Popped Star

"What's a Svengali?" the young signer asked as she tossed the copy of Rolling Stone onto her manager's desk. 

He shrugged, "Like a producer I guess. The point is Jackson is the best, he's taken four other artists to the top of the charts and he wants to work with you. His label is the hottest thing in music right now and this is great news. He works only with young up-and-coming women and if you play this right you'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone next time and not a note on page fifteen."

Matilda Sutton sighed, she trusted her manager. He'd gotten her a side stage gig at Glastonbury the year before and had managed her career well so far. Still, she liked her old producer, Melissa. They'd been at music school together and working with someone her age and gender was far more comfortable than a stuffy old guy.

"Look, we record the album. If it works then great, if not then we're back to basics next year and we can get Melissa in again," he said.

Matlida sighed, "Fine."

Matthew Jackson was an older man with grey hair and stern features. He was well dressed, in a suit and tie a sharp contrast to the loose fitting t-shirt and jeans that Matilda wore to their first session.

"You will dress better for future sessions," he said, "You must prepare for success, and that means always looking as if you will be photographed. Dress more presentable next time."

Matilda rolled her eyes, "Can we just focus on the music?"

Three hours later they had laid down the vocal tracks for two songs. Matilda listened back through the studio headphones, hearing her voice struggle to hit the notes. In the background of the audio was a buzzing sound.

"What's that?" she asked, "The buzzing?"

"Perhaps a loose wire. I will check the equipment tonight, now just focus on hearing how you are missing the notes. Tomorrow you will do better," he said.

Matilda sighed and listened to her voice, ignoring the buzz and feedback.

A month into the recording process Matilda Sutton found that things had settled into a nice rhythm. Matthew Jackson had a talented group of session musicians backing her up and she was feeling excited and confident now that she'd taken his advice and started dressing like a star and not someone on their way to morning class at uni.

After a particularly long session, the producer sent the band home and held her back to go over the tracks that they'd locked for the album. He handed her the large studio headphones and Matilda listened again hearing the weird feedback buzz.

Ignoring it she let herself feel the music. The songs were more overtly sexual than her earlier albums which had been all about the sort of teenage romances that she'd had back in school. Jackson had pushed her to be more provocative, more adult. More sexual.

She could feel that in the music, the heat. The arousal. Matilda did not notice her hands running themselves over her body, or how with each song she became more and more turned on. When the song did end, she blinked, noticing that the producer was staring at her and then that she was fingering herself her hand lifting up the red glittery dress to reach her most tender spot. Not wearing panties had seemed, a good idea though she was not sure why.

"You enjoy the music," Jackson said his voice stating it as if it were a command and not a question.

"Yeah," Matilda said, feeling agreeable. It was good, so good. She looked at the older man, realizing how handsome he was, how commanding of a presence that he had. Making him happy seemed important, pleasing him seemed vital.

"You're a fast learner. The conditioning usually takes another month, but now you've already become such a naughty girl. This record is going to sell huge numbers, and you will be another perfect little doll in my collection. Singing for your dinner, and making me very rich," he said.

Matilda sighed, pleased that he was pleased. Wet and aroused. 

Jackson smiled, "Now my dear it's time to show me how much you really appreciate me."