Chapter 5

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. Of course that did nothing to 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, in their dressing room 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 he's quite sure it 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."

"Okay," 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.

"Oh, 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 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 never 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."