Bollywood Nightmare (2 page)

“Oh, bravo. Lying is such an important skill for a well-to-do young woman.” I clicked my fingers and the humans beside us decided to wander off. I could do that—influence humans. It was terribly easy when you knew how.

“Oh, Johnny, stop it. I was having fun,” Kiya snapped and pouted her baby-doll lips.

“Yes, well, fun is not all it is cracked up to be. You are but sixteen, my dove, and there is alcohol and men with bad intent at this party. You need to go home and apologise to your parents. They’re worried sick.”

“But, Johnny, I was just talking to this really hot guy and I think he liked me.”

“Kiya, I am sure he did. You are a very beautiful young lady but think about it. If you defy your parents now what will they do? They will make me accompany you everywhere again and you know neither of us enjoy that experience.”

“They wouldn’t!” She gasped.

“Oh, my sweet, they would, I know it. They love you and want to look after you and they also have a magical Djinn. It’s not hard to join the dots, is it?”

“Okay, fine, I’ll come home. Let me get my coat.” She moved a step away from me and I clicked my fingers again. Her light shrug appeared in my hand.

“Here you go, I’m not falling for
that
trick again.”

“You’ll be the death of me.” She tutted.

“If you don’t see me off first!” I retaliated.

* * * *

It hadn’t come as much of a surprise when Kiya had decided she wanted to be a Bollywood star. She had the eyes for it—dark and sultry blue like midsummer evenings. Her hair was as dark as the sultan’s shadow, black as the ink she used to pen her diary entries—what, I was merely curious, that was all—and her skin was the colour of spiced tea and cinnamon bark.

One thing would have held her back if she hadn’t got the mystic powers of an ancient and mythical beast behind her. How did I put this delicately? She was fat for a star. What? For a Djinn that was very reserved! I mean she wasn’t huge, not like my best mate’s mum, who lived in a bog somewhere now, well, technically she
was
the bog. But Kiya had her father’s looks and her mother’s eyes and curves.

I didn’t think it was a bad thing, I really thought thin humans were a waste of space, you’d need a dozen of them to make a good meal. Kiya would make a decent-sized snack on her own, yummy.

She didn’t lack for suitors though, in fact with each new one Rahul got greyer and greyer. Her sweet nature, quick wit and erm, ample attractions made her popular through high school and college and I didn’t even have to use my magic on anyone.

However when she announced she was auditioning for
Garm Suryast
Rahul made a sneaky wish and boom, she got the main part and suddenly Bollywood loved curves.

And then Hollywood decided to get in on the act and that was where it all went to pot.

Chapter Two

Kiya

I am sure most girls would love to have a mystical genie around them all the time but when the bugger will only answer to your father’s wishes it really isn’t much fun. That’s why I am writing this because I can’t trust Johnny to tell it to you straight.

* * * *

If you asked anyone they would tell you that I might look most like my dad but I was definitely more like my mother when it came to personality. Hence the usage of British slang—I especially enjoyed scaring old Indian ladies with it. I loved to see their eyes widen and their heads rhythmically wag in disgust. It was brilliant fun and tended to make Daddy smirk too, though he might lightly scold me for it afterwards—he had been brought up to be a good and proper Hindu, after all.

As long as I could remember Johnny had always been around. I had never questioned it. I did remember a particularly strongly worded conversation with my mum when I was about eight. She had tried to explain to me that not everyone had a Djinn and that talking about it in public only made people jealous and uncomfortable. She’d later explained that my teacher had approached her, worried about my outrageous lies. Ironically I had been forced to lie to make the people around me think I was telling the truth.

So I grew up in a world that thought I was normal within a family that was anything but. Mixed-race parents, one of whom was a Bollywood star, the other a Brit, and a genie at home at my father’s beck and call. Was it any wonder I’d tried to dye my hair blonde when I was fourteen and even made an attempt to run away?

I felt like my life wasn’t my own, and though the other girls in my class all had disapproving and over-protective fathers overseeing their every move, they didn’t have a Djinn following them about for what felt like twenty-four hours in every day. But of course, none of my plots worked, my black hair was impervious to any dye and that damn Djinn could track me down anywhere. I grew used to my life and at the age of eighteen I decided to use my circumstances to my advantage. Dad really wanted me to become a lawyer, Mum would have loved to see me as a Doctor, but I wanted to be a star just like Dad.

“But sweetheart,” Mum said with a sigh, “are you really sure that’s what you want? With your brains you could be anything you set your mind to, a doctor for example.”

“Or a lawyer,” Dad replied, tearing a
chapatti
roughly as he spoke.

“No, I want to be in the movies like you, Dad. I’ve been on set so many times and I’ve memorised so many of the scripts. I know I can do it.”

I dipped my flatbread into the spicy stew before me, just playing with my food. I had no appetite, my stomach knotted.

“But,
pyar,
you are not the usual style the producers look for.” Dad looked flustered and proved it by dipping his
chapatti
in his
lassi
instead of his curry.

“Are you saying I’m too fat to be in Bollywood?”

“You’re perfect!” Mum rushed in.

“Yes, no one is prettier,” Dad added, biting his mango yoghurt-flavoured bread distractedly, “but I’m not sure the producers would see that. They’re very stuck in their ways. All Bollywood ladies are lithe and willowy.”

“Well then, it’s time for a change,” I snapped.

“Don’t snap.” Mum shook her head. “Your dad can’t change how the industry works.”

“No, but Johnny can,” I replied and was answered by silence.

I could see the wheels turning in my parents’ minds, they were trying to come up with a reason why they couldn’t get Johnny to do the same kind of thing they got him to do every day of the week.

“All right,” Dad finally said. “Come back to me on your nineteenth birthday and if you really still want to pursue the career of a film star then we’ll go for it. For the next year, study for something else, just humour your mother and I, okay, just for a year?”

I nodded. “Okay, Daddy, that sounds reasonable.” I always called him Daddy when I’d got my way.

I could see they were very disappointed when I hit nineteen and I still wanted to be a Bollywood siren, but if nothing else, my parents were always true to their word.

* * * *

Johnny grumbled all the way to the set, as he was wont to do, but he did work his magic on Dakshi Patel.

“You’re absolutely stunning,” Dakshi gasped. “You’d be perfect for the lead role in
Mishti.
I want to sign you up right now.”

“All right, buddy,” Johnny continued to grumble as the producer shuffled around his filing cabinet drawers. “You might think this young lady is the best thing since Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves but you will keep your hands off her. You will respect her and never proposition her.”

I shot him a look. Dakshi was pretty handsome for an older dude and I had looked forward to being with him or at least sucking his cock. As a virgin I was obsessed with the blow job. I had heard from my mates that it was the ‘in-thing’ to do.

“It was what your father wanted.” He smiled smugly. “And you know I have to follow his orders. Anyway, that’s my job done, I’m out of here.” And poof! He disappeared in a plume of smoke. I used to be impressed by it as a kid, but really, it got old the more you saw it.

It was only after I signed the contract and walked out onto the lot that I realised that really I should have a copy of it. Daddy would not be a happy man if I told him I had forgotten to get proof of my employment. So around I turned and headed back to the office in the corner of the studios.

It wasn’t until I put my hand on the knob and stuck my head through the gap of the slightly ajar door that I thought there was something unusual or even contemplated knocking. After all it had only been a matter of minutes since I was last there. However what I saw stopped me in my tracks. I ducked my head back out of the room and just peered around the solid wood door between me and the sexy scene unfolding on the other side of it.

There was Dakshi, perched on the very edge of his desk, a pretty young Bollywood maiden on her knees before him. I couldn’t see much from my angle but her head bobbed up and down and he moaned lustfully. He wrapped her long, black hair around his fingers.

“That’s better, but don’t think I’ve forgotten your punishment.”

He pushed her away from his crotch affording me a glimpse of his hard cock. It made me salivate. I knew I should have left them, given them the privacy they obviously needed, but I was far too fascinated by the action unfolding before me. Besides, they were too caught up in each other to notice me.

“Get up and lean over my desk,” he commanded, and she did as she was told. Her light, Indian summer, sunset-coloured sari swirled then settled as she presented her rear end. I anticipated sex and waited impatiently. Dakshi lifted the starlet’s sari, pulling back the folds expertly to reveal her plump buttocks, which, to my shock, were naked.

If I was shocked by her lack of underwear, I was stunned when Dakshi brought down his hand harshly upon her bottom. She barely moved and he continued to strike viciously. It was the first time I’d seen anyone undergo such punishment and I wondered if I should interrupt and rescue the poor girl.

Dakshi was clearly getting off on it as his milk chocolate cock stood out stiffly from the fastening of his western jeans. In my mind I was condemning him for being such a pervert, for getting off on hurting such a poor defenceless young thing, when she started to moan.

“Oh, fuck me, Sir,” she begged and pressed her arse out for more punishment, “please, Sir, I can’t take any more.”

When I realised she was enjoying it I allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of arousal that had boiled up in the pit of my stomach. I slipped my fingers under my sari and sought out the wet crotch of my knickers. I didn’t understand why I was turned on, I was a little repulsed by the attraction if truth be told but I was also fascinated by it.

“As you begged so nicely, slave,” he purred, “I will relent and fuck your juicy cunt.”

Such language, such roughness,
I thought as he slammed himself into her without a moment’s hesitation. She was obviously wet as I could hear the moist slap as he fucked her roughly against the desk. I came just before he did, my eyes closing as liquid flooded my knickers. I quickly realised where I was and what I’d just done and turned away from the office then. It seemed like no one had seen me. Phew!

I waited in the shadows behind an elaborate Taj Mahal set and thought about what had just happened. I’d seen my first cock, watched some pretty damn kinky stuff and enjoyed it. I couldn’t really get my head around what it was that I found so appealing, but every time I thought of that girl—her buttocks exposed and his hand slapping it—I felt a jolt of pleasurable warmth flood my pussy.

* * * *

It wasn’t the last time I watched Dakshi fuck. He fucked a lot of girls and always left the door ajar when he did so. I found out it was a bit of a signal. The others told me never to go into his office unless the door was shut and I could knock. It seemed a little strange to me but I thought he got off on the idea he could be watched.

I don’t think he ever knew I watched, I was very discreet. Dakshi was not always kinky with the girls, he was always rough and demanding and I was fairly certain none of the girls I saw him with ever had an orgasm. I wasn’t saying they didn’t enjoy the experience but he seemed fixated on his own pleasure more than theirs.

I didn’t think that was right. I did long for a taste of the same treatment but as Johnny had bewitched every bloody man on set I wasn’t going to get anything from anyone there.

“Your father commanded it,” was his annoying response. “You’re too young and too single to be having sex anyway.”

“You don’t believe that.” I tutted. “And neither does Dad. Even I know they were at it before they married.”

“That’s not the point,” Johnny replied, that annoying smirk plastered across his human-form face. “He’s just protecting you and your innocence.”

“I can look after myself,” I snapped.

“I doubt it, you don’t even own a packet of condoms.”

“Johnny, have you been through my things?” I exclaimed.

“Oh, stop with the false outrage, you know I know everything that’s in that damn house. It’s true though. Until you are responsible enough to think of safe sex you’re not ready for it.”

“And I suppose you have condoms coming out of your ears.”

“No, because Djinns don’t need them, especially ones like me who haven’t seen a female Djinn in centuries.”

“What about humans?” I asked.

“What about them?”

“Well, you’re in human form, surely you have all the functioning bits and pieces…”

“I do, yes, but I do not feel attraction to human women.”

“Bollocks,” I exclaimed.

“Yes, I have two, but young lady, you shouldn’t speak like that.”

“Johnny, have you really never fucked a human?”

“Never, now let’s change the subject.”

“Really? I’m sure they’d find you kind of appealing, you’re not
that
ugly.”

“Well, thanks for the stunning compliment there, petal.” He was being sarcastic, I could tell by the way he sounded like Mum. “But no, never ever have I touched a woman like that. I couldn’t.”