Bollywood Nights

by N. J. Winnington

  Title Page

  Bollywood Nights

  N. J. Winnington

  Publisher Information

  Bollywood Nights

  published in 2014 by House of Erotica

  an imprint of Andrews UK Limited

  www.houseoferoticabooks.com

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

  Copyright © N. J. Winnington 2014

  The rights of N. J. Winnington to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  About the Author

  N. J. Winnington lives on the Wirral in England.

  He worked in the car industry for ten years before moving into Television, where he produced motoring programmes including Kits ‘n’ Cruisin’ for the Men and Motors channel (Now back on Men and Motor’s own Youtube channel), before working as a motoring journalist for various publications.

  After another brief return to industry, Neil has been working on his novels and other writing projects including penning the lyrics to Emily’s Song by Sam Blue, a charity song raising money and awareness for Reunite International, the lyrics a message to his own abducted daughter.

  He continues to write and raises money for Reunite to try and help other parents living with the nightmare of having a child abducted.

  He writes in many genres including novels, short stories and poems, with Emily’s Star being turned into an animation at the time of writing. He continues to direct videos and is working on plans for a new TV Series.

  Chapter One

  The Party

  Priya was a rising star in Bollywood, a modern Indian star who shocked the establishment by being a sex symbol in a Western sense, although she skilfully trod the tightrope between wearing provocative clothes without crossing the line of social acceptability by expressing her sexuality in a graphic way. India is, in so many ways, a conservative country and an actor’s career can hang on their reputation.

  Every man in India dreamed of being with Priya. Her beautiful face with hypnotic doe eyes enough to melt hearts crowned a deliciously curvaceous figure. Her long dark hair flowed like a mountain stream cascading down her back to her waist, a waist so tiny it could have been drawn by an artist, curving out to hips still slim by any standard but in the context of such a deliciously pinched waist made her a healthy antidote to shapeless sticks favoured on the catwalk.

  Her breasts were naturally large, pert and inevitably drew the gaze of men and Priya knew how to dress to emphasise her assets to the full, choosing dresses that cling perfectly to her amazing body, from her toned legs to her hips, tiny waist and revealing ample cleavage. She was in her late twenties, the height of her powers, wanted at all the coolest celebrity parties and events.

  She was in a car being driven to one of those celebrity parties, the launch party after the premier of her latest film, which gave her a chance to smoulder in the role of a famed seductress training a younger woman in the art of love in order to seduce a successful older man.

  It brought her more attention and cemented her reputation as one of India’s hottest sex symbols, all without any graphic sex scenes, or even the kissing seen in Hollywood blockbusters.

  To her critics it was an excuse to attack her and ignore her acting completely. To her fans it was her greatest work to date. The gossip columnists and celebrity TV programmes probed for romantic links with any number of eligible men, but Priya merely gave a cheeky smile, neither confirming nor denying anything.

  As the car drew up the cameras flashed and her famous legs emerged first from the car, her curvaceous body draped in a glorious red dress flowed elegantly after to the staccato clicking of cameras.

  Eventually she made it to the waiting journalists near the entrance. Although the questions about the film and the attempts to get information about her private life were repetitive she played the game well, with a radiant smile and ready wit.

  Every so often she would say something cheeky or controversial, playing the media to perfection. It drew them toward her and kept her in the gossip columns, in the headlines and in demand.

  Once inside her intellect was wasted on the men with money who saw female stars as trinkets or decoration, so Priya stayed close to her fellow actors and only engaged in polite conversation with the money men and their trophy wives when someone introduced them.

  One man stood out, partly because he wasn’t Indian at all, a suited white man talking to Yasmin and Raj Kapoor, famous actors who had starred in many of Bollywood’s most famous films, and having worked with Raj on her own second film had become good friends with Priya.

  The stranger was about 40, average looking, with greying hair and what looked like a gentle demeanour. It was pure curiosity. In every other way he did not even register on her radar, but he glanced up and their eyes met.

  Priya smiled, slightly embarrassed at being caught staring, but he just gave a cheeky smile back, then a wink... “Cheeky so and so!” she thought to herself.

  As the evening wore on she eventually bumped into Yasmin Kapoor as they checked their make-up in the restroom...

  “Who is that man I saw talking to you and Raj earlier?” Priya probed.

  “...Oh, the English man?” Yasmin asked, Priya nodding, “Damian Simmons!” she laughed.

  “I’ve never heard of him,” Priya confessed.

  “That man is a legend. He is a writer, director and wrote The Human Harp!”

  “...The human harp?” Priya repeated, utterly confused.

  “It’s the new big thing in Britain and America, a sex book that everyone is talking about. It takes the Karma Sutra to the next level!”

  Priya was taken aback that her old friend was speaking about sex so openly. This was normally Priya’s shock tactic for the media, not something she expected from an experienced middle aged actress.

  Yasmin just gave a knowing smile and dropped another bombshell as she paused at the door. “If ever you have an opportunity to read his book or learn from the man himself you cannot turn it down. You’d regret it for the rest of your life!”

  Priya stayed there, stunned, as another familiar face Pooja Fry walked in looking like a star struck pop fan, hyperventilating.

  “Are you ok?” Priya asked, snapping out of her own moment of shock.

  “Oh My God, yes!” Pooja gasped, “Do you know who is out there?”

  “Nothing would surprise me anymore this evening,” Priya answered accurately.

  “Damian Simmons!” Pooja gushed, waving her hand like a fan in front of her face. “...and he spoke to me!”

  “...What did he say?” Priya couldn’t resist asking, utterly amazed at the apparent effect this man seemed to have on otherwise rational women.

  “He said he’d seen my last film and loved my performance!”

  “...and?”

  “Damian Simmons loved my performance!”

  “I’m pleased for you,” Priya smiled politely before making her way back to the party, convinced that the World was going mad!

  Still a little shocked about Yasmin’s advice she barely noticed the mystery man approach from behind, although she realised immediately who it wa
s from his soft English accent.

  “Congratulations!” he declared.

  “Why thank you,” she smiled as she turned, “...but for what?”

  “The film,” he smiled, handing her a glass of champagne.

  “Again... Thank You!” she replied with confidence.

  “I have admired your work for a while,” he continued, “and would love a chance to work with you someday.”

  “That would be interesting...” her voice trailed. “I’m afraid you have the advantage...”

  “Oh, well my name is Damian Simmons. I am a director and writer.”

  “What kind of films?”

  “...Comedy and action mostly.”

  “What brings you to India?”

  “Oh I have been invited to give some private talks. It also gives me a chance to study for a new book, and it is a wonderful chance to meet producers here. It would be wonderful to direct a film in India someday.”

  “That would be interesting.”

  “I was wondering...” he began trailing off as though he was reconsidering his idea.

  “...Yes?”

  “...well I am a stranger in town. It would be nice to have a friend to show me around...?”

  “You already seem to have a lot of... friends,” giggled Priya, “I am sure you wouldn’t be short of volunteers.”

  “True, but I am a great believer that you can never have too many friends, especially when new friends are as charming or beautiful as you.”

  “Mr Simmons!” she scolded, handing back her empty glass, “Are you planning to seduce me?”

  “Absolutely,” he smiled, “but not until I have earned your friendship and trust.”

  “Trust?”

  “Essential!” he explained, “With trust and respect comes the ability to relax and explore.”

  “Explore?” Priya mocked, “I am an object or country now?” her hands following her curvaceous body to emphasise the point, his eyes widening as they passed by her ample breasts.

  “Not at all, but to truly appreciate someone special you should get to know and appreciate them in every sense.”

  “How can I be special after such a short acquaintance?”

  Damian grabbed two more glasses of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Priya before raising his glass to touch hers and delivering his confident reply and handing her a card with the hotel he was staying at.

  “My Dear, sometimes logic cannot explain what the heart can see instantly, either way I am intrigued and would like to get to know you better.”

  “Well I am but a simple girl!”

  “I doubt that. Would you like to join me for dinner one day?”

  “Dinner...?”

  “...Dinner.”

  “...and?”

  “...Desert?”

  Priya laughed and nodded

  “...Good. Shall we say seven? On Thursday?”

  Again Priya nodded.

  As the party came to an end, Priya once again ran the gauntlet of the press outside and left in the back of the limousine the film producers had arranged for her. The city lights flashed by as the car purred into the night, and slowly the light fog of champagne cleared enough for her to consider the meeting she had committed to.

  His average looks were more than compensated for by his warm, confident charm, but Priya was sure he was a player and she was going to be a notch on a bed post for no man!

  While far from a saint, she didn’t sleep around and if he wanted her, really wanted her Priya was going to see to it that in her case Damian Simmons was going to work hard for his prize.

  Chapter Two

  The Television Interview

  In the morning, with a few hours to spare before she was due to set off to a TV studio for interviews about the film, Priya sat in a T-shirt and shorts and logged into her laptop computer to find out a little more about the mystery man she was going to have dinner with.

  A Google search brought up a whole screen full of links from films to music videos and books, but the book that appeared most frequently was The Human Harp, which seemed to be as big a deal in England and the USA as Fifty Shades of Grey had been.

  She paused. “If I download or order a paperback copy, am I merely massaging his ego, or merely doing my homework to meet the man a little more informed about what he’s about?” she thought to herself. She decided on the latter and downloaded a kindle copy so she could at least read a little prior to Thursday.

  She then looked at some of the comments in the press, centring on his colourful love-life, being photographed frequently with beautiful women, from actresses to singers and models, who were often almost half his age. So was he a womaniser? She knew from her own experiences with the media that a public image didn’t necessarily reflect the person behind those headlines. She’d keep an open mind.

  Another striking thing was an article she read, written by Damian Simmons, defending the rights of women and attacking the perception that women dressing provocatively asked for trouble. He defended rigorously the fact that women should be treated with respect and that no means no, with the one exception of mutually agreed games! “Games?” she thought to herself, “Interesting!”

  The boy she employed to help her maids around the house prepared the vegetables for lunch and after her meal she set about preparing for the TV interview she would have with the other cast members to promote the film that premiered the night before.

  Her hair and makeup was relatively straightforward to plan, but the dress had to strike the right balance. Not as glamorous and formal as an actual premier, but special enough to be memorable. Not too sexy, but sexy enough to please her army of male admirers.

  Finding a dress to accomplish this wouldn’t be difficult, she had several to choose from, and any woman would know the dilemma of making the right choice, with matching shoes and a bag.

  She settled on another red dress, a light summer dress, with very thin straps so she smiled to herself as she imagined the male reactions to her free moving bra-less breasts within the confines of the dress. The dress then flowed down her body and followed her thighs and stopped a couple of inches above her knees. It was sexy without any risk of being called slutty.

  Grabbing a bag she had bought in Paris a couple of years back and wearing a pair of flat shoes to the studio, but with a pair of elegant red stiletto’s to change into, she got into the car and set off.

  The presenter knew Priya and the other actors well and everyone felt relaxed allowing for a very humorous interview with lots of behind the scenes gaffs and mistakes joked about and Priya shining as she laughed at her own expense.

  It was a great success and everyone felt it was the perfect TV promotion to launch the film. When she finally switched on her phone she got a text from her agent telling her that Rattan Singh had asked her to audition for a film he was directing. The location was a hotel and her heart sank.

  Rattan Singh was an actor who had made over a hundred and fifty Bollywood films. He was old school and popular with audiences, but well known within the industry for using the casting couch to choose his young female co-stars and up until now Priya had managed to remain clear of his radar.

  The audition was next week and she could delay her return home to Delhi until after. She wanted the part, but was clear in her mind that she would get the part on merit and not on caving in to the carnal demands of a dirty old man if the rumours proved to be true.

  She returned to the apartment she kept in Mumbai and slipped out of the dress. The air was heavy, humid and sticky, so she stepped out of the dress and wondered if her erect nipples had been visible through the loose material during the interview?

  She smiled to herself again and turned on the shower with cold water tickling her flesh and tapping on her face before cascading w
ith her hair over her body. Her olive skin glistening as she reached for the soap and her mind returned to the English man she was going to meet in a couple of days.

  Her hands massaged the soap suds over her arms, shoulders and breasts sending a shock sensation through her body like a static shock as her fingers rippled over her erect nipples. It set of a tingle inside her vagina as the first lubricating juices trickled over the soft, sensitive ribbed flesh inside her pussy.

  The tingling intensified as the water continued to tickle her skin and her erect nipples were now so sensitive the water was giving her shivers of excitement that emanated from her nipples and her hardening clitoris.

  It was more than Priya could resist and her hand reached down and her index finger gently circled the hardening little pleasure bean and made her gasp. She flicked it and the tingling inside her pussy became even more intense and travelled in a wave radiating out around her body which combined with the tapping water brought the first involuntary whimper as her breathing got heavier.

  Her breasts now heaving, her vagina lubricating with juices she rubbed harder and rose and fell as the pleasure made her gyrate around the work her finger was doing.

  There was no holding back her moaning now and she reached lower to insert a finger briefly. She gasped and rose to her tiptoes and slammed her other hand onto the tiled wall for extra support.

  Her finger returned to her clitoris before she reached up with the other to grab and remove the shower head and bring it down. Pressing it hard against her clit and almost convulsing with pleasure as the tingling water magnified the pleasure she parted her legs slightly and once more reached to the wall for support.

  She was close now. The pleasure built up through her whole body before her head went light and started spinning, her moans rose in pitch until with a whimper she climaxed and the muscles in her pussy tightened repeatedly around a non existent penis and her legs suddenly weakened.

  Panting she froze for a few seconds and then recovered her senses and turned the water off.