Here is a sample chapter, to help you get into the story, no bondage in it but it does introduce you to some of the main players.  If you want a spicier excerpt....click here 

Chapter 1- Nice Tits, but not that Nice

  “Do you know what I love about the music industry? If you’re a high-powered woman, everyone expects that you’re a flaming cunt. Then, when you have someone killed, people just assume you’re having your period and look the other way.” Serena Stains was pissed about the money. It was a lot of money.

She took a long drag off her cigarette and let the taste of cloves southe her. Rash acts wouldn’t get the label’s money back. “How could you let that Bubblegum Princess talk you into a ten year, sixty million dollar contract?”

“You told me we needed to get her to sign on for her new album at all costs. She made us a hundred million from her last three albums in just four years. I thought sixty was plenty conservative.” Special Kay stared straight back at her boss.

Serena bridled her anger. She knew Special was scared, but at least she was trying not to show it. Retribution could wait, finding a fix would have to take precedence. When money was the issue, Serena Stains was all business.

Serena blew smoke in the woman’s face. Special Kay was a solid producer and had always been able to make mediocre talent sound good, but having her negotiate contracts was an expensive mistake.

“You obviously don’t understand bubblegum pop, my dear. A Bubblegum Princess like Bridgett Bonds has a limited shelf life. Her first album made almost fifty million, her second made thirty-five, but her most recent is only fifteen million to date.

“Her problem is that her base is girls eleven to seventeen and men over thirty-five. That was fine when she was sixteen, but she turns twenty-one this year. When little girls grow up, they distance themselves from little girl loves and fads. Bridgett needs to broaden her fan base to the same group of women who grew up with her. And it’s unlikely that she’ll ever be able to do that… In ten years, she’ll be opening for a novelty dog act in Jersey and selling pictures of her tits on the Internet.

“They may be nice tits, but certainly not sixty million worth.” Serena sucked on her smoke and contemplated the Freudian aspects of the cigarette. It was kind of like a little penis. She liked the thought, watching smoke curl from the burning ember. What to do, what to do?

“Let’s see what else you managed to get into the contract.” Serena shifted her gaze from the cigarette to the producer, then to the six pages of signed and notarized paper. She should never have let this woman negotiate for her. Now she was in the hole for sixty million dollars to a teenage boy’s wet dream.

Scanning down the paragraphs, she saw marketing clauses and installment schedules, an agreement on spin-off properties and marketing policy. On page five, she fixed her eyes on the estate clause. Bridgett’s dad had split early and her mom died just after the first album went Platinum. Since there was no family, Bridgett had named the corporation as executor of her estate.

Hmm, thought Serena, that trust must be worth ten or twenty million dollars. “How much corporate insurance do we have on the Bubblegum Princess?”

“I think fifteen million.” Special Kay hesitated, “I think.”

Serena could see Special Kay was uncomfortable with the new direction she was taking. Special had been working with Bridgett for six months to put out Bridgett’s new album. The reports Special had been giving said the album was going well. In retrospect, Serena realized Special was infatuated. Having her negotiate was a serious mistake.

“Her new album is light years ahead of her last release. Sixty million seemed like a steal.”

She’s starting to crack, Serena thought.  “You know, I think we can salvage this situation.” Serena smiled. She seldom smiled and she knew it didn’t suit her. Stains was the type of woman who, although very attractive, always felt her most alluring when playing the ice queen.

Serena leaned back in her chair. “What was the name of the girl group we picked up in the package option from StinkFinger Records, the one you really hated?”

Special sat for a moment.

Serena knew she thought StinkFinger stunk. Most of their talent was of the Goth-slash type. As part of the acquisition, Special had to review all the demo tracks. After two days, she reported that she hated every last track. There was one song she said she almost liked, it was about suicide. She only liked it because she hoped they would hurry the hell up.

“Was it Two-Balls & a Hammer?”

“No a girl group, dressed all in black.”

“They all dressed in black.” Special hesitated, “Oh, yes, I remember, Three-LSD”

“That’s the one.” Serena’s brow furrowed. “Didn’t they write a Bridgett Bonds tribute song?”

“Tribute song? I got the impression that they hated her. One song mentioned Bridgett. It was called If I had a Dick, I’d Fuck You Over with It. Another was called Skull-Fuck that Bitch Just to be Sure.”

“I liked them, great espris de corp. A little finishing and they could be the next big thing!” Serena flicked her ashes into the crystal tray on the table. “By the way, what does Three-LSD stand for?”

“Umm, Three Little Sado-Dykes.”

“Hmm, a little obvious, we’ll have to come up with something more… MTV.”

“What are you planning to do?”

Serena smiled. She knew Special Kay didn’t really want to know what she was planning, but her curiosity was getting the best of her. Serena had become a legend in the music business as the head of Conspiracy Records and Special Kay had been riding her coattails to the top. She wouldn’t bailout so easily.

“There are two basic principles that you need to understand about the music industry to succeed. First, people are willing to do anything to become a rock star.” Serena ground the cigarette butt into ashtray. Special had fucked up. She was still worth keeping around and she was still Bridgett Bonds’s producer. Keeping her was essential to keeping her sixty million dollars. That, however, didn’t mean she couldn’t be a little cryptic. The more cryptic, the more likely Special would keep her trap shut.

Looking at the bent and wasted stub of her cigarette, Serena thought about Freud and why she enjoyed taking care of business in the music industry.

  * * * *

  Bridgett dragged her Louis Vuitton bag behind her. After so much time on the road, the little rollers were starting to stick. Grit in the bearings would periodically cause one wheel to lock-up as she walked down the gangway. Unfortunately, the canned air in first class was just as canned as it was in coach. Bridgett was mildly nauseous from the landing and she was grateful to finally deplane. Hot air blasted from the runway through the gaps in the covered gangway leading into the terminal.

After twelve hours on of flying, Bridgett was relieved to be finally home in LA. At least she had already been through customs in New York. She kept her baseball cap pulled down over her sunglasses and a happy smile on her face, just in case someone with a camera noticed her. Her travel itinerary wasn’t public, but there were paparazzi that lived in the major airports just to ambush tired celebrities like her. If they caught her, she would take off the glasses, smile congenially and hope that was good enough.

She hiked her jeans up on her ass a little. After a full day on the road home, much of the stretch in the denim was gone and the hip huggers didn’t have much hug left in them. Six months was a long time to be living out of a suitcase and Bridgett couldn’t wait to wake up in a room without maid service or most importantly, a wake-up call. She could sleep in, leave her stuff out and not worry about a crew of cleaners pawing through it before hanging it up where she’d have trouble finding it.

Fortunately, a lot of the paparazzi missed Bridgett in situations like this. In her bio, she was listed as being five-four, but she seemed taller in pictures. Most of her concert shots were taken from the stage looking up and public appearances were always done in heels, mostly because she didn’t like how short she looked on camera with other people. But in private, she avoided heels and today she was just wearing a pair of running shoes. Her long blonde hair was tied in a ponytail and was threaded through the back of her baseball cap. A white-cotton knit sweater covered most of her like a mini-dress. Her fingertips barely came out of the sleeves and the loose knit only hinted at the curve of her ass and the pleasantly round breasts.

“Bridgett!” Special waved from across the concourse.

Bridgett cringed inwardly. Special Kay was always happy to see Bridgett, but her enthusiasm sometimes got in the way of better judgment. Bridgett’s head bowed a little more and she picked up her pace to intercept Special before she could call out again.

“Sorry about that, Bridge.” Special gave her a perfunctory peck on either cheek, scooped up Bridgett’s arm and took control of the rolling carry-on. “We were stuck in traffic and I was worried you were already on the ground looking for us. The car’s right outside.” She guided Bridgett to one of the label’s black limousines.

The driver opened the door.  Bridgett ducked inside and collapsed on the seats opposite the door while Special forced the carry-on in the door and quickly followed. The driver shut the door and moments later pulled into traffic.

“So how did the last leg of your tour go?”

“The concerts were great, but you know how it is after six months on the road, I just want to get home, sleep late, hang out and do some writing.” Bridgett looked in the mini bar to see if it had anything good. She claimed a tin of mixed nuts and a soda for herself and tossed Special a diet soda. “Speaking of writing, did you read those lyrics I faxed to you?”

“They looked great, but I don’t think there’s going to be enough space on this album for any of them.” Special put her legs up on the seat and popped her soda. “The tracks you laid in London were probably enough to finish the album. We still need to re-record some of the instrumentals. The drummer you had wasn’t giving me what I was looking for.”

“Well, you guys were the ones who picked him.” Bridgett was still annoyed about her latest drummer, Slam.

“He was perfect for touring, and the problem with the drum tracks aren’t his fault. The mic was picking up an echo.” Bridgett watched Special’s expression drop, feedback on studio tapes wasn’t what bothered Bridgett. And Bridgett knew Special didn’t really want to have this discussion again.

“He kept puking in public.” Bridgett had almost fired him on a couple of occasions, but the rest of the band kept talking her out of it. “I just don’t want to put up with more crap like that. I don’t mind the guys having their fun, they can chase girls, go carousing. I hope they get to fuck their brains out. It’s why most of them like touring. I just don’t want them doing it when I’m around or they’re in my tour jacket.”

The worst incident had been when they were leaving the hotel in Berlin. She was getting her messages from the concierge and Slam had walked up and barfed on the poor man’s desk. Everyone immediately said it was the flu and mailed him home for rehab. They were lucky enough to get a replacement without having to alter any tour dates.

“Get Tommy for the drum tracks and the rest of the studio band. We can try out some of the new songs. Maybe we can do some bonus tracks or something?” Bridgett couldn’t wait to get back in the studio. She had artistic control of her music and was excited about just making music without having every track second-guessed by everyone from Serena Stains down.

“Do you have to use Tommy? Serena made him persona non grata at Conspiracy.” Bridgett knew Special was going to lose this argument, but at least she could report back to Serena that she tried.

“Look, Special,” Bridgett’s voice had a whiney quality that made her feel like a twelve year old wanting to go to the mall. “Serena isn’t the one who’ll be locked up with him for fourteen hours.” Bridgett firmed up her voice. “Besides, he’s one of the best studio musicians in the business.”

“What do you see in him anyway? He certainly has a worse reputation than Slam ever will…”

Bridgett guessed the real reason Serena hated Tommy K’nocker was he’d encouraged Bridgett to dump Conspiracy and shop for a new label.  “He’s never been anything but nice to me. And he has the best touring stories of anyone I know.” Bridgett smiled at Special, as much as to make peace with her, as at the funny stories she had heard from the aging rocker. “He’s like a big brother to me.”

“An aging, drug addled, porn addicted, child molesting, wanted in three states, big brother.”

Special had always been dismissive of Bridgett’s affection toward the old time rocker.  “Florida dropped the obscenity charges and he doesn’t date anyone under twenty now.” Bridgett gave Special a coy smile. “And he’s been clean for a couple years.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. He’s recording in Cannes until the end of the month.” Special flopped back in her seat, took a sip of her diet soda.

“Well, I can wait.  See if you can get it set up for when he gets back in town.” Bridgett had had enough of the ongoing dispute about Tommy. He was one of the few people that didn’t seem to want anything from her. He just liked her because, and never pulled his punches in telling Bridgett what he thought. If it hadn’t been for him, Bridgett’s career would have sunk under the weight of all the bad press she was given after her mom died.

“Did you talk with Serena about going to the wrap party next week?” Bridgett knew this was a much more neutral topic, one that Bridgett and Special both had a common interest in.

 “I know she wants to make an appearance, especially after the signing of your big contract, but she has a very busy schedule. I’ll mention it to her next time we have a meeting.” Special fidgeted with her soda.

Bridgett was surprised. A big contract signing usually meant a producer’s stock was on its way up. Bridgett assumed that with a long-term development deal, an appearance at her wrap party would be a done deal.

Serena Stains was always an aloof figure in the music industry. But whenever she made an appearance at an artist’s party it was considered to be a sign of approval. Bridgett hoped an appearance at the wrap party for her concert would help generate a positive buzz. If Serena held court at the close of a project, it was always seen as a sign that the performer was acknowledged as being a survivor, with a future. In the business, a Serena appearance at a wrap was considered even more important than her being at a launch.

Bridgett had only met Serena twice in the years she had been working for Conspiracy Records and both times were at album launches. Now that she had one of the largest contracts Conspiracy ever signed, she was hoping to get the seal of approval from the top.

A record promoter once compared an appearance by Serena at a company event to an audience with the pope. Bridgett thought she was more like the anti-Pope. Serena would sit at a table in the corner and have brief one or two minute interviews with selected guest. Most people never talked about these exchanges, whether this was because Serena never said anything memorable or if what she said had disturbed the interviewee so much.

Because they were during her album launches, both of Bridgett’s interviews consisted of a string of compliments about her voice and her work. Ultimately, Bridgett concluded Serena’s presence was more of a party killer than anything else. And after her allotted two minutes, Bridgett would make a beeline for another part of the nightclub. Being a typical teenager, she was more interested in soaking up the attention and dancing than listening to an imperious old witch scaring her guests.

The witch analogy sparked Bridgett’s memory. She had met a music exec that had traveled with Serena to negotiate European release rights for Conspiracy Records. While they were there, Serena made a quiet three-day side trip to Bulgaria and Romania. East Europeans had been pirating albums en masse and selling them all over Eastern Europe and China. Conspiracy’s music piracy problem dried up virtually overnight.

When he heard Bridgett’s anti-Pope joke, the exec gave a strange, nervous laugh and said it more like an audience with the Lucrezia Borgia. Bridgett found out later that he’d taken early retirement, even though he was only in his mid-forties. Last, she heard he had moved out of the country.

This is one of the bondage scenes that occurs early in the book, but it does give a fair representation of the types of scenes that I enjoy both reading and writing.