Bollywood Superstar

He shivered. “You are a witch,” he growled.

She ground down on the root of his cock, clamping it hard, enjoying the perfect angle this position offered for her own pleasure. Each time she moved forward and back, her clit rubbed into his dark pubic hair, sending waves of warmth through her rocking body.

“I’m going to put you under my spell,” she promised, increasing her pace from ultra-slow to simply slow, sliding up and down, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder to better torment his sensitive ears with her tongue.

“Oh fuck!” he cursed, and suddenly clamped his hands onto her bottom and pushed her urgently and hastily into his thrust.

“Hey!” she protested, trying to straighten. She pushed him back so he lay flat on the bed, riding her bucking bronco, letting the force of his lust dictate the pace, giving in to him, though she still had control of her angle.

“Don’t tease me,” he panted. “You’re going to get it. You’re getting it hard. Get to work.”

She bent double and jigged to and fro in a blur, working muscle upon muscle until she was exhausted. But Ajay held out, seemingly deliberately, watching her exertions and enjoying them.

“Touch your tits,” he commanded. “I want to watch you play with them while you come.”

She was close, and it seemed he knew it. The angle was perfect for stimulating both clit and g-spot and all he had to do was lie there lazily and watch her fuck herself to orgasm on his cock. Entitled bastard, she thought, and the aggressiveness of it brought her off, sent her into a swirl of climax that started at the base of her stomach and spiralled outwards. She pinched her nipples while her body melted into her soul, barely aware of Ajay gripping her hips hard and jerking madly beneath her until she flopped forward, spent.

“Hot little bitch,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “You’re going to need plenty of fucking, aren’t you?”

“Believe it,” she yawned.

The rest of the evening was like something out of one of her favourite movies. Room service food, more champagne, watching films on a giant screen in bed with Ajay, more sex, even more sex.

“How many men have had you?” he asked sleepily after their third bout, this one in an inventive version of the spoons position.

“Does it matter?”

“Not really. But I’m interested in you Anglo-Asian girls. Are you so free?”

“No. And for your information, you’re only my second.”

It was true. One short-lived affair with the handsomest boy in college had been her only taste of the glittering world of sex. He had turned out to be interested in no more than a flash bit of arm-candy to brag about with his mates. She had dumped him then fallen for Krishnan, and the rest was…non-history. Non-event. Nothing.

Until now.

“I want you to audition for my film,” he said.

“I thought I just did.”

He chuckled. “It’s a formality.”

This can’t be true, can it? A Bollywood contract falling into my lap…well, between my legs, to be strictly accurate…?

“What will your family think?” he asked, suddenly serious.

“About you and me?”

“About that, and about you coming to Mumbai. Do they even know you’ve entered the competition? You told the runner they were travelling in the Punjab.”

“Oh, they’ll be okay,” said Jas vaguely, thinking for a moment about her real family. Her parents, living down in Essex now to be close to their grandchildren, having no idea what Jas was doing with her life except that she was ‘wasting her brains’.

“They should never have left you,” said Ajay severely. “Didn’t they realise you would get into trouble? A hot little piece like you?”

“Am I in trouble then?” asked Jas, liking the idea.

“Oh yes. Deep, deep trouble.” He kissed her long and soundly before ordering her to get some sleep.

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