Authors: Victoria Blisse

Bollywood Nightmare (13 page)

BOOK: Bollywood Nightmare

13.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

ads

Occasionally, though, we get tricked, and that’s what happened to me many moons ago, and now I look after a young human called Rahul. He’s not the man who tricked me, that was his father’s father’s father’s father’s father or something like that. Some Djinns get let off easy with only a generation or two of service before a kind human wishes them free, but somehow I managed to get stuck with a family full of selfish bastards. I just get handed down from Khan to Khan and do their bidding. It’s not a thrilling life.

I don’t interfere in the affairs of mortals unless I am explicitly ordered to. Well, usually. It’s not a hard and fast rule. If Rahul were to trip up and fall in the Ganges, for example, I’d leap to his rescue because he would be in mortal danger, no explicit order needed. I’m bound to the dark-haired, blue-eyed fool, and so I have to keep him alive and well until it’s time for his natural demise.

Rahul doesn’t mistreat me, he doesn’t call on me at all hours to make him magic beverages or massage his calloused feet like his father did. I do very little for him, truth be told. He’s asked me to grant him one wish in all his life so far, and that was to make him famous. So we hit Mumbai and he became an overnight Bollywood sensation.

He’s a good-looking lad, for a human, with russet-toned skin and eyes that shine like hidden sapphires, and so he fell into the acting life with ease. I barely had to use any magical influence at all. I accompany him on set, but I tend to ignore the whole rigmarole myself. I prefer filling in the
Mumbai Times
crossword than watching the simpering girls dancing and the boy meets girl, loses girl, finds girl storylines of Bollywood.

Some of my relatives would kill for my glamorous life, but then they’re trapped in bogs, deserts and wastelands. Some days I wish I was in a wasteland. Let me tell you the tale of when my Master went to London and the headache I had looking after him there. I’m a Djinn, we like to tell stories and moan. It’s a little known fact.

* * * *

Rahul was just finishing up work on the latest Bollywood blockbuster,
Benazir,
which means
Incomparable
to all you English-speaking folks. I can’t remember what it was about, but it was the typical Bollywood love story and I mostly ignored it during filming.

“Johnny,” my master summoned me.

I put down my needlework—what, even Djinn need a hobby—and I did the impressive poof thing complete with smoke, lightning and glowing, red eyes.

“Oh, stop messing,” he snapped. “This is important.”

“Yes, Master.” I bowed and changed into Rahul’s preferred envisagement. I find it to be rather constricting to be in human form, but I have to do his bidding whether I want to or not.

“I’ve just spoken to Uncle Rajeesh, and he’s spouting some nonsense about marriage.”

“Well, you’re getting on now, Rahul. You’re in your late twenties. It’s time you settled down.”

“Oh, shut up, Johnny. They have that horrible, simpering woman Malati all lined up for me. Apparently, all this was decided years ago when my father went into business with hers. It explains why they kept making us play together as kids even though we hated each other.”

“Well, yes. It makes the wedding go much smoother if you know your future wife beforehand.”

“I’m not ready for marriage, and I will not have one arranged for me,” Rahul snapped. “I command you to stop it.”

“Ah, Master, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I am your Master, correct?”

“Yes, Sir,”

“Then you do whatever I command you to do.”

“Technically, Sir, yes.”

“What do you mean ‘technically’?” He raised a questioning brow.

“Well, I accepted an order from your father, and as he was my master first, his command came before your command.”

“And what was it?” Rahul snapped.

“I was instructed by your father at the time of Malati’s birth to ensure that you married her for the good of the family, so I’m bound by that command.”

“Bullshit,” Rahul snarled. “My father is dead. I’m your master now.”

“Yes, Master, I know, but your father was very specific when he made that particular wish. He told me it should supercede your wishes and should be my number one priority after his death.”

“So you won’t help me avoid the wedding, then?”

“No, Sir, I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Well, then I command you to go back into your stupid little kettle and stay there. What’s the use of having a damn Djinn if he won’t do as he’s told?”

I disappeared with less pomp than I’d arrived and settled back to my crossword. I didn’t care whom he married, I just had to do what I was commanded to do.

You get to see a lot when you’re a Djinn in an ornamental kettle. I know an elaborate Arabic tea kettle is not a home to brag about, but at least it wasn’t the usual lamp. Lamps really are cheesy. I take what little joy I can, where I can.

A few hours after I’d been banished back to my comfortable kettle home, the door of the caravan rattled on its hinges and the sound was accompanied by girly giggles.

“At last,” the young lady exclaimed. “I hate filming in the jungle, it’s not good for my hair or my complexion.”

“Mine, neither,” Rahul agreed, and the annoying giggles started up all over again. “Did you hear they’re planning a big launch in London for this one?” Rahul asked the willowy maiden.

“Oh, no, I hadn’t heard. That’s amazing. I’ve always wanted to go to London.”

“Well, I’ve been told they’re only taking a few of us over there. I’m definitely going, and of course Farhanaa is going.”

“Oh, of course.” She almost spat out the words. “Little princess big nose would have to go.”

“I hear they may take a few others of the cast, but the decision hasn’t been made, yet.”

“Do you think they’ll take me?” she asked. She fluttered her eyelashes as if she were blinking into a force nine gale.

“I don’t know, Panya. I would say your role is integral to the whole movie, but who knows what the director might think.”

“If my character didn’t exist, the love story wouldn’t exist. I think I should go to London.”

“So do I, my dear,” Rahul replied sweetly. “You’re by far the most beauteous of all the women, you’d be the best advertisement for Bollywood. I know it.”

“Do you think you could persuade Dakshi of that?” Panya rubbed her lithe body against Rahul’s arm and did the tornado thing with her eyelashes once more.

“Well, he does listen to me, so I might be able to get you into the party.”

“Oh, Rahul, I’d be ever so grateful if you could.”

Rahul was talking out of his backside. Dakshi pretty much hated him, but Rahul wouldn’t let a little detail like that get in the way of getting some skin on skin action. Rahul had many wonderful character traits, but they were hidden in the dark corners of his soul.

“Well, I have to make sure the most beautiful woman in Bollywood is by my side in England.”

“Oh, you’re so charming,” she said and batted a limp hand against his arm.

“I only tell the truth,” he replied with his most over-used and most disarming smile. “I’m so lucky to be working with you.”

It was as if they were practicing for a scene in the stupid film. They stopped talking and stared at each other. I could hear the dreamy twang of a pretend sitar and I thoroughly expected a gaggle of sari-swirling dancing girls to sway and shimmy past at any moment. It couldn’t have been better choreographed if there had been a director on set, so to speak.

Their lips met in perfectly synched slow motion. They didn’t move for a moment, as if a camera were zooming in to capture the contrast of bright red lady lips and dark guy lips. Then the kiss began in earnest and after a matter of seconds the heat level grew and the whole thing became less Bollywood and more steamy sex tape.

The satin material that covered her body was unwound and discarded with great speed. I confess, I watched. I might be a Djinn, but we have needs, too. I’d not seen a female Djinn for longer than I cared to remember so I would watch Rahul to take the edge off my centuries old inflicted celibacy.

Panya was a little skinny for my liking. Female Djinn’s are big and powerful—they need to be to deal with the male of the species. Her body was wiry and skinny and her tits were hard to detect, but Rahul didn’t seem to be put off. He stroked then licked and sucked on them until Panya mewled with what I could only assume was delight.

Human sex can be very stimulating under the right circumstances, but I just couldn’t get into the action. It seemed so fake. Every movement looked calculated, and even though it all appeared to flow so well, it just seemed as if I were watching porn on the screen. There was no life in them, no spark and no fun.

They made all the right sounds and movements, though, and even their grunts and groans were perfect and polite. I like whimpers and squeaks and laughter and unexpected noises that just burst free from lips. Djinn sex is very violent and harsh and raw, and that’s how I like it. Well, I would if I were having any, that is.

Rahul smiled sweetly as he showed the once again dressed Panya out of the door then sighed and shook his head as he pushed it to behind her.

“How’s that wife look now?” I asked as he turned around.

“I’m not going to get married, Johnny. Not now, not ever, and certainly not to some simpering fool Dad decided in his apparent wisdom to betroth me to. I’ll leave the damn country before I’ll get married.”

“All right, all right, I get your point. But you know I can’t do anything to help you. I have to follow your father’s command.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But you won’t make me go and marry her, will you?”

“Oh no, Sir. I can’t do that. I was only ordered to make sure you didn’t try and marry anyone else. I’m not a heavy, I’m a Djinn.”

“Have you ever been married, Johnny?” Rahul asked as he opened the small fridge and pulled out a green bottle filled with ice cold beer.

“Not married, no,” I replied.

“But you’ve been in love?”

“Maybe,” I replied cagily. I don’t share personal details with humans. It never works out well.

“I don’t think I ever have,” he sighed as he flicked the beer cap off with a bottle opener. “I don’t know if I ever want to fall in love, either.”

“Fool,” I snapped. “I’m a mostly evil and debauched Djinn and I want to fall in love. Love makes it all worthwhile.”

“Yeah, but it ties you down. I don’t want to ever settle. If I marry a girl, I’ll have to fuck her for the rest of my life. What If I get bored of her?”

“You don’t get bored of your soul mate, you idiot. “

“Oh, shut up, Johnny. Who asked for your opinion, anyway?”

I didn’t reply. It wasn’t worth the waste of my breath. I knew I was right, though. He’d not see the truth in my words until he actually fell in love, and I couldn’t do anything about that. It’s a rule, Djinn’s can’t make people fall in love.

Get your copy now

About the Author

Victoria Blisse is a mother, wife, Christian, Manchester United fan and erotica writer. She is equally at home behind a laptop or a cooker and she loves to create stories, poems, cakes and biscuits that make people happy. She was born near Manchester, England and her northern English quirkiness shows through in all of her stories. Passion, love and laughter fill her works, just as they fill her busy life.

Email:
[email protected]

Victoria loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.total-e-bound.com
.

Also by Victoria Blisse

Travel Delight

Festive Handbag

Christmas Spirit Warms the Heart

Sweet Surrender

Artistic Sights, Heavenly Delights

Tasty Italian

Switching the Control

Point Vamp: The Point

Point Vamp: Stopping Point