Chapter 2

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 better than we've ever done, 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 range of 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 smiles 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 and the girls all 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 man. 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 for five minutes, drained. 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 questions 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 pantding of two girls, about to get their cookies.

"BE PATIENT!" he thundered, pushing a reporter who 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.