magnificent.  THEY were magnificent.  He felt supremely lucky to be able to
be here, only yards away from them, as they worked their magic.

   Then, suddenly, they were walking toward him.  The crowd was going
crazy. Now they walked with heavier feet, tired smiles on their faces. 
They knew they had done well.  The lights went down, but this time the
crowd didn't stop.  Rhythmic clapping developed, and a deep resounding
chant of "MORE ...  MORE ...  MORE".

   The girls seemed to see Bob, and flowed toward him.  Now both of them
hugged him at the same time, as he stood to greet them, a smile on his
face.

   Gabby's hand, holding a bow, captured the back of his head, and pulled
his face around for another kiss.  This one almost made him faint.  Her
lips were warm and hungry, and the kiss lasted until Daffy pulled him away
for one of her own.  Their bodies rubbed languidly against him.

   Suddenly they were gone, back to the stage, the crowd even louder than
before, and he was left to sink weakly into the chair.  He couldn't believe
what had just happened.  Those were not the kisses of young girls.  Those
were the kisses of women who needed a man, and needed him badly.  Bob had
been kissed like that before, but only in the most heated of make out
sessions, and usually only before he slid his aching prick into a welcoming
hot pussy.  He found he was out of breath and sat limply as the crowd
finally went quiet.  A stage hand brought Gabby her cello, handing it to
her as if it were a precious jewel.  Her back went erect as she scooted
forward on the chair, and her legs straddled it.  She leaned into the neck,
her head tilted and Bob wanted to be that cello.

   The encore, as was their habit, was a mournful goodbye, slow, sweet and
melodic, the harmonies of the two instruments soothing the soul.  It
tapered to a final set of thirds, and the lights died with it.  In total
darkness, the girls, who could see the dim lighting back stage, left the
stage to thunderous applause.

   This time they skipped right by Bob, who was still sitting, and went
directly to their dressing room.  The crowd thundered on, demanding more,
until their hands were too sore to clap any more.  The cries dropped to the
normal sound of excited people talking about what they had just
experienced, and the house lights came up just enough so they could see to
leave.  Bob sat, drained, for five minutes.  Then, forgetting completely
that he was to leave the girls alone for fifteen minutes after the show, he
lurched to his feet and went to the dressing room door.  He couldn't wait
to tell them how insanely proud he was of them.  He saw reporters,
gathering off to one side, and felt protective of the girls.  It was that
protective instinct that made him enter the room quickly, and slam the door
shut behind him, to lean against it.

   He was prepared to burst into sobbing tears of gratefulness to them, to
laugh wildly with the energy that was building in his chest.  He was
prepared to be giddy with praise.

   He was NOT prepared to see two naked girls, each with two fingers deep
in her pussy, heads back on their chairs as they frigged themselves to
orgasm.

   The noise of the door made them both lean their heads forward at the
same time, their eyes open in shock.  Bob understood that shock instantly.
He didn't understand why they were doing what they were doing, but he
understood that he shouldn't be there.  The electricity of the incident
jolted him as if he'd received five hundred volts.

   "SORRY!" he gasped.  The door knob was still in his right hand, and he
turned it as he whirled, opening the door only far enough to slide through
it as if he'd been shot from a cannon.  He was surrounded instantly by
reporters, and a flash went off.  Instinct, again, controlled him for the
next few seconds, as his hands went up and he gasped "They're not ready
yet! Back up!"

   Reporters, as they often will, asked him questions.  They didn't really
know who he was, but he had come from the girls' room, so he must be
somebody important.  They peppered him with qestions that he didn't hear,
because he was in shock.  The flash of cameras blinded his eyes, but not
his mind, which still saw clearly naked breasts, heaving, one set with
bright pink nipples, the other with dark ones.  He saw clearly the hands,
covering their most private places, but with fingers obviously penetrating
them deeply.  And, as his ears shut out the babble of voices all around
him, he heard the deep rasping pants of two girls, about to get their
cookies.

   "BE PATIENT!" he thundered, pushing a reporter that was right in his
face, a microphone pressed almost against his lips.  "HAVE SOME FUCKING
MANNERS!" he screamed.

   There was a sudden hush, and people shrank back, even if only a foot or
two.  He heard someone mutter "Bleeding Yank!"

   He turned the anger he felt at himself, for lusting after his nieces,
against the media.

   "They're just GIRLS!" he yelled.  "If you want to talk to them, you'll
treat them with RESPECT!" The flood of emotion in his gut found an outlet.
"And if you WON'T ..." he yelled.  "then I'll keep them in that dressing
room all NIGHT!" He scowled at them murderously.  "Now ...  BACK UP AND
BEHAVE LIKE ADULTS!" he screamed.

   A woman stepped forward, apparently unafraid of Bob.

   "Will you give each of us a few minutes alone with the girls?" she
asked, "so we don't have to compete?"

   Bob blinked.  He didn't have any instructions to cover this.  Everything
he'd said up to this point had been the result of anger at the way they
were acting.  He had no way of knowing that Deliah, had she been here,
would have walked the girls slowly through the crowd, letting them decide
which questions to answer, and which cameras to face while they spoke.  But
they'd keep moving, regardless, to the limo that she would know would be
waiting outside the doors, to get them away from the press.

   "If you'll behave," he finally said.

   The crowd actually sighed, and backed away some more.  He heard a
muttered voice say "You think he means it?"

   "Two minutes," Bob said loudly.  "You'll each have two minutes to talk
to the girls.  Line up!  Anybody who pushes or shoves or any of that crap
doesn't get diddly!"

   "Diddly?" came a voice.  "Wot's that?"

   Bob heard someone educate the clueless reporter, as he turned around and
tapped on the door.  It was as he opened it and slid through that he
remembered what he'd seen.  With that in mind, he faced the door as he
slammed it shut.

   "You decent?" he panted.

   "Yes," came Daffy's strained voice.

   He turned around to find them in jeans and T shirts, looking completely
normal, except for the fact that their hair was still up, and their makeup
still on.  They had been interrupted in their routine.  He had no way of
knowing that his presence in the room, and then his abrupt departure, had
fired the girls passions enough that they took up where he had interrupted
them, talking to each other, for the first time in a long time while they
masturbated.  The orgasms they reached were ...  exceptional.  After that,
though, reality had set in.  They had dressed quickly, embarrassed to the
core at what he had seen.  They had forgotten to remove their makeup.  As a
result, they looked years older than they actually were.  Bob felt pain in
his balls.

   "I promised the reporters you'd give each of them two minutes," he
panted.  "They're acting like animals."

   This was something the girls were familiar with, and it gave them
something to concentrate on other than their embarrassment.  It wasn't what
they usually did, but their routine had already taken a hit, so they
adapted with the flexibility of youth.

   "OK," said Daffy, simply.  "We're ready."

   "Wait!" squealed Gabby.  "The instruments!"

   The girls turned to pick up the violin and cello, from where they'd been
laid when the girls ran into the room and helped each other strip.  They
were placed in their shipping containers, and locked.  Then they checked
the other violin, which had been put away by a stage hand, and ensured that
it was properly packed.  THEN they were ready to leave the room.

   Bob opened the door and stepped out.  Only the task of dealing with the
press kept him on track.  They had actually formed a weaving line.

   "Remember," he said, his voice only a shade above normal.  "Respect!"

   The door opened, and the girls came out, smiling.  They walked to a
curtain, so that it would form a natural backdrop, knowing that
photographs, or film would be taken.

   Then, they performed again.  This time, it was the press they conquered.

   Bob stood nearby, but not close enough to get into any of the pictures.
He calmly announced when each reporter's time was up.  Only one ignored
him, and tried to continue.  He took the microphone out of the reporter's
hand by force.  After that, there were no more incidents.

   ====================================

   Even at only two minutes per media group, it took them twenty minutes to
get done.  One reporter tried to go to the end of the line, but another
dimed her out to Bob.  When the cheater stepped forward again, he said
"We're done here," and took the girls elbows to take them out to the limo.
Pictures were taken of him leading them away, and of them getting into the
limo.  It was dark outside, but the limo driver was there, and they all
climbed in.  The seating configuration happened to allow Bob to sit, facing
the back, while the girls sat side by side, facing forward, and facing him.
After the babble of voices, it was very quiet in the interior of the limo.
It stayed that way as the vehicle began to move.  Bob looked at the two
girls.  They looked delicious.  He fought the temptation to remember them
as they had been, splayed out on chairs, naked, rutting against their own
fingers.  He closed his eyes, afraid they'd be able to see into his brain.

   After perhaps two minutes, Daffy couldn't keep silent any longer.

   "We can explain, Uncle Bob," she said softly.

   Bob opened his eyes, but looked at the roof of the car, above their
heads.  There was a moon roof there, closed, but with the lights of the
city flashing by through it.

   "You don't have to explain anything to me," he said.

   "Yes we do," said Daffy.  "We love you, and we know you don't
understand, and we don't want you to think ...  badly of us."

   Bob's mind raced.  He thought back to what he'd heard them do, with just
a little wood, and some strings stretched across that wood.  It was
phenomenal.  He remembered his own emotion, and what it was like to feel
yourself playing.  He'd never played like THAT, but he still knew what it
felt like to make music.  It WAS an almost sexual sensation, and it struck
as deeply as sexual sensations did.

   "Maybe I do understand," he sighed.  "I make music too.  Not like you,
but I know a little about what it feels like to make music."

   "Really?" came Daffy's hushed voice.

   He smiled wearily.  "Maybe I understand just a teeny, tiny piece of what
you must feel like, when you've played like that.  It was magnificent."

   "Thank you," said Gabby.

   "I mean it," he said.  "I've never heard you play like that.  I can't
believe I haven't gone to more of your concerts.  I feel like if I ever
miss one again, I'll just wither away and die."

   "It's like that every time," said Daffy, feeling better now.  He hadn't
yelled at them ...  hadn't called them sluts.  He wasn't frowning, and had
said the most beautiful things.  "We can't help but feel ...  that way,"
she went on.  "Mother knows about it," she said, feeling like she needed
one more bit of justification.

   "Well, she didn't tell me about THAT," chuckled Bob.  He had been
worried that the girls would hate him for intruding ...  for destroying a
trust that he had been told to keep, even if he wasn't told WHY he was to
keep that trust.  "I'm really sorry I embarrassed you."

   "Oh THAT's OK," said Gabby, feeling much better too.  "We didn't mind
YOU coming in, even if it was a little embarrassing."

   "A LITTLE embarrassing?" gasped Daffy, looking at her sister with wide
eyes.  She turned back to Bob.  "We were just afraid you'd hate us."

   Bob felt something tear inside him, and his heart hurt.

   "I could never hate you ...  either of you.  You're my girls," he said,
feeling like he was about to cry.  "I love you."

   The girls DID cry, relief flooding them.  They surged forward to envelop
their uncle in squirming bodies.

   "OH THANK YOU," moaned Daffy, burying her face between his neck and
shoulder.  "We were so afraid." Gabby buried her face on the other side of
him.

   "I'll always love you," moaned Bob back, his arms full of wriggling
girls.  "I love you too much," he confessed.

   Both girls pulled their faces away from him, looking startled.

   "How could you love us TOO much?" asked Daphne.

   "I have feelings for you I shouldn't have," he moaned.

   Both girls thought about the night before, when his boxers had been
tented out so obscenely.  They looked at each other, their eyes meeting,
but didn't say anything.  They went back to hugging their uncle.

   "You can't love us too much," sighed Daffy into his neck.  "It's not
possible."

   "Me too," sighed Gabby on his other side.  "I agree."

   Bob felt himself begin to stiffen again.  While the girls might not
understand what he had meant, he did, and he was still trying to conduct
himself with decorum.

   "How about some ice cream?" he panted.

   The girls, sensing that he was uncomfortable, pulled away from him. 
They agreed that ice cream was a great idea.  Gabby looked around and found
the phone that went to the driver.  Like a pro, she activated it, and asked
the driver if he knew a place they could get some.  Within minutes, the
driver announced that they had arrived.

   ===============================

   If you've ever gone out for ice cream, chances are you didn't do it in a
limo.  Bob was still dressed in his tux, while the girls were dressed like
millions of other teenagers.  It was inevitable that people would assume
Bob was the VIP, and that the girls were his groupies.  That role reversal,
when it was recognized, appealed to the girls immensely, and they had great
fun pretending to fawn over Bob, while passers by wondered who this lucky
man was.  They weren't bothered, though, and stood in line with everybody
else, the girls hanging off of him like they were attached.

   "What are you doing?" asked Bob, at one point, as Daphne reached up to
kiss his cheek.

   "They all think you're somebody important," she whispered.  "I'm showing
them how important you are to me."

   "Knock it off," he growled.  "You two are hard enough on me as it is."

   Daffy giggled and kissed him again.  He couldn't push her away without
making a scene.  They got their ice cream, and the girls wanted to sit
down. They started making plans ...  out loud ...  to feed him spoonfuls of
his ice cream, and sigh loudly.  He took them back to the limo instead.

   "You're no fun," said Gabby, grinning.

   "You two are incorrigible," he muttered.

   "We just wanted to feed you your ice cream," she simpered.

   "And I just wanted to paddle your little bottom," he said darkly.  "And
I want you to know that the only reason I didn't was because somebody out
there might recognize you, and it would get splattered all over the
papers!"

   "Ooooo," Gabby kept simpering.  "He's mad at us, Daffy!"

   Daffy tried to put on her most grow-up look.  Bob's attitude about
catching them masturbating had released something in her that made her feel
older than she was.

   "You can spank us when we get back to the hotel," she said, her voice
silky.

   Gabby spoiled it by laughing.

   "He can spank YOU, maybe," she giggled.  "But not me!"

   Bob ignored them and looked at his watch.

   "Another big day tomorrow," he said forcefully.  "You two need your
beauty rest."

   "You're as bad as Mommy," said Daphne, sulking on purpose.  She was much
better at that than she was acting the vamp.

   Bob had watched Gabby work the phone, and he picked it up to tell the
driver to take them back to the hotel.  It was quiet as they ate ice cream,
reveling in the sweet taste, after sweet emotions had flooded them all.

   It was Gabby who kicked things up a notch, when they walked into the
room.  She was excited in a way she usually wasn't excited, after a
concert. She recognized that excitement as being horny, which was unusual.

   "You know," she said suddenly, turning to face Bob.  "Sometimes ... 
when we play, and it's special ...  like tonight ...  we ...  um ...  need
to go again ...  sometimes."

   Bob stared at her.  "Go again?" he asked, confused.

   Daphne blushed easily.  "You know ...  like when you barged in on us."

   Bob closed his eyes, and groaned.

   Gabriella, who was feeling much like her sister, jumped on the
bandwagon.

   "She's right.  You can call Mom and ask her ...  if you want to." She
cocked her head.  "What time is it at the hospital ...  anyway?"

   Bob felt panic setting in.  "I'll just go in the bathroom," he blurted.
"Call me when you're ...  done," he gasped.  He ran for the bathroom door
and slammed it behind him.

   Daphne giggled.  "He's taking this much better than I'd have dreamed
of," she said.  "not that I ever dreamed anything like THIS would happen."

   "You want to?" asked Gabby.  "We've never done this ...  but I want to."

   In minutes, the girls were on their bed, naked, feeling thrills like
they'd never felt before.  Their uncle was right on the other side of that
door ...  right over there ...  and he knew what they were doing!  The
thrill of that sent them to new heights as they rubbed and probed.

   "What ...  do you think ...  he's doing ...  in there?" panted Daphne.

   "Boys ...  do it ...  too," gasped her sister.

   "Ooooooooo," squealed Daphne, thinking about that, and cumming hard. 
Gabriella was right behind her.

   ================================

   Bob was, in fact, doing exactly what they suspected.  He stood, spraddle
legged, his tux pants draped over the sink.  He was still fully clothed
from the waist up, and still wearing his socks.  Their boldness about it
all had inflamed him almost beyond his ability to retain control, and,
knowing what they were doing ...  out there ...  just on the other side of
the thin door between them, had him spurting all over the toilet within a
minute.  He was pounding his meat so violently that he couldn't aim, and
what was supposed to splat into the water in the commode, went all over the
place, instead.

   Then he had to clean up.  He used a damp towel to do that, looking
carefully for bits of semen as he panted to recover his breath.  After that
he had to figure out how to leave the room.  He thought about getting
completely dressed again, but he was so drained, and they were so bold
about it, he decided that his boxers were good enough.  If they could
parade around in their skimpy things, then he could too.  He waited, not
all that patiently, for them to invite him back out.  He was too distracted
to really think about the particular set of boxers he was wearing.

   All he thought about was that at least he wouldn't be tenting his shorts
out when they saw him this time.

   ==================================

   The girls waited until they had regained their breath.  Now that they
were sated, they felt sleepy and tired.  The events of the day bore down on
their young bodies.  They listlessly slipped into their sleep wear, and
Gabby went to the bathroom door and knocked on it.  Then she scurried back
to bed.  As boldly as they had gone into this masturbatory session, both
girls were suddenly shy, and when Bob walked out of the bathroom, both
girls were facing away from him, under the covers.

   "Night, you two," he said softly.

   "We love you," they said in tandem.

   They didn't ask for a good night kiss, this night, and he didn't give in
to the temptation to give them one anyway.  Instead, he just went to bed.

   CHAPTER THREE

   In the night time, Bob got hot.  His dreams were of two girls, splayed
out in front of him.  Their hands weren't covering their pussies, this time
...  they were holding their pussy lips open, welcome in their eyes, their
breasts heaving.  He did some tossing and turning in his sleep, which was
fitful.  His normal morning boner found escape through the fly of his
boxers.  It was pure, dumb luck that had him flat on his back, when the
girls awoke, and got out of bed.  It was their gasps of surprise that awoke
him.  He opened his eyes to find two scantily clad girls, standing by his
bed, leaning forward slightly, their mouths open and their eyes wide, as
they stared at his jutting member, proudly displaying itself against a
background of white cloth, covered with little red hearts.  The boxers he
had on were a gift from his sister.  She had asked a nurse to order them
for her, and presented them to him as part of her thanks for taking the
girls on tour.

   "He's awake!" shrieked Daphne.

   She scared Bob so badly that his whole body jerked.  His stiff prick
waved drunkenly above the hearts.

   Both girls fled to the bathroom, making little high pitched noises in
their throats, like they'd seen a ghost, and were running from it.

   Bob lifted his head and stared at his leaning prick.

   "Well, here's another fine mess you've gotten me into, Stan," he said to
his manhood.  He let his head flop back down, and pulled his boxers up to
cover his erection, laying if forward on his abdomen.

   =============================

   "Did you SEE it?!" Daphne panted, once they were in the bathroom.

   "Of COURSE I saw it!" squealed Gabriella.  "I was standing right there
beside you!"

   "It was HUGE!" sighed Daphne.

   "How do we know?" asked Gabby.  "It's the only one we've ever really
seen."

   "It LOOKED huge!" moaned Daphne.  "Can you IMAGINE?  Something like THAT
going up in you?" she squeaked.

   "Wow," said Gabby softly.  "I didn't think about it like that." She
looked stunned.  "Wow!  My fingers barely fit!"

   "I KNOW!" moaned Daffy.  "It would split a woman APART!"

   "It doesn't split the women in the pictures apart," said Gabby, looking
thoughtful.

   "They're not that big!" objected her sister.

   "It did look awfully big," admitted Gabby.

   "I wonder if he ever did it?" sighed Daphne.  "You know ...  for real
... with a woman."

   "Of course," said the older sister firmly.  "All adults have done it."

   "No they haven't," argued the younger one.  "Nuns and priests and people
like that have never done it."

   "OK, said Gabby, showing some frustration.  "All NORMAL adults have done
it."

   "It looked smooth, kind of.  I wonder what it feels like." Daphne's
voice was soft, and her eyes were glazed.

   "Well, you'll never find out," snorted her older sister.

   "Why not?" asked Daphne, her eyes clearing.  "We thought we'd never see
it either."

   "He didn't SHOW it to us," said Gabby.

   "How do you know?" asked Daphne.  "Maybe he had it out there on purpose
...  you know ...  just so we COULD see it.  And it was HARD!" she went on
excitedly.  "That means he's horny ...  right?" She sounded a little
doubtful.

   "Uncle Bob wouldn't get horny over us," snorted Gabriella, feeling older
and wiser.

   "Why not?" asked Daphne.  "We get horny over HIM!"

   "We're not supposed to," said Gabby, feeling guilty.

   "That doesn't mean anything!" yipped her sister.  "What happens happens,
whether it's supposed to happen or not.  I think he's a hunk.  You do too.
Don't lie about it.  I saw you last night, and it wasn't the performance
that got you that way!"

   "OK, OK, so I go a little excited about him," said Gabby, speaking low
so her voice wouldn't carry through the door.  "That doesn't mean you can
go grabbing it, just to see what it feels like."

   Daphne's eyes went out of focus again.  Her hand drifted to the front of
her panties.  "He was pretty cool about what happened last night.  We both
thought he'd be really mad, but he wasn't.  And when we said we wanted to
do it again ...  he LET us!" Her eyes focused again.  "Maybe he'd be cool
if we just asked him about it."

   "You're crazy," moaned Gabriella.

   "Maybe ...  maybe not," said Daphne, resolution in her voice.  "All he
can do is refuse to talk about it.  He SAID he'll always love us, no matter
what."

   "Well, if you're stupid enough to ask him, don't do it while I'm there.
I've been embarrassed enough on this tour to last me a lifetime!" Gabby's
voice was just as resolute.

   "OK ...  chicken." Daffy grinned.  She was the adventurous one, and
whenever they got into trouble, it was usually Daffy that got them there.

   "You can call me anything you want," said Gabby, folding her arms under
her small breasts.  "When he's paddling you, and you're screaming, don't
ask ME for help!" She put on a superior look.  "And when he tells Mother
what you did, don't expect me to come visit you while you're grounded for
the rest of your life either!" She put her nose in the air.

   "Chicken," teased Daffy, unfazed.  "B-cuck, cuck, cuck." She started
strutting around, making clucking noises, her hands under her arms, waving
her elbows like wings.

   Gabriella went for her, hands out like claws, to tickle.  Daphne
screeched, and darted for the door.  She almost made it out when Gabby's
hand latched onto the lacy top.  There was a ripping snap, and Daphne
stumbled into the room topless.  Bob had just put on his slacks, trying to
get dressed while the girls were occupied in the bathroom.  He stared at
Daphne's lush breasts, with their dark, puffy nipples, as her eyes went
wide and her arms came to cover them.

   "GABBY!" she screeched.

   Gabriella thought it was funny.  Daphne was so impulsive, and went off
half cocked so often, she thought this was deserving punishment.  Besides,
her little sister never listened to her wisdom.

   "Go on, Daffy ...  ask him!" she giggled, waving Daphne's top in the air
like a flag.

   "What's going on!" Bob said sternly, staring at the half naked girl
cowering in front of him.  "Ask me what?" he went on instinctively.

   "Gabbeeeeeeeee" whined Daphne, turning her back to her uncle.  She
suddenly felt like a little girl, not desirable at all, and foolish.  She
had no way of knowing that Bob, seeing her smooth back, with only panties
covering any of her skin, threatened to inflame him again as his eyes
caressed her curves.

   "Knock it OFF, you two!" yelled Bob, trying not to stare at his younger
niece.  She was gorgeous, with her hair falling all over her shoulders, shy
and virginal in front of him.  He realized his shirt was in his hand, and
stepped forward instinctively to drape it across Daphne's back.  Her hands
came and wrapped it around her.  She turned to glare at her sister.

   Gabby was enjoying her sister's discomfiture.  She had no way of knowing
how regal she looked, standing there, her nipples popping the tips of her
sleep wear out, her flat belly sloping down to where panties covered her
slim hips.  "Go on ..." she taunted.  "Ask him, Daphne!"

   Daphne shot a look at Bob.  Her eyes were brimming over.  She was
obviously terribly embarrassed by this, despite her saucy attitude the
night before.  His heart went out to her and he took her in his arms.  He
realized instantly that it was a mistake, as her arms slipped under his,
and around his back.  Her lush, naked breasts were suddenly two hot points
against his chest.  Her shoulders started shaking as she began sobbing. 
The shirt fell, to hang by Bob's hands, where they were pressed to her
back.

   Helplessly, Bob looked over at Gabriella, who had a stricken look on her
face as she realized Daphne was crying.  She took a step forward as Bob's
body lost the battle, and the warm girl in his arms caused him to react
naturally.

   "I'm sorry, baby," crooned Gabby, stepping up to hug her sister, from
behind.  Her arms had nowhere to go, except to Bob's shoulders.  "Don't cry
Daffy," she moaned.

   "Does somebody want to tell me what's going on here?" groaned Bob,
feeling his prick begin to press against his younger niece.

   "I was teasing her," moaned Gabriella, again the loving sister.  "I'm
sorry, baby," she moaned into her sister's dark hair.

   Daphne stiffened, and pushed away from Bob angrily, turning to face her
sister.  Her face was suffused with blood.  The shirt dropped to the floor
behind her.

   "I'm NOT A BABY!" she screeched.  She stood there, her eyes shooting
sparks almost, and her chest heaving.

   Gabriella stared at her sister, and her eyes dropped, significantly to
Daphne's breasts.

   Daphne was still mad, though, and her anger overrode her embarrassment
about being topless, with her uncle only two feet away.  In fact, her anger
caused her to do something she'd never have thought to do in a million
years.  Her hands came up to cup her bulging breasts.

   "SEE?" she growled.  "THESE make me a woman ...  not a BABY!  AND ..."
she went on, snarling, "I've got a LOT more than YOU do.  YOU'RE the baby
here!"

   Almost as soon as it was out of her mouth, Daphne wanted to take it
back. She saw the hurt in her older sister's eyes ...  saw them filling up,
like Daphne's had during her embarrassment.  Bob felt the explosion coming,
and shouted.

   "STOP!"

   It was so loud that both girls flinched away from him.  He stood there,
bare-chested, his own lungs pumping with the adrenaline his shout had
released.

   "That will be ENOUGH!" he thundered, taking a step to get between them.

   He pointed to the bed.  "Sit down ...  BOTH of you!"

   As they went to the bed and sat, side-by-side, looking scared, he bent
over and picked up his shirt from the floor.  He tossed it to Daphne.

   "Put that on," he said.  He didn't give either of them time to say
anything.  He just launched into a pep talk, telling them he didn't know if
their mother put up with this kind of crap, but he sure wasn't going to. 
He reminded them that they loved each other, and that sniping at each other
was not only cruel, it was juvenile as well.  He paced in front of them,
telling them they had such a priceless talent, that they should be
eternally grateful to each other for sharing it in a way that made them
both brilliant.  He reminded them that, while he loved them very much, they
somehow knew how to make that very hard to do.

   Then, like a gym teacher, he tried to find out who started it.

   "Ask me what?" he said, staring at Daphne.

   She had put on his shirt, and buttoned the bottom two or three buttons,
but she was still showing a lot of her young cleavage.  Part of Bob's mind
noted that Gabriella's nipples were still stiff and pointy, and he wondered
if they were like that all the time, or if she was excited, for some
reason.

   "About your penis," said Daphne, sulking.  She was sulking so much she
said it without meaning to.  Her hand clapped over her mouth, and her eyes
went wide.

   Gabby suddenly looked scared, and darted looks between her sister and
uncle, like there was a ping pong match going on.

   "My what?" Bob asked, weakly.  He didn't mean to say that either.

   "Well ..." stammered Daphne.  "This morning ...  it was ...  hard."

   Bob's right hand came up, his thumb pressing against his right eye and
his first two fingers pressing against his left.  "Oh," he said faintly.

   He didn't scream at her, and, from Daphne's perspective, that meant he
wasn't mad for her asking.  Except she hadn't actually asked him anything
yet.

   "I said you were ...  horny," said Daphne, her voice very young.  "but
Gabby said you weren't, so I said we should ask ...  and she started making
fun of me ..."

   "Horny," moaned Bob, wanting to crawl under the bed.

   "Were you?" asked Daphne.  She looked at her sister, who still looked
horrified, and stuck out her tongue.  Gabby elbowed her sister, who yelped
when the hard joint rammed into her ribs.

   Bob's hand came down from his eyes at the sound, and he saw them getting
ready to go at it again.

   "Stop," he said.

   Both girls looked up at him.  He saw curiosity, primarily, on their
faces.  He didn't see cunning, or guile.  They really didn't know why he'd
been erect in the morning.  He knew they'd been home schooled ever since
they were very young and he knew that his sister would never in a million
years have discussed erect penises with them.  On the other hand, if what
the girls said was true, his sister knew that these two girls masturbated
like crazy after their concerts.  She hadn't mentioned that to him, of
course.  She simply told him to leave them alone for fifteen minutes after
the show was over.  That brought to mind her admonishment to leave them
alone for thirty minutes BEFORE the performance.

   He imagined the curiosity in their eyes being mirrored in his own.  They
weren't vamps.  They weren't playing some silly game.  They just didn't
know anything about ...  men.  They were aware of their own sexuality, but
only in-so-far as it pertained to their music.

   "What do you do before your performances?" he asked suddenly.

   The girls looked at him blankly.

   "Your mother told me to leave you alone for half an hour before each
concert.  She said you'd be in your dressing room, and for me to leave you
alone.  Why?"

   Both girls dropped their gaze, and blushed.  They looked at each other,
and then at their laps.

   "Gabby?" he prodded.  She was the elder, and should be willing to talk
more easily.  She didn't, though.

   "Daffy?" He changed tactics.  "You asked me to answer a personal
question.  I will, if you answer mine.  What do you two do in your dressing
room before a performance?"

   Daphne looked up at him, and then back at her lap.

   "We look at pictures," she said.

   Gabby elbowed her again, and Bob told her to stop.

   "What kind of pictures?" he asked.

   "I don't want to tell you," she said softly.

   "Naughty pictures?" he guessed.

   "Yes," her voice was tiny.

   "And your mother knows?" he asked.

   "Yes," came her voice, a little stronger.

   Bob thought about the music he had heard the night before ...  about the
passion that was in that music.  In a flash of insight, he realized that
they had stumbled upon a way to enhance their music with raw emotion,
stoked before the concerts, and assuaged afterwards.  Now he understood the
kisses they had given him, just before the encore.  They had been horny out
of their minds.  Playing the last piece so slowly and tenderly must have
been pure torture for them, knowing that, as soon as it was over, they
could scratch that awful itch that had helped their music soar to
unimaginable heights.

   "It gets you excited," he said.  "And then you play better."

   Both girls looked up, their eyes wide.

   "How'd you know that?" asked Gabby.

   "I'm not stupid," he said.  "I heard you play.  It was magnificent.  You
don't play like that at home."

   "We don't look at the pictures at home," said Daphne, feeling better. 
He knew!  He understood!  "We only do it for performances."

   "And then ...  afterwards ..." he said.  "You're so fired up that you
have to do something about it."

   "Fired up?" asked Daphne, sounding confused.

   "Horny," he said.

   Now she looked up and he saw relief on her face.  He even got a little
smile.

   "Yes, horny," she confirmed.

   "Is that why you wanted to know if I was horny?" he asked.

   Daphne nodded.  "We've never seen a real one ...  only in pictures."

   "THAT's what the pictures are of?" he gasped, feeling weak.  The thought
of his virginal nieces staring at pictures of rampant boners threatened to
get him going again.

   "Only some of them," said Daphne, thinking she needed to mitigate his
obvious shock.

   Bob realized that he was suddenly treading on very dangerous ground. 
These girls were much more aware of things sexual than he would have
imagined in his wildest dreams.  That they didn't understand, completely,
what was going on, only made it more hazardous.  He could talk to them ...
teach them things ...  and it might help.  Then again, it might spiral out
of control, and he could ruin everything.  That their rituals worked was
plain.  He had seen it work ...  heard it work.  The thought of ruining
that amazing talent by doing the wrong thing made him want to cringe.  It
was that, more than anything else, that made him answer her question.

   "OK, here's the deal," he said.  "When you get up in the morning you
have to pee, right?"

   The girls looked at him in confusion.

   "Well, when guy has to pee really bad, it makes his penis get hard. 
That's what you saw this morning.  It happens to all guys.  It doesn't mean
they're horny.  It just means they have to go really bad."

   "Oh," said Daphne.  The disappointment in her voice was obvious.  Then
she perked up.  "What about the first night we were here?  It got hard then
too.  Was that because you had to pee really bad too?"

   Bob thought furiously.  He didn't want to lie to them.  He didn't like
lying at all, and didn't respect people who did that.  And they obviously
understood what a stiff penis was for, if they were using pictures of them
to get excited before a concert.  It couldn't hurt anything to admit that a
man could become excited when he was around beautiful women.

   "No," he said slowly.  "You two were running around half naked, and you
are both very attractive.  Any man who saw you like that would get ... 
horny."

   Bob didn't know what to expect from the two girls, at his admission. 
What he DIDN'T expect was for Daphne to cross her arms under her generous
breasts, turn her face to her older sister and say: "I told you so." She
was on a roll.  She had asked the question.  True, she didn't actually mean
to, but she had done it.  And he had answered her.  Not only that, he had
confirmed that he got horny over his nieces.  She was definitely on a roll,
and she tossed the dice again.

   "Can we see it again?  Can we touch it?"

   Warning bells went off in Bob's mind.  Where had his virginal young
nieces gone?

   "Absolutely not," he said firmly.  "Looking at pictures is one thing. 
Playing around with the real thing is NOT something you're going to do ...
not on MY watch.  Your mother sent me along to take care of you, not molest
you."

   "It isn't molesting if we ask you to," whined Daffy.

   "Daphne," he said, his voice heavy with warning.

   "OK, OK," she said.  "Thank you for talking to us.  Mom never talks to
us about stuff like this." Daphne sounded a little sad.

   "I thought you said she knows about your ...  habits," said Bob.

   "She does, but she doesn't talk about it with us.  She found out and
ever since then she just kind of ignores us, or goes off and does something
else while we're ...  calming down."

   "Oh," said Bob.

   "I'm really, really glad you're not mad at us," said Daphne, rising from
the bed.

   "Me too," whispered Gabby, speaking for the first time.  "I can't
believe you're being so cool about this.  Daffy said you would be."

   Bob had to stifle a laugh.  "I just admitted to my underage nieces that
they turn me on," he said to the room at large.  "And they think that makes
me cool."

   "You ARE cool," said Daphne, coming closer.  "Hug?"

   "I'm not sure that would be a good idea at all," sighed Bob.  "I'm not
supposed to get horny for you two, and when you hug and kiss me like you
have been, I can't do anything about it."

   Daphne walked right up to him and put her arms around his waist.  She
pressed her body to his, her face in his bare chest.

   "We get a little bit horny for you too," she said into his chest hair.
"We talked about your boner before we played last night.  We didn't look at
very many pictures at all, because we were already horny."

   "You're not making this any easier for me," sighed Bob.

   "You love us," said Daphne, kissing his chest.  "And we love you.  Why
is it so hard if we're a little horny for each other?"

   Gabby had stood, but was shifting from one foot to the other,
uncertainly.  She eyed her sister, hugging her uncle, and she wanted to
join that hug, but his words made it sound like he didn't want them.  Bob
saw the indecision in her eyes.

   "Being a little horny is OK," he said finally.  "But I'm not going to
show it to you, and you're certainly not going to touch it, OK?"

   "But we can still have hugs and kisses?" asked Gabriella.

   "Hugs and kisses are all right, I guess," he sighed.

   Gabby almost ran to join the hug.  She pressed herself against his left
side, while Daffy slid away from her.  Bob felt those hot breasts rubbing
against him, through his shirt.  The girls smelled wonderful.  He sensed
the danger and kissed each on the top of her head.

   "Now, don't we have places to go, and things to do?" he asked.  "I'm
starving, for one thing."

   The girls scampered away from him.  He was feeling much better about
things, until Daffy threw his shirt to him.  She was standing there in just
her sleeping panties.

   "You saw them before," she said.  "It's no big deal any more."

   Bob turned away, to avoid watching, in case she stripped naked to get
dressed again.  While his back was turned, both girls got dressed.

   Neither of them went into the bathroom to do it.

   ===========================================

   The limo was waiting for them after breakfast.  The morning was
scheduled for sight seeing, but no specific destinations had been
identified.  Bob, for lack of anything else to do, suggested to the driver
that he take them places he'd show someone who was visiting him.  What that
resulted in was something other than the ordinary tourist would see.

   They were taken, for instance, to a tiny museum, in the basement of a
house, where the curator, if that's what you wanted to call him, had built
recreations of every torture device he could find out about.  He restricted
his activities to times prior to 1700, he said, winking, because people had
figured out too many ways to torture each other after that.  He couldn't
fit them all into his cellar.

   They got to see how beer was made, which was a big hit in more than one
way.  It was a big hit with the girls, who got to take tiny sips of
different kinds of beer.  Mostly they screwed up their noses, but they
liked honey mead, for some strange reason.  It was also a big hit for the
employees, two of whom had attended the recently held concert.  They were
escorted around like royalty, and the employees had a great time
hob-nobbing with someone they considered very important.

   Their scheduled river trip down the Thames was cancelled, on advice from
the driver, who hooked them up with his cousin, who owned a small motor
launch.  It went faster, and what was supposed to be a stuffy litany of
pointing out important buildings turned into a chance for the girls to
stand in the bow, the wind blowing their hair back, and plastering their
shirts to their young bodies.  Bob sat in the back, with the boater,
sipping Scotch.

   All in all it was a good morning.  Part of that was because no one got
horny.  They all just had a good time spending time doing interesting or
fun things.  It was a nice emotional break for all of them.

   They had lunch at a fish and chips street stand and then the afternoon
routine kicked in.  The girls weren't horny, and Bob could immediately tell
the difference in the way they played.  It was good, technically speaking,
and beautiful in the way good music is almost always beautiful, but it
wasn't inspired.  He began to see the odd wisdom in what they had learned
to do to inspire themselves, and his sister's odd wisdom in ignoring what
they did.

   Bob, however, could not ignore it.  That was the problem.

   While he sat and listened to them practice, the thought about what
they'd be doing later.  That caused him to wonder as to exactly what kind
of pictures they looked at.  Since they were busy, and since hardly anyone
was around, he sidled off to their dressing room to snoop.

   They had thought out things very well.  They traveled to various
countries, and their performance luggage was handled by strangers each
time. It took him some time, but, inside the cello case, he found a
compartment within a compartment.  There was a flap in the bottom where
sheet music could be stored.  On the bottom of that, there was a piece of
red velvet that looked like it was fastened to the outside of the case.  By
pinching it, though, he found that it could be removed.  Under it, were the
pictures.

   He'd expected pictures of men with erect penises.  There were a couple
of those, the men expectedly buff, with rippling muscles, and strong, long
pricks.  There were many more of just the penis itself, though, and there
were all types and sizes.  The ones that astonished him, though, were the
ones that were inserted into a vagina.  They were all basically the same,
with the penis half inserted, or the head spreading open a pair of pussy
lips, about to be inserted.  What took his breath away, though, were the
pictures like that where semen was in evidence.  Either it was in a ring
around the half- inserted penis, suggesting that the ejaculation had taken
place, but the fucking was still going on, or it was a prick, at the
entrance of a pussy, in the act of spurting.  Then, below those, were the
pictures of pregnant women.  All of them were naked.  Many of them were
artfully posed, to use shadow and light to accent various things.  In one,
a dripping breast was lit better than the belly below it.  In others, the
belly was the most eye-catching part of the photograph.

   It didn't take long for Bob to determine that what turned on these girls
was the concept of being made pregnant by a spurting prick.  It wasn't just
"sex" they were excited about.  It was the purpose of sex that turned them
on and filled their music with magic.

   By the time he was done snooping, and had returned everything to its
proper place, he almost laughed as he realized there was a hard prick in
his pants.  He wished there was some way to take a picture of it, and slip
that picture into their secret stash.  Would THAT rock their boat, or
what?! Then, his laughter died.

   They had asked to see his.

   What if he COULD slip a picture of it in there?

   He checked with the stage manager and found that there were still two
hours scheduled for practice.  The limo sat outside the whole time, in case
plans changed.  He went out and the limo driver took him back to the hotel,
where he borrowed a digital camera.  In the room, he found his
heart-encrusted boxers, in his dirty clothes bag, and put them on.  His
hardon was gone by now, of course.  He pulled his cock and balls through
the fly and began playing with himself, but it did little good.  Then, in a
flash of insight, he found the girls sleep clothes.  One sniff of the
panties Daffy had been wearing that morning when she crushed her naked
breasts to his naked chest, did the trick, and soon he was hard as a rock.

   It took six tries before he was satisfied with what he saw in the little
screen on the back of the camera.  He deleted the rest of the photographs.

   At the desk, he was relieved to find the same young man who had welcomed
them when they arrived.

   "I have a photograph on this camera that I need to print, but it's a
very sensitive one ...  trade secrets kind of stuff," he said.  "I can't
leave it with a vendor.  Is there any way I could print it here?"

   The clerk called someone to cover the desk, and took Bob to an office.
He sat at the computer and pressed buttons.  He plugged the camera into the
computer with a cord, rather than removing the memory card and inserting it
into the computer.  Then, explaining to the clerk that the photo he wanted
to print was private, he was allowed to upload the shot onto the computer
and print it.

   "I can access the image this way, using this program, without actually
downloading it onto our computer," explained the clerk.  "I can do a direct
print that way, and the digital information will never be recorded anywhere
except on the card in the camera.  You won't be able to crop it, or
manipulate it or anything.  Is that all right?"

   That was fine with Bob.  He stood at the printer and picked the print up
as soon as it popped out.  Then he deleted the photo from the memory card
in the camera and returned it to the clerk, with his thanks, and a tip.

   Back at the concert hall, Bob went and inserted the picture at the very
end of the ones that were just of hard dicks, and put everything back
together again.  He felt nervous as he left, wondering if he'd done
something stupid or not.  It was too late, though, because the girls
wrapped up early, and were ready to go.

   He was antsy the rest of the afternoon, especially at dinner, in the
hotel dining room.  The girls, with their hair done now, looked elegant,
even though they were dressed like American teenagers.  Gabby was wearing a
shirt with a wide mouth on the front, a long tongue hanging out and curved,
as if around her left breast.  She didn't need a bra, but he wished she'd
wear one, just to hide those electric nipples of hers.  Between those, and
tight, faded jeans that clung to her slim hips like a second skin, Bob was
having trouble keeping his prick under control.

   That evening, when the girls retired to their dressing room, Bob was so
nervous he fled to the lighting booth again.  He chatted with the tech,
about politics and world events, wondering what the reaction in the
dressing room would be.  He hoped he hadn't made a huge mistake.

   ===================================

   Gabby was naked, her performance dress laid neatly out so she could step
into it at the last minute.  She pulled the cello out of the case and, ever
practical, tested the tuning, making two small adjustments.  Daffy was
already pawing through the pictures, arranging them in the order they both
liked.  They started by dreaming of seeing a real, rigid penis, that they
could touch, and kiss and handle.  From there they liked to look at the
stuff those penises were rumored to produce.  Seeing the creamy ivory or
white colored stuff made them touch their clitties lightly.  They didn't
masturbate.  They had tried that one time, with disastrous results.  When
they went on stage they were almost bored, and the music suffered as a
result.  Since then, they touched only to bring themselves to a fever
pitch. Then, they prolonged it, until it was time to slip into their
dresses and skip on stage, to use the sexual energy they had created.

   "Oh ...  my ...  GOSH!" squealed Daffy.

   Gabby turned to see Daffy, standing there, with several pictures in one
hand.  She was staring at the top of the pile that was left.

   "Oh, my GOSH!" she sighed again.  "C'mere," she said, breathlessly.

   Gabby stepped toward her, while Daffy reached for the top picture and
lifted it.  She held it at an angle, so they could both see it.

   Gabby's eyes went round as she recognized the white shorts, with hearts
all over them.  Protruding from the fly was the same penis she had stared
at for real, that morning.  This time, his balls were outside the shorts
too.  They looked a lot like other balls, in other pictures, but knowing
that these were real, and attached to her Uncle's body made heat explode in
Gabby's pussy.

   Nothing was said, as both girls just stared at the picture.  What they'd
seen that morning had been seen quickly, since their gasps of surprise had
awakened him, and he'd hidden it.  Now, though, they could stare and
examine to their hearts' content.  They knew that some penises had extra
skin on them, that sometimes covered the tip, while others did not.  Bob's
had it, they could see, but it had been pulled back, to make a thick collar
around the head.  It looked rigid, like others they'd seen, but had a
slight bend in it, to the left, and downward.

   "Where was that?" asked Gabby.

   "In the pile," said Daffy helplessly.

   "He's been in our stuff," moaned Gabby.  "He's seen it all!"

   "He left his picture for us," pointed out Daffy.  She looked at her
sister.  "He wanted us to see this.  He knows why we look at these."

   "You're right!" said Gabby, as if she'd just thought of that.  In a way,
she HAD just thought of that.  Her initial reaction was of disbelief, and
then curiosity, and then anger that her private kingdom had been violated.
But Daffy was right!  He DID want them to see this.  He was trying to HELP
them get horny!

   Daffy brought the paper to her lips and kissed it.

   "We're going to get to touch it," she said, her voice husky.

   "No way," gasped Gabby.

   "You just be ready," said her sister.  "We may only get one chance.  You
know how he acts.  I can't believe he did this.  But I bet we get to touch
it ...  at least once."

   "He's out there right now," whispered Gabby.  "He's going to watch while
we play." Her hand went to her nipple, and she squeezed and pulled the
flesh away from her chest.  "Mmmmm, he's going to watch us, and I bet he
gets hard."

   The temptation to stare at their uncle's hard prick, and rub was almost
irresistible.  Daffy shot a look at the clock.  She jumped when a knock
came at the door.

   "Five minutes!" came the call through the wood.

   Both girls jumped, to replace their stash, and cover it up.  The thought
that their uncle had been in this room ...  had gone through their stuff
... had somehow gotten a picture of himself ...  for them ...  all the
while pretending like everything was normal ...  had them panting by the
time they opened the door and headed for the stage.  They looked around for
him.  Had he been there, he'd have been crushed in hugs, and their lipstick
would have been ruined with the kisses they'd have given him.

   But he wasn't there.

   They went to the stage.

   They played for Uncle Bob.

   The standing ovation went on for five full minutes.

   CHAPTER FOUR

   Bob made his way to the stage wing after the first piece.  By then he
knew he wasn't in trouble any more.  By then he knew they were horny.  His
chair was ready again, and he sat, eyes closed, submerged in the music for
the rest of the concert.  While the crowd roared and stamped their feet and
clapped their hands raw, he stood as the girls ran toward him.  Daffy
almost knocked him over as she hugged him, reaching her lips up for a kiss.


   This time he was ready for it ...  excited himself ...  and he kissed
her back.  She ground her body against his, rubbing him with her breasts,
and sliding her hands over his shoulders.  Quite suddenly she pushed him
away, panting.

   "We found your picture," she said.  Then she kissed him again, only to
be pushed aside by Gabriella, who kissed him just as intensely.  He knew
his stiff prick was pressing into her belly, but she either didn't notice,
or didn't care.

   He pushed them both away.  "Your encore," he panted.

   They ran back to the stage, curtsying, and sat.  The stage hand brought
the cello out, but Gabby held up one hand, and leaned toward her sister. 
They conferred, and Gabby stood up to speak into the stage hand's ear.  He
made a retreat, taking the cello with him, while Daffy pulled one of the
microphones to her mouth.

   Never, during the performance, had either girl spoken, and the crowd,
which was still making noise, quieted instantly.

   "Can you hear me?" came Daffy's timid voice, resounding through the
hall. There was laughter.

   "We're going to do something a little different.  They have to get
things ready, so while they're doing that, I want to say that we're going
to have a special guest play with us.  He's our uncle, and while our mother
is recuperating in the hospital from an automobile accident, he's brought
us on this tour."

   Bob felt his heart seize, as three stage hands rolled a grand piano out
on stage, and a fourth brought the bench.  Another one brought Gabby her
violin while Daffy went on.

   "He didn't know we were going to do this, so he's probably really
nervous.  Be nice to him, please.  He's never done this before, but he's
not bad, and we love playing with him at home.  We thought you might like a
taste of pure American music.  We hope you like it."

   There was a buzz from the crowd as Daphne came to the wings and
literally dragged Bob out on stage.  In his tux, he looked like he was
prepared for this, but he wasn't.  The spotlight blinded him as polite
applause swelled.  The noise reminded him there were thousands of people
sitting out there.  Daphne took him to the piano and sat him down.

   "You'll do fine," she whispered.  "Just think about doing it at home."

   Then she was gone, returning to stand beside her sister as the stage
hands arranged microphones for standing performers.  They moved two mikes
for voice too.  When everything was ready, the two girls retuned their
violins.  Bob heard the raspy sound associated with fiddle music and
tensed. He knew lots of things by heart, but Daffy hadn't told him what
they were going to play.  Often, at home, he just jammed with them, and he
could do that relatively well, just chording.  He knew several pieces
really well, or at least his fingers did.  Still, he waited with dread in
his heart.

   Gabby leaned forward, and the crowd went silent instantly.  Her sweet
voice rang through the hall.

   "This is called 'The Devil Went Down To Georgia'."

   Bob's instincts kicked in.  They had played this song many many times in
the home studio, and his fingers went to their familiar position on the
keys instantly.  Part of his job, in this song, was to provide the base
beat, replacing drums.  His right hand would play counterpoint to the
speaking parts, filling in the gaps while the girls talked.

   Daffy looked over, stamped her foot in a four beat rhythm, and they were
off.

   For Bob, the only way he could keep control was to look at the keys and
think about the music.  The audience disappeared, and he concentrated on
the sound of the girls' voices as they went through the story in the song.
Gabby played the devil's part, dragging an awful howl from her instrument,
while Bob pounded the base keys in accompaniment.  Then Daffy played Fire
on the Mountain and the girls sang the words in harmony.  The harmony of
their voices as they supported each other vocally was high and sweet, but
with a rough edge that made them sound much older than they really were. 
At the end, both played Johnny's part together, a third apart.  Daphne had
set a fast pace to begin with, and it seemed like it was over in a very
short time, to Bob.  All three of them were panting with the exertion of
the piece, though, and strands of gut were hanging from both girls bows
because of the violence with which they had played.  Bob played the last
three pounding chords that finished the piece, and the memory of the chord
vibrated in the air as the girls dropped their violins.

   The crowd went ape shit.  That's the only way to describe it.  They
howled and screamed and clapped.  People surged forward, until security
personnel had to push them back.  Both girls were grinning like the
Cheshire Cat as they turned to point to Bob, who levered himself to his
shaky legs and smiled a tight smile, waving to the crowd he couldn't see.
It had been rank insanity, but it had also been the kind of fun that leaves
an indelible imprint on the soul.

   Both girls came to collect him, each taking an arm, and made him bow
with them as the thunderous applause went on and on.  They had to drag him
off stage too, because his legs weren't working well at all.

   ===================================

   Once past the curtains, the girls broke into a run, pulling Bob to the
dressing room and through the door.  Both girls eyes were wild and hot. 
They carefully placed their violins in their cases, and whirled to stand,
facing Bob.

   "You can stay if you want," panted Daphne, turning her sister to unzip
the back of her dress.

   Bob was still in shock from having to perform with no notice, and with
how well it had gone.  No one had ever applauded for him before, and he
realized how addictive that could become.  Then he saw Gabby's pale
shoulders appear, and saw her arm reach back to undo her bra, and he
realized what they were about to do.  The pain that lanced through his
balls told him that, if he stayed, something terrible would happen.

   "I can't," he blurted.  "Lock the door!" he gasped, as he slid out of
it.

   He turned to find that the press was there, and they were as excited as
the audience had been.  He was peppered with questions.  How long had he
been playing?  Had he known they would do this?  Wasn't this the first time
they had departed from the program?  Wasn't this the first time they had
ever sung during a performance?  It was overwhelming in a way that actually
calmed him.  It took his mind off of what was going on behind the door he
was leaning weakly against.  He held up both hands.

   "This is about them ...  not me," he said, his voice not quite normal
yet.  "You can talk to them when they get changed."

   They tried to argue with him.  Some of them had not been there the night
before, but, through the grapevine, had heard that there was a story to be
had, concerning these two prodigies.  That prediction had come in, in
spades.  Bob made the same rules as the night before.  Each reporter, or
team, would be given two minutes with the girls, to do an interview, or ask
questions, but that was all.  If that wasn't agreed to, there would be no
interviews at all.

   They tried to argue with him on that too, until security men appeared
and offered to escort the press out of the building.  Then they calmed
down, and waited.

   It was a short wait.  The door opened, and the two girls came out.  Bob
realized they couldn't possibly have ...  done what they usually did.  All
they'd had time to do was get dressed.  They were still flushed, their eyes
still filled with passion.

   The girls gave the press extra time, altering Bob's rules with impunity,
and having what amounted to a press conference.  They had departed from the
norm, and they knew that would be of interest.  They took questions that
would have been asked ten or fifteen times, and answered them once, which
allowed time for more questions.  Forty-five minutes later, they thanked
the members of the media, grabbed Bob's arms, and hustled him to the limo.

   Once inside the limo, the quiet was a balm.  Both girls sat across from
Bob, and fidgeted.

   "I still can't believe you did that," Bob sighed.

   "It was so much fun," squealed Gabby.  "When Daffy said we should do
that, it just felt right."

   "I shouldn't have played with you," he said.

   "They loved you," said Daphne.  "We loved you too.  It was fun!" She
wiggled in the seat.  "It made me even hornier than I was before."

   "You didn't ...  ?" Bob couldn't say the words.  "In your dressing
room?"

   "It was too noisy," said Daphne.  "All those people were right outside
the door."

   "I'm sorry," said Bob.  "They were all out there when I left, and I
couldn't do anything about it."

   Gabby picked up the phone and told the driver to take them back to the
hotel.

   "Don't you want to get something to eat?" asked Bob.

   "Later," said Gabby.  "We have something else to do first."

   Bob should have seen the signs.  Both girls were still pinker than
normal and wiggled all over the seats, like they had ants in their pants.
They had invited him to stay ...  to be in the room with them while they
masturbated.  He knew that was just youthful passion.  But he also knew
that he had only so much control, and that these girls were stretching it
very thin.  That's why he'd left.  He thought that the press conference had
caused their passion to ebb.

   He was wrong.

   When they got into the room, both girls started disrobing.

   Bob turned to go to the bathroom.

   "Uncle BOB!" came Daphne's firm voice.

   He stopped.

   "You put your picture in there," she said.

   "I'm sorry," he said, facing the bathroom.

   "We're not," she said stridently.  "We want to see it."

   "I can't do that," he moaned.

   "We won't try to touch it," she pleaded.  "Please ...  we're so horny
right now, we have to do this.  All we want to do is see it."

   "This is crazy," he said.

   "No it's not.  You know how this works for us ...  please?"

   "Deliah would kill me," he whined.

   "Mom will never know," said Daphne.  Her voice was rough.  Bob knew she
was already rubbing her pussy.  He could hear it in her voice.  "You don't
have to get naked or anything ...  just let us see it."

   Bob entered the Twilight Zone, just then.  He told himself that, if he
did this thing, they would do what they had to do, and it would be over. 
Their curiosity would be assuaged.  It would be over, and life could get
back to normal.  Had he been thinking a bit more clearly, he would have
realized that's just not how things work in the world of passionate
curiosity, on either their, or his part.  But, in the fog of the Twilight
Zone, he convinced himself that this could be made workable.  He turned,
unzipping his pants.

   "Yes!" came Gabby's husky voice.

   ==================================

   "It's soft!" came Daphne's whine.

   Bob looked down.  He was in a daze.  He remembered being hard, but that
was a long time ago, and a lot had happened since then.  He focused on
Daphne, and his eyes took in her naked form, sprawled in an easy chair. 
She had one finger pressed on her clit, and was rubbing it in circles.  Her
pussy was right below it.  It was the first time he'd seen her pink lips,
engorged, now, and wet looking.  He looked down again and saw his prick
start rising.  He looked over at the bed, where Gabby lay, flat on her
back, her knees raised and spread.  She had two fingers in her, and Bob
could see her spreading her paler pussy lips apart as she thrust them in.
Her head was raised, and her eyes were wild.

   "Yessss ...  touch it," gasped Daphne.

   He looked down again and saw his hand was wrapped around his cock, which
had gotten stiffer.  He had started jacking it, without even thinking about
it.  He looked back at Daffy, who had added a finger and was rubbing
faster. Her mouth was open, and her breasts jiggled, partly from what her
hand was doing between her legs, and partly because she was panting.

   "He's doing it with us," moaned Gabriella, her hand a blur now.  "This
is sooo coool."

   Her neck muscles complained, and she sat up, convulsively, and scooted
to the edge of the bed.  Her legs splayed wide, her knees straight now. 
Bob stared at her perky nipples, and he felt his hand start moving faster.
He wasn't supposed to be doing this, some part of his mind recognized.  But
he had to now.  His balls felt like they had a quart of spunk in them. 
Rasping breath filled the room, as the girls rubbed harder and faster,
along with Bob.

   Daphne came first, with a whine.  Her body jerked, in time with her
fingers, which pressed and moved, only to stop for an instant, and then
shift the other way, to stop again.  That put Bob over the top, and he
spewed, his cum making a long, arcing line between the two girls, to land
in a long line of white on the carpet.  He grunted, as a second and third
set of lines, each a little shorter, landed beside the first.  Gabby's eyes
opened wide, and her mouth went into a grimace that looked like she was in
pain.  A long, low groan escaped her mouth, an extended "Ahhhhhhhh" as her
fingers pushed deeper and deeper into her.  She froze, bent slightly
forward, her hand wiggling, almost like she was tickling something deep
inside her, and then fell backwards on the bed, her arms flopping out to
her sides.  Her pussy gaped, from the rough treatment it had received.  Bob
felt more cum explode from his prick as he saw a drip of clear liquid ooze
out of Gabby's pussy and run down to her puckered, pink rectum.  His knees
weakened, and he had to widen his stance, standing like a drunkard does,
weaving, trying to keep his balance, while his hand milked every possible
drop of soothing semen from his balls.  He stared down at the mess he'd
made on the expensive carpet, and felt guilty.

   But he only felt guilty about that mess, he realized.  Both girls had
insisted they wanted this.  He hadn't abused them ...  molested them ... 
seduced them.  His mind gave a jerk as he realized his picture, inserted in
their pile of pictures, WAS a form of seduction.  But he hadn't seduced
them.  What they had just done, in that chair, and on that bed, they had
done countless times before, in a dressing room somewhere.

   "That was soooo good," sighed Daphne, her head leaning back on the
chair, her eyes closed.

   "Ohhhhhh" moaned Gabby, staring up at the ceiling.

   Bob, feeling foolish now, put his prick away, and zipped up.  The girls
heard the sound, and both looked at him.

   "Awww," said Daphne.  "Don't put it away.  We like it."

   "That's the problem," said Bob.  "I like it too, and that's dangerous."

   "Have you really put it in a woman before?" asked Daphne, still
relaxing, splayed out in front of her uncle.

   "That's none of your business, Missy," he said, trying to sound stern.

   "It's just that it looks so huge," she said, lifting her head.  "It
looks like it would just kill a woman."

   "I'm no bigger than any other guy," said Bob.  "And you shouldn't be
thinking about that."

   "We always think about that, silly," said Daphne.  "That's why we get
all excited."

   "Someday, when you're older, you'll meet a special man, and then you'll
find out about that," said Bob.  "Don't rush it.  You've got years of time
to wait."

   "That doesn't make me feel any better," pouted Daphne.  "I'm fifteen,
and that's the first real one I ever saw.  I bet lots of girls my age have
gotten to play with one, and make it squirt and even have it in them!"

   "Not this one," said Bob.

   "Well, anyway, thank you," said Daffy.  "That was the most awesome thing
I ever saw." She sat forward.  "I'm hungry now."

   She got up and stretched.  If Bob hadn't just cum, he'd have been hard
all over again.  She walked around the room, finding something to put on,
completely unembarrassed by her nakedness now.  She was soon joined by
Gabby, who detoured to where Bob was still standing and hugged him.

   "Thank you ," she whispered, kissing him on the cheek.

   "You're naked," growled Bob, his hand on the small of her back.

   "Am I pretty?" she asked, tilting her head.

   "You know you're gorgeous," said Bob.  "Don't fish for compliments. 
It's not polite."

   She grinned at him, and wagged her butt at him as she walked away,
looking over her shoulder.  She giggled.

   "I like feeling sexy, like this," she said.

   "You act like that around anybody else and you'll find out what it
really feels like," warned Bob.

   ===============================

   While the girls got dressed, Bob went to the bathroom, dampened a
washcloth, and then cleaned up his own mess.  The girls ignored him,
chatting about what kind of food they wanted.

   "It's already dark," said Bob.  "Don't plan for a party or anything.  We
have a plane to catch in the morning."

   "We can sleep on the plane," said Daphne, tossing her head.  "I feel so
good I could stay up a long time."

   "You're full of dopamine, or endorphins, or something like that," said
Bob.  You'll get tired sooner than you think.

   In the end, he was right.  They went to an Italian restaurant, where the
girls were served wine, which Bob let them sip sparingly.  Halfway through
the meal they wound down.

   The upside of that was that, when they got back to the hotel, the girls
were ready to go to bed.  The downside was that they were so tired, they
flopped on the bed naked, and didn't want to get up to put anything on. 
Bob covered them up, and retreated to the bathroom, where he milked another
load of semen from his penis.  By the time he was done, both girls were
sleeping soundly.

   =========================

   In the morning, they got up and skipped breakfast, electing to eat at
the Airport.  The limo was there, and as it took them away, they had no way
of knowing that the encore from the night before was front page news, at
least on the society pages.  Even the critics pronounced it a successful
"experiment", and said it should be repeated.  The news didn't catch up
with them at the Airport either, though it was reported on the BBC.  London
had fallen in love with the girls by the time the plane was in the air, and
the agent who had booked the concerts was trying his best to get through to
Deliah, in her hospital bed.  The medical staff wasn't cooperating, so he
made a call to a friend in New York and asked him to go find the woman who
booked the girls' tours.  He wanted a repeat performance, and he wanted it
bad.  All indications were that the girls could sell out any venue they
played at, for a solid week or more.

   ================================

   Krakow was a different kind of city for the girls to visit.  When you
live in the United States, you think of "old" as something from the
eighteen hundreds.  The whole country is only a little over two hundred
years old.  So, when you walk down a street in Europe, in a town where
there are buildings with a shop on the main level, and people living
upstairs, and it looks quaint, you don't realize that the basic structure
may be two hundred years older than the country in which you were born. 
When you realize it, you feel somewhat diminished.

   A lot of Europe is that way.  The stone blocks that make up many
buildings don't look three or four hundred years old.  They're not, of
course.  They're actually millions of years old ...  but that's the
problem. Rock looks like rock, whether it has recently been used to build
something, or it was done before any of your ancestors made it across the
Atlantic.  What made Krakow special for the girls, was, in part, that they
were walking around buildings that the composers of some of the things they
played might have walked around too.

   They were scheduled to play at Krakow University, which had a huge
stage, and an auditorium that held 1200 people.  After arriving, they had
the rest of the day to sight see, since the concert wasn't until the next
night.  The university staff, used to living on considerably less than the
limo driver they'd had in London, arranged things a little differently. 
The hotel had been booked by Deliah, but in Krakow, there was no limo. 
There were a gaggle of graduate students, most of them in the music
department, who put their lives on hold for two days to practically worship
the girls.  Only one student had a car big enough to haul four people, and
he got the job of taking them anywhere they needed to go.  Others
transported the instruments from the plane to the concert hall.  Meals were
scheduled to be taken at the homes of students, whose parents had competed
almost viciously for the honor of hosting the girls, who basked in the
attention fawned on them.

   Bob wasn't left out.  While the group had been flying, the people of
Poland had received the news of the bluegrass surprise at the end of the
second London concert.  To many of their escorts, Bob was categorized as
the luckiest man alive, to have been honored to play with the girls. 
Research had been done on the duet, and it had been learned that they could
play other instruments than just those stroked with a bow.

   As a result, when the girls arrived at the University for their practice
session, there was a banjo and guitar waiting for them.  A group of about
thirty students and faculty had arranged to be there for the practice
session, and had supplied the instruments in hopes that they might be
treated to something few people had ever heard.

   In short, the atmosphere was more like an impromptu family reunion,
where there were a whole bunch of cousins you didn't know you had, than a
formal practice session.  Because the program was identical to the first
night in London, the girls were glad to be able to "play", instead of ...
play.

   Bob didn't think it was a good idea, but he was overruled.  The normal
practice session went for about three hours.  This one went four, and when
they were done, they were all wrung out, but happily so.  After dinner at
the home of Mr.  and Mrs.  Korsazinsky, and their daughter, Anusia, they
retired to the hotel room, ready to relax.

   "It's warm in here," commented Gabby, fanning the front of her
button-down shirt.

   "I'll fix the thermostat," said Bob, looking around.  "If I can find
it."

   "Never mind," said the girl, unbuttoning her shirt.  She shrugged it
off, along with her jeans, leaving her only in bra and panties.  "This is
fine."

   "Not for me," groaned Bob.

   Both girls giggled.

   "It's fun to get you horny," said Daphne, quickly copying her sister.

   "Not for me," groaned Bob in the same voice.

   "It looked like you were having fun last night," said Gabby.

   "That wasn't a good idea ...  what happened last night," said Bob.

   "Oh, pooh!" said Daffy.  "I had a GREAT time, and I know Gabby did too.

   "You don't GET it!" blurted Bob.  "You're girls, and to you, all it is
is having fun, and getting rid of some energy.  But to adults, all that is
just a prelude.  It makes me want to ..." He didn't finish.

   "Touch us?" whispered Gabby.  "Like in the pictures?"

   Bob thought of his prick, plugged into one of these girls, with a ring
of his semen around it as he fucked merrily on.  He got hard instantly.

   "That's out of the question!" he barked.

   "We know that!" said Daphne.  "We have to be a lot older before we have
babies.  It's just fun to think about it."

   "That's what I mean," moaned Bob.  "You want to THINK about it ...  but
when you tease me like this ...  I want to DO it!"

   Both girls looked at the front of his pants.  They had always thought of
"sex" as this mystical, far off thing, that people did, but which they
didn't really grasp as something that could ACTUALLY be done, at least by
them.  Their fantasies about sex were exactly that - fantasies.  When their
mother escorted them around, they looked at men, and were interested in
men, but only from a perspective of their fantasies.  In an odd twist of
logic, while they thought about sex a lot, they hadn't, to this point,
thought about actually HAVING sex.

   But having their uncle standing in front of them, with the boner in his
pants that they had not only seen, but had seen spurting, their fantasies
morphed a little bit.  When they had pictures, their fantasies were tied to
those pictures.  When they looked at the lump in Bob's pants, their
fantasies began to center on what was making that lump.  Had someone asked
them, only seventy-two hours ago, "Do you think about fucking your uncle?",
they would have been gigglified.  That's a technical term that means part
tickled, and part horrified.

   Now, though, they would have paused, and said, quite seriously "You know
...  I never really thought about it.  I'll have to think about that.  I'll
get back to you later ...  OK?"

   They didn't pause though.  Instead, the two said "I'm sorry," in tandem,
like twins often do.

   But, when they went to bed, and the lights were off, they had plenty of
time to think about it, and that's exactly what happened.  Both of them
felt the need to masturbate, but neither of them did.  Bob was in much the
same situation.  The easy-going way the girls had adapted to being naked
around him, or nearly naked, and their obvious curiosity about things that
part of him would have LOVED to teach them, made him want to masturbate
again too.  He suppressed the desire, thinking he was doing the right
thing.

   As a consequence, all three of them woke up horny the next morning.

   CHAPTER FIVE

   There was more touring and sightseeing in the morning.  Attention by
young college men was lavished upon the cute girls, which did nothing to
lessen the excitement in their nubile, hormone-drenched bodies.  Bob had
tried to divert his attention from his nieces by lusting after all the
female Krakow University music majors who were in the entourage that day.
It didn't lessen his own level of excitement either.  The fact that several
of those young women looked at him through lowered lashes, and somehow
seemed to bump into him with their breasts repeatedly, only made things
worse.  Had he been alone in Krakow, he would have gladly spurted them full
of American semen.  But he resisted that impulse.  His fantasies had
morphed a little too.  Now, the only pussies he wanted to spurt in, were
those of his nieces.

   The practice session that afternoon was limited to the music that would
be performed.  The girls played with much more passion than they usually
did in a practice session.  Dinner that night was in a restaurant, on the
way from the hairdresser's to the concert hall.  By the time the girls
arrived, they were almost already "prepped".

   While they got their gowns and instruments ready, the girls talked. 
Their uncle was being ...  too decent ...  by their estimation.  They had
heard what he said the night before, and they understood his frustration
because they were a little frustrated too.  His frustration was because he
wanted to do things, but stopped himself.  Their frustration was the same
...  that they wanted him to do some things ...  but he stopped himself. 
Like many young women, they were exploring an ice shelf that they assumed
was quite thick, and safe.  They had no idea it might break away and drop
them into a situation beyond their control.  They thought Bob's reluctance
to explore and play was just him being a typical adult, trying to keep them
from having fun.  They heard his warning on the same level a boy does, when
his mother denies him a B-B gun, saying "You'll put an eye out!" Yes ... 
it's theoretically possible ...  but it surely wouldn't happen to him.

   And now, they believed that their Uncle, though he found them sexy and
attractive, would never really think about pushing his long, thick penis up
into their warm virgin pussies, and spurt them both full of dangerous
sperm. Sure, it was theoretically possible ...  but it would never happen
to them.  Like many youths, they made the mistake of not taking Bob's
warning at face value.

   Which is why, when Gabby stuck her head out of the door, and saw her
uncle sitting in a chair, leafing through a magazine, she called him,
saying they needed "his help" with something.

   To give Bob his due, he looked at his watch.  It was thirty-five minutes
before the concert was due to start ...  five minutes outside their ... 
private time window.  That's why he got up, and went into the dressing
room.

   Both girls were still clothed.  He looked around, as if he might be able
to see what it was they needed his help with.

   "Uncle Bob," Daphne started in, looking serious.  "We're about ready to
start ...  getting ready to play."

   "OK," said Bob, his eyes sliding to the cello case where the pictures
were stashed.  "Tell me what you need and I'll get it done and get out of
here."

   "We don't want to look at the pictures tonight," said Daphne.  "There's
something better, and we want to look at that, instead."

   Bob wasn't stupid.  On the other hand, he WAS horny, which sometimes
equates to the same thing.

   "We shouldn't really do that," he said.

   "We're not going to rape you," said Daphne, eager to get on with things.
Getting ready to perform was almost as much fun as the performance itself.
"We just want you to help us get ...  ready."

   Bob thought about it.  They only had thirty minutes.  Less, really,
because they had to get dressed.  What could happen in only twenty minutes?
He was thinking with his little head.  He knew that, but then, the little
head screams, when it wants attention, and the big head often just retreats
from the noise.

   He unzipped his pants.

   The girls began tossing their clothing wherever it happened to land,
until they stood in front of him, stark naked.  They sat on the two chairs
in the room, and spread their thighs apart.  Neither of them touched
themselves yet.

   "We want you to be naked too, like the men in the pictures," said Gabby.

   Bob moved as far away from them as he could, which was, in the tiny
dressing room, only about five feet.  He wanted to argue, but he knew that
would waste time.  It would already be pushing things for him to get out of
his tux, and then back into it before the concert started, so he just
stripped.  He knew he'd feel stupid wearing socks, so he took them off too.
He was already hard.  It felt like he'd been hard all day long.

   "I like this," came Daphne's sultry voice, as her hand toyed with her
dark pubes, teasing herself.  Gabby's hands came up to squeeze and pull at
her nipples, but she didn't say anything.

   "Touch it," commanded Daphne, as one finger dipped down to touch her
clit and then retreat.

   Bob stroked himself slowly.  He split his attention between the girls,
seeing that their eyes were glued to his cock.  He knew that he was
covering and then uncovering the knob slowly.  He felt a drip of precum
ooze through his prick, and looked down to see it seep out of the slit, to
collect into a milky drop.

   "You've really put that in a woman?" asked Gabby, beginning to pant. 
One of her hands left a nipple, and slid down her belly to her fluff of
blond hair.  Leaving her hand flat, she slid it onto her pussy lips, and
rubbed them in a circle.  Bob could actually see them loosen and begin to
move under her fingers.

   "Yes," said Bob, staring at her pussy lips as she mashed them back and
forth.

   "And she liked it?"

   "Yes," groaned Bob.

   "And you liked it too?" panted Daphne.

   "Yesss," hissed Bob.

   "Don't make it squirt yet," cautioned Daphne.  "Not yet, please."

   "I shouldn't make it squirt at all, in front of you," he moaned.

   "You're helping us," said Gabby softly.  "Don't stop."

   Almost like they had planned it, both girls slid a single finger into
their pussies, splitting engorged lips and arching their backs a little. 
Daphne closed her eyes, but then opened them again, to stare at Bob's
penis.

   "This is good," she panted.  "Much better than pictures."

   "If he put it in us, it would make us pregnant," panted Gabby.  "Just
like in the pictures."

   "Don't say that," groaned Bob.

   "Wouldn't you like to put it in us?" whined Daphne, her fantasies
overriding her common sense.

   "Of course," Bob grunted, his own common sense under extreme assault. 
"But that's impossible."

   "I feel so sexy," moaned Gabby, adding a finger, and then another, as
she got going.

   "Don't cum," gasped Daffy, to the room in general.  Both girls wanted
to, but they knew to wait.  "We have to get dressed." She withdrew the
finger in her pussy, rubbed her clitty a couple of times, and then stood
up. Gabby kept digging in her pussy.

   "Gabby!" warned Daphne.

   "I know, I know," moaned Gabriella.  "It just looks so good."

   "He'll show it to us again later," panted Daphne.  "Get dressed." Her
head turned toward Bob.  "Not you, though.  Not yet."

   Bob stood there.  Now he quit stroking, because he was close.  Instead
he gripped his prick and squeezed hard.  The precum in his urethra was
squeezed out and formed a hanging drip.

   Both girls kept looking at him while they helped each other dress.  When
they were fully dressed they picked up their violins.

   The knock at the door made Bob jump.

   "Five minutes!" came the call through the door.

   "Now, can you make it squirt?," sighed Daphne, to her uncle.

   "I don't know," he moaned, nervously.

   "If it was in one of us ...  it would squirt ...  wouldn't it?" she
asked, not knowing she was acting ten years older than her biological age.

   That image brought him to climax almost instantly.  He jacked his cock
twice, and ropes of thick semen shot out.  Gabby had to side-step hastily
to keep if from getting on the skirt of her formal gown, and both girls
made sounds in their throat.

   Bob leaned back against the door, weak, while his penis continued to
dribble.

   Daphne stepped forward, bending at the waist, and reaching to pull her
uncle's face to hers.  She kissed his lips lightly, aware that her lipstick
would smudge.

   "That was perfect," she whispered.  "Thank you." She stepped back.  "We
have to leave.  You can get dressed now."

   Gabby stole a quick kiss too, on the way out, and Bob was left, naked,
in a tiny dressing room, with lines of his semen on the wooden floor.  He
wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.

   Instead, though, he cleaned up the mess with tissues he found on the
vanity, and repaired his dress.  When he looked in the mirror, he saw only
a man, in formal dress, with a strong jaw and a slightly wild look in his
eye.  He couldn't see the man who had just done what he'd done.  He took
one more look around.

   When he went out to the wings, they were already playing.

   ==================================

   That their performance was inspired, made him feel a little better, as
time went by.  They were single-minded about the music, whenever they were
on stage, with a professionalism that went far beyond their tender years.
In that situation, the music reigned supreme, and any emotion in them was
channeled into that music.  Again, he thought about how the girls knew what
they wanted, and entered into things on a completely voluntary basis.  He
still felt guilty, but he also realized that, however bizarre the situation
was, it was being used in a way that helped them create magic.

   As the concert went on, members of the entourage began to gather with
him.  They had already heard this music, that afternoon, in the practice
session, but stood enraptured, swaying, sometimes jerking, as if they were
playing it themselves, in their minds.

   When the last crashing chords of the last piece were dampened by fingers
on the strings, and the spot light snapped off, the applause was intense.
The girls ran toward the group of people around Bob.  They didn't crash
into him, or kiss him, this time.  Even as excited as they were, they knew
that doing that in front of so many strangers wasn't a good idea.

   The banjo that Daphne had played, earlier in the day was thrust forward.

   "Please?" came several voices.  The guitar was also produced.

   Both girls looked at Bob.  Their last foray into the odd and unexpected
had gone well, but they weren't inspired tonight, like they had been in
London.  Not in the same way, anyway.

   "Dueling Banjos," said Bob.  "You two have that down pat."

   Both girls grinned, and they reached for the instruments.

   The spotlight picked them up as they walked back on stage, holding
instruments the public had ever seen them play before.  The response from
the crowd, which had heard about London, was wild.

   Again, it was Daphne who took the microphone.

   "We seem to have started a new kind of tradition," she said, her voice
soft, but easily heard.  "We didn't intend to do that when we came on this
tour.  This afternoon, though, we had such a good time with some of the
students here at this wonderful university, and they asked us to play
something, so here we are."

   The audience ate it up.

   "Thank you," said Daphne into the mike.  "This song has been around for
a long time, but we didn't have time to prepare for anything.  We play this
at home a lot, just to keep in practice.  If we make some mistakes, we hope
you'll be gentle with us." Her smile was brilliant in the spotlight,
engaging in a way that almost guaranteed no one would even THINK about
mentioning a mis-struck note.

   The girls sat, while stage hands appeared to adjust the microphones. 
One of them started to put a mike in front of Gabby's mouth, but she shook
her head, and it was taken away.

   Those first nine notes are instantly recognizable almost anywhere in the
world.  They had been played literally millions of times.  As soon as they
were played on the guitar, the crowd erupted.  Daphne grinned, and waited
until it was quite again.  Then she repeated them on the banjo, turning
slightly toward Gabby.  When Gabby came back on the guitar, she turned
slightly towards her sister.

   As it went on, it was as if they HAD practiced this piece for
professional exposure.  When one was playing alone, the other rolled her
eyes at the crowd, or shook her head, and then answered.  When they played
together, they just looked at the crowd and grinned.  It looked like they
really WERE competing, but it was obvious that they were in this thing
together too.  The speed they played with was electric, and it left no
doubt in anyone's mind that these unfamiliar instruments were very much at
home in these girls hands.  It wasn't the mystical, spiritual event that
they could create with bow-played instruments.  Instead, it was just
rollicking fun that was beautiful to watch, and which drew people in,
making them want to dance as they stood, eyes glued to the two performers.

   Bob looked into the orchestra pit and saw the tape recorder still
spinning.  He didn't know if the London encore had been recorded or not,
but obviously this one was being saved.  The technician was dancing around
in front of his machine, with a silly grin on his face.

   Bob suddenly wondered if his sister was going to scream at him for
letting her little girls go off on a tangent like this, possibly ruining
their reputation as serious musicians.  He watched, at the ending, as the
tech let the tape run, while the crowd went insane, shouting and clapping.
If Deliah yelled at him, he'd play that reaction for her.

   ================================

   The press joined the entourage, and the wings were crowded as the girls
left the stage, handing the instruments to eager hands.

   "Would you sign it for me?" asked the young man who accepted the banjo.

   The girls giggled, but, when permanent markers were produced, showing
that the owners of the guitar and banjo had thought long and hard about
this, each girl signed her name in flowing script on the back of the sound
box.

   They took Bob's arms and pulled him toward the dressing room.  Daffy
reached up to talk into his ear.  "We'll wind down later," she said. 
"There are too many people here right now.  Just give us time to change,
and we'll talk to the reporters."

   Bob had just finished spelling out the rules of engagement when the
girls came out of the dressing room, their faces radiant.  Again, they were
dressed like the average American teenager, in faded jeans, tennis shoes,
and T shirts.  Bob was glad to see that Gabby had put on a bra, to hide her
ever-erect nipples.  He was glad on several fronts.

   When the girls were done with the press, which was much more polite in
Poland than the English reporters had been, the entourage wanted to party.
Since they wouldn't fly until late the next day, and since they had two
days before they'd appear in Paris, Bob relaxed, and went with the flow. 
He figured that maybe the girls would be too tired to engage in dangerous
play later, if they got it out of their systems being excited and in a
party atmosphere.

   The group stayed together, forming a convoy to the old town district,
where they drifted from one nightclub to another, dancing a few dances in
each one.  Bob put his foot down when someone tried to serve the girls
alcohol, but no one seemed to mind.  The girls had no lack of partners to
dance with, including college girls, who seemed to see no difference in
dancing with a boy, or dancing with a girl.  It was two in the morning when
Bob finally called a halt to the proceedings, and had them taken back to
the hotel.

   ===============================

   The girls were still giddy with excitement as they trouped into the
room. Their hair had come loose during the evening, and was lying
carelessly on their shoulders.  They went into the bathroom to take their
makeup off, and Bob lay down on his bed, fully clothed.  He closed his
eyes. He was getting too old to do the early morning partying, he decided.
He could hear the low, musical voices of the girls as they talked in the
bathroom, through the open door.  He heard the stool flush, and heard water
running.

   He was almost asleep when his body bounced, as both girls launched
themselves onto the bed, Daphne on his right, and Gabriella on his left. 
He felt hands on his chest, pushing him down as wet lips kissed him on both
cheeks.  The back of his hands, at his sides, felt naked flesh pressing
against them, and he groaned.

   "You're naked, aren't you?" he said, keeping his eyes closed.

   "We don't need jammies any more," breathed Daphne into his ear.  "Not
with you, anyway."

   "You can't sleep in my bed," he moaned.

   "We're not.  We're just horny, and when we get that taken care of, we'll
go to sleep in our bed."

   Both girls continued to kiss his cheeks.  They rolled toward him, to
sandwich him in warm flesh.

   "We're ready to see it again," whispered Gabby in his ear.  He
shuddered.

   "That's a very bad idea," he moaned.

   "Oh pooh!" said Daffy.  He felt them move, and felt their fingers start
stripping him.

   "Hey!" he said, lifting his hands.

   "Lie still!" barked Daphne.

   He opened his eyes to see Gabby undoing his shirt, taking the studs out
and laying them on the nightstand.  She pushed his shirt aside and smoothed
her hands over his chest.  Daffy was working on his belt and the other
fastenings of his pants.

   "When did we decide all this touching was OK?" he asked.  He knew he was
hard as a rock already.

   "Lift your butt," ordered Daphne.

   "No," he said.

   He felt a hand grab his stiff prick, through his pants, and yelped,
sitting halfway up in shock and surprise.  Gabby started tickling him, and
he yelped again, rolling.  That let Daffy get his pants off of one hip, and
his hands went to push at hers, as he tried to pull them back up.  He
missed, and saw her hands pulling his pants down.

   "Help!" he yipped, feeling foolish immediately.

   "I'm trying," panted Daphne, pushing him in the opposite direction.  He
found himself facing Gabby, who leaned in to kiss him, pushing her lips
hard against his.

   He didn't mean to French kiss her.  They hadn't done that before, but
the surprise of the situation let him do something instinctive.  She froze,
for just a second, as his tongue pushed between her lips to slide along her
slightly open teeth, and then her tongue slithered against his in return.
She was a quick learner, and soon her mouth was open and sliding all over
his lips, as she explored this new thing that felt so fabulous.  Her own
instincts came into play, and she pressed one spare breast, with its stiff
nipple, against his chest, where she had pushed his shirt back.  He felt
his pants being pulled, and heard Daphne's grunt of success as he felt cool
air on his prick and thighs.

   When Daphne reached out and grasped his prick, the shock of it
penetrated Bob's mind.  He pushed Gabby away from him, ignoring her moan of
discontent, and sat up.

   "Stop that!" he grunted to Daffy, who had her face about three inches
from his penis, and was in the act of sliding the foreskin off the glans.

   She looked up at his eyes, seeing his frown, and blinked.  THEN she let
go of his prick.

   "I'm sorry," she whined.  "I'm just so horny."

   "No touching," said Bob, entering negotiations without knowing it.

   "Just a little?" came her complaining whine.

   "No touching," said Bob, firmly.

   He sensed Gabby's body, next to him, and turned to find her standing on
her knees.  Her breasts were right in his face, one strawberry nipple right
where he could lick it.  The temptation was so strong that he turned to
grab her by the waist and push her down on the bed beside him.  She
squeaked in surprise, and then again as he rolled over her, his prick
sliding against her shins, as he got off the bed and stood beside it.

   "OK, OK!" said Daphne, holding out her hand to him.  "No touching. 
We'll just do what we usually do, OK?"

   She had backed off, which made Bob feel better.  It didn't occur to him
that now, standing naked beside the bed, while his two nieces were naked ON
the bed, had somehow become the status quo.

   "You stand there," said Daphne, lying down beside her sister.  "And
we'll lie here." Her hand went between her legs, and she began rubbing
furiously, as if to announce that events had formally started, and it was
too late to alter the plan.  Gabby copied her, pulling her heels up to let
her knees fall apart.  Her right knee flopped onto Daphne's thigh, but
neither of them seemed to care.  Gabby slid a finger into herself right
away, hooking it and pulling so the base of her finger rubbed her clitty.

   This was better, Bob's overstressed mind told him.  This was safer.  His
hand went to his cock, and he started masturbating.

   They had done this only once before, really, but the feel of it came
back to them all.  The girls were used to cumming more or less together. 
They hadn't decided to do that.  They were just in such close sync with
each other that it happened that way, usually.  Bob, knowing that they
would have an orgasm, simply wanted to wait until they did, at which point
he'd join them.

   It was a simple plan, and it would have worked, especially since there
was a box of tissues on the night stand beside Bob.  He grabbed one,
intending on not making a mess that would have to be cleaned up, for once.
But he forgot about the layout of the room.  The Polish hotel had a sitting
area, composed of two overstuffed chairs, set at an angle and facing a love
seat, with a coffee table between them.  Behind that were the beds.  That
meant there was an overstuffed arm chair behind Bob, that he had forgotten
about.  As the girls writhed into their orgasms, Bob took an instinctive
step back as he felt his balls about to give up their nectar.  He ran into
the chair, which startled him, and the tissue in his hand missed the tip of
his prick.  Both girls were staring at that tip, as a long lance of white
leapt out, arced through the air, and laid a line of white across each of
their bellies.

   There were twin squeals as the girls felt the warm liquid land on them,
and two hands, which had been diddling their clits, automatically came up
to feel the stuff.  Bob, horrified that he had gotten it on them, bent
forward, and crammed the tissue onto the tip of his prick, which spat three
more times, overflowing and dripping onto the carpet anyway.

   The girls, had seen semen, mostly in pictures, of course, and only two
times in reality.  Even that had been seen from several feet away.  The
shock of feeling it actually ON their bodies, and knowing what that was,
inflamed them again as they ran their fingers through it.  It was only
natural to slide their spermy fingers back to their pussies, and begin
rubbing again.  Bob saw what was happening, and opened his mouth to tell
them to stop, but it was too late.  He watched, his mind awhirl, as his
semen was rubbed into puffy, elastic pussy lips, and used to lubricate
tingling clitties.  His mind jerked, as the words "Don't touch yourselves!"
had to be changed into "Don't stick your fingers inside!  But it was too
late for that too, at least as far as Gabby was concerned.  After swirling
the dangerous stuff around her clit a few times, three spermy-slick fingers
slid into her pussy as his mind was making the necessary changes, and
telling his mouth to speak.

   "FUCK!" he blurted, as his overwhelmed mind sought to say something ...
anything at all.

   Daphne, in her ecstasy, and thoroughly bruised innocence, heard his
epithet, but misinterpreted it.

   "We shouldn't do that," she gasped, sliding one of her own dangerous
fingers into her pussy and pulling hard.  "Oooooooo" she moaned, as another
orgasm swept over her.  "I want to, but we really ...  shouldn't ...  do
... thaaaaaat." All the while, she was pretending that her finger was her
uncle's spurting prick.

   =================================

   Again, the girls, in their relative innocence, thought that nothing
really serious had happened.  Both had loved the feel of his spunk on their
bodies.  It was something they had dreamed of feeling for a long time,
though their dreams about that had been misty and incomplete.  Now, though,
they had experience, to fill in the blanks in their fantasies, and, again,
it had been even better than they thought it would be.

   They also felt the normal female urge to cuddle with the man who had so
sexually satisfied them ...  relatively speaking.

   As Bob tried to apologize, they scrambled off the bed and wanted to hug
him.  They wanted kisses.  Had it been only one, he could have resisted
with some success.  But four hands, reaching around him, and two bodies
pressing up against him required more brain power than he presently had. 
Their fevered "Thank you!", in tandem, disarmed him, to some degree, and
the fact that they were pressing their pussies into his thighs, instead of
against his dripping prick, helped buffer that disarmament.  It's hard to
feel guilty, when you have two armfuls of happy women.

   "That was awesome," sighed Daffy, kissing Bob's chest, where his arm
joined it.

   "It was dangerous," sighed Bob.  "You shouldn't have rubbed it inside
you." He hugged them closer as they squirmed against him.  "When were your
last periods?"

   Both of them looked up at him in shock.  Even as intimate as the
situation was that they were in, having a man ask them a question like that
was jolting.

   "I finished the day before we came on tour," said Daphne.

   "I finished two days before that," said her sister.

   Bob relaxed.  They should both be pretty safe.

   "You do understand that sperm makes babies," he sighed.

   "Of course we do," said Daphne, kissing his chest again.  "But we didn't
get very much in us."

   "It only takes one," said Bob, squeezing both girls.  "You mustn't do
that again."

   "It felt soooo good," moaned Gabby, rubbing her pussy up and down his
now slick thigh.  "It was so warm, and slippery, and yummy feeling.  I've
never felt like this before."

   "That's what I'm trying to tell you," sighed Bob.  "This is very adult
stuff, we've been doing.  And it is instinctive to keep going, further and
further each time."

   "You're right about that," said Daphne softly.  "Each time we do
something new, it's better and better.  I love it," she said, missing the
point entirely.  "I think we played better tonight than we've ever played."

   "Don't try that on me," said Bob, thinking he was being set up.  "You
always play beautifully.  You don't need me for that."

   "It felt better to me," said Daphne, not backing down.  "I was horny,
but it was a different KIND of horny.  Seeing you, for real, just made me
feel different than looking at pictures."

   "Well, you have a picture of me now.  And if we keep on like this," he
hugged them both, "you'll get to have pictures of swollen bellies that are
yours, instead of some other woman's."

   He only realized that he had said the wrong thing when both girls spread
their legs and rubbed wet pussies against him, humping him like a horny
male dog humps a leg.

   "I think I can get there just doing this," gasped Daffy.

   "Me too," panted Gabby.  "Kiss me again, Uncle Bob, like you did on the
bed."

   She reached her lips up to his, and as soon as he kissed her he felt her
tongue dart into his mouth.  Her moan signaled that she was having another
orgasm, just by rubbing her pussy on his hard thigh.  Daffy, unable to kiss
him, slid her hand down to grasp his messy, limp, prick, whereupon she
tripped into her own cum, squeezing him as she ground her pussy against
him.

   For the first time since all this had started, Bob had the horrified
feeling that he couldn't stop them ...  couldn't buffer or resist the slide
they were making toward becoming fully sexual women.  Had there only been a
few days left on the tour, he would have felt like he could stem the tide.

   But they had more than two weeks left, with eight more cities to visit
...  eight more hotel rooms, where he couldn't get away from them at
bedtime ...  eight more dressing rooms, that he somehow knew he'd stand in,
naked, beating his meat, while the girls got "ready" to perform.  He had
more than fourteen nights to spend in the company of two horny and eager
virgins.

   And he had no idea how long they'd remain virgins, if they kept going
like they had so far.

   CHAPTER SIX

   The conscious mind works in mysterious ways.  When faced with a problem,
there are always various options to approach solving that problem with. 
But most people don't think of ALL the options.  Instead, they think of the
first one or two that come to mind, and the brain concentrates on those,
instead of finding other potential solutions.

   In Bob's case, he missed the most obvious solution, that of calling
ahead to arrange separate rooms.  Instead, his brain concentrated on all
the ways that the girls lusts could be sated ...  WITHOUT a penis being
inserted in them.  So far, they had only touched themselves.  Masturbation
is usually quite straight-forward.  You know what you like, and you do that
until you get to where you want to be.  But masturbation can be done by
others too, and if done properly, the added dimension of an extra, loving
body being involved in the practice, can enhance the experience, to
astonishing heights.

   And so it was that, while he was falling asleep, after making the girls
take showers, and making them get in THEIR bed, Bob thought of things he
could do TO the girls that might satisfy their urge to explore, and keep
their precious virginities intact.  Technically, at any rate.

   He knew, based on experience, that he was a very good oral lover.  Women
had made that perfectly clear.  And he knew that he could leave both these
girls too limp to want anything else, if he loved them in that way.  His
fingers could probably do the same thing.  And their fascination with his
stiff prick could be controlled by simply making sure that it didn't stay
stiff.  All he had to do was cum, like he just had, and then it wouldn't
matter if Daphne wanted to touch him.  Not for a while anyway, and if he
hadn't worn them out before then, then it could be made limp again before
it could do any damage.

   He fell asleep feeling much better, which is odd, when you figure that
he had just decided to escalate things quite a lot.  But, as mentioned
before, the brain doesn't recognize all options, unless it actually seeks
to.  He hadn't thought about separation.  He hadn't thought about cloaking
his prick in a rubber, whenever it was naked.  He hadn't thought about
getting the girls vibrators.  He hadn't thought about anything, except
satisfying them in some way that would leave them uninterested in his stiff
prick in their pussies.

   Such is the way a man's mind can work, when it is assailed with lust,
both from without and within.  The Fight or Flight syndrome had kicked in,
and, for Bob, at least, that didn't include "negotiation." He couldn't
flee, so, in his stupid, male way, he was going to fight.

   ================================

   Bob woke, and saw light coming in through the blinds.  He rolled his
head to look at the clock, and saw it was ten.  His body clock was still
off, apparently.  Both girls were still sleeping.  He remembered that,
after their shower, to get his sperm off of them, they had crawled into bed
naked.  `

   Now he thought of separation, as an option, though only one layer deep.
He got up, emptied his bladder, and got dressed quickly, before they could
get up and parade in front of him naked again.  He was thinking about
leaving them a note, when Gabby woke up.

   "I'm going to go get some coffee," he said softly.  "Whenever you two
get up, come on down and we'll have breakfast.  She nodded, sleepily, and
he left.

   He was on his second cup when they straggled into the dining room. 
Hotels in Poland served breakfast in the true continental way, with nothing
hot, unless you ordered it that way.  There was fruit, both fresh and
dried, and ten different kinds of cereal.  Pastries, various offerings of
juice, milk, and hard boiled eggs were available too.  There were bowls of
nuts, olives and other things that Bob didn't recognize.  The coffee was
black as coal, and bitter.  There wasn't an ice cube in sight.  Everything
was self serve, though there were employees drifting around, to see to any
needs not already met.  The serving girl who approached Bob was wearing a
peasant blouse that showed off a great deal of her majestic cleavage.

   "I went to the concert last night," she said softly.  "It was fabulous."

   Bob smiled at her.  "They are good, aren't they?"

   "I particularly liked the encore," said the girl.  "I've heard that
music before, but never seen it played.  It was amazing.  I'm afraid I
practically ravished my boyfriend when we got home."

   "Thank you," said Bob, startled at her familiarity, and willingness to
speak of things so intimate.  "I don't think I'll pass all of that on to
the girls, though." He grinned, and got a sweet smile in return.  She
turned to leave, and saw Gabby and Daffy coming in, and went to escort them
to the spread.  They chatted as the girls loaded plates with food.  Bob
wondered if she was telling them the same thing she had told him.

   The girls came and sat down.  They ate quietly.  Two more people came up
to the table and expressed their appreciation for the concert.  When Bob
asked them if that was normal, they both shook their heads.

   "Nobody ever seemed to care before," said Daphne.  "It's kind of neat to
be recognized."

   "You're playing very well," said Bob.

   "That is partly because of you," said Gabby.  She looked directly at her
uncle.  "We had a very good time last night."

   "If you run too fast, you might trip," said Bob.

   "You'll be there to catch us," said Gabby.

   "I might trip and fall right on top of you," said Bob.

   "That might be interesting," said Daphne, her eyes sparkling.

   "Only on performance nights," said Bob.  He didn't have to explain what
he was talking about.  "Other nights, we do nothing.  Is that clear?"

   "Perfectly," said Daphne.  She went back to eating, seemingly
unconcerned.

   Again, Bob was unaware that a new contract had been forged, through
negotiations he wasn't even aware were being conducted.  This contract gave
them rights to him on performance nights ...  something he had given them
in exchange for nothing, really.

   =================================

   Paris was beautiful, of course.  Pictures don't really do Paris any
justice at all.  As difficult and prickly as the French are perceived to
be, when true artists arrive in their midst, their typical arrogance is put
aside.  When they recognize excellence, the French are delightful hosts.

   The concert hall in Paris they were playing at was La Philharmonie de
Paris, which is a relatively newly built venue with an astonishingly modern
design.  It is all sweeping lines, curves and odd shapes, scientifically
designed to move sound where it is intended to end up.  It looks odd, in
the way Salvador Dali's painting "The Persistence of Memory" looks, with
it's melting clocks, but the acoustics allow a whisper to be heard by any
audience member, anywhere in the hall, and, for the girls, microphones were
not needed.

   Their French hosts were gracious, but somewhat formal and stuffy.  The
girls were subdued by the formality, which tended to dampen their emotional
state.  There was a lot of sightseeing to do, and the pace of that kept
them busy too.  The girls honored Bob's demand that things sexual be
pursued only on performance days, and Bob got a little break.

   The girls passions were subdued during practice too, because one of the
pieces they were going to play was giving them a little trouble, in terms
of timing.  They worked on it over and over, until they were satisfied that
the cello was supporting the violin just the way it was meant to be.

   Even supper seemed very formal, and the girls were quiet and reserved.

   "You two OK?" asked Bob, beginning to fear that they might be coming
down with something.

   "Everybody seems so different," commented Daphne.  "Kind of formal,
maybe."

   "They are," said Bob, but they love good music, so don't hold back
tonight."

   Gabby looked shocked.  "We never hold back," she said, a frown furrowing
her blond brow.  "It doesn't matter who we're playing for."

   "OK," said Bob.  "You just seem quiet, and uninspired." He didn't know
what else to say.

   Daphne's eyes met his, and they were suddenly hot.  "We'll get inspired
...  later," she said.  Just the tone of her voice caused blood to divert
from wherever it had been headed, and into his prick instead.

   Their attitude changed dramatically when the door of the dressing room
closed behind them, the night of the performance.  Daphne turned to Bob and
said "I want you to kiss me the way you kissed Gabby, in bed."

   They had obviously been talking, and Gabby had obviously told her sister
about his tongue.

   Bob didn't hold back, and their kiss was long and hot.  She was panting
when she finally pulled away, and stepped back to let Gabriella come in for
some of her own.

   "I don't think I need to do a single thing more than some more of that,"
panted Daffy.  "I'm ready right now!"

   "This will mess up our makeup," said Gabby, pulling back.  "We can't do
that with him when we're dressed."

   "OK," said Daphne easily.  "But I want to wait until we get back to the
hotel again, after the show."

   "Me too," said Gabby, pulling her T shirt over her head and reaching to
unclasp her bra.  When she bared her breasts, she stood, looking at her
uncle.  She loved watching his eyes drink in her naked chest.  She felt
dampness seeping into her pussy.  "Uncle Bob, you just have no idea how
much better this is with you here."

   "You two are crazy," sighed Bob, licking his lips.

   "Show it to us while we get ready," panted Daphne.

   "I have something else in mind, tonight," he said.

   Both girls stopped what they were doing, which was getting naked, and
stared at him.

   "Don't worry," he said.  "I think it will do the job."

   When they were in their chairs, ready to masturbate, Bob knelt in front
of Gabby, between her legs.

   "Touch yourself," he said softly, "but be careful.  This is going to be
something new."

   He leaned forward to capture one of her stiff nipples between his lips.
He'd wanted to do this ever since he'd seen them, and he sucked gently, and
lovingly.

   "Ohhhhhhh," she groaned.  Bob could feel her hand moving frantically
between her legs.

   He pulled off.  "Don't cum," he said.

   "That feels tooo good," she moaned, her hand coming to draw him back to
her.

   "You just think about that," he said, pulling away.  He moved over to a
wide-eyed Daphne, who was panting harder.

   He felt her puffy nipple harden in his mouth, and take on shape, the
nipple popping out as he sucked and she moaned.  He moved to the other one,
and got the nipple popped out on that one too, before going back to give
Gabby another dose.  Her nipples were so sensitive that he had to be
careful.  She was being careful too.

   "STOP!" she panted, pushing at his head.  "I can't take any more of
that."

   He pulled back.  Both girls were breathing hard now.

   "Get dressed," he said.

   The scrambled into their gowns, excited now, their passions enflamed.

   Then he held the door open for them.  No one had come to warn them of
their imminent need.  On the way past him Daphne stopped.

   "There will be more of that tonight," she said, taking a deep breath.

   "Yes Ma'am," said Bob, grinning.

   The French were reserved, until the girls played.  Apparently, they felt
like they could let it all hang out then, because their applause was just
as appreciative as any other that the girls had gotten.  The girls did
their usual sad, mournful encore, telling the audience with music that all
this must, at last, come to an end.  They got a standing ovation then.

   Back stage, there were only four reporters, three of whom were polite,
and almost reserved.  The fourth was an American, who pushed his way to the
front, assuming that, since the girls were American, he should get first
place.  Word had gotten back to the States about how well this tour was
going, and about the odd encores the girls had played on two occasions. 
The first question the reporter for the New York Times asked was why they
hadn't played hillbilly music for an encore.

   "Hillbilly music?" asked Daphne.  "It's bluegrass."

   "Whatever," said the reporter.

   "I don't want to talk to you," said Daphne, her voice polite.  She
turned to one of the French reporters.

   "Hey!" said the American.  "I'm not done yet."

   "Yes, you are," said Bob, taking the man's elbow and walking him away
from the small group.

   "You can't do this!" yelled the reporter.

   "Yes, I can," said Bob, squeezing the man's elbow tightly.

   "Ow!" complained the man.

   A member of La Philharmonie de Paris security staff was there, almost as
if by magic.

   "Is zer a problame heer?" he asked.

   "This man is rude," said Bob.  "He's bothering the girls."

   "I'm a reporter for the New York TIMES!" shouted the man.

   "Isn't zat nice for you," said the security man, dragging him to the
stage door.

   =================================

   The girls weren't hungry ...  not for food, anyway.  They wanted to go
straight back to the hotel.  When they entered the room, they started
taking their clothes off immediately.

   "Let's just leave my clothes on for a little while," said Bob.

   The girls didn't mind, since that meant he'd lie down with them.  They
writhed on top of him, wanting more kisses, as he slid his hands all over
their backs.  He squeezed naked buttocks, and got more kisses for that. 
Then they wanted their nipples sucked some more.  Daphne crawled on top of
him, pressing her pussy against the lump in his pants, and mashed her
breasts to his face.  He sucked, hoping she could cum just from this, like
he was sure Gabby would.

   "Owww," she moaned, at one point, crawling off.  "Your zipper poked me!"
She reached for his belt, her intent obvious.

   "Daphne..." he warned.

   Gabby shut him up by putting one of her nipples in his mouth.  This time
he bit and tongued and pulled at it with strong sucks.  She went off like a
firecracker, just as he suspected she might.  It was the first orgasm she'd
ever had on her hands and knees, and it felt both strange and wonderful to
her at the same time.  Being able to get this feeling without even touching
herself opened her eyes to the idea that there might be lots of other
things she didn't know about, that could result in the same sweet ecstasy
that was flowing through her young body now.

   About then, Daphne got his prick out, and started jacking it.

   "I want to make it spurt," she said, when his hand waved at hers, trying
to get her to release him.

   "Wait," he commanded, spitting out Gabby's nipple, and then taking it
back in while she finished her orgasm.

   She stopped stroking him, but kept her hand around him.  Gabby finally
sighed and pulled her nipple out of his mouth, to flop down beside him.

   "That was the best," she panted.

   "What about me?" whined Daphne.

   "I'll take care of you now," said Bob.

   He pulled her up beside him, and attacked her breasts with is mouth. 
She purred and moaned about how wonderful that felt, but didn't respond in
the electric way her sister did.  He put his left hand flat on her belly
and shoved it downward, over her black pubes.

   "Ohhh, Uncle Bob," moaned the girl, tossing her head.

   He wanted her to cum hard, and cum fast, so he didn't warn her. 
Instead, he slicked a finger between her already wet pussy lips, and hooked
it into her pussy.  He felt her jerk, and felt her knee impact his penis as
she pulled her legs up and spread them, to give him room.  He started
rubbing her clitty sideways, his finger still in her.

   For Daphne, all this strange stimulation was devastating.  His finger
was thicker and rougher than her own, with the possible exception of her
left hand fingertips, which had thick, rough calluses on them.  His single
finger felt like two of her own, and all she had to do was lie there to
feel amazing things.  She was used to feeling her orgasm come, anticipating
it, welcoming it.  But this one hit her like a bucket of ice water, and she
was completely unprepared for it.  She jerked and flopped as it slammed
into her, and she felt electric shocks running continuously from her pussy
to the nipple he was sucking on .  Just when she thought she couldn't stand
it another second, he stopped rubbing her, and pulled his mouth off her
nipple.  She relaxed, loving the feel of his thick finger still inside her,
but not moving.

   She moaned in disappointment when he pulled it out of her, but it felt
so good to lie there, that she didn't move.

   He did the same thing to Gabby, rolling to use his right hand between
her legs, while his mouth made her writhe and buck under him.  She was
ultra sensitive, and he went on too long, making her gasp: "OK ... 
enough!"

   Then he went back to Daphne and rocked her world a second time.  He
crawled off the foot of the bed and stood, seeing two happy, exhausted and
satisfied naked girls splayed out before him.  Everything had worked
perfectly.  Now it was time for him.  He stayed dressed, but pulled his
balls out of his pants, so he could access the full length of his prick
while he stroked it.

   The girls watched him with half lidded eyes.

   "Can you squirt it on us again?" asked Daphne, breathing deeply.  "We
really liked that."

   "You promise not to rub any of it between your legs?" he panted.

   "We promise," said Daphne, scooting next to her sister.

   Bob walked to the side of the bed, while the two girls lazily stroked
satisfied clitties with gentle, languid movements.  He warned them, before
he came, and tried to aim at Daphne's belly button, since she was the
farthest away from him.  His full load, therefore, went on their bellies.
He had to lean forward at the end, to make sure his last feeble surge went
on Gabby's stomach, instead of the bed.  Both girls brought their hands up
to rub through his spend, spreading it on their bellies and breasts.  They
honored his demand to keep their hands away from between their legs.

   "Fantastic," sighed Gabby, trying to pinch a slick nipple, and unable to
do it.  "Each time it's better and better."

   "You two get in the shower and get cleaned up," sighed Bob.  "We need to
get more sleep."

   The girls demanded to be pulled up, and Bob's hands got spermy in the
process.  He didn't care, though.  He was just glad to see them disappear
into the bathroom.  This time, they closed the door.

   He wouldn't have been nearly so happy had they left the door open.  He'd
have seen both girls rub their hands across their bodies, moving his spunk,
to get it on two fingers, which they promptly slid in their pussies.

   "This is the part I love the most," gasped Daphne, thinking of her
uncles sperm being pushed into her pussy.  Like Uncle Bob had said, it was
pretty safe at this time in her cycle, so doing this wasn't REALLY
dangerous.

   "Me toooo," moaned Gabby, massaging the sperm on her fingers into her
pussy walls.

   ===============================

   That ritual, where Bob serviced the girls with his mouth on their
breasts, and his fingers in their pussies, lasted through Spain, Greece and
Holland.  He got used to the girls touching his penis, but still didn't
allow them to bring him to orgasm.  Each night, after a performance, he'd
give each of them two or three orgasms, and they'd end with him spurting
his spunk on their bellies, or breasts.  He had no way of knowing that,
each time they went into the bathroom, to clean up, they massaged his sperm
into their wet pussies.

   It was in Austria, with only that one, and the concert in Nurnberg,
Germany remaining, that things escalated even more.  It may have had
something to do with the fact that both girls had begun ovulating, in
Holland.  Their sexual energy was at its sexual peak, and their playing was
even more masterful, if that was possible.

   The Vienna State Opera House had been freed up for one night, for this
duet, and everybody who was anybody in Austria was there.  In Austria, the
audience was admitted for up to an hour before the performance was
scheduled to begin, partly because it was so huge, with multiple balconies
and hundreds of private boxes, in which patrons would be served wine and
fine chocolates before the performance.  On the main floor, the entire
orchestra was crammed into the pit, where they would be allowed to view the
concert for free.

   It was therefore a noisy and busy place when the girls arrived.  They
went to the wings, where they could see the immense structure, something
that rarely happened when they were on stage, because of the lighting.

   "Wow," whispered Daphne.  "This is incredible."

   Gabby just stood and stared.

   "This is the biggest crowd we've ever played for," Daffy went on.  She
turned to her Uncle.  "You have to get us very excited tonight," she said,
worry in her eyes.

   "I think I can handle that," said Bob.  He licked his lips.

   ===============================

   In the dressing room, the girls were splayed in their chairs, legs wide
for their uncle to wade between, so he could access their lips and breasts.
They had decided to put on lipstick just before they went out, so they
could kiss him more.

   "Ohhhh yes," moaned Daphne as he suckled her nips gently.

   "You ain't seen nothin' yet," whispered Bob.

   He kissed his way to her belly as she sucked in her stomach.  Her
unbelieving eyes watched as his lips kissed her raven pubes and she saw his
tongue come out to lick between her pussy lips.

   "Oh shit!" she squealed, her hands going to her uncle's head.

   Within a minute he had her so wound up that she pushed him away.  Gabby
grabbed for his head, after watching how her sister reacted, and pulled him
roughly between her own thighs.  He mashed his face into her pussy and she
squealed just like Daphne had.  When she pushed him away, Daphne was
already dressed, and presented her back to Bob, to zip her up.

   "There's going to be more of that too," she sighed, kissing him one last
time before turning to apply her lipstick.

   Bob tended to Gabby's gown, zipping her into it and then getting a long,
tongue-swapping kiss from her too.  While she put on her lipstick, Daphne
sat down and motioned Bob over.  She started to unzip his pants.

   "Not now," he said softly.

   "I'm not going to make it spurt," she said.  "I just want to see it
before we go out there."

   "OK," he said, doubtfully.

   She had to stick her hand inside and wrestle it out, because he was
hard. Once it was out, she held it, lovingly.

   "I'll see you later," she said, as if she was talking to a baby.  "You
be a good boy." She leaned forward and left a bright red imprint of her
lips on the tip.  Bob tensed, but that's all she did.

   "Oooo me too," sighed Gabriella.  "I've been wanting to do that for
days, but I was too chicken."

   She not only kissed it, but flicked her tongue out against the tip too.
Bob stepped back, and she looked up.

   "There's going to be some more of that tonight too."

   "I don't know," said Bob, trying to think of a way to stop that.

   "I do," she said.  She looked at his penis.  "You just be ready, big
boy," copying Daphne's earlier baby talk.

   Then they were out, instruments in hand, to stand in the wings until the
lighting was where it was supposed to be.

   ===============================

   It was magical.  That was the only way to describe it.  Their level of
passion was high, and they poured that passion into the music, while the
audience sat stunned.  The General Manager of the hall had taken a lot of
grief about allowing two young girls to play, and suspending the opera
schedule for one night, but he had heard them play before, and he knew
that, once they started, they would hold thousands of people in thrall. 
They did.  Enthralled the most, were the professional musicians in the pit
...  world class musicians, who recognized instantly that these girls had
some special gift, the kind that came along once in several million
musicians.  They played music that this very orchestra had played before,
and the simple combination of violin and cello left many of them in tears.
As for the rest of the audience, they were used to world class music, but
they were unprepared for seeing two mere girls, sitting on a huge stage,
alone, except for two instruments.  They were also unprepared for the way
those two girls stole their hearts, and made them want to laugh, weep and
dance, all at the same time.

   The audience restocked the passion in the girls with applause that went
on for twenty minutes.  When the girls came back out to do an encore, the
clapping didn't stop.  The concert master for the orchestra came on stage,
and picked up a microphone.  He welcomed the girls, and said he'd never
heard anything like what they'd done.

   "If you're effer in need of employment," he said, "you just giff me a
call." He grinned widely as the crowd clapped again.

   "Is it possible that we may beg you to play one of your American
Bluegrass tunes for us?" he asked.  The crowd echoed his request, and feet
stomped.

   Daphne leaned into the microphone.  "We really didn't practice
anything," she said.

   "After vat ve chust heard," said the concertmaster, "I doubt zat
any-ting you half effer played vould sound any-ting less zan vunderbar." He
was getting so emotional that his native language was creeping in to his
English.

   So, they retuned their violins, and played "Rocky Mountain Breakdown".
They didn't sing the words, and, to be honest, they did quite a bit of
improvisation, as one would play a riff, and the other would respond, going
down, where the other had gone up.  It turned out a little like Dueling
Banjos, except it was only violins involved, and, of course, it was a
different melody.  At one point, the whole audience was clapping in time
with the music, and, as crowds do, the clapping increased in speed.  The
girls kept up, until the audience couldn't clap any faster and finally gave
up, to stand, awed by what they were seeing and hearing.

   When it was over, the concert master came out on stage again, with two
armfuls of roses that had appeared, courtesy of his assistant who, when she
heard the first selection by this pair of young girls, had stepped out only
long enough to make a call, knowing they'd be needed.  The Maestro handed
the flowers to the girls, who blushed and curtsied, and then he bowed to
them, took each of their hands, and kissed the back of each one.  He took
the mike again.

   "Zis is how zey play ven zey haff not prrrepared," he said, rolling the
"r".  "Shall ve haff zem back again?"

   The audience went crazy, and it felt like the whole building was shaking
with the foot stomping and applause.

   So, the girls put their head together, and Daphne leaned into the
microphone again.

   "Under the circumstances, and because you have been so sweet ...  one
more."

   Gabby walked off stage and got her cello.  They sat, quiet for a moment,
until the crowd settled and the house lights went back down.

   They played Edelweiss, swapping off the melody, with the other
instrument supplying harmony.  It was lonely, and sweet sounding, and they
owned the auditorium when, as the entire congregation began to sing the
words, they played on, to accompany them to a drawn out vibrato as the
audience ended the song on a long note.

   The girls were drained after this performance.  They changed clothes,
and, with feet dragging, faced the press, which was polite.  Most of them
had already written their pieces, singing the praises of these two American
virtuosos, and just wanted to be closer to them, to see what they looked
like up close.

   CHAPTER SEVEN

   Back in the hotel room, both girls flopped onto their bed, fully
clothed, and just lay there.

   "That was amazing," said Bob.

   "You have no idea," said Gabby.  "I have never felt like that in any
performance, anywhere, any time."

   "Undress me, Uncle Bob," came Daphne's soft voice.  "I don't want to
move."

   "You want to just go to sleep?" he asked.

   She lifted her head.  "Oh no.  You're going to make me feel very
special, tonight.  I don't want this night to ever end."

   He worked on them both at the same time, unbuttoning buttons, and
stroking the skin he exposed.  He kissed their shoulders and necks, as they
arched to give him room.  They lay limply, making him roll them both to get
to their bra clasps, and making him drag their jeans off by force.

   When they were naked, he simply licked and sucked them both to a
mind-numbing orgasm.  Just the one was enough for each of them, tonight, as
they reveled in the feeling of what his tongue did to them between their
legs.

   "Now cum on us," sighed Daphne.

   "I thought you didn't want to move," he said.  "You'll have to get up to
go clean up."

   "You can bring us a washcloth," she sighed.

   So, he laid strips of semen across them again.  As he went into the
bathroom to get a washcloth, they scooped it toward their pussies, matting
their pubic hair and getting as much as they could in their young,
satisfied pussies.  Then they pulled what was left back up and had their
fingers back on their bellies when he came back with two washcloths, soaked
in warm water and wrung out.  Daphne lifted one finger up to look at the
drip of thick white on it, and remembered seeing pictures on the internet
of this in a woman's mouth.  Without thinking, she stuck it in her mouth
and tasted.

   She looked at Bob, surprised.  "You taste good!" she said.

   "What?" Gabby hadn't seen what she did.

   "Taste it," said Daffy.  "It tastes good!"

   "You don't have to do that," said Bob.

   Gabby scooped a dollop up and peered at it.

   "You sure?" she asked her sister.

   "If you don't want it, give it to me," said Daphne.

   Gabby put the finger to her lips and touched the glob of white with her
tongue.

   "I don't taste anything," she said.

   "Put it in your mouth!" ordered her sister.

   She did, and her eyes widened.  Then she put her finger down and scooped
up another dollop, and shoved that in her mouth too.

   "See," crowed Daphne.  "I told you so."

   ====================================

   The next morning it was the girls who were up early.  They had been
tired, the night before, but it was an emotional tiredness, which isn't the
same as a physical tiredness.  They promptly crawled in bed with their
uncle, and snuggled up to him.  He woke to find both of them playing with
his morning wood.

   "I have to pee," he said groggily.

   "OK," said Gabby, who happened to be holding his prick at the time. 
"But wash it off before you come back."

   Bob knew things were spinning further out of control, but, by this
point, he also knew there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.  He knew
they'd end up giving him a blow job ...  that much was plain ...  and that
wasn't really too bad ...  really.  If all that sperm was in their
stomachs, it couldn't very well get anywhere else ...  right?

   The problem was that both of them wanted to taste him, straight from the
source.  They took turns, learning to suck and slide their lips along his
shaft, but each one was afraid that the other would have her mouth on it
when it squirted, so there was a lot of pushing and shoving, which let him
cool down.  As a result, he didn't go off in either mouth.

   "What's wrong?" asked Gabby, at one point.

   "You two are fighting over it so much, you're not getting to where you
want to be," he said, smiling.  He was having a great time, with two hot
mouths sucking at him.  As far as he was concerned, they could go on like
this for an hour.

   "Can you make it squirt, and then let each of us get some?" asked Gabby.

   "I could probably do that," said Bob.  "Are you sure you really want
that?"

   "I am," said Gabby, getting it in before Daffy could.

   "We're sure," said Daphne, shooting a dark look at her sister.

   Bob stood up, and both girls got on their knees, in front of his prick.

   "You two are something else," he said, staring at the two eager naked
girls in front of him.

   "Squirt!" demanded Daphne.  "You promised."

   Knowing he was about to blow his load in the mouths of the two nymphs in
front of him made it easy.

   "Open your mouths," he said in warning.

   They did, automatically sticking their tongues out.  He gave Daffy the
first shot, in honor of her initiating this new play.  Then he squeezed it
off and switched to Gabby's mouth.  His shot went straight to the back of
her throat and she coughed, but closed her mouth to retain his offering. 
He went back to Daffy, who had closed her mouth.  When she opened it,
strings of his spunk were strung between her upper and lower teeth.  He
gave her two shots, because Gabby was still coughing, but she reached out
and grabbed his hips, pulling her face to him, and her mouth enveloped the
head of his prick, to get her next dose.  He was merely oozing when she
pulled off, to puff out her cheeks, with her head tilted, as she tasted,
and then swallowed.

   "Not fair" groused Daphne.

   She pushed her sister, making her fall on her hip, and took Bob in her
own mouth, sucking the dregs out as he went limp.  Looking down at them,
Bob felt his heart thumping in his chest, as he realized he wanted nothing
more than to breed both of these gorgeous girls.  He stepped backwards,
closing his hand around his prick, as if he could control the urge that
way. The urge passed, and he sighed.  Both girls were masturbating, Daphne
still on her knees, and Gabby lying on the carpet now, digging at her
pussy. Bob went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face.  There were
still three days left on the tour.  Tomorrow they'd fly to Nurnberg.  It
would be a practice day.  There would be only one more performance, the day
after, before they flew back to the States.  He could last that long.  He'd
have to last that long.  He didn't have a steady girl, back home.  He
hadn't had the kind of girlfriend he could call for sex in a year or two,
and he didn't know what he'd do when he got back.  He'd have to have a
woman.  There was no doubt about that.

   ================================

   They did their sightseeing in Vienna the rest of that day, which was
listed as a "rest day" on their schedule.  Again, they were treated like
royalty, wherever they went.  By nightfall, they were physically tired, and
went to bed with no funny business.

   The next morning, they boarded a Lufthansa flight, and a short time
later, landed in Nurnberg.  The Meistersingerhalle was another beautiful
venue, sumptuous, and with the feeling of great age.  The spirits of
performers, past and present lent a feeling that you were never alone in
the hall, even during the girls afternoon practice session.

   The food in Nurnberg was also fabulous, no matter whether you went to a
big restaurant, or a tiny gasthaus on the outskirts of town, where there
might be a pile of manure ten feet tall, thirty feet from the
establishment. The richness of the fields of bright yellow mustard, or
barley proved the sense of recycling animal waste, and the Germans knew
that well.

   On their rest day in Germany, their host took them on an amazingly
speedy trip to a small town called Rothenburg, which was still surrounded
by a tall stone wall that had provided protection from invaders for
hundreds of years.  The girls watched as, in the town square, life-sized
mechanical figures rotated out of the top of a building, toasting each
other with mugs of beer, as the clock struck.  They heard the story of how
the mayor had avoided being invaded by welcoming the Captain with beer. 
The age of everything was obvious, and reminded the girls that, what they
were playing, had been written, in some cases, while people had stood on
these stone walls, repelling enemies.

   When the girls found out there were indoor swimming places, called
Schwimmbads, and that these had all kinds of slides, and flowing rivers and
wave pools, they demanded that Bob take them shopping for swim suits.  Of
course, they wanted bikinis, which the Germans excel at making as small as
possible.  Bob spent most of his time soaking in the pool, because climbing
the ladders to the tubular slides would have exposed his hardon.

   The girls wore the wet suits back to the hotel, and spent an hour
teasing him, until they finally took them off to hang in the bathroom to
dry.  Bob had given up trying to hide his erections from them, and when
Daphne suggested that breaking their "performance day only" rule on the
last rest day before returning to America wouldn't be so horrible, he gave
in and lay between them while they played with his prick, sucking it, and
licking it.  He got nervous when Gabby climbed on top of him and began
rubbing her pussy against his prick, but she only slid along the bottom of
his boner, while he suckled her nips, giving her two orgasms in a row.

   He wanted to cum, but Daphne demanded her turn first, and replaced her
sister, to writhe on top of Bob, grinding her pussy into his cock.  He had
gotten her nipples to erect almost an inch, when she shuddered and wiggled
her way through an orgasm.  She stayed there, rubbing slowly, her head
drooping, and her hair tickling Bob's face.

   "Someday, I'm going to let you put it in me," she whispered to him.

   "Someday," he panted.

   "And when you do, I'm going to let you spurt way up inside me," she
moaned, rubbing faster.

   "Someday," he repeated, his mind fantasizing about that day.

   "I wish I could do it right now," she panted, lowering her face to
French Kiss her uncle.

   That was all it took, and Bob felt waves of hot spunk flowing onto his
belly.  He grunted, and Daphne looked down to see a mess of his cum right
in front of her pussy.  She couldn't help but slide forward, to rub her
pussy in that mess, and she whined her way through another orgasm.

   "No, baby," gasped Bob, as he realized what she was doing.

   "I want to," she whined.  "I love your cum."

   He pushed her off of him, and she complained loudly, reaching to rub his
spunk deeper into her channel, slicking her fingers deep in her pussy.  Bob
would have stopped her from doing that, but Gabby fell on him, licking and
sucking at the sperm on his belly, and taking his prick into her mouth to
suck him dry.

   He scolded them both, when they had all gotten their breath back.  They
sat and listened, nothing on their faces as he told them how dangerous a
thing they had just done.

   "Don't you GET it?" he asked, frustration in his voice.  "I want to FUCK
you both!  I want to do it every time I see you naked.  I want to do it
every time I hear you play.  I want to FUCK you!"

   He paced, and still, they sat there silently.

   "Well?" he asked.  He expected them to be horrified that their own uncle
wanted to mate with them ...  to breed them.

   "Why would that be so terrible?" asked Daphne, her face and voice
completely serious.

   Bob was stunned.  "You have GOT to be kidding me!" he shouted.  "You two
are at the beginning of one of the most amazing careers in the world.  You
are adored by thousands, maybe even millions of people.  You have so much
to offer the world.  Do you want to throw that away for fifteen minutes of
pleasure?"

   "Why would that be throwing anything away?" asked Daphne.  "People make
love all the time, and it doesn't ruin their careers."

   Bob was so frustrated that he was speechless.  She seemed so completely
serious about her simplistic view of the world.

   "For one thing, I'm your UNCLE!" he finally yelled.  "Do you think you
could keep something like this a SECRET?!"

   "I don't know why not," said Daphne calmly.  "Nobody would ever see us
doing anything.  Besides, it's none of their business."

   "It's not that simple, baby," he groaned.  "You're so young.  You have
your whole life ahead of you to find a man you love and make love with
him."

   "That's what some people said about us going on tour," said Gabby
suddenly.  "They said we were too young ...  that we didn't understand how
much work it would be ...  that we should wait." She looked at her uncle.
"Do you think we should have waited to start performing?"

   Bob groaned.  "That's not fair.  You know how much I love your music."

   "So what's the big difference?" she asked.  "I know I love you.  I know
I'll never marry you, or anything like that, but I love how you make me
feel, and I love it when you groan and spurt, because I know I helped you
do that." She stared at him.  "I can't think of any man I love more than
you, or any man I'd let put his penis in me EXCEPT you."

   Bob blinked.  Her voice was full of the passion of truth.  She believed
what she was saying, even if she was too young to understand the true
complexities of male/female relationships.

   "And what happens when you get pregnant?" he asked quietly.  "You can't
go on tour then, and after the baby is born, you'll be busy being a mother.
Your beautiful, important careers will come to an abrupt and painful end
then."

   Daphne snorted.  "I plan to keep making music until I'm too old to lift
a bow.  If you think I'm never going to have children because of music,
you're an idiot."

   "That doesn't mean you have to start having babies when you're only
sixteen!" he barked.

   "OK, so we do the things necessary so that we don't get pregnant," said
Gabby, as if the argument was settled.

   "Great!" said Bob, frustration coming back into his voice.  "I can't
WAIT to hear you ask your mother to put you on birth control pills so your
UNCLE can fuck you senseless!"

   Both girls looked uncomfortable, at that.

   "You'll still help us get ready to play though ..." said Daphne, her
voice small.  "Right?"

   Bob sighed.  "As long as there's no more talk about you two losing your
virginities to me ...  deal?"

   "Deal!" said Daphne, smiling.

   "Now, go take a shower.  You have my sperm ...  sperm that could easily
make you very, very pregnant, all over your pussy." Bob felt silly that his
use of the word "pussy" seemed so completely intimate.  After what they'd
done, language should be the least of his problems.

   Daphne got up and stuck her hand between her legs.  "My pussy likes your
sperm," she said with complete dignity.  Then she stuck out her tongue at
him.  She danced away from him as he tried to swat her bare bottom.  He
turned to find Gabby standing there.  She melted against him, pressing her
naked front to his, and kissed him long and hard.

   "I really do love you," she whispered.  "I know you don't think I know
what that means, but we both love you, and not just as an uncle."

   "You promised," he sighed.

   "Daphne promised," said the girl, kissing him again.  "She didn't ask me
first." She kissed him again.  "I might even ask my mother to put me on
birth control pills.  What do you think of that?"

   Bob's jaw dropped.  He couldn't help but watch her naked buttocks, tight
and slim, as they rose and fell, her blond hair hanging to the middle of
her back.  Even though he had just cum ten minutes ago, he felt his balls
begin to ache again.

   ==================================

   The girls, whether they were miffed at Bob, or just decided to take it
easy on him, wore PJs to bed that night.  The next morning they left him
alone too, and concentrated on deciding what they'd do for an encore that
night.  They didn't ask Bob whether he wanted to play with him, but he
noticed that most of the songs they mentioned had piano parts, and were
pieces that Bob had played with them before.  Throughout the day, they
basically ignored him, in the sense that they didn't seek him out for
anything.  If they had something to say to him, they did.  If they didn't,
they did other things.

   They didn't ask for him to do anything before the practice session
either, and he found himself in the unenviable position of wishing they
had. Having two beautiful girls lavish attention on him appeared to be
addictive, even though his conscious mind told him over and over again that
it was better this way.

   All that changed when it came time to dress for the concert.

   Daphne shimmied out of her shorts and T shirt, and kicked off her
sandals.  She wasn't wearing either bra or panties.  She relaxed backward
in the chair, and spread her legs, looking at Bob through her eyelashes.

   "I want you naked tonight," she said.

   Gabby joined her, pulling another chair to sit beside her sister.  She
idly stroked a finger part way into her pussy, and watched Bob.

   It was the last night.  The next day they would fly home.  All he had to
do was keep things under control for another twenty four hours, and he'd be
home free.  Bob stripped.  He was already hard.

   The girls let him lick and slurp their pussies, and they shoved their
tender breasts into his lips.  Both of them held his penis while he did so,
but did not jack him off.

   "Five minutes" came the voice through the door.

   "I want you to touch my pussy with your penis," panted Daphne.

   "No," moaned Bob.

   "I'm not asking you to put it in me!" she barked.  "Just rub me with
it."

   They didn't have enough time to get into trouble, so he acceded to her
command.  His prick tip split her pussy lips, and he fisted his cock to rub
the tip in a circle over and around her clit.  She laid her head back and
sighed.

   Then it was Gabby's turn.  She tried to hump, to get him further into
her, but he was ready for that, and put his hand on her belly.

   "Naughty, naughty," he chided her gently, leaning over to kiss her.

   "Quickly!" panted Daphne.  "Make it squirt."

   He was on guard, and even though he was horny, he wasn't sure he could
perform on command.

   "I'm thinking of your prick inside me," panted Daphne.  "It's squirting
...  filling me up ...  making me pregnant with my Uncle Bob's baby!"

   Bob groaned, and he felt his balls bunch.

   "Me too," grunted Gabriella.  "You're all the way inside me, and it
feels so good.  I know you're going to fill me up and make a baby in me. 
I'm going to name her Chelsea, Uncle Bob ...  squirt in me!"

   Bob blew like a pressure cooker left on the stove too long.  It came
suddenly, and he was unprepared for it.  He tried to pull his prick aside,
but Daphne was suddenly standing in front of him, hugging him, and his
first shot splattered on her belly.  She jumped aside, as if they had
planned all this out, and Gabby crushed her body to his, pushing her pussy
against him.  He dosed her abdomen too.

   Then, both girls stood back, half crouched, and ran their hands through
his spend, to massage it into their pussy lips.  They even had a towel
there, to wipe their hands.

   Scrambling now, they got into their gowns, Bob's sperm still smeared
across their flat bellies, and soaking into their wet pussy lips.

   "Fuck!" Bob yelped, as he saw they had done this on purpose.

   "Maybe later," panted Gabby, grinning at him.  "Right now we have to
make music.  I feel like I could play for hours."

   Daphne zipped her sister and turned to let Gabby zip her up.  They
applied lipstick and grabbed their instruments.  Daphne stopped in front of
Bob, who was still standing there in shock, naked.

   "Get dressed," she breathed.  "We're playing for you tonight.  And we
both promise to be good later."

   Then they were out the door, leaving Bob feeling like he was completely
out of control of the situation.

   ================================

   They were already playing when he finally got himself together, and got
re-dressed.  There was a small crowd of stage hands and a reporter standing
in the wings.  None of them noticed Bob at all, as he joined them.  They
were already captives of the girls.

   To Bob's ear, the music was the same as it usually was.  The fast parts
raced, with notes being played at breakneck speed.  The slow parts seemed
to beckon the listeners, coaxing them along.  The harmonies were perfect.
He heard improvisation coming from the cello on one piece, but it fit
perfectly with what Daphne was playing on the violin.  Each time they
finished, the crowd clapped louder and longer, until finally they bounded
to their feet.  There was whistling from the Germans and shouts of "Bravo"

   When the girls came off stage after the last piece, they were grinning.
The pushed through the small crowd to Bob and stood in front of him.

   "You want to play with us?" asked Gabby, winking slowly.

   Bob looked up and sighed.

   Daphne went back out alone, and the audience quieted instantly.  She
leaned into the microphone.

   "Thank you so much," came her mellow voice.  "You've been so kind ... 
all of Europe has been so kind to us."

   That got thunderous applause.  She waited until they went quiet again.

   "Some of you may know that we've also had a lot of fun on this tour,
playing some odd music for encores.  We thought we'd ask you what kind of
encore you'd like."

   There were shouts, so many they couldn't be deciphered, and she held up
her hand.

   "By applause, how many of you would like something classical?"

   There was heavy applause, but almost no voices.

   "And how many would like something a little less formal?"

   The place went crazy.  It was obvious that people loved seeing such
accomplished musicians let their hair down and play something that had
roots in the common stock.

   "We'd like our Uncle Bob to play with us ...  would that be all right?"
she asked.

   Again there was foot stomping and yells.  Stage hands were already
pushing a grand piano out onto the stage, behind the girls' chairs.

   Gabby was still holding Bob's hand and she whispered what they were
going to play in his ear, to give him a little more notice, this time.  In
self defense, he began thinking about the music, and didn't look at or
acknowledge the audience.

   Daphne spoke again.  "This is called 'Hold the woodpile down'.  If you
want to clap along, that's fine."

   The arrangement they had played with this song had the piano start
first, and the fiddles joined in, first one, and then both.  Bob just
started playing, and held on for the ride.  He tried to concentrate on the
fiddles, so that he was supporting them, rather than calling the cadence.
It was obvious the girls wanted to play around, so, when they started a
series over, putting a coda where there wasn't one on the sheet music they
didn't have, Bob just rolled back into his part too.  In truth, the
microphones were a little too far away from the girls mouths.  As it turned
out later, this recording was the only one that couldn't be used, because
of that, but the audience didn't seem to mind.  They stomped and shouted
and sang the wrong words anyway, because few, if any, had ever heard this
tune.  They didn't care, though.  Watching the girls duck and weave, each
standing when she had the lead, and sitting when she was in support, and
hearing the strange music was more than enough.

   When they finally wound down, there was a chorus of "YEEEE-HAWWWW"s from
the audience, and the girls laughed, beaming and bowing, and pointing
repeatedly at Bob, who finally stood and waved at the crowd.

   Then it was over, and Bob lurched off stage, a girl on each arm.

   There were interviews, this time done without changing clothes first. 
Then the girls supervised the packing of their instruments, for shipment
back home.  Special desiccant packets were packed inside the containers, to
deal with changes in humidity.  Finally, things wound down, and the girls
disappeared into their dressing room.  They did not ask Bob to come with
them.

   They were taken to a tiny Gasthaus, where nobody knew them, and served a
meal of Jagerschnitzel, with fried potatoes and a drink called Spatze,
which was a mix of cola and orange sodas that was delicious.  Daphne asked
for ice cubes, and the proprietor said "Ahhh, American, yah?" He returned
with the ice cubes and then sat down to talk.  He stayed with them for the
entire meal, speaking in passable English.  He left the table to return
with shot glasses of peppermint schnapps, which were he proudly said were
"on the house."

   On the ride back to the hotel, in the big Mercedes that had been
provided for them, they all lay back in the seats, stuffed to overflowing,
and groaning.

   In the hotel room, the girls approached Bob, and undressed him, telling
him they just wanted to taste him, tonight.  They made love to his penis
slowly, at first, with one stroking him and sucking, while the other kissed
him with open mouth and lots of tongue.  They let him suck at their
nipples, and insert a thick finger into them, but didn't try for orgasms.
He gave them to them anyway.  When he announced he was close, Gabby took
over and stroked him fast, like she had seen him do before.  She let Daphne
hover over his prick, to take the first spurt, but was jacking so furiously
that it went on her cheek, instead of into her mouth.  Then Gabby accepted
the second spurt and rolled to her back to savor the taste, while Daphne
went on to suck him dry.

   Daphne wiped her cheek with two fingers, and, as if they had practiced
this before, she smeared those two fingers against two of Gabby's.

   "We won't put them inside us," panted Daphne.

   But they did rub their clitties to orgasm, with his sperm on their
fingers.  Bob could only thank his lucky stars that this was the last
night, and that, after tomorrow, he'd be safe.

   CHAPTER EIGHT

   They sucked him dry in the morning, and then got ready to go.  From
breakfast they went straight to the airport.  Seventeen hours later, tired,
but happy, they climbed out of a taxi at the girls home.  There was a van
in the driveway, that had a home health care logo on it.  The girls hadn't
taken a key to the house, but the home health aide opened the door with a
smile.

   "You must be Gabby and Daffy," she said, grinning.  "I'm Nancy.  I've
been taking care of your mother for a week, since she came home.  You're
all she's talked about since I stared taking care of her.  You've made
quite a splash on the music scene, I understand."

   "We did out best," said Gabby, sinking down into a familiar living room
chair.

   "According to your mother, you did much better than that," said the
woman.  "She's been on the phone more than was good for her, for the last
week.  People have been calling from all over the world to talk about you
two."

   "That's all well and good," said Bob.  "And I'm proud and happy for you
both, but I'm going home.  I need a shower and about eighteen hours of
sleep."

   "Deliah wants to see you as soon as you get here," said Nancy.  "She's
sleeping right now, and I have orders to wake her as soon as you get here,
but she really needs her rest.  Couldn't you stay for a while longer?"

   "I've been gone for weeks," sighed Bob.  "I need to check on work stuff,
and go through the mail, pay some bills and all that.  Just tell her I love
her and I'll see her tomorrow some time."

   "She gave me very strict instructions," objected Nancy.

   "Tell her she can yell at me tomorrow," he said firmly.

   He turned to leave, and was engulfed in young girls who, thankfully,
only kissed him on his cheeks.

   "Thank you," said Daphne.  "We couldn't have done it without you."

   "I'm very proud of you both," said Bob.

   "I love you," said Gabby, sneaking her hand to squeeze the front of his
pants, which was shielded from Nancy by Daffy's body.

   Bob jumped, but forced a grin.  "I love you both too," he said.  Then he
fled.

   ====================================

   Bob was awakened by the phone ringing.  He let it ring, and heard the
machine pick up.  Deliah's voice came on the line.

   "Bob Hazzard, you get your butt over here!" she yelled.  "How dare you
do this to me?!  If you're not back over here in an hour, you're fired!  I
know you're there, you lazy bastard." Bob heard the girls' voices in the
background, saying things like "Mom!, leave him alone."

   He looked at his watch.  It was eight fifteen in the morning.  He'd
planned on sleeping until at least noon.  The phone rang again.  It was
Deliah.  "I'm not going to stop, Duke," she yelled into her phone.  We have
a LOT to talk about.  If you don't answer your phone and get over here, I'm
sending the police after you!  Now get up and talk to me!"

   He managed to get to a sitting position on the edge of his bed, when the
phone rang again.  He groaned and stood up, reaching for it.

   "I'll be there after I've had some coffee!" he said, without letting
Deliah say anything first.

   "Great," said a male voice.  "I promise the interview won't take more
than fifteen or twenty minutes."

   "Interview?" said Bob groggily.  "Who is this?"

   "David Matthews, from Music Insider magazine, Mr.  Hazzard.  I'm so glad
you agreed to be interviewed.  I can't wait to talk to you."

   "Hang on there," said Bob.  "I'm being pestered by my sister, and I
don't know anything about any interview."

   "It was your sister who set it up," said Matthews.  "I thought you
knew."

   "I don't know anything," growled Bob.  "I just got back from being
overseas for three weeks, and would kill for four more hours of sleep. 
Call me later, OK?"

   He hung up.  The phone rang almost instantly.

   "WHAT!?" he shouted into the phone.  "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

   "Uncle Bob?" came an instantly recognizable voice.  It was Daphne.

   "Oh, hi," said Bob.  "Sorry.  I just got a call from some magazine guy,
and your mother's been calling too."

   "You really need to get over here," came Daphne's worried voice. 
"Mamma's trying to get out of bed.  She's yelling all over the place and
she's going to hurt herself or something."

   Bob felt his stomach drop.  The girls must have said something.  Deliah
must know what had happened.  He remembered her threat to get law
enforcement to come get him if he didn't come right over.  Daphne's worried
voice only added to his feeling of dread.

   "OK, I'll get dressed and be over," he said.

   He hung up and chose his clothing for the express possibility that he
might be hauled off in handcuffs, and have to live in it for a day or two.
He'd already taken care of the hot button issues in the mail.  There wasn't
anything else he could do to prepare.

   When he got there, Nancy met him at the door.

   "She has to stay in bed!" she said.  "Get that through her thick head,
would you please?"

   Bob went straight to the spare bedroom, which had been outfitted with a
hospital type bed, both to make her more comfortable, and to assist in her
recovery.  She was on the phone, but when she saw him she made a hasty
goodbye and flipped the phone closed with a whack.

   "It's about time," she yelled.

   "Look, I'm sorry," he said.  When she was in this mood, she wouldn't
listen to anything he said.  He knew her well enough to know that.  She
looked pale, and her body was still swathed in casts and bandages.  "I'm
sorry about everything.  I tried to do the best I could, but I wasn't
prepared for it."

   "What are you talking about!?" she yelled.  "You did superbly!  It
couldn't possibly have gone any better, you idiot!"

   "Would you stop yelling?" he asked.  "Just tell me what you want."

   Deliah took a deep breath, and relaxed back into the raised bed.

   "Bob, I've gotten at least thirty calls asking to book the girls.  This
tour made them go through the roof!  I've already got two more tours
roughed out, on paper.  I need to make plans to finalize contracts, and I'm
stuck in bed.  You're the obvious person to help me.  You did WONDERFULLY,
Bob.  I want to hire you as my new tour manager."

   Bob had been prepared to defend himself on charges of molesting the
girls.  He was not, in any way, shape of form, prepared for this.  He felt
weak in the knees, and stumbled to a chair beside the bed to sit down.

   "I can't do that, Deliah," he gasped.

   "What are you talking about?" demanded his sister, tensing back up.  "I
have to have you, Bob.  I won't be in shape to take the girls back out for
months, and the next tour could be scheduled as early as three weeks from
now!" She looked at the panic on his face.  "If it's money you're worried
about ...  don't.  Their fee has tripled, and all because of how this tour
went.  They never played as well as they did while you were with them. 
Even I was amazed, when I got the recordings.  And the Bluegrass!  That was
a stroke of genius, Bob.  I've got people calling me wanting them to make a
whole album, just of bluegrass favorites!"

   Half of Bob was ecstatic for both Deliah and her daughters.  Their
career had gotten the jump start that could make them world famous.  But he
couldn't go on tour with them again.  The way they felt, he'd never be able
to keep from turning the tour into breeding season with Uncle Bob!

   "That's great Dee," he said, using the nickname he had called her all
their lives.  "But I can't go with them.  There are ...  problems."

   "Problems!" barked Deliah.  "What problems?  I don't have time for
problems, Bob.  This is the chance of a lifetime.  If things keep going the
way they are now, the girls could be set for life by the time they're
twenty!"

   Bob tried to think of a way to get out of this without spelling it all
out.  Obviously she didn't know what he had been afraid she'd known, and he
sure didn't want to tell her.

   "There are ...  personality differences," he said.  "It makes it almost
impossible for us to ...  function."

   She stared at him.  "What in the WORLD are you talking about, Duke?  The
girls obviously love you.  They talk about you more than they talk about
the tour!  They can't WAIT to get back on tour with you!"

   Bob closed his eyes and slumped.

   "Bob?" asked Deliah, her voice lower now.  There was the tinge of
concern in it.  "Duke?" she said, slipping, again, into the use of his
nickname.

   "Dee, you know I love you," he started.  She took a breath and he put
his hand up to stop her.  "I sort of stumbled on them while they were ...
prepping for a concert," he said.

   Her eyes got big, and her mouth went into an "o" shape.

   "I couldn't tell you about that, Bob," she said in an urgent whisper. 
"I'm sorry.  I should have warned you.  It's necessary, Bob.  It's part of
their performance."

   "I understand that," said Bob.  "And you're right.  It inspires them,
but ..."

   "But what?" she asked.

   "They transferred their attention from the pictures ...  to me," he said
miserably.

   "What?" she gasped.

   "That's what I'm trying to tell you, but don't want to tell you," he
moaned.  "We got very close on this trip ...  too close.  If I go out with
them again, very bad things could happen, Dee."

   "You had sex with my daughters?" asked Dee, astounded.

   "NO!" he said hastily.  "But it was all I could do to keep them from
doing that.  They got more and more insistent, and demanded things, and I
didn't know what to do, and I tried as hard as I could to control it and
resist them, but there are TWO of them.  I tried, Dee, I really tried."

   "What did you do, Bob?" she asked quietly.  "And when did you do it?"

   Bob blinked.  Her second question seemed completely odd.

   "Well, at first, I just walked in on them after the concert was done,"
he started out.  "It was embarrassing for all of us, but they wanted to
explain why it was ...  necessary."

   Now that he had started, it wasn't quite as hard to go on.

   "Then there was a mix-up with the rooms and we all had to stay in one
room.  I was wearing the boxers you got me ...  with the little hearts on
them?" He waited until she nodded.  "Well, in the morning, I had a ...  um
...  well, you know what happens to men in the morning, right?" She nodded
again.  "Well, it sort of came out of the fly while I was asleep ...  and
they got up first ...  and they ...  um ...  saw it, and I didn't MEAN for
them to see it ...  but they did."

   He had to take a breath.

   "And then, they wanted to see it again, but I wouldn't let them.  But I
knew they played so much better when they were ..." He trailed off.

   "Horny?" asked their mother.  Her frown wasn't nearly as pronounced now.

   "Well, yes," he said, blushing.  "So anyway, I thought it would be OK if
I just put a picture of it in with theirs - I snooped and found them,
because I was curious - and anyway, I did that, thinking that would be OK,
that that might be all they needed ...  except they kept wanting more ..."
He shot a pleading look at his sister.  "I screwed up, I know, but I didn't
know what else to do.  They were very insistent!"

   "I know how insistent my daughters are," said Deliah, her voice calm. 
"You said this happened for the second concert?  The one where they invited
you out on stage for the first time?"

   Bob blinked.  "Yes," he said.  "But I didn't ask them to do that.  I
didn't even know they were going to do that."

   "This is making a lot more sense, all of a sudden," said Deliah, almost
to herself.  "Go on."

   "Go on?" he whined.  "Do I have to?"

   "Yes, you do," ordered Deliah.

   "Well, they don't put on much to sleep in, and they're so beautiful, and
I know I shouldn't have looked, but I couldn't help it and I kept reacting
to them." His eyes got owlish.  "They KISSED me before the encore, and I
mean they KISSED me!" he gasped.  "And then they had a fight and Daffy was
half naked, and by the time I broke that up, she said I'd seen her that
way, so she didn't need to wear anything more than panties." He looked
about ready to cry.  "And they wouldn't LISTEN to me when I told them how
wrong all this was, but they insisted and the next thing I knew they were
touching it and ..."

   Bob stopped, panting because he'd been talking way more than he had air
to speak with.

   Deliah looked up at him.  "So, what you're saying is that my daughters
seduced you, and you couldn't help it, and it's all their fault."

   "No!" he yelped.  "I'm not blaming it on them.  It's all MY fault.  I
should have been able to do something!"

   "So why didn't you?" she asked.  He didn't notice that she wasn't
screaming at him.

   "I don't KNOW!" he almost shouted.  "Maybe it was all too new to me,
this concert thing.  They acted like I hadn't said anything at all when I
told them I was not going to do all this.  And they kept KISSING me!" he
whined.  "And walking around almost naked!"

   "You said you didn't fuck them," said Deliah.

   "THAT'S RIGHT!" he said excitedly.  "I DIDN'T!" He looked glum again. 
"I mean, if this tour had gone on another week I'd have been a goner, but
it ended, and all I had to do was ..." He stopped.  "Dee, honey, you CAN'T
send me back out there with them.  I don't know how to fight this!"

   "You just said 'All I had to do was ...', but you didn't finish that,"
said Deliah calmly.  "What did you have to do, Bob?"

   "Oh, baby, please don't make me talk about that ...  please?" His knees
bent like he was going to get on his knees and beg, but he didn't. 
"They're still virgins.  It was all I could do to save THAT!"

   "Did you touch them?" she insisted.

   Bob ducked his head.  "Yes."

   "When was that?" she asked.

   "What?" He looked up, confused.

   "When was the first time you touched them before a concert?" she asked.

   "Paris," he said.

   "And what did you do to them then?"

   "They wanted me to beat off again ..." His eyes went wide as he realized
he'd just admitted to something she didn't know.

   "Again." she said.  "When was the first time you beat off for them,
Bob?"

   "Krakow," he said miserably.  "They wanted to touch it, and I wouldn't
let them, so they wanted that instead."

   "Now, what happened in Paris?" she asked.  Her intent gaze was lost on
Bob, who failed to recognize that she was acting very oddly for a parent of
two girls who had been ...  played with ...  in her absence.

   "Well, you have to understand that, because of the press, who were very
insistent, they didn't get to ...  um ...  recover, after the concert ...
in their dressing room?"

   "I know what they do after a concert," said Deliah.

   "They couldn't do it then, because of the press, so, when we got back to
the hotel, they kind of attacked me.  I kept trying to get them to stop
touching my pri ...  touching me ...  so about the only thing I could do
was touch them, so they'd have an orgasm and be done." He looked at his
sister, hopeful that she'd show some sign that she understood.  He had no
hope she'd actually agree.  "So I gave them orgasms."

   "That was after the concert," she reminded him.  "What did you do before
the concert?  To get them ...  ready?"

   Bob closed his eyes.  "I ...  uh ...  sort of used my mouth on their
breasts," he said softly.

   "I see," said Deliah.  "And is that ALL you used your mouth on, Bob?"

   He was toast, now, and he knew it.  "No, later, I ..." He stopped.  He
opened his eyes.  "Look Deliah, I did everything but fuck them.  OK?  They
kept wanting more, and I tried as hard as I could to give them everything
but that.  I succeeded in that, at least.  I'm not proud of what I did, but
at least I didn't fuck them." He stood up a little taller.  "Now you see
why I can't go out with them again.  I may have screwed up, but at least I
didn't fuck them!"

   Deliah was quiet for a long time.  Then she sighed.

   "Maybe you should have," she said softly.

   "Beg your pardon?" gasped Bob.

   "Sit down, Bob," said Deliah.  "We have a lot to talk about."

   "What do you mean?" he gasped.  "I just admitted to molesting your
daughters!  You have to hate me!  What's there to talk about?  I'll leave,
and you'll never see me again.  That's all I can do!  All the talk in the
world won't undo what I did!"

   "Sit the fuck DOWN, Bob!" barked Deliah.  She winced as her body jerked
with her words.

   Bob sat like he'd been pole axed.  He looked bewildered.

   Deliah pointed to the dresser.  "See those tapes over there?" she asked.

   Bob looked, and then looked back at her, even more confused.  "Uh huh."
he said.

   "Those are tapes of the concerts," she said.  "I had them flown to me
daily.  I wanted some idea of whether this album was going to be a go or
not.  I was a little worried that the girls wouldn't play up to their ...
um ...  potential."

   "They played beautifully," objected Bob.

   "You have no idea," sighed Deliah.  "Bob, I've been around their music
for ten years.  I know my daughters, and I know how they play.  I know
about their little ...  idiosyncrasies, but I let them do it because I
could HEAR the difference in their music." She sighed again.  "Besides,
girls do that kind of thing, and they'd keep doing it even if I demanded
they stop.  I'm just their mother, and they're certainly not going to stop
because I tell them to."

   Bob nodded, but only out of habit, and to keep her talking.

   "Bob ...  dear sweet Bob," said Deliah.  "I've been around my girls for
ten years, but I've NEVER heard them play like that.  They were INSPIRED,
Bob, and they were WAY more inspired than they've ever been when I was with
them.  They were way more inspired than they've ever been looking at
pictures of men and pregnant bellies."

   She took a sip of water through a straw.

   "I didn't understand it, at first.  I knew something was affecting them,
but I didn't know what.  And the ENCORES!" She grinned for the first time
since Bob had seen her.  "I thought 'Now where the hell did THAT come
from?', and I couldn't figure it out.  They've never played like THAT
either!"

   "It took me by surprise too," said Bob.  "I couldn't believe it when
they said I was going to play with them.  I almost couldn't do it."

   "Well you did," said his sister.  "And you did some other things too,
and NOW I understand what was going on.  Bob, they were horny, but they
were LOTS more horny than they've ever been before, and it made a HUGE
difference in their music.  THAT's why people have been melting the wires
to get the girls back to Europe, and to Russia and even to ASIA, Duke!"
Deliah stared at Bob.  "They were horny for their Uncle Bob, and that
helped them be fucking BRILLIANT, Bob!"

   She adjusted her body painfully in the bed.

   "If I could get up, I'd kiss you myself!" said Deliah.

   "You're kidding," gasped Bob.  "You're not mad?"

   "How could I be mad at you for helping my babies be the best they've
ever been?" she almost squealed.

   "But they're your ...  babies," he pointed out.

   "Bob, they're teenagers!  Do you think they're not going to do all that
with some man anyway?  I felt VERY lucky that all they wanted to do was
look at pictures!  I had to watch them like a hawk, because I just KNEW
they were going to slip off and get in trouble with some boy, or some bell
hop, or who KNOWS who?!"

   She grinned.

   "But they didn't!  Instead, they took it out on a man I actually trust!
I can't believe the girls chose the only man in the world I could STAND to
have touch them!"

   "You're not pissed?" asked Bob, his voice almost whining.

   "I can only imagine what they'd have done if you'd have actually made
women of them," mused their mother, a crafty look in her eye.

   "Deliah!" yelped Bob.  "You can't be serious!  They're your DAUGHTERS,
for pity's sake!"

   "They're professional musicians ...  young women ...  who want to do
what all young women want to do," said Deliah.  "If being fully women helps
them in their career, I'd be crazy to try to stop them!"

   "This is insane!" Bob groaned.

   "Are you saying you're not attracted to them?" asked Deliah.

   "Of COURSE I'm attracted to them!" shouted Bob.  "But I'm their Uncle!"

   "OK, so I need to get them on the pill, so they don't have your babies,"
said Deliah calmly.  "I can get on board with that."

   Bob went stiff.  "Look, Deliah, I love you, and I said I was sorry.  I
can take you yelling at me, but it's just cruel to tease me like this.  I
had to fight really hard to keep your daughters as pure as I possibly
could. Why don't you just yell at me and get it over with, and I'll leave."

   Deliah frowned.  "Why is it so hard for a man to believe that I have my
daughters' best interests at heart?  They love you ...  that's obvious to
me too, now that I understand what happened over there.  I love you, and,
like I said, you're the only man I really trust to keep their best
interests at heart too.  OK, so it's incest.  I've had the hots for you for
the last five years."

   Bob just stared.

   Deliah looked wounded.  "I'm a woman too, Bob.  I still have needs, even
if I never did anything about it.  And you're the best man I know.  I know
I sound like I hate all men, but you're different.  If I can fall for you,
like that, why should I be surprised that my daughters could too?"

   "I do not believe this," sighed Bob, scratching his head.

   "I need a concert manager ...  full time," said Deliah.  "You're the man
I want for that.  I want you even more, now that I know why my darling
daughters played like they were twenty years older and more experienced
than they are.  The recordings they made on the last tour have already been
screened by the record producer, and he's salivating already." She smiled
gently.  "Bob, honey, you need to believe this, because I'm not joking."

   "But that means I'll have to ..." groaned Bob.

   "Have to?" Deliah giggled.  "There are at least ten thousand men who'd
beg to be in your place."

   "You know what I mean," he growled.  He blinked.  "You really mean
this?"

   "I know what this means," said Deliah, frowning gently.  "I know how I'm
going to feel when you go out there and get raped by my daughters.  I can
live with that ...  as long as you save some for me when I get well enough
that it won't kill me."

   "What kind of medicines are they pumping into you?" asked Bob, dazed.

   "Come get a taste, big boy," said Deliah, holding out the only arm that
worked, and wasn't swathed in casts.

   Bob went to her, but it was mostly by instinct.  He kissed her by
instinct too, and was shocked when she Frenched him.  Her eyes were smoky
when he pulled back.

   "You're a very inventive man, little brother," she said softly.  "One of
the first things you need to do is figure out how to give me an orgasm
without undoing what healing has already taken place.  As your boss, I
expect results ...  OK?"

   "OK," Bob said weakly.  "I guess I shouldn't tell them until we're on
tour again, huh?"

   "I don't want them sore when they try to play a concert," said Deliah,
all business again.  "I want them to know what to look forward to ... 
AFTER a concert.  You already know how to get them ready for a concert. 
Now, get out there and do your duty!"

   He turned to leave.

   "Bob?" came her voice.

   He turned around, still looking dazed.

   "Remember ...  they're not on the pill yet."

   "Yes, Ma'am," said Bob automatically.

   CHAPTER NINE

   Both girls were waiting outside the door to Deliah's recovery room. 
Both looked anxious.  Bob's deer-in-the-headlights look didn't make them
feel much better.

   "There sure was a lot of yelling going on in there," whispered Daphne.

   "Did she find out?" asked Gabriella.  "About us?" Her tone made it
perfectly clear that "us" meant them and Bob, and the things they had done.

   "Yes," said Bob.

   "How!?" moaned Gabby.

   "I told her," said Bob, his voice limp.

   "You WHAT?!" gasped Daffy.

   "I don't understand," whined Bob.

   "Understand what?" asked Daphne.  "What do you mean you told her?"

   "She said I had to go with you on another tour," said Bob weakly.

   Both girls perked up.  "Really!?" asked Gabby.  She looked very happy.

   "So I had to tell her what happened," moaned Bob, "so she'd understand
why I couldn't do that."

   "What do you mean you couldn't do that?" asked Daphne, a dangerous edge
in her voice.  "Why couldn't you do that?"

   Bob turned on her like a wolf and put his face inches from hers.

   "Because I'd FUCK YOU!" he whispered harshly.  He looked around for the
nurse, and then back at Daphne, who had backed up, more from the tone of
his voice, than because of what he'd said.  In a low tone he went on.  "I
knew that if I took you out again, I'd fuck you BOTH!" he hissed.  "And I'd
fuck you as often as I could crawl between your sweet little LEGS!" he
ended, sounding mad.

   "Wow," said Gabby, her eyes unfocused.  "How often is that?"

   "Gabby!" he said, his voice normal, and holding scorn.

   "I can't help it," she whined.  "I like to think about it."

   "Me too," said Daphne, unconsciously jutting her breasts out.  "I loved
what we did on the tour."

   "That was obvious," said Bob, less harshly.  "Your mother noticed that
too ...  in your playing.  She knew something had happened, and she made me
tell her what it was."

   Both girls eyes went round as saucers, and they held their breath.

   "Is she mad?" whispered Daffy.

   "Of course she's mad," said Gabby, pushing her sister.  "We just have to
explain it to her.  Then she'll understand."

   "She already understands," said Bob.  "She's not mad."

   Daphne blinked.  "Not mad?"

   "She said I have to go with you ...  no matter what that means," said
Bob.

   It took a few seconds, but both girls were intelligent, and they figured
out exactly what that meant.  Gabby reacted first.  She started to smile.

   "You mean we can ...?" She stopped, but her eyes took on an intense
look, and she stared breathing more heavily.  "You mean she said you could
...  do that?" she finished.

   "She's going to put you both on the pill," said Bob weakly.

   "Get OUT!" squealed Daphne.  Her face took on a guarded look.  "You'd
better not be teasing us, Uncle Bob," she warned.  "Because if you are, I
know what happens when a girl kicks a boy hard between the legs, and I know
how big yours are, and I can't possibly miss them if I try!"

   "Go talk to your mother," said Bob.  "Right now."

   "Why?" asked Gabby, her face guarded now.

   "If you think I'm going to just jump in bed with you two, on the say-so
of a woman confined to a bed, with who knows HOW many pain killers in her,
you're sadly mistaken," said Bob firmly.  "You two go talk to her.  I'll be
out here." He slumped.  "Things may change when you talk to her.  This is
something that can never be undone, once it's started.  And it's crazy too.
She's acting crazy.  I think this house makes every woman IN it crazy!" he
ended.

   They didn't want to go ...  didn't want to confront the situation, but
Bob made them.  He pushed them through the door and Deliah looked over,
surprise on her face.

   "You talk to them," ordered Bob.

   "What?  They don't believe you?" Deliah smiled for some reason.

   "I don't believe you," said Bob.  "I don't believe any of this!"

   "All right," said Deliah.  "You wait in the living room, Bob.  I'll just
have a little chat with my daughters."

   ===========================

   Bob sat down gratefully on the couch.  He felt like he was in some
bizarre dream that he couldn't wake up from.  He knew what she'd said ...
knew why she'd said it ...  but mothers just didn't react that way.  He'd
heard of pageant mothers, who practically prostituted their little girls,
just to help them win pageants, but this was something completely
different. These girls were already professionals, with a bright career
ahead of them.  True, they played with more intensity when they were horny.
He knew that.  But what Deliah had said she'd allow was just going
overboard.  He was sure that, when faced with her darling little girls,
she'd see the insanity on that.  He yawned.

   Nancy tried to engage him in conversation, but he was nodding off, so
she left him alone.  He was asleep when the girls left their mother's room
...  didn't see them come in and stand, just looking at him.

   "He fell asleep," said Nancy, coming into the room.  "I just let him. 
Do we need to get him up for something?"

   The girls looked at each other.  "Not yet," said Gabriella.  "Let him
sleep.  He's going to need his strength."

   Nancy was puzzled by the giggling that followed that comment, but she
was used to seeing strange families, so she didn't worry about it.  It was
almost time for lunch and meds.  After that she only had to stay until
four. The girls had been trained on night time meds, and said they could
handle supper.  They knew who to call if there was a problem.  Nancy liked
being able to turn the care of a loved one over to other loved ones.  They
usually did an even better job of taking care of the ill.

   ==================================

   Bob woke to the odor of something delicious, wafting into the house from
the kitchen.  He groaned as his body complained about being in an
uncomfortable position for hours.  He stood, stretched, and bent this way
and that, to ease the aches.  He looked around, but nobody was in sight.

   Memories of that morning flooded back into his mind, and he tensed.  He
looked at his watch.  It was after eight in the evening.  He'd been
sleeping on the couch for ten hours.  The place hadn't fallen apart.  There
hadn't been screaming, at least not enough to wake him up.  He thought
about the fact that he'd been left alone.  They hadn't kicked him out, but
they hadn't shown him to a bed either.  He wondered if he should stay, or
just slip out the front door, while nobody was looking.

   Gabby came breezing around the corner and jumped, when she saw him.

   "Oh!" she said.  "You're awake!  Good.  Supper is almost ready."

   She turned and disappeared back into the kitchen before he could
respond.

   Bob sighed.  It had to be faced sometime.  He may as well get it over
with.  He went on dragging feet toward where Gabby had disappeared.

   Gabriella was stirring a pot on the stove, and was facing away from him.
Daphne was finishing setting the table.  There were three places set.  She
looked up and smiled.

   "I think we're going to be pretty good cooks," she said.  "We made
spaghetti, and it wasn't hard at all."

   Gabby turned and looked at him, but didn't say anything.

   "Go wash your hands," said Daffy, her voice surprisingly mother-like.

   "I'm not sure I should stay," said Bob.

   Daphne didn't even look up.  "Of course you're staying.  We went to all
this work, and you'd better eat it."

   "What about ...?" Bob let it trail off.

   "We'll talk about that later," said Daphne, still not looking up, and
still sounding like Bob's mother had sounded, so many years ago.

   Supper wasn't strained, but it was quiet.  Once Bob was seated, the
girls served the food, and then sat to eat.  Bob realized how famished he
was.  He'd slept through lunch, and hadn't had anything for breakfast other
than a cup of coffee.  They'd used bottled sauce, but it was still
delicious.  There were also green beans, and slices of sour dough bread
that had been buttered and sprinkled with garlic powder.  It was simple
fare, but Bob wouldn't have asked for anything else.

   "It's good," he said, his mouth full.

   "Don't talk with your mouth full," said Daphne.  "But thank you."

   Gabby just ate.

   Bob heard a bell tinkle, and Gabby shot out of her seat to go to see
what Deliah's needed.  She came back with a tray.  Obviously, they had
already fed their mother.

   "She said it was delicious," said Gabby, beaming with pride.

   "It is," said Bob, through a bite of bread.

   "Don't talk with ..."

   "I know, I know," said Bob, grinning for the first time all day.

   There was no way to get them back on the subject that was eating away at
Bob, because as soon as he pushed the plate away, they were up and cleaning
up, rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dish washer, and putting
things away.  Extra food was put in containers and then into the
refrigerator.  Bob just sat, and watched the girls move around.  They
didn't seem stiff, or uncomfortable, but their easy familiarity with him
was lacking too.  It wasn't until he saw them doing little unnecessary
things that he realized they WERE nervous, and avoiding the talk Daffy had
said they would have after supper.  They were delaying that talk, and that
made him even more nervous.

   Finally, after the counter had been wiped down no less than four times,
by some means of unspoken communication, the girls turned to face Bob.  He
was still sitting, and they leaned against the counter.

   "Do you love us?" asked Daphne, suddenly.

   Bob kept the grimace off his face.

   "Of course I do," he said.  "You know that."

   "You don't act like it," said Daphne, emotion in her voice.

   Bob wanted to point out that he'd just given up three weeks of his life
to ferry them around Europe, but didn't.  They were young, and glossed over
"little" things like that.

   "Sometimes," he said softly, "when I have your best interests in mind, I
make decisions that you may not understand, or appreciate." He kept his
face blank.  "But I love you both, and I always will, and I'll always do
the best for you that I possibly can."

   Both girls smiled then.

   "Good," said Gabby.  "I'm glad that's settled."

   Bob blinked.  Nothing had been settled at all.  The confusion on his
face must have been plain, because Gabby held out her hand to him.

   "Come with us, please," she said.  "You need to hear something."

   He took her hand and stood.  The girls led him to the studio, where
their instruments had been set up on stands.  There was a chair sitting in
the middle of the room, and they led him to that and sat him down.  Daphne
went to the bank of electronic equipment and started punching buttons. 
There was a hissing noise that came from big speakers, located in each of
the four corners of the room.  Bob realized he had been placed in a
position where the surround sound system would be best experienced.

   His ears picked up the unmistakable sound of audience noises, and then
Daphne's voice.

   "This song has been around for a long time, but we didn't have time to
prepare for anything.  We play this at home a lot, just to keep in
practice."

   There were a couple of bumps, and Bob remembered that microphones had
been adjusted.  Then, the opening plucked strings of Dueling Banjos flooded
the room.  The song went on, and Bob was transported back to Poland, where
he had heard this amazing performance.  He found himself rocking in his
seat.

   When the song was over, he looked at the girls.

   "That was Krakow," he said.

   Gabby nodded.  "I missed at least ten notes in that."

   "You hadn't practiced it," he said.

   "We played it that afternoon," said Gabby.  "But we never played it that
fast before.  I had no idea we could sound like that.  Even with the missed
notes, I can't believe I played like that."

   "You play like that all the time," objected Bob.

   "No," said Gabby seriously.  "I don't.  And neither does Daphne.  She
was awesome on that banjo, and it was BORROWED!"

   "OK, so you're good.  We've known that for years," said Bob.

   "Don't you GET it, Uncle Bob?" asked Gabby, frustration in her voice. 
"When we played that we were thinking about you."

   "No you weren't," said Bob confidently.  "You were thinking about the
music.  You couldn't possibly play like that if you were thinking about
anything but the music."

   Daphne stepped forward.  "You don't understand.  I'm not sure anybody
could understand if they weren't ...  us.  Before we played that night, we
got to see you.  We got to see you naked.  We got to see you spurting.  I
knew, when we went on stage, that something good was going to happen.  It
did, in the way I felt, when I played.  And you're right ...  I WAS
thinking of the music.  I wanted it to go on forever." Her right hand came
up to drift across her abdomen, in a strangely erotic motion.  "But at the
same time, I couldn't wait until the concert was over, because I couldn't
wait to see you naked again ...  to kiss you ...  to touch you.  I thought
about you, on some level, all night long."

   While Daphne had been talking, Gabby went to the CD player and keyed up
another track.  She punched the button, and Bob was surrounded by a piece
they had played in Austria.  It had brought him to tears then, and it
threatened to do the same now.  When the final sweet strains of cello died
away, there was a short pause, and then the sounds of an audience going
wild.  That faded and then vanished as Gabby punched another button.  She
looked at her uncle.

   "That was right after you licked our pussies for the first time," she
said.  "I have never played like that in my life." She blushed.  "Just
hearing that right now makes me want to get naked and have your baby."

   Bob's jaw sagged.  "But you can't!" he groaned.

   "Why not?" asked Gabby, completely serious.

   "I'm your uncle," he pleaded.

   "You're my lover," she said, her voice deep and full of passion.  "I
don't want another lover.  I want you." She shuddered.  "I want to be able
to play like that again, and know, that when I'm done, I can go to bed with
the man who makes me feel that way."

   Daphne came to stand in front of him.  She cocked her head, like she was
examining him.

   "Mommy agrees," she said, simply.  "The only person holding us back ...
is you."

   Bob felt like he was being teamed up against.  He just KNEW this wasn't
a good idea, no matter how the girls seemed to want it.  Their mother too,
for that matter.

   "So, what happens," he asked, "when a year or two from now, you meet
some handsome young man, and you want to get to know him better?"

   "Maybe that will happen," said Gabby.  "If it did, would you be mad at
me for wanting that?"

   "Of course not, Gabby," he said intensely.  "Don't you see, though?  If
you're involved with me, it will be awkward for you."

   "I don't see why," said the girl seriously.  "I'll always love you.  I
might even want to have a baby with you.  I don't know.  But I know I can't
marry you.  If it works out that I find a man who loves me, and will let me
love you too, then fine."

   "But that's now how the world works!" moaned Bob.

   "I don't know why not," said Gabby.  "My life will probably never be
normal, like other girls.  I don't' see why I should try to force it to be
normal, when I know it won't ever be that way."

   "But it COULD be normal," said Bob.  "That's the point.  You can meet
some man and fall in love with him and have his babies, and he'll motivate
you in the same way I do."

   "I see two problems with that," said Gabby.  "First off, I'll always
love you, and you'll always love me.  Any other man I meet MIGHT be the
same way, but you never know.  Look what happened between Mommy and my
father.  Second, what do I do in the meantime?  I love YOU now, and you
motivate me NOW."

   "If I have your baby," said Daphne suddenly, "I'll never have to worry
about you running off, like my father did."

   Bob, almost out of arguments, tried one last thing.

   "What if I meet a woman, who wants to marry me?"

   Gabby pursued her lips.  "I'd be jealous as hell." she said
thoughtfully. She stared at her uncle.  "I don't think I want you to do
that."

   "And you think I'd feel any different, when you meet some handsome young
man?" he asked.

   Daphne nodded her head.  "I see what you're saying," she said softly. 
"So, I guess we'll just have to love only you, and have only your babies,
and keep you so happy that you won't want to meet some other woman who
would take you away from us."

   "I like that idea," said Gabby.

   Bob groaned.  "What if I just say no to this crazy scheme?"

   "Mommy will be very unhappy with you," said Gabby.  "I'll be very
disappointed, and I know Daffy will cry for weeks.

   "That's not fair," moaned Bob.

   "Who said life was fair?" asked Gabby.  "I didn't plan on falling in
love with my uncle, but I did.  If you want to know the truth, I think
Mommy's in love with you too.  HER I can share you with ...  and Daffy, of
course," said Gabriella, looking at her sister.  "Can't you be happy with
three women who love you?"

   It struck Bob like a bolt of lightning.  The thought of having a life
... like they were describing ...  with three women who he really DID love
...  Most men would kill for the chance to do that.  And it was being
offered to him on a silver platter.  In that sense, HE was the crazy one,
for trying to avoid it.  His love life had been stagnant for years, and he
knew that was because the women he met were simply not the kind of women he
was really interested in.  At his age, women he met were dragging around a
lot of baggage, or were so young that they had no experience with men, and
had to work through all the pitfalls of discovering that men were just
other faulty human beings.  It was a lot of work to form a decent
relationship, and, all too often, all that work went for nothing, when all
was said and done.

   These women, though, knew him well enough to know his faults, and
already loved him in spite of them.  He knew that the girls would run into
pitfalls of their own as they continued maturing, but they had been exposed
to things that most people never faced, and were still poised beyond their
years, at least socially.

   He looked at the girls, standing there, waiting for him to say
something. They could have just seduced him, or at least tried.  He knew
how hard it would have been to wake up on the couch with two naked,
giggling girls crawling all over him.  But, unlike most women, they hadn't
used their sexual weapons on him.  They had chosen to approach this problem
by talking through it.  They made what they wanted plain, but did so in a
remarkably mature manner.

   "We'll try one tour," he said softly.  Both girls began to smile.

   "But no babies!" he said forcefully.  "You need to save that for later,
when you're thinking more clearly."

   "Mommy said we could use her bed tonight," said Daphne, her fingers
going to the buttons on her shirt.

   Now they were bringing out the heavy artillery.

   "Did you hear me?" asked Bob.

   "We heard you," said Gabby, also unbuttoning her shirt.  "We're both due
for our periods in the next two or three days.  I feel mine coming on
already."

   "At least let me go get some condoms," said Bob.

   "No," said Daphne.  "Our first time with you, must be all natural.  It's
what we dream of."

   "The first time is often painful," said Bob.

   "So has been going without you," said Gabby.  "And the thought that you
might say 'No' has been the most painful of all."

   ======================================

   They did not, after all, take him to their mother's bed, which was large
enough for all three.  Instead, they brought Daphne's mattress into the
studio, and placed it on the floor, where Bob's chair had been.

   Gabby, by virtue of her age, was first.  Bob felt awkward, at first,
almost like he was performing some ritual from days gone by, and was
expected to know how to do the defloration-of-a-virgin process.

   That was eased almost immediately by two things.  The first was that
Gabby was more than willing to engage in lots of foreplay, which was
something they'd done many times before, and made things seem more normal.

   The second was when Daphne, who had just sat and watched them tease each
other to a fever pitch, put in motion the reason they had planned for this
to happen in the studio.  When Bob crawled between Gabby's legs, and his
prick nudged her untried pussy lips apart, Daphne went to the CD player and
pushed a button.

   Bob slowly penetrated his niece, as the strains of Pavane's Opus 50
flooded the room.  It was the recording of them playing in Paris, and
Gabriella became a woman as she was surrounded by music she had made, while
she was thinking of this very thing.  Her defloration was painless, mostly
because her own three fingers had made her ready for something as large as
what Bob eased into her.  She was so passionate, during that first time she
accepted a man into her body, that she bit his shoulder, breaking the skin.
Bob moved, while the cello played, and soaked, during the violin parts. 
Both of them were caught up in the music, which set the pace, bringing both
of them closer and closer to the finale, physically, that matched the
finale in the music.  As the notes faded away, Bob's spent penis withdrew
for the final time, leaving Gabby's pussy soaked, and running with thick,
white goo.

   The applause at the end was almost comical, and Daphne was giggling as
she shut the music off.  She was also panting.

   "How long do you need?" she asked.  Her mother had informed them that a
man needed time to recharge, and that if they were going to share him, that
had to be taken into account.

   "I don't know," he panted.

   The girls simply cuddled with him, and then loved him with their mouths,
until he was ready to take Daphne's virginity.

   Like her sister, she wanted to be on the bottom ...  to be crushed under
the man she loved ...  to be taken and pinned to the mattress.  She wanted
less foreplay, possibly because she had been cuddling with him, waiting for
him to become hard again.

   She had chosen Boccherini's Passacalle and Minuetto, which was more
lively than what Gabby had wanted.  Her impatience matched the music as,
when he tried to enter her slowly, she thrust her hips up to gobble up his
prick.  Oddly, though she was a bigger girl, in terms of her physical
development, she was much tighter than Gabby.  She winced as she was
stretched, but her level of passion overrode that reluctance and her hands
pulled at him to help him achieve full penetration.

   He sensed she wanted it hard, and, after he let her adjust to his girth,
he gave it to her that way.  Daphne was loud, so much so that she competed
with the music in places, and it was obvious that she was having a
wonderful time.  When she felt her uncle's prick bulge in her pussy, and
felt the first of several strong hot spurts, she pulled his face down for a
long kiss, satisfied, at long last, that he had given her something she'd
cherish forever.

   Then ...  they took him to their mother's bed.

   CHAPTER TEN

   By the next morning, Bob was a wreck.  He crawled out of bed in self
defense, and checked on Deliah.  She was awake, and alert.

   "My daughters need lessons in being more quiet," she said,
enigmatically.

   Bob blushed.

   "I knew you'd be good to them," she said.  "Do you have any idea how
hard it is to masturbate when you're arm is in a cast?"

   "You want something to eat?" he asked, changing the subject.

   "Yes, but I suspect they wore it out last night," she said, grinning. 
"I suppose breakfast will have to do.  I'm going to need a sponge bath
later, though."

   "I'll talk to the girls," he said, backing up.

   "You'll do no such thing," she said firmly.  "You ravaged them, if the
noise they made all night long was any indication.  You let them sleep.  I
want to be taken care of by you, today."

   "We'll see," he said, backing up some more.

   "Thank you," she said suddenly.  "You don't know what this means to me
...  to us."

   "I'm beginning to get some idea of that," said Bob, smiling gently.  "It
may take a few days to sink in."

   "We can talk about ...  sinking in ...  when I'm more healed up," she
grinned.  "For now, a nice, long sponge bath will have to do."

   =============================

   Two hours later, Deliah got her sponge bath.  When her nipples popped
out while he washed them, Bob leaned over to suck at them gently.  Her ribs
still hurt, though, and when she started breathing more deeply, she groaned
and let him stop.  She was horny the rest of the day, and that night, after
she took some pain medication, he licked her pussy to what was supposed to
be a gentle orgasm, just to take the edge off.  Deliah, though, had been
without sex for years, and there was nothing gentle about it.  She
admitted, afterwards, that she'd be patient for a couple more weeks.

   Her daughters were not.  Once initiated into the world of complete sex,
and with Bob at their beck and call, they spent the next two weeks cajoling
Bob onto his back, in Daphne's case, and between her spread thighs, in
Gabriella's.

   Daphne loved being on top, once she found out what that was like.  She
used her body weight, sitting up straight, to rise and fall as fast as her
thighs would propel her.  Bob loved to see her breasts bounce and wobble as
she bit her lip and came around his stiff prick.  She learned how to use
her internal muscles to milk him, and after she'd cum, she'd sit, looking
perfectly still, except for the writhing of her belly muscles, until she
felt him swell inside her.  Then she'd sit as hard as she could, to take
his spray as deeply up inside her as she could get him.

   For Gabby, it was different.  She still loved being crushed, lying
helplessly beneath him as he thrust and ground and pounded her.  Each time
she felt him cum, she wrapped her long, slim legs around him, pulling him
hard against her.

   Both girls slept with him at night, and it took a full week before he
wasn't wakened by one, or both of them, multiple times a night.

   Bob wasn't their parent, or legal guardian, and Deliah couldn't get up
and go with them to the doctor.  When Bob insisted on using a condom, a
week into their new relationship, he managed to do that twice - once with
each of the girls.  Neither of them was interested in being fucked by a
sheathed prick, and both of them complained so much that he gave in.  After
two weeks, with another week to go before they left on tour again, Bob
simply cut them off.  He didn't intend to, but it worked out that way.

   "You have a week to get ready for the concert schedule," he said.  "I
don't want you going out on tour completely satisfied." He put a serious
look on his face.  "Besides that, you're getting more fertile by the day.
If you won't let me protect you, then you'll have to go without."

   The girls simply said they'd wait until they could have him au naturale.

   Deliah, of course, knew what was happening.  She didn't ignore her girls
sexual needs any more.  Now, they talked to her about everything they did
with Bob.  She coached them, both to help them please themselves, and to
help them please Bob.  She also talked with Nancy during that last week.

   "My girls are growing up, and there will be men hovering all around
them," she moaned.  "I need to get them on the pill, but I can't take them
to the doctor."

   "You think they're sexually active?" asked the nurse.  Everyone behaved
themselves when Nancy was around.  They practiced behaving themselves, for
the very reason that they knew their secret love must remain a secret.

   "They will be soon," said Deliah, telling herself that was, technically,
true.  As soon as they went on tour, they'd start playing with Bob, before
and after they played for the audiences.

   "I'll talk to Doctor Kimble, and explain things," said Nancy.

   In fact, the next time Doctor Kimble came to the house to check on
Deliah's progress, he called the girls into her room and did an exam on
them both.  Then he wrote the prescriptions.  He warned them that they'd
need to be on the medication for a month before it provided the best
protection, and reminded them it didn't protect them from disease.  Both
girls had no trouble blushing.  He was the first man besides Bob to ever
touch them intimately.

   "We're not planning on doing anything," lied Gabby, her face completely
straight.

   "I've heard that before," said the Doctor, smiling gently.  He thought
about what he'd seen between their legs.  They were already sexually
active, and it was quite obvious to a man of his training.  Because of
that, he went on.  "Quite often while I'm in the delivery room, I hear
that."

   "Listen to him, girls!" said their mother stridently, playing her role
as a concerned parent.

   =================================

   Deliah planned tours so that the girls would only be away from home for
two weeks at a time, with at least three weeks rest time between
engagements.  That kept them fresh, and gave them time to learn and perfect
new pieces.

   It also gave Bob time to recover.

   Before a concert, he lavished oral attention on the girls nipples, necks
and pussies.  He brought them close, but not quite to orgasm.  Then they
went out on stage and, horny as a three antlered moose, they used all that
sexual energy to drive their audiences almost crazy.  Gone were the days of
diddling themselves in the dressing room afterwards, though.  Now they had
to deal with the media, and fans, many of them young girls, who were drawn
to classical music merely by the fact that these two girls, whose pictures
began to pop up in magazines as "The Hot New Music Legends", exposed them
to a new kind of music.  Sometimes, these young girls brought their
boyfriends with them, and Daphne and Gabriella got a taste of being flirted
with.  They flirted back, always with an eye toward their uncle, who was
sure to be extra attentive to them in the hotel room afterwards.

   They took their pills diligently, and then did their best to overpower
those pills by milking Bob as dry as they possibly could.

   Bob fought back.  He stretched his lovemaking out as long as he could,
bringing the girls to three and four orgasms, before finally giving them
what they wanted almost more than those orgasms.  He enforced the previous
rule about no sex except on performance days, and taught the girls how to
sleep with him without demanding that he stroke their pussies with his hard
cock.  He found that, when he did that, their anticipation of performance
days had them almost horny enough to do a concert without being touched.

   One enterprising reporter learned that the three of them stayed in the
same hotel room, and asked about it after a concert.

   "We feel safer with Uncle Bob there," said Gabby, smiling.  "We like
boys a lot, and sometimes playing gets us kind of wound up, so it's better
if he's there to keep an eye on us."

   That made major headlines in the tabloids.

   "Child Prodigies Interested in SEX!" screamed one headline.

   "Uncle Guards Honor of Beautiful Performers!" shouted another.

   All the press coverage simply encouraged some people to attend the kind
of concert they might hot have thought about.  They found that the music
left them breathless, and, sometimes, they got a dose of something wild and
rollicking during a bluegrass encore.

   Their bluegrass encores were becoming almost as famous as the girls
themselves.  The girls were adept at sensing what kind of encore the
audience was most likely to enjoy, and it wasn't always back home music. 
Sometimes, they got a request from the venue, or the audience itself, and
they began practicing various fiddle pieces to use in situations where they
were asked for.  They were trashed in one Nashville music publication for
playing bluegrass, whereupon a group of five of the most famous bluegrass
personalities held a press conference giving the girls their seal of
approval, and inviting the girls to come play with them any time they
wanted to.

   Upon their return from the second tour overseen by Bob, Deliah was up
and walking around, albeit with crutches.  She looked more robust, and was
sleeping in her own bed again.  Home health care still stopped in, to
assist with laundry and check on her, but their visits were now only an
hour or two, and ceased altogether when her daughters got back from their
second European tour.

   Once all the news was caught up on, Bob said he was going home.

   "Oh," said Deliah, softly.  "I was hoping you'd stay here tonight."

   "They almost wore me out, big sister," he grinned.  "Your plan worked
better than you might have hoped."

   "Almost wore you out," Deliah repeated.  "How do you feel about it ...
now that you've ...  tried it?"

   Bob looked at the woman, standing on crutches in front of him.  The
girls had gone to shower and change clothes, after their long trip home.

   "How do you think I feel?" he asked.  "They're gorgeous, and young, and
full of energy, and they both love sleeping with me.  I'm only a man, Dee."

   "I expected them to look ...  different, somehow," said Deliah.  "I mean
I know what they've been doing with you, but they just look like my
daughters."

   "They're the same girls they were when they left," said Bob, shrugging.

   "Do you really have to go home tonight?" asked his sister.  "I missed
you almost as much as I missed them." She stood up on her good leg,
swinging the one still in a light cast back and forth.  "I'm much better
now, Bob."

   "I need a shower," said Bob.

   "We have one," said Deliah.

   "Right now it's full of two naked girls," he smiled.

   "Tell them to leave you alone.  It's my turn," she said.

   "I guess I could leave the mail until tomorrow morning," he sighed,
trying to make it sound like he was heavily burdened.

   She looked a little hurt, and he used his hands, palms up, raising and
lowering them, as if they were weight scales.

   "Lets see," he said, looking at her.  "Go home and check mail?" He
lowered one hand and raised the other.  "Or, stay here and make love with a
beautiful woman, whom I love." His hands reversed, and the hand that had
been high sank until he had to bend his knees.

   "Thank you," she said, already beginning to flush.

   =================================

   When Bob slipped into the bathroom, both girls were standing in front of
the mirror, naked, drying their hair.  Daphne turned to look at him.

   "I thought you were complaining that we never left you alone." she said,
smiling.

   "I'm here to get clean for your mother," he said.  "She says it's her
turn, and for you two to keep your hands off of me."

   "Is that so?" responded Gabby.  "And who does she think she is?"

   "She thinks she's the third woman in my little harem," said Bob,
dropping his clothes.

   He stepped into the shower and relaxed under the warm water.  When he
got out, they were still there, waiting for him.

   "You're not hard," commented Daphne.

   "Give an old man a break," he said.  "I'll get there."

   "She needs you hard, not all floppy and useless like that," sniffed
Daphne.  "We'll get you ready."

   "I don't think that's a good idea," said Bob, grinning.  "You want me to
last long enough to satisfy her ...  don't you?"

   Gabby swayed over to him and held his penis in her hand, looking
straight into his eyes.

   "You are a little quick on the trigger sometimes, cowboy ...  I'll admit
that ...  but we always play so much better when you get us ready.  I think
it's only fair that we get you ready.  Then, maybe, you will do much better
too."

   "I'm not sure it actually works that way," said Bob.  "At least not for
me."

   "We'll see," said Gabby.  "You're going to stay the night, aren't you?"

   Bob sighed.  "I suppose so, but you two have to leave us alone."

   "When have we ever asked you for anything?" said Gabby in a little girl
voice.  She grinned.

   ===============================

   They stayed naked, and pulled him, also naked, to their mother's room,
presenting him to an already naked and very embarrassed Deliah.

   "We got him ready for you, Mommy," said Daffy.  "Just like he gets us
ready to play music."

   "Thank you girls," said Deliah, staring at his stiff prick.  "I think I
can take it from here."

   "Have fun," said the girls, in concert.  They turned and ran out of the
room, giggling.  They left the door open.

   "I should close that." said Bob, looking over his shoulder.

   "You should already be over here with me," sighed Deliah.  "I'm so
excited I feel like I'm their age again."

   Ten minutes later, Deliah showed him just how much strength she'd gotten
back, as she strained up against him.

   "No wonder they play so beautifully," she panted.  "You're very good at
this."

   "I've had lots of practice, lately," he panted back.

   "I feel like a violin," she gasped, "being played by a master."

   "You'd better make more noise then," breathed Bob, going in deep and
rubbing her clit with his pubic bone.  "My bow is about to need its strings
replaced."

   "Are you going to cum in me, Bob?" she gasped, writhing harder.  "Are
you going to try to make me pregnant, like you did to my little girls?"

   "I tried really hard," he gasped, "but you put them on the pill,
remember?"

   "Oh, Duke," she moaned.  "I should have gotten some for me too, huh?"

   Bob grunted and lost it.  She hadn't told him to take it out, so he
didn't.  He sank in and his prick exploded, soaking her sex with his seed.

   "I should have done this with you years ago," she panted, feeling the
warmth of his spend in her belly.  "I've always wanted more children."

   ==================================

   Bob had thought he was tired, and he was amazed at how refreshed he felt
after he'd collapsed beside her and cuddled with her for a while.

   "You're really not on the pill?" he asked, tracing a finger around one
fat nipple.

   "I thought about it," she said softly.  "I should have asked you before
I let you cum in me, but I love you so much, I don't care if I get
pregnant." She looked at him, looking at her.  "Actually, that's not
accurate.  I do want to have another child.  My girls are about grown, and
if you're going to be out on tour with them, I could stay here and raise
another one."

   "You actually WANT me to get you pregnant?" he asked, his eyebrows
rising.

   "I do," she said, looking him straight in the eye.  "How do you feel
about that?"

   Bob thought for a few seconds.  He'd always wanted to get married, not
just for the sake of "getting married", but to have a partner who would be
committed to him for life, and to have a mother for his children.  That
hadn't happened, and he thought it was just fate, or maybe because he
hadn't met the right woman yet.  Now, it appeared he'd always had his life
partner ...  but just hadn't known it.

   "If you're sure about this," he said slowly, "then who am I to hold you
back from a dream?" He looked down.  "My little buddy seems to like the
idea."

   Deliah lifted her head, as he rolled away from her.  He wasn't rock
hard, but he was hard.

   "Ohhh Bob," she moaned, and rolled on top of him.

   ================================

   Deliah laid her soft breasts on his chest as she maneuvered to get her
brother's stiff prick in her famished pussy once again.  Once there, she
sat up awkwardly, because of her cast, and let her body weight drive the
tip of his penis into her cervix.

   "Ahhhhhhh" she groaned, looking up.  "You have no idea how long I've
wanted to feel that."

   "I never knew," he said, mauling her breasts and tweaking her nipples
gently.

   "You were blind," she panted.  "And I didn't want to lose you, if the
idea disgusted you."

   "I'm anything but disgusted," he said.  "It's kind of weird, thinking
about making a baby in you, but I love you, and I love to see you like
this."

   "You don't think I'm perverted to want my own brother's baby?" she
asked, rocking slowly.

   "I'm a man.  The idea of making babies comes naturally to me.  Why do
you think I was trying so hard not to be around Gabby and Daffy?"

   "You want to make them pregnant too?" she asked, moving faster.

   "Desperately," he admitted.

   "You know," she began to pant.  "I still played when I was pregnant with
them."

   "You weren't playing in front of thousands of people," he reminded her.

   "Yes, but I played better then than I did when I was just ...  playing.
I think it was because I was playing for them while they were inside me."

   "Don't tell me you want me to knock your daughters up, so they can play
even better," he groaned.

   "They're too young," she said, thrusting harder on him.  "But in a
couple of years Gabby won't be."

   "You're as crazy as they are," he panted, feeling her pussy start to
flutter and squeeze his prick.

   "I'm crazy for this," she groaned, cumming hard.

   When, a minute later, as she rested on him and milked him with her
pussy, and he fountained up into her, she leaned over and let her hair
tickle his face.

   "And I'm crazy for that too," she whispered.

   =================================

   The girls' career took off like a rocket.  They made a Bluegrass album,
and three classical music albums.  As might be expected, the bluegrass sold
better, but all of them did well.  When, eight months and three tours
later, they began making a second bluegrass album, six nationally known
artists got together and asked if they could do a cameo appearance on that
CD.  By the time they were done, the cameo appearance had turned into six
songs, three of them newly written, just for that group.  It sold two
hundred and forty thousand copies within the first three months after it
was released.

   The girls concentrated, though, on their normal duets.  That was what
was in demand from concert goers around the world.  They played in Asia,
and Africa and South America, as well as Canada.  They went back to Europe
four times in the next two years.  A concert in Saudi Arabia was cancelled,
at the last moment, when religious authorities insisted that the girls wear
veils, and cover their hair.  The girls might have been experienced in
music, but being politically correct wasn't their strong point.

   "That's not how we play," said Gabby, who had grown two inches, and
finally had breasts under her clothing she was no longer insecure about.

   "It is a requirement," said the gray-robed Mullah who had met them for
their practice session.  "It would be immodest to appear otherwise."

   The girls promptly cancelled the concert.  It almost caused an
international incident, until the girls reminded the American Attaché that
they were Americans, were not Muslim, and would not take on a Muslim
appearance, because it wasn't honest.  He tried to explain that it was
merely a custom, but the girls, whose knowledge of world affairs was more
extensive than most young women their age, didn't buy it.

   "We play music," said Daphne.  "We don't make political statements, and
don't bow to political demands.  If they don't want us the way we are, then
they don't want us."

   In the end, the Saudi Government tried to get payment for violation of
the contract, but it was pointed out that no requirement for veiling was IN
that contract, so it was the Saudi Government who had broken the contract,
and not the girls.  When the tabloids tried to make it look like the girls
were biased against Muslim audiences, they held a press conference.

   "All Muslims, and anybody else on the planet, are welcome at our
concerts," said Gabby, standing tall and proud.  "We don't care what the
religious and political convictions of our listeners are.  That's their
business.  The conditions under which we play is OUR business.  If they
want to hear us play, all they have to do is come to a concert in some
country that allows us to be ourselves, and play the way we have always
played."

   "When you were in Japan you wore kimonos," shouted one reporter.

   "A kimono is a costume, like any other dress," said Daphne, stepping
forward.  "They didn't make us wear them.  We chose to do that because they
were beautiful, and because it was fun to be different.  That's the same
reason we wore Saris in India, too, just in case you're wondering."

   "What's the difference between that and wearing a head scarf?" asked the
insistent reporter.  "That's what all the women in the audience would be
wearing in a Muslim country!"

   "A hijab is not merely an item of clothing," said Gabby, taking over. 
"In Muslim society, it carries a specific connotation of modesty, privacy
and morality.  Wearing that, for reasons other than what it embodies would
be like someone wearing a cross who is not a Christian.  It isn't polite,
and it doesn't mean what it is intended to mean.  It ...  isn't ... 
honest," she said, spacing the words out for emphasis.  "If they are
ashamed to look at us the way we are, then they can listen to our music on
a CD.  We have several available," she said with a slight grin.

   "So you won't wear it because you're not private or moral," said the
reporter, trying to create a sensational response.

   Daphne stepped to the microphone.

   "Are you married?" she asked.

   The reporter looked confused, but then nodded his head.

   "When was the last time you slept with a woman you're not married to?"
she asked sweetly.  "When was the last time you looked at a woman you're
not married to, and lusted after her?"

   The man flushed, his face taking on a blotched appearance.

   "You don't have to answer that.  It's none of our business," said
Daphne, before he could respond.  "And our morality is none of your
business, nor anybody else's.  We play music.  You can listen to it, or
not, as you desire.  The rest of our life is our business, and we don't
make statements about that, either by voice, or wearing religious clothing
that is not part of our own religious beliefs."

   That ended the press conference, but of course it didn't end the
controversy.  It didn't hurt the girls concert schedule either, and record
sales went up.  Further negotiations, offered by countries in the Middle
East, were politely declined, even when the offer of payment went through
the roof.  That got leaked to the press too, and they were asked about it
at an after-concert press meeting.  Gabby simply said "Their standards are
important to them.  We understand that, because our standards are important
to us.  Our intent is only to play music, not stir up turmoil.  We're quite
aware of how those governments feel about us, regardless of what they say
in public, and we wouldn't want to offend anyone."

   ====================================

   During the next year, the girls set up an informal schedule to spend
what they called "bedtime" with Bob.  Deliah got pregnant within three
months of beginning to make love with Bob, and, after that, while they
watched their mother's belly begin to bulge and grow, they actually limited
their exposure to his dangerous sperm.  Each girl claimed one night per
week, to spend with Bob in bed, so that it no longer seemed "routine" to
lie with him.  The exception was performance nights, when both slept with
him after they had made music.  He still maintained his apartment, and
spent two or three nights there each week.  On nights when he stayed with
Deliah and the girls, and it wasn't one of the girls' bedtimes with him, he
slept with Deliah.

   When Deliah had a little boy, perfectly healthy despite her relatively
advanced age, life in the house adapted almost effortlessly as the girls
took on natural roles as assistants to their mother.  He was named
Sheridan, a Gaelic name meaning long-lived treasure, and his sisters
treasured him as much as his mother and father did.  He was an active child
who, when he could stand, wanted to stand all the time, especially when he
was supposed to be going to sleep.  His sisters soon learned that violin
music would get him to lie down and coo, until he fell asleep.

   Three months after she had turned eighteen, Bob went into the studio,
hearing Gabby playing her cello.  He found her with a pillow strapped to
her waist, trying to play a difficult riff on her instrument.

   "What's this all about?" asked Bob, smiling.

   "I'm trying to figure out if I can play this thing pregnant," she said,
her eyebrows crinkling in a slight frown.

   "You thinking about getting pregnant?" he asked.

   "I don't have to think about it," she said calmly.  Her eyes fluttered
at him.

   Her meaning was obvious, and it took Bob completely by surprise.

   "You're kidding," he gasped.  "How did THAT happen?"

   "It happens frequently when a woman stops taking her birth control
pills," said Gabriella, pulling the cello harder against the pillow.

   "You didn't tell me that!" he yelped.

   "I didn't want it to affect your ...  performance," she said sweetly.

   "What will Dee say?" he moaned.

   "She suggested I try the pillow," said Gabby, smiling.

   CHAPTER ELEVEN

   On Daphne's seventeenth birthday, the girls announced they were taking a
year off.  That wasn't actually true, in the sense that they still played,
but they spent that year playing benefit concerts, for various children's
and geriatric organizations.  During that year, the girls played in
hospitals, and places that took care of elderly people who were without the
kind of money needed to live in a retirement home.  They also played school
auditoriums, to promote interest in music studies.  Their audiences were in
the tens, and hundreds, as opposed to the thousands, but they still
required that Bob "prep" them, and the intensity of their performance was
undiminished.  Gabby took a little less prepping than Daffy.  All she
really had to do was look at Bob, looking at her naked body, and run her
hands over her swollen abdomen, and she was almost ready to go.

   There was intense interest in that swollen belly.  The world knew that
Gabriella Stockton was not married.  Not as many people knew that her
mother had also had a child out of wedlock.  Sheridan's life and privacy
was closely protected, so that he could grow up in as normal a family
setting as possible.  And, while the girls were fodder for the media,
Deliah had been out of the limelight for three years, by this time, and she
did not appear publicly with the girls any more, handling the back scenes
part of the business.  Hundreds of people recognized Deliah's voice on the
telephone, but very few of them knew what she looked like.

   Bob was another matter.  He had played on their bluegrass CDs, and he
was always present with the girls on tour.  When Gabby started to show, he
was asked questions about how it was that he had been unable to "protect"
Gabby from at least one man.

   "She's eighteen," he said simply.  "I'm her tour manager, not her
father. She has a life of her own, outside the tour schedule, and how she
lives that life is up to her."

   Gabby simply refused to talk about being pregnant.  Her inevitable
comment was "Do you have a question about my music?"

   Two concerts at schools were canceled, by virtue of the administration
feeling that Gabby's unmarried and pregnant status was not the kind of role
model they wanted to expose their students to.  That was fine with the
girls.

   ======================================

   When, on their second tour after their sabbatical break, Daphne began to
show obvious signs of also being pregnant, and also refused to discuss her
condition, their career, at least in America, took a hit.  Scandal was
hinted at, on more than one occasion.  People started hanging around the
house, most of them with cameras hanging from their necks, as they waited
to get a picture of the man, or men, who came to visit the two young women.
They were led a merry chase, due to the efforts of a friend of Deliah's in
the entertainment business.

   The man, who happened to have homosexual tendencies, and who knew a
large number of young men with the same tendencies, who were also aspiring
performers, and unemployed, arranged for Deliah to hire them to visit her
girls.  The "suitors" were always met at the door, in full view of the
cameras, where they usually got a smile and a kiss on the cheek, and were
invited inside.  Once there, they read a book, or just sat around, thrilled
to be talking to someone so famous and, after a few hours, left, to be
bombarded by the press.  They got free publicity, and the press got more
and more frustrated, until some enterprising reporter did enough research
on one of them to learn that he was DEFINITELY not there to see a woman ...
at least not for romantic purposes.  Once it was learned that the media had
been made fools of, their interest slacked off a bit.

   Several concert venues in the United States began to display reluctance
toward having the girls appear, saying that the furor in the press about
them being single mothers wasn't the kind of press their customers enjoyed.


   Deliah simply canceled all concerts in the United States, and replaced
them with two tours in Europe, which displayed a much less up-tight
attitude about grown women having babies.  The girls spent more time in the
studio, which was outfitted for recording.  They stockpiled perfected
pieces for possible future release.  Financially, they were doing so well
that they weren't worried about the foreseeable future.

   Daphne's first baby was, indeed, a girl, who was named Chelsea.

   It took two years for audiences in the United States to raise enough
outcry for the press to begin demanding to know why they were only playing
overseas.  In a printed press release, the girls explained that, while
there were millions of single mothers in America, the bias against that
class of citizen, on the part of large concert halls, made it impossible
for them to feel that they were truly welcome in their own country.

   The outcry was immediate, and sensational.

   American reporters started showing up at foreign concerts, always
prodding and asking questions as to when the girls would start performing
in America again.  For the first six months, the only comment they got was
"Next question, please?"

   They stayed in the news, by the simple expedient of living their home
lives as normally as they could.  When one of the girls went shopping, she
took her child with her.  Whoever was free at the moment, was the one to go
grocery shopping.  If they needed a pair of pants, they went to the mall,
like anyone else.  People in town knew who they were, and began to be
offended by the gaggle of reporters who were always following them ... 
always trying to stick a microphone in their faces as they sat in the food
court, or walked down the canned goods aisle.  The girls tried to act like
those reporters weren't there, ignoring them.  When that was impossible,
they simply said "No comment."

   Had Bob moved in with them, it probably would have all gone to hell in a
hand basket.  But, he stayed right where he was, in his little apartment.
Nobody thought it was unusual for their concert tour manager to visit them
frequently, though it became more difficult for him to spend nights.  None
of them were really happy about the fact that the childrens' father wasn't
getting to spend much time with his offspring either.  It was getting
harder and harder to have any kind of privacy in their lives.

   In the end, it was that, more than anything else, that made them decide
to move out of the country.

   They chose Trinidad, which was elated to have, as permanent residents,
such accomplished performers.  That their concert tour manager moved in
with them wasn't considered unusual at all, since the whole business
enterprise was moved to, and registered in that country.

   The press didn't give up, though, and now the stories on the pages of
newspapers and blogs talked about suspicion that the business had moved for
the purposes of avoiding taxes.

   Deliah finally consented to an exclusive interview by Rolling Stone
magazine.  Even then, the interview was both short, and blunt.

   "People in high places are bemoaning the loss of a national treasure,"
said the interviewer.  "So, why did you two move to Trinidad?"

   "That's easy," said Gabby, holding her daughter on her lap.  "Remember
all that furor a while back when we wouldn't wear a hijab to perform in the
Middle East?"

   The interviewer nodded.

   "They wouldn't accept us the way we were.  All we've ever wanted to do
was make music.  We think we're pretty good at that, and a lot of people
around the world agree with us," she said.  "But in Saudi Arabia, that
wasn't good enough.  They wanted to mold us into something they thought we
should be."

   The interviewer nodded, to keep her speaking.

   "The same thing happened in our own country," said Gabby.  "All we
wanted to do was live our lives, and make music.  But that wasn't good
enough.  We were ...  we are ...  single mothers, and people concentrated
on that, instead of our music."

   "Can you blame them?" asked the interviewer.

   "We play music," said Daphne.  "That's what we do.  We do it because we
love doing it, and we love to share that with our audiences.  If an
audience is not willing to accept us solely on the basis of our music, then
they don't really want us ...  now do they?"

   "So you're saying that America doesn't want your music?" asked the
interviewer.

   "We're saying that, if we perform a concert, we expect people to judge
us based on our musical ability, not whether we're married or not," said
Gabby.  "The two things have nothing to do with each other."

   "So you're not going to perform in America?" asked the interviewer.

   "Why would we want to perform where we're not wanted?" Daphne asked.

   "But people in America love you," said the interviewer.  "The sales of
your recordings prove that."

   "The press doesn't love us," said Gabby.  "All they want to know is who
knocked me up."

   "You want me to use that exact quote?" asked the interviewer, frowning.

   "I've been asked that exact question, over ten times," said Gabby. 
"They yell out 'Who knocked you up?' and expect me to answer them."

   "So it's really the press you're irritated with." suggested the
interviewer.

   "The press represents the interests of its readers," said Daphne. 
"Isn't that so?  Apparently all the readers in America wants to know is who
knocked us up.  We're not interested in talking about that.  All we're
interested in is playing music."

   ============================

   That interview, of course, was so sensational, it was leaked to the very
media the girls were protesting about.  The media, of course, tried to make
themselves look like the victims, touting their right to free speech. 
Foreign governments were elated, because the girls continued to tour
outside the United States, and had much more time to do so since they
weren't playing in the country of their birth.  Americans talked about it
at the water cooler, and, as they so often do, went blithely on with their
own lives.

   Things came to a head when the President of the United States, on a
diplomatic visit to France, and the newly elected French leader he was
visiting, attended one of the girls' concerts.  It hadn't been planned,
when President Willingham's trip to France was arranged, but when he got
there, and the French leader suggested it, it was arranged.

   That two leaders of the free world were in the audience, of course, was
communicated to the girls.  By then, they had played for heads of state
before, and it actually didn't matter to them that much.  The intrusion of
the Secret Service, who had to inspect the hall inside and out, was
basically ignored, since it took place during their practice session the
afternoon before the concert.

   Inside the dressing room, that night, Bob leaned against the door as the
girls sat, applying makeup.  As was their practice now, lipstick was left
until last, so they could kiss Bob as much as they wanted to while he
prepped them.

   "You nervous?" he asked.

   "Not really," said Gabby, peering into the mirror as she applied eye
shadow.  She was naked, and, even after bearing his child, Bob found her as
exciting as the first time he'd ever seen her naked.

   "I'm horny," said Daphne, standing up.

   "That's good," said Bob, smiling.  "I won't have to work so hard."

   "Are you complaining?" she asked, walking over to him and thrusting her
breasts out.

   He felt the same way about her as he did about her sister.  All he had
to do was think of any of them naked, and he got erect.

   "Do you want to tease me?" he asked.  "Or do you want me to get you
ready?"

   "Both," she said, making her face pout.  "I get that way when I'm
pregnant."

   Bob's mouth dropped open.  "Again?" he asked.  "Really?"

   "Really," she said, her voice husky.  "I found out just before we came
on tour, but I wanted to surprise you."

   Gabriella had turned to look at her sister.

   "You did this on purpose," she said huffily.  "Just to get ahead of me."

   Daphne didn't even look at her.  Instead she reached out and grabbed
Bob's crotch.  "You had yours first last time," she said.  "Besides, I
always like it better when he spurts in me and I know it's dangerous."

   "Thanks a lot," moaned Gabby.  "Now that you've talked about it, I have
to see him spurt!"

   They ended up re-enacting a time from long ago, where Bob stood between
them, and masturbated.  This time, though, he aimed his spunk at their
pussies, bending his knees and squeezing himself, to ensure that it was
delivered where their fingers were holding themselves open for him.  And
this time, they rubbed it into their pussies while he watched.

   Then they went out and played, like they usually played, and the
President of the United States found out what he, and the whole country,
had been missing.

   =============================

   As the last strains of the encore lingered in the still air, before the
audience went crazy, the thing Bob noticed first was that the backstage
area was strangely empty.  He had been getting ready to deal with the press
...  but there weren't any.  Instead, there were tall men, in suits, with
wires running to a flesh-colored earpiece in one ear.  They looked very
alert, and very serious.  One of them approached Bob.

   "The President would like to speak with the girls," he said.

   "Oh, that's nice," said Bob, his stomach fluttering a little.

   Just then the two women came running off stage, prepared to hug their
uncle.  They pulled up short, seeing the serious-faced man standing with
him.

   "It seems that the President would like to have a chat with you," said
Bob, hiding a smile.

   "Oh really?" asked Gabby.  She looked serious herself.  "How nice." She
turned to Daffy.  "You want to talk to him?"

   "I guess so," said Daphne.  "I'm kind of ...  hungry, though."

   The Secret Service agent blinked.

   Gabby turned back to him.  "Tell you what ...  we're going to change
clothes.  If he's here when we get done, we'll talk to him, OK?"

   "Uh ...  it might take a few minutes to get him back here," said the
agent.

   "Well, tell him to hurry up!" said Daphne, flashing a brilliant grin. 
"We're hungry."

   The man turned away, appearing to talk to the cuff of his suit coat. 
Bob went into the dressing room with the girls.

   "Are you nuts?" he laughed.  "This is the President of the United States
we're talking about here."

   "He's just a member of the audience, to us," said Daphne, stepping out
of her dress.  "I'd rather go to bed with you than talk to him."

   "You can go to bed with me any time," protested Bob.

   "I know, and that's one of the things that makes life so special." She
gave him a brilliant smile, and rubbed her pussy.  "Wouldn't you like to
stick your nasty old baby-making penis up in me right now?"

   Bob, to his horror, found that he was going to have to face the leader
of the free world with a hardon in his pants.

   Daphne giggled, looking at the front of his pants.  "You're so easy to
get going.  That's what I love about you the most."

   "Maybe you should go talk to him first," said Bob.  "I'll just stay in
here."

   "Maybe you should do something about that great big boner in your
pants," said Daphne, her eyes twinkling.  "Then you could talk to him too."

   "Later," said Bob, trying to get businesslike.

   "OK," sighed Daphne, "but that means you're going to have to go a lot
longer."

   They turned to find Gabby standing there in her signature jeans and T
shirt, her arms folded under her breasts.  Her makeup was still on, and she
was frowning.

   "You're just jealous," said Daffy, sticking her tongue out.

   "Maybe," said Gabby.  "In any case, I get him first, tonight, if you
recall, and I want to get to it, and I can't until we get rid of the people
outside, so if you'll quit acting like a slut and get dressed, I'd
appreciate it."

   Three minutes later, Bob rearranged his erection so that it was pointed
upwards in his pants, and followed the girls out to see what would happen.

   =================================

   What they found was both presidents, who were smiling and gracious in a
way that disarmed the girls.  The French President kissed the back of each
of their hands, formally.  Daphne was so unsettled that she curtsied, even
though she was wearing jeans, like her sister.

   "Magnifique!" he breathed over their hands.

   "Thank you," said Gabby, smiling.

   "I had no idea," said the American President.  "It was wonderful."

   "Thank you sir," said Gabby, turning her smile on him.  "We love
playing."

   "That's obvious," said President Willingham.  "I wonder if you might be
willing to play at the White House?"

   Gabby didn't flinch.  "We don't normally play in the States," she said.
She had adopted the name that so many people around the world use to
shorten the official name.

   "I'm aware of that," said President Willingham.  "It's an unfortunate
situation that should be remedied, particularly after what I heard
tonight."

   Daphne got her bearings, and took a breath.  "Sir," she said.  He turned
to look at her.  "It's only fair to tell you that, by the time something
like that can be arranged, it will be obvious that I'm pregnant again ...
and still unmarried."

   The president, who had to be cagey to get to that office, didn't bat an
eye.

   "So, too, are a number of my constituents, I imagine," he said smoothly.

   "You may get some bad press as a result," she insisted.

   "I get bad press routinely," he said back.  "My wife, however, would be
exceedingly unhappy if I failed to get you to play for us.  She did not
accompany me on this trip, and when she found out I was going to your
concert she was very upset that she wouldn't be there with me.  Now I
understand why.  She has all your recordings, but I haven't had time to
listen to them.  That will be remedied too."

   "Well aren't you sweet!" said Gabby, smiling.

   "Come play for us ...  please?" asked one of the most powerful men in
the world.

   "Give Uncle Bob your phone number and we'll talk about it when we get
home," said Gabriella.

   "Uncle Bob?" asked the President, turning to Bob.

   "He's our tour manager," said Daphne unnecessarily.

   A business card was suddenly thrust between the two men, by the arm of
the President's personal Secret Service Agent.  Bob reached for it, but the
President got there first.

   "Anybody got a pen?" he asked.

   Three pens suddenly appeared.  The President took one and scribbled on
the back of the card.

   "Don't let that number out, please," he said, handing the card to Bob.
"There aren't many people who have it."

   "Certainly!" said Bob, amazed at is own feelings at the moment.

   "Is there anything else?" asked Daphne suddenly.  "I'm awfully ... 
hungry."

   Gabby giggled, but the two powerful men simply repeated how much they'd
enjoyed the concert, and then were escorted out.  Bob and the girls stood,
watching the gaggle of bodies move.

   "Wow," said Gabby.  "That wasn't at all what I expected."

   "Can we go now?" whined Daphne.  "If you're going first, that means I
have to wait, and I'm REALLY ...  hungry." She grinned.

   Three hours later, feeling like he'd been beaten thoroughly by an angry
mob armed with pillows, bob left the two women lying sperm-soaked and naked
in their hotel room bed, and went to make a call to Deliah.

   ================================

   Deliah went to work immediately, but with great care and thoughtfulness.
Staying out of the United States had just been an informal policy.  It was
easy to do, partly because invitations had dried up, and the ones that
still came stubbornly in could not be accommodated because of things
already scheduled.  There were plenty of other places to play, and make a
good living, and that's what they had done.

   Now, this reversal of policy would open up a can of worms ...  or could,
if it were allowed.  The press would get interested in them again.  Bob
hadn't forgotten to describe the conversation held between the girls and
President Willingham, which is how she found out her daughter was going to
be a mother again.  That Daphne had told Bob first didn't bother her.  She
knew what it was like to be in love with Bob.  Life in Trinidad had been
glorious, with Bob accessible to all his children and the women who
considered him their husband, in many ways.  The comfortable nature of the
arrangement was such that they all believed they'd never live in America
again, where such an arrangement would stay neither secret, or be accepted.

   But, from Deliah's perspective, it would be nice to be able to travel in
America again, at least every so often.  The girls popularity had grown
steadily in the last few years, but Deliah also knew that could wane
without notice, especially if the girls didn't keep to the touring regimen
that was inevitably wearing and tiring.  Sales of their recordings had
picked up everywhere they toured, but had tapered off in America, where
they were in the news less.  Their bank account was almost, but not quite,
to the point where they could, if they wanted to, begin to spend more time
at home, and less on the road.

   If America could be toured, once in a while, that bank account would
mature much sooner, and Deliah, with her practical mind, knew that.  At the
same time, Deliah's practical mind also grappled with the thought that the
press would be re-awakened, like some sleeping beast, and begin ravening to
consume her daughters again.

   And THAT, she was not interested in.  Their life with Bob was too
precious to allow to be either unveiled, or interfered with.  She thought
long and hard as she made plans, to be reviewed, altered, if necessary, and
finalized when the current tour was over.

   =============================

   Deliah was satisfied with the single child her brother had given her. 
She wouldn't have minded more, but at her age, she also didn't want to take
any chances with her health, or that of another baby.  She went on the
pill, for the first time since early in her life.

   Gabriella and Daphne had no such reservations.  When Gabby found out her
sister had gotten pregnant again, she set about doing the same thing.  She
succeeded quite quickly, and by the time the girls were scheduled to appear
at the White House, both were showing in an obvious and undeniable manner.
President Willingham didn't care, but the White House also agreed to
Deliah's demands that there be no press conferences, and no access given
for the press to attend the concert.  It was to be a private concert for
the President, his wife, and their guests, but that was all.  He also
agreed that a recording could be made for a "Live At The White House"
album.

   Deliah didn't stop there, though.  She quietly organized another round
of benefit concerts, with the understanding that none of the benefactors
could leak it to the public, until the agreed upon date.  What was planned
was that, when the tour was announced, it would also be announced that only
written questions from the press would be accepted.  Whether they were
addressed or not, would depend on the questions.

   While there were seven "money making" stops on the benefit tour, each of
them was separated by a seven or eight day period, with smaller private
concerts, at schools, or rest homes or hospices between them.  Those would
not be publicized at all.  In that way, it was hoped, the press would
concentrate on the concerts where money was being raised for this cause, or
that, and leave them alone at the smaller concerts.

   The plan worked rather well, all things considered.  The first news that
the girls had returned to the U.S.A.  was when the country found out they
had been hosted at the White House.  The White House press corps broke that
news, and the follow up news that a benefit tour was going to take place.
They were not given the itinerary of that tour.

   One organization had a board member who owed a favor to a reporter, and
leaked the news.  That concert was promptly canceled.  The other board
members were so irate, they kicked the leaker off the board.

   That hit the news big time, and all the others took special pains to
keep their concerts secret.  It was actually remarkable, considering the
number of individuals who knew something was happening.  It was worth it,
though, because when the concerts WERE announced, they all sold out within
twenty-four hours.

   The media fought back, of course.  No mere pair of young women was going
to be allowed to thwart the "right" or "responsibility" of the media to
"inform" the public.  Photographs of the girls were obtained and plastered
all over newspapers and magazines, showing their pregnant bellies and
making comments about those pregnancies.  Deliah hadn't forgotten about the
broadcast media, though, and arranged for the girls to appear on the
morning show with the highest ratings.  The rules of engagement for that
interview were specific.  Only one question was allowed concerning their
pregnancies.  It didn't matter what that question was, but there could be
only one.

   The bright and popular young woman fell right into the trap.  She had
her own cause, and it was one that the girls were raising money for, so, of
course, she talked about that first, and the music.  Then, when she thought
they had achieved all sorts of warm and fuzzy rapport, she smiled and said
"All of America is dying to know about the fathers of your babies.  Will
you share with us about that?"

   Gabby was ready.  She smiled and leaned forward.

   "I disagree with you.  I don't think very many people in America really
care who fathered our children at all, and are tired of the media splashing
that in their faces.  It has nothing to do with our music." Then she turned
to the camera and stared straight into it.  "If I'm right, America, please
let your media outlets know that you're tired of paying them to pry into
our private lives.  We're so happy to be back, playing in America again ...
we'd hate to have to leave once more, just because the media insists on
focusing on something that's nobody's business but ours."

   She turned back to the perky interviewer, who wasn't nearly as perky any
more.  She knew she'd been taken, and that she'd never hear the end of it.

   It worked, though.  A lot of people in America did love the girls, and
applauded their resolution to have and protect a private life.  People were
tired of Government agencies and advertisers collecting information about
them, and Gabby's straightforward request was what it took to galvanize
people into actually writing letters to advertisers, or threatening to
cancel subscriptions.

   Gradually, the media realized it wasn't worth the cost.  If they
couldn't sell dirt on the girls, they wouldn't sell anything at all. 
Instead, they ignored the duet completely, which was just fine with them.
By this time, they didn't need any press coverage to sell out concerts. 
Small publications, or those with ties to the music industry still talked
about them, but left it at talking about the music.

   Three years later, the girls did a farewell tour that wasn't announced
as a farewell tour, until their last concert.  Gabby how had three
children, two girls and a baby boy, who lived with and played with Daphne's
three older girls, and one infant girl.  Deliah's son, the uncle to all of
them, was ready to enter grade school, and they wanted the kids to have the
benefits of the American educational system.

   After the tour, they rented a house in New Mexico, to live in until they
could have a house built to their specifications.  Moving in, with eight
children, was hectic, and it upset the kids, most of whom were used to
being able to toddle out the door and onto a white sand beach.  Their new
house, when it was built, would be on a beautiful lake, but for now, the
adults had to deal with cranky young ones in a strange new world.

   The transition would have been a lot rougher, except that Daphne and
Gabriella exulted in being able to spend all day long with their children,
and not having to practice or do anything other than just be mothers.  When
babies needed to be fed, the girls simply took off their shirts and walked
around, nursing.  They could still talk to and play with the others, while
they did that.

   Then, at night, whatever two weren't slated for Bob's bed would do what
was necessary to get the kids ready for bed, getting the last glasses of
water, or reading bedtime stories, while Bob and his mate for the night
retired to the quiet and privacy of their love nest.

   Those moments were also special, for all three women.  Having the others
help with the children meant they could lounge and make love with Bob, who
lavished attention on each of them, in turn, stroking them and touching
them much as if they were instruments he was playing, making them vibrate
with joy as orgasms washed over them.  At other times, they just lay
quietly together, trading kisses and talking about whatever was on their
minds.

   The years passed, and the children grew.  Daphne and Gabriella went off,
occasionally, to play with some symphony orchestra, as a guest duet, and
they played on three more bluegrass albums, again, making guest
appearances.

   It was only natural that their children were interested in the
instruments lying around the house.  All of those children had been coaxed
to sleep by the soft playing of stringed instruments, and danced and
frolicked to the music of jam sessions that went on frequently.  It could
be argued that the musical abilities of the children were genetic, because
all of them showed the same signs that Gabby and Daffy had shown as little
girls.  It was also only natural that they play together, and their mothers
became their music instructors.

   Eight years later, the world was treated to a series of concerts.  For
Daphne and Gabriella, it was a "come back" tour.  But this time, they
played with all their children, who filled out the company, playing
everything from percussion, strings and even the occasional woodwind or
brass instrument.

   Again, audiences were held in thrall as performers, both young and
older, made the most amazing music.  Again, those audiences thundered their
approval and begged for more.  When the little troupe played bluegrass
music for an encore, those audiences now danced in the aisles.

   Bob's reaction to that music, and that of the girls, over the years,
wasn't so unusual either.  Untold hordes of men and women, driven to
distraction by the music they enjoyed at a concert, went home and found an
outlet for the passion that had been transferred from the girls to the
listener.  Though they didn't know it, Gabriella, Daphne, and their
offspring were responsible, in large part, for the births of thousands of
other couple's babies, nine months after one of their tours.

   ===========================================

   There were two dressing rooms on these tours ...  one for Gabriella and
Daphne, and one for the kids.  In one, Bob helped Gabby and Daffy get ready
to play.

   He wasn't needed in the other dressing room.  Two of the performers were
young men, who also performed the same function as Bob did, getting
themselves ready to play, while preparing their sisters too.

   Deliah, back in her role as tour manager, made sure nobody bothered the
people in those dressing rooms before each concert.

                                  The End 
