Chapter 6

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 often doesn't recognize ALL available options, unless it actually seeks to. He hadn't thought about separation. He hadn't thought about cloaking his prick, whenever it was naked, in a rubber. 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 getting 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 thought 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, 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. Bob, a master of negotiation when it came to real estate, failed rather miserably when the negotiations involved women. At least in so far as his nieces were concerned.

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 they were playing at in Paris 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 okay?" 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."

"Okay," 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 night of the performance, the door of the dressing room closed behind them. 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 other 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."

"Okay," said Daphne easily. "But it won't matter once we get back to the hotel again, after the show."

"You are so right," said Gabby, pulling her T shirt over her head carefully, to avoid disturbing her hairdo, 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 already breathing as if she'd been running.

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 young performers 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, and which could result in the same sweet ecstasy that was flowing through her young body now.