Naughty Bedtime Stories: Second Chances

by Aurelia Fray

  Naughty Bedtime Stories:

  Second Chances

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, including photocopying, recording, or transmitted by any means without written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Characters, establishments, names, companies, organizations, and events were created by the author. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, companies or organizations is coincidental.

  Published by Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing

  Copyright 2015 held by CHBB Publishing and the Individual Authors

  Cover by Rue Volley

  Edited by Olivia Harper

  PRESENTED BY HOT INK PRESS

  NAUGHTY BEDTIME STORIES:

  SECOND CHANCES

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  My Master Be – Aurelia Fray

  The White Wolf – Kathryn M Hearst

  Fuck it Out – a poem by Caroline Baker

  Tug: Love at First Sight – Bry Dig

  One More Round – a poem by Caroline Baker

  Wicked Game – Josephine Ballowe

  Facing the Past – Sabina Bundgaard

  Control – a poem by Caroline Baker

  Inevitably Yours – Aurelia Fray

  He Said Yes – Felicia Fox

  Playful Vibes – artwork by Jackie McMahon

  MY MASTER BE

  By: Aurelia Fray

  One

  “Cut!” he screams across the shitty back-lot set. Frankie Desire is the hottest music video producer in the world right now. The bands he has represented to date, read like a name-dropper’s wet dream. He is hot—smoking fucking hot—in every sense of the word, but he is also a fucking dick and a miserable, sour-faced, overly-demanding shit.

  We’ve been on set for the last eight hours without a break, trying to get a stupid shot of me dancing with a live tiger. Seriously, this thing looks set to eat me. Why wouldn’t he? I am dressed like a seasoned steak. Daisy, from make-up, keeps running over to oil me up. Her hands curve over my backside one too many times and I just know she is getting a huge thrill out of touching my ass. Mind you, her hands are warm and my ass is freezing. I enjoy her touch just as much, although probably not in the same way.

  “That okay for you, Gee?” Daisy asks, her eyes glittering up at me. She squats provocatively; her ass pushes out so I can see the ample curves jut out beyond her back as well as the bulge of her breasts, which are pressing against my leg. I nod in response. It is too cold to speak and, if you want the truth, I am a little afraid to open my mouth right now. I am so pissed off; I am liable to say something nasty. Daisy wouldn’t deserve it, but the fool walking toward me in the spray on leather pants does.

  "What is wrong? Hmmm? You got a problem with the tiger or your two left feet? You are supposed to be making this look sexy, Gee, not wobbling around like Jell-O on toothpicks."

  "So, I am fat, can't dance and couldn't look sexy if I tried? You try dancing in these heels for eight hours straight. The tiger is pissed and hungry; the crew are pissed and hungry; the dancers are close to quitting, and I am ready to shove my foot so far up your ass that you'll be deep throating the nine inch heels you insisted I wear. You are an asshole, Frankie, and I think you know it!"

  "Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? You think you are special, honey? You singers are a dime a dozen . . ."

  "You think we have any less number of wannabe directors? I could pull any fucking asshole off the street in this neighbourhood and he could do a better job than you." I am yelling now and the bleary-eyed crew have stopped what they are doing to listen. Jenny Black, my sometimes manager—sometimes friend, looks ready to kill me. She hurries over. Her displeasure with me wrinkles her face like a prune. She shakes her head and waves her hands to stop me saying what she knows I am going to say. I can see her begging me, with her tired eyes, not to do it—not to waste this chance to work with one of the modern greats—but she is too late. I don’t give a crap about how good he is, or how many people want to kiss his ass, or how many times Jenny had to suck him off for him to agree to work with us. No. I'd had enough.

  "Do you know what," I smirk nastily. Jenny's eyes fly wide. Her lips form into a silent 'no'. "I might do exactly that," I sneer.

  "You think some random asshole can do what I do?" He laughs bitterly.

  "Yeah, I think they could and they could probably do it better too. I mean, have you even listened to my track all the way through? Do you know the lyrics or the kinds of fans we have? Do you even give a shit about the message this song kicks out?"

  "I don't need to understand it. I need to make you look good and, baby, we have been here all fucking day and you still don't look good."

  "Fuck you, Frankie. Pack up your shit, take your fucking tiger and go. You're fired. Fucking asshole, quasi-lunatic bastard,” I grumble. Jenny’s complexion has changed to a funny shade of green and instead of standing beside me—demonstrating that she supports my decision—she runs after Frankie. I can hear her begging him to come back and finish the shoot, swearing that she will keep me in line. He says something about putting me on a leash. I laugh at that. Been there, done that and found most of my dates preferred to be the one on their knees.

  "Jenny. You got ten seconds to figure it out or you'll be joining him," I call to her, as calmly as possible, across the lot. She glares at me but stomps back as she knows she should.

  "What the hell are you thinking? You have no idea how hard it was to get Frankie Desire to agree to do this!" She snaps when she is close enough for me to see the veins popping out on her forehead.

  "I have an idea—"

  "No, you dirty bitch, it didn't involve my lips on his dick!"

  I shrug my shoulders nonchalantly. Yeah, that's what I was thinking and nine times out of ten I'd have been right. "Oh God, the money we have already spent. Shit!" Jen stomps her foot, probably to stop herself hitting me.

  I was oddly aware that everyone could still hear us and I, sure as shit, didn’t want to have this conversation in front of the crew. Turning to the gawking crowd, I yell, "Shows over. Go home. Be at the studio conference room by ten AM on Sunday. You are all fucking booked for two weeks so we might as well do this thing ourselves." I was glad that Jenny suggested we hire all the crew and equipment ourselves instead of using Frankie’s preferred team. Not only did it save us money, but also Frankie was famous for pulling tantrums and storming off for weeks at a time. Whenever he did, his crew stopped too and there had been many releases delayed until the dirty diva was satisfied. Jenny had to have known we would lose him at some point. Why else would she put in all the safety precautions?

  "Oh, except you!" I yell at the animal trainer guy, "I’m not dancing with any fucking wild animal. Get paid for today and then fuck off."

  "Gee!"

  "What? I’m lucky I didn't get eaten by that giant pussy!"

  "Wouldn't have been the first time –" Jen rebukes and finally cracks a smile.

  "Shut the hell up. You enjoyed it and don't deny it. It's the only reason you're still my manager. Plus your pussy isn’t that huge." I chuckle, pointing over to the prowling jungle cat. Jenny laughs and shakes her head. The smile, however, is quickly replaced by a sadness that I can’t ignore.

  "What are we going to do?" Her tone smacks of defeat. I have to suck in a breath to choke back the lump forming at my throat. I hate seeing her like this.

  "Hire a new gu
y, someone really new and eager to please. Newbies are desperate to prove themselves. We just need to pick one with a shred of talent."

  "I will trawl through our connections tonight see if we can’t find someone." Jen nods. Her response lacks enthusiasm and I can feel the weight of her burden from where I stand. Perhaps I ought to get personally involved in the business side of things? Hiring and firing couldn’t be too hard. At least if I stepped up, it might free Jen to get on with other things.

  "Great. I will take a hand in this. Set up the interviews and make sure I'm there. I want to prove to that asshole that I was right." I try to sound upbeat and in control but it’s not enough to pull Jen out of her mood.

  "Not to mention, if you don't sell the new album, we lose the studio, the label and everything with it," she adds. I bite my lip and try to think of the right response.

  We started up our recording label after Forrester, my previous label, changed my contract for the third time in two years. Each time I worked harder and earned less for my efforts. Jenny talked me into leaving and starting up our own label. It was a great idea except for the fact that I was working my panties off just to keep the bills at bay. We needed to sign a few more bands because my niche metalcore following couldn't keep us afloat. I needed to break it big with this next album or we were going to have to walk away from the whole enterprise. Our desperation to be noticed was probably why we hired Desire-the-Douche in the first place.

  "I know. I promised you we would make this work,” I respond.

  "But if the new album tanks—" She groans and shakes her head.

  "We're fucked," I finish for her.

  "Totally."

  Two

  "Well thank you for your time,” Jenny says politely to a teenager in a three-piece suit. He is fresh out of art school replete with certificate, boundless enthusiasm, and empty resume. He knows he doesn’t have the job. The fact that I popped gum the whole way through his interview probably tipped him off. It's not like his work wasn't great. It was. It was really good in a surreal, light-show kind of way. It was more about him not being right. He turned up to the interview in a suit for fuck sake. He had probably never listened to anything harder than classic rock.

  "That's the seventh one today. I think we should face the music,” Jen sighs.

  "Ha, fucking, ha ha.”

  "Seriously, Gee. We just won’t find someone in time. We should cancel the crews and pray we only lose our deposit and not the whole two week sum."

  "Just wait. Have we got more to see?" I ask, an idea forming in my mind.

  "Three more out there and one due to arrive any minute."

  "Okay." I stand up and make my way to the double-wide corridor where our potentials are waiting. This one by one interview thing is annoying, not to mention it takes too long.

  "Hey!" I wave at them. Two guys and a girl look up. One of them recognises me the other two look confused. "Okay, you and you can go, I say decisively and see Jenny hit her head against the wall from the corner of my eye.

  "You," I say to the remaining twenty-something male. "You got any ink?"

  "No." Not a good response but he was young. Plus, it wasn’t really a prerequisite I was just curious. I tried another question.

  "Heard of Gravitas Chains?" I ask. The band was a little mainstream but anyone who knew metal and metalcore would have heard of them.

  "Sure."

  "What’s your favourite track of theirs?"

  "Weeping Ash is pretty good." He responds looking a little more confident. He has finally clicked that the interview has begun. That song was pretty well known. I ask him one more question before I agree to chat with him further.

  "What did you think of their Primitive album?"

  "They don't have an album called Primitive. Not that I've heard about at any rate." And, dingdingding, we have a winner.

  "Okay, go through to the office." I turn to Jenny with a grin. "Hey, at least he knows his music! Better than some of the others so far this morning.” Jen shakes her head and follows the guy into the room. He interviews well and he knows his music, he is looking good, even if his cinematography is a little more novice than amateur. Truth is, he is the best we've seen all day and I’m desperate enough to give Jenny the head nod that will hire him. Just as I lift my chin, the door bursts open and in walks a fucking dream.

  Tall, wiry- athletic build, defined arms and torso—and yeah I can tell, because he's wearing a tee that shows off all of those chiseled lines. His arms are a canvas filled with layered images that I could spend all day perusing and his ebony hair is up in one of those top knots that have become fashionable in recent months. I want to know how long it is when he lets it down, but I clamp my mouth shut before I say something stupid.

  "Are you done yet?" he asks. Jenny glares in his direction. She looks set to tear into him when he grins, flashing a pretty line of straight pearly whites. Fuck! He is amazing when he smiles. Something tugs at my mind, a sense of familiarity but surely, if I had met this man before, I would have remembered. He isn't easily forgettable.

  "I mean, am I too late for the interview? You guys have been in here ages and I don’t want to waste my time outside waiting, if you’ve already hired."

  I love his attitude. He sounds like me. He is me with a dick and balls and hot tattoos, a stunning smile, a day’s beard growth and bright blue eyes. No wait, he isn’t me. He is hotter than me. That little nugget brings me back to my senses.

  "We were just finishing up. Perhaps you'd like to wait outside?" Jenny informs him. She is biting her lip. She wants to cuss him out for his rudeness but not in front of the potential director still sitting in front of us.

  "Yeah well, before you hire Snowflake here, perhaps you want to look at this." He launches a USB drive across the conference table. It skids to a halt right at my hand. As soon as my fingers reach around the little rectangle of plastic, he walks out of the room allowing the door to swing shut behind him. I incline my head. My eyebrows dance and Jenny shakes her head in frustration.

  "Mr. Frost, we are impressed by you but, in the interest of fairness, we will finish all the interviews and then contact the most suitable candidate. Please keep your week free until you have heard from us," Jenny singsongs, showing Snowflake the door. I wondered how the next guy knew Frost's name? Snowflake exits and Jenny spins on her delicate heels to face me.

  "Put his stick in your slot already," she grumbles, "I know you are dying to." I can't stop my laughter. She knows me too well. The folder opens on my laptop and two files stare me in the face. The first titled ‘watch me’ and the second entitled ‘watch you.’

  I watch him first, then me. Clever bastard has done his homework. The first short film is about thirty seconds long. Just enough to whet my appetite. It is a visual resume of sorts and it blows me away. Watching it has me wanting to hire him, but it’s the other video that has me wanting to fuck him.

  He had picked a song off my last album. The song I liked most and had fought to get on the damn track list. The label wanted to dump it but I threatened to walk and instead they compromised by making it a secret track on the foreign export disks. Just knowing the song existed went in his favour. To this he edited together a montage of soft focus clips, showing what appeared to be my body in sweaty positions with someone who looked very much like him. It was like watching myself perform highly artistic, black and white porn. Never do you see nipples, cock or cunt but the sinuous movement and rhythmic writhing has me wet. Everything about it speaks the song to the observer. He blurs the model's face, in a subtle not-the-focal-point way that I love. The camera follows the woman’s hands as they move all over her body and his.

  Jenny and I stare at each other in silence for a second or two before she whispers, "Wow."

  "Yeah."

  "No really. Fucking wow. That is sexy hot."

  "It is."

  "Want me to call him in or…"

  "Or?"

  "Do you, er, want a minute?"

  "
Just hire his ass before he leaves the building. Tell him to be here tomorrow morning. We need to work on a plan before the Sunday meeting. Oh and give him the track. Tell him to listen to it until he knows it backwards," I instruct. Jen grins and dashes outside. I can't face him and stay professional after that. I don’t need a minute; I need a cold shower.

  Three

  Sunday morning rolls around and I find myself feeling nervous. I hadn’t felt like this since the agent from Forrester appeared in Dougie’s bar to hear me sing. I can still recall the way my legs shook as I took to the stage. I had a loyal following, even then, who had cheered and screamed along to my lyrics. Their enthusiasm for my sound got me through it. I needed a room full of them now.

  Jenny volunteers to make calls whilst I debrief Mr. Hot-Stuff-Director. We are chasing a new band from the south and, just this morning, a friend warned us the band were doing the bar rounds in a desperate bid to get noticed. We also got a heads-up that my ex-label is after them too. The news only makes Jen even more determined to sign them with us.

  The one-on-one with Hot-Stuff is probably the reason for my nerves. I wonder whether he will think me a diva for having such a heavy hand in his creative process or whether he realises that I own the lion's share of this new label. I didn’t wonder for long.

  Just like his interview, he walks in without knocking. He flings himself down into a chair across from me and, with a solid grunt, he moans, "No coffee? I don't function without coffee this early on a Sunday."

  "On the counter. Get it yourself."

  "Nice people skills you got there,” he grumbles.

  "Who's the girl?" I question him. I hadn't meant to but it had bugged me all night. The idea of him slicked-up and sliding with some wannabe me made me angry. Stupid, I know, but she shouldn't exist. There was only room for one me in this life.