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, to Bob, like it was over in a
very short time.  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.  Thirty-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, as if 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 ...  for real."

   "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 enough 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
seemed like 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 turned his head toward 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 pussy lips too, paler than her sisters, but just as swollen.
She was spreading them apart as she thrust her fingers between them.  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. 
Some part of his mind recognized he wasn't supposed to be doing this, 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 face assumed 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
flopped 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 young prodigies.  The girls,
of course, 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 duo 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 happily wrung out.  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 not something
they'd ever actually do themselves.  More to the point, it was like other
things they knew they would do someday, but which they didn't worry about
because that day was so far in the misty future.  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 seriously 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 ...  okay?"

   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.  


  
fiddling_04