Fiddling Around With Uncle Bob
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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 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 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. "Mom 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.
"I 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.
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