Rosie Ch. 01

"Alright," Rosie snapped. "Turn around." The other members of the band obediently turned their backs on her and she stepped out of her tight jeans, pulled her t-shirt over her head and picked up the black mini-dress that she planned to wear on stage. She hated having to share a dressing room with her bass player, percussionist and saxophonist but she did get a secret thrill from knowing how turned on they were getting by the thought of her standing naked behind them. Not that they knew she was completely naked, but the expensive dress was designed to hold up her full breasts without need of any other assistance and she never wore panties when she was playing. That gave her a thrill, too. For a second she stood there, feeling cool air against her skin, enjoying making them wait and then she turned to admire herself in the small, cracked dressing room mirror.

Her hair tumbled in auburn curls over her smooth bare shoulders, she had an expressive oval face with startlingly intense green eyes and her body had curves that she knew would make any one of the three men get down on their knees and beg like a dog. She looked at them, their hunched backs and thinning heads of hair and shook her head. They were sweet but they had no balls, that was their problem. That, she sometimes thought wryly, was why they were still stuck playing in shitty little clubs like this.

"Are you ready Rosie?" Miles, the drummer, muttered nervously. She walked right behind him. "I'm ready when I tell you I'm ready sweetcheeks," she murmured into his ear, reaching around his waist, squeezing his balls and making him audibly gulp. Still he didn't have the nerve to turn around. All three of them, Miles, Kit the bass player, and Gareth the saxophonist, desperately wanted to fuck her, and the knowledge that they couldn't made them ache inside.

She put the shoes on first. It turned her on to walk up and down behind them naked except for a pair of three-inch high stiletto heels pushing out her peach-shaped ass and making it wiggle. She slapped Gareth's ass. "You ready Gaz?" she teased, almost daring him to turn round.

"Sure thing Rosie!" he yelped in his squeaky, over-eager voice. "Don't you think we should go on now? The crowd are getting kinda restless."

It was true that there was a steady thud of glasses being pounded on the table from the bar next door. It was after midnight and most of the punters would be pretty drunk. Rosie picked up the dress and put it on, enjoying the feel of the filmy fabric lifting her naked breasts. "Alright guys," she instructed. "Go to it."

They knew the drill. The three of them dutifully filed out as Rosie slapped each of their asses in turn. She heard a subdued cheer and then she followed to a much more enthusiastic reception. Not that she could kid herself that it was the music they were excited about. There were maybe thirty or forty people there, mostly guys. They looked like they'd been drinking for days and some of them probably had but their eyes visibly brightened when she walked on.

She stepped up to the mic slowly, making her round ass wiggle once more as she walked. "OK," she pouted through scarlet painted lips. "We're going to play a song for you guys."

To her amusement by the second song at least two of the guys in the front row had visible hard-ons as they looked her body up and down; not missing an inch of her long, smooth legs or the breasts that looked like they were about to fall out of her low-cut dress.

In fact only one guy in the audience seemed to be listening to the music. She almost forgot the words of the next song when she saw him. He was a tall, powerful, black man leaning against the bar at the back. He must have been about fifty years old but he was broad shouldered and muscular-looking under an expensive suit. His face was craggy and ruthless with a faint scar running down one cheek and once he made eye-contact with her he didn't let go. In the end she had to break away, blushing, looking at the floor instead. There was something about his stare that made her long legs go weak.

Just then, as they came to the last song, she felt Gareth prod her nervously in the back. "You see who that is?" he squeaked. "That's Clifford Garvey."

Clifford Garvey? Rosie couldn't believe it. One of the biggest names in R&B was here, in this crappy little club, watching her play. From then on she sang to him and him alone, winding her hips down low, swivelling to give him a look at her round ass, then sashaying to the front of the stage, pouting and kissing the sensuous soul lyrics in his direction.

By the time she'd finished the place was in uproar with glasses slamming on the tables and the drunk patrons howling for more but Rosie only had eyes for Clifford Garvey who was merely smiling dryly at the back. "Fuck!" she muttered under her breath as they walked off stage. "He didn't like it."

"Well, you don't know that," ventured Gareth timidly.

"Shut the fuck up asswipe," she snapped making him quail. "If you weren't such a loser maybe he wouldn't of thought we sucked."

In the dressing room Rosie was in a foul mood. The three musicians didn't dare say a word. Gareth began removing his shirt to get in the shower but stopped when she caught his eye. "For fuck's sake you selfish bastard," she snapped. "There's only one shower and you have to be the one to go first don't you?"

"I don't mind R-Rosie," he stuttered. "You can go first."

"Yeah right, like I'm going to get undressed in front of you perverts," she snapped with withering scorn, unable to conceal her contempt from them anymore. "This is what's going to happen pencil dick. You're all going home, I'm going to take a shower, and tomorrow we're going to have a long, serious chat about why the fuck you morons can't play in time."

"Um, Rosie. . ." Gareth was looking nervously over her shoulder.

She turned round and blushed again to the roots of her hair. "Mr Garvey!" In her three inch high heels Rosie was a fraction over six feet tall but still the black man towered over her. There was a faint smile playing on his lips and she was acutely conscious that if he looked down he'd be looking directly at her breasts.

"You're a hard woman," he said in a deep voice which made butterflies flutter in her stomach.

"Oh," she stuttered awkwardly. "They're used to it. Aren't you boys?"

The guys nodded.

"Well," Clifford said slowly, glancing at them. "I won't keep you young men."

They looked stunned. "You mean. .?"

"I mean I think you should go," he said patiently. "I wish to speak to your singer alone."

For a second Rosie thought Gareth was plucking up the courage to say something but they all grabbed their instruments and scuttled out of the door.

"You know what?" Clifford said after they'd gone. "You're a very talented, very beautiful woman. You really shouldn't be hanging around with those losers."

"I know," Rosie breathed. "But. . ."

"Have you eaten?" he asked casually. "I'm going round the corner to a little Chinese Restaurant I know. I thought you might like to come."

She had eaten but Rosie didn't miss a beat. "I'd love to," she quaked. "Thank you Mr Garvey."

"Clifford," he smiled, his eyes twinkling into hers, "Call me Clifford."

As they walked to the restaurant Rosie wished that she'd had the time to change. She felt incredibly exposed with nothing but the skimpy dress and a pair of high heels on. The night air was cool, making her nipples push outwards unmistakably. Clifford stopped by a discreet little restaurant she hadn't noticed before and courteously opened the door for her.

They were served immediately by a beautiful, petite Chinese waitress in a classic blue cocktail dress. She almost scurried to a polished black table in the corner, pulling out two chairs. "Mr Garvey?" she smiled anxiously. "So pleased to see you. Will it be the Château Rothschild as usual?"

"Make it the '69," he nodded. "I've a feeling I might have something to celebrate later."

"They know you here, then?" Rosie began politely as the waitress darted away.

"Of course they know me," he laughed his big, low laugh. "I own the place."

When the wine came he poured it out slowly. "That will be all for tonight Liu," he said to the waitress. "You can close up now."

"Yes sir, thank you very much sir," the waitress bobbed obsequiously.

Rosie tried to keep calm but she was acutely conscious of the size and power of the man opposite. It was all she could do to stop herself begging to know what he wanted with her. As if on cue, he looked up and smiled. For the first time she noticed a gold tooth in the corner of his mouth. "Rosie," he began. "I think you've got potential you know that. I think my company could use a girl like you."

"You do? Well, Mr Gordy I'm so flattered. . ."

He held up an enormous hand to stop her. "Don't be. I don't want you to have any illusions Rosie. Music executives are crooks but I like to think of myself as an honest crook so, before I begin, I'm going to explain something to you. Do you understand the music business?"

"Well, I like to think so."

"Do you know what happens to artists when they sign a record deal?"

"I guess I do I mean. . ."

"What happens to artists when they sign a record deal," he began, as if she hadn't spoken. "Is that they spend all their time sucking dick. They suck the record company's dick, they suck big-shot producers dicks, they suck TV journalists dicks and then, after all that dick sucking you know what happens?"

"No," she quivered, suddenly, inexplicably, turned on by his crudeness, his black face leaning close to hers.

"What happens after all that dick sucking," he continued "is that they end up getting fucked in the ass."

She stared at him speechless.

"You want to suck dick Rosie?" he asked in a low voice. "You want to get fucked in the ass? Because that's what the music business is all about."

"I want to do things my way," she struggled defiantly. "If I'm going to make it in the music business I want it to be because of all that talent you talked about, not. . .not because I've sucked someone's dick."

He leaned back and laughed uproariously. "Talent doesn't mean shit. I can make you a star. You want that?"

"Well, yes."

"And are you prepared to do what it takes to get that."

"I'm prepared to work every hour of the day. I'm prepared to. . ."

He leaned back and studied her intently. "I like you Rosie. I like your voice. I like the way you move. I like your tits. I like your ass. There's one thing I don't like, though, and that's your attitude."

"What do you mean?"

"In my company I'm the man. There's no such thing as artistic freedom. You sing the songs I tell you to sing. You wear the clothes I tell you to wear. You do as I say and you become the most successful white soul singer in the world. The only problem is: I don't know if you'd put up with that. I saw how you treated your band. You're a haughty, stuck-up, ball-breaking bitch."

"I'm not like that," she protested. "I mean I write my own songs and I'd want creative control but. . ."

"You write your own songs?" he raised one sardonic eye-brow. "Are your songs as good as 'Say A Little Prayer'? Are they as good as 'Baby Love'?

"Well, no but. . ."

"But nothing!" he was almost making her melt under the power of his gaze. He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a rolled up sheath of papers. "I've been following you for a while now Rosie. I took the liberty of drawing up a contract. I'm offering you $6 million dollars to sign but I need to know that you're on-board fully with no questions and no bullshit."

"Six million dollars?" she was staggered. "You think I'm worth that?"

He nodded gravely "If you let me make you worth that."

Rosie couldn't believe it but she felt she had to make one last fight for her independence. "I'd need to have some kind of say, or. . ."

Abruptly he stood up and, before she could move, he slapped her across the face. "You dumb bitch!" he growled. "You think a white slut with big tits knows more about soul music than Clifford Garvey? Get out of my restaurant!"

She gazed at him in disbelief, her cheek turning pink and smarting from the blow. "Clifford," she begged. "I didn't mean to insult you. Of course you know more about soul than I do."

"I don't work with ball-breaking bitches," he threatened. "And I don't think I can work with you."

"At least let me look at the contract."

He tossed the contract to her and, with trembling fingers, she leafed through it. Just as he'd said the contract insisted that she give him complete power over her. In return she'd get $6 million dollars. Imagine what she could do with $6 million dollars. Not to mention the chance to be a huge, global star. Her heart beat faster.

She looked up. "Clifford, please, I want to sign."

He looked at her with complete scorn. "And then you'll screw me over first chance you get with your 'artistic control' bullshit."

"No," she shook her head with tears in her eyes. "I understand now that if we do this we do it your way. And I want to do it."

For a second he stood there, towering over her, his crotch almost level with her head so that she ended up staring at a long, thick shape under his pants that was surely too big to be his penis. Then abruptly he smiled and sat down as if nothing had happened. "OK, I'm going to give you a chance. I'm going to give you a chance to prove that you can be a good girl and do as Clifford says."

"Oh thank you!" she breathed. "I promise you won't regret it. . ."

He raised his big hand again to stop her. "You haven't proved yourself yet." He gazed at her fiercely. Strip."

"What?"

"Strip. I want to see if you really mean what you said."

For a moment she wondered if he was joking but his gaze was hard and steady. When she didn't move he stood up again and pointed to the door. "Then I guess it's goodbye."

"No Clifford." She stood up and, with her cheeks flushing bright red, she reached behind her and slowly unzipped the dress, letting it fall to the floor.

"Well, well," he chuckled. "Who would have thought that you were such a filthy little bitch. Forgot to put on your panties today did you?" Without thinking she crossed her legs and put her hands in front of her big tits in a futile attempt to preserve some modest.

He grinned. Her body was everything he'd expected and more, the full tits in perfect proportion to her Amazonian body, the big nipples pink and erect, her stomach flat with a small gold piercing in the navel, her bush trimmed to a small, dark triangle. What he hadn't expected was that the haughty bitch would turn out to be so timid. She was practically quivering as his sharp eyes ran her up and down right the way from her scarlet painted toenails to her shamed white face.

"If you're going to be a star," he said cruelly. "You'll need to lose a few pounds."

"Yes, Clifford," she murmured, humiliated.

"Don't just stand there bitch," he added. "Go and make me a martini."

"Yes Clifford."

Naked except for high-heels and nail polish Rosie felt incredibly exposed as she clicked across the tiled restaurant floor towards the bar. She knew his eyes would be following her bare white ass as it wiggled from side to side. Black men liked girls with big butts, she knew that. She tried to stick out her ass as she walked. She desperately wanted him to accept her but at the same time she knew she was humiliating herself in the process.

To her mortification just as she got to the bar and began pouring the drink the Chinese waitress opened the door. "Oh, so sorry," she said immediately closing it again but just for a second Rosie saw her eyes gleam with amusement as she looked at her naked tits and exposed pussy. She wondered how many girls Liu had seen humiliated in this way.

"How long does it take to get a drink?" Clifford called impatiently.

"Sorry Clifford," she stuttered, her breasts jiggling as she hurried over to his side with the Martini.

He took the drink off her without a word. Rosie stood there, wondering whether it would be OK to sit down. He sipped the drink and nodded. "Not bad." Then he put one enormous black hand against her white ass and squeezed, making her quiver again as she felt his powerful fingers digging into her soft flesh. "You really want to be a star, don't you?"

"Yes Clifford."

"You dumb slut," he laughed shaking his shaved black head. "You think you're so fucking special and such a fucking artist and yet all so are is a filthy little whore. What are you?"

"I'm a filthy little whore," she admitted shame-facedly.

"Exactly right," he turned his chair to face her, grabbed her ass in both of his hands and pulled her on to his lap so she was straddling him with her thighs spread wide. She knew the pink of her pussy was gleaming wetly as it spread. She put her hands behind her ass, on his knees, and arched her back so her tits practically sat up and begged for his attention. "You want to be fucked don't you?" he taunted.

"Yes," she admitted, unable to resist.

"Say it then, beg me," he commanded.

"Please fuck me."

"What?" he reached forward and took both nipples in his hands squeezing hard and making her gasp.

"Please, please fuck me Clifford!" she begged.

"You filthy white whore," he took her nipples again and twisted them, making her cry out. "What makes you think I'd fuck a white bitch like you? Get on your knees."

Rosie slid off him on to her knees. To her immense shame there was a damp patch on his pants where her pussy had been.

"You're not such a ball-breaker now, are you?" he said sternly, gazing down at her as she kneeled naked on the cold tiled floor.

"No Clifford."

"You do what you're told?"

"Yes Clifford."

She looked up at him her eyes wide, her hands pressed against his massive thighs, her head between his knees.

"Take out my cock and suck it, bitch," he ordered as she knew he would.

Her hands trembling she undid his zip and reached inside his boxer shorts. His cock sprang out as though it had been caged. She stared in disbelief. Erect it was enormous, bigger than anything she'd ever seen. The head alone was almost as big as an apple. "What are you waiting for you dumb white slut," he growled. "Lick it like it's your lollipop."

She did as he said, flicking her tongue up and down his mighty stem, wetting it and tasting his salt. His cock twitched in response like an animal.

"Good little slut," he crowed. "Now suck it like you know you want to. Let's see that pale face bounce."

She only just managed to get her mouth over the head of his cock. His girth forced her mouth open so wide that saliva dribbled down his cock and into his pubes. Then, slowly to start with, she started to slide up and down. "Oh yeah, suck it bitch," he laughed. Clifford couldn't think of any better sight than a white girl on her knees in front of him sucking his dick. He put his hands on the back of her head and shuffled forward, making her take more in. She was deep-throating him now, her eyes full of shame and lust.

"Uh-huh," he moaned. "You've done this before you filthy whore."

In answer Rosie put both hands round the base of his cock and bobbed her head faster. She could taste that he was getting close now. She glanced up at him and saw a triumphant smile forming on his lips. Behind him she could see the door into the kitchen was open just a crack and Liu and another Chinese girl were watching, giggling at the sight of another white slut sucking Clifford's dick for a chance in the music business. She didn't care though. All Rosie wanted now was to be the best slut she could for the man towering over her. Her lips formed a tight, wet seal around his immense cock and she bounced and bounced until at last he jerked his hips and she felt his cum spurt into the back of her mouth.