Over the years, Jim had seen dozens of them-each and every one searching for a job in the spotlight of television. All of them thinking that they had what it took to work in the news division of the Central Broadcasting Company. All of them believing that the only requirements were a pleasant voice, a winning smile, and a nice body.
They came from small towns and big cities, from back streets and main streets, and from every ethnic neighborhood imaginable. They all carried professional-looking resumes stuffed full of the obligatory statements and the self-serving tidbits. A few carried video cassettes of themselves, knowing that in this television age, the image was mightier than the word.
Ah yes! He'd seen thousands-perhaps tens of thousands--walk through his office door, sit in the chair in front of him, and explain why they should be given a chance to work in television news. They were seeking fame and fortune in the electronic age. Of course, only one in a thousand had the proper combination of high intelligence and good looks which it took to appear before a camera.
Unfortunately, most of the intelligent ones looked like a dog, and most of the good-looking ones had the brains of a possum. If either attribute were lacking, the camera would certainly uncover it. For as Dan Rather once said, "The camera never blinks."
Jim looked at the woman standing before him. She was certainly pretty enough to work in television. She had long blonde hair which shined, blue eyes which sparkled, and the whitest teeth he'd seen outside a chewing gum commercial. They were so bright that they literally gleamed.
"What can I do for you?" he asked while lighting up a cigarette.
"I'm here to see about a job," she replied with that dazzling smile.
"What qualifications do you have?"
"All my life I've wanted to work in television news. It's what I've been dreaming of since I was a little girl."
He thought that she was going to carry on with a long-winded appraisal of herself, as thousands before her had done. Or maybe rattle off a long list of distinguished Ivy League colleges and universities where she had done undergraduate work in the Telecommunications Department under Mr. Somebody-or-other. At the very least he expected her to say that she was the best thing to hit television broadcasting since Barbara Walters.
But instead, she simply sat in place and remained silent. She didn't add a single word to her statement. Apparently she believed that the desire to work in television outweighed any qualifications. The simple act of stating her ambition overrode all other considerations. She was either extremely naive, or very, very stupid.
Of course, it could be said that stupidity wasn't necessarily a handicap in television. Some senior executives who oversaw primetime programming demonstrated that a person could go a long way in the electronic media without brainpower.
When Jim was fairly certain that the young lady wasn't going to elaborate on her earlier statement, he asked, "Where exactly would you like to work in television news?"
"I'd like to be an anchorwoman," she replied without hesitation. "I think that I'm a natural."
"An anchorwoman!" he said, surprised. He looked at her closely. She certainly had the face for it. But blue eyes, blonde hair, and a perfectly straight nose were a dime a dozen in the news business. "Have you ever been a news anchor before?" he asked.
"No," she replied matter-of-factly.
"Do you have any reporting experience?"
"No," she answered with her dazzling smile.
He immediately realized that he was interviewing a genuine bimbo. "Well, have you ever worked in television news before?"
"No," she replied without relinquishing her smile.
"Hmmm!" he sighed while looking at her. He took a deep drag on his cigarette and asked, "Did you study television or journalism in college?"
"No." Her smile remained as pretty as ever.
He looked at her with utter disbelief and said, "You tell me that you want to be a news anchor, yet you've never been a reporter! You say you've been dreaming all your life of working in television news, yet you've never taken a college class! Don't you think that you ought to acquire some experience first, young lady?"
She looked at him, but didn't say anything. She didn't seem to comprehend his logic.
He knew that she was a real space cadet when she didn't wipe the smile from her face. "Look, you're a very pretty young woman-in fact, you're quite beautiful-but you just can't walk in here and expect to get hired on the basis of beauty alone. First, you must put together a good solid resume of experience and skills. And don't expect to get hired here at the network. This place is only for true professionals. Try the smaller markets first like Paducah, Bowling Green, or Peoria."
The smile finally vanished from her face. A tear started to well in the corner of her right eye. She sniffled once, reached into her purse, and retrieved a small hankie.
Jim had seen this bit a thousand times before. Some women were waiters, some were snifflers, and still others were screamers. This one was obviously a sniffler. Thank God! He could handle that. It was those damn screamers who drove him up the wall. They could wake up the dead when they were rejected for a job with their constant caterwauling.
"Listen, don't take it so hard," he consoled. "I'm sure that you'll eventually become an anchorwoman. It'll just take a few years, that's all."
"Is that it?" she asked loudly. "Are you throwing me out?" She seemed so different without the smile. It was like watching the transformation of Dr. Jekyll into Mr. Hyde.
"I'm not throwing you out," he said as he exhaled. "I'm simply dismissing you. The Central Broadcasting Company has no need at the present time for someone in the news division without qualifications. Get the qualifications, then come back to see me when we have an opening."
That did it. She stood up, turned around, and angrily walked out the door. To make certain that the news director got the message of how she felt, she slammed the door with all of her might. She knew she wasn't wanted at CBC news.
Just as the door slammed with a loud "KAPOW!" a man standing in the hallway turned his head and looked at her. His name was Vince, and he was one of the senior vice presidents of the network. He was immediately struck by the extraordinary sexiness of her face, eyes, and body.
Jim had overlooked her beauty because he was one of those rare men who attempted to judge women on the basis of merit instead of appearance. In other words, he wanted to know her inner character before he assessed her physical features.
Vince however, was part neanderthal and a direct product of the television age. He saw people-and especially women-as products. To his way of thinking, individuals-and especially women-could be consumed like tasty morsel treats. And when he saw Bev, he saw a woman who was new and improved and needed to be sampled.
He wasn't simply attracted to that bright smile, either. No way. He realized that beneath that tight-fitting dress was one of the best bodies to have ever walked down a CBC hallway.
Over the years he had been with a lot of women, including quite a few models, television starlets, and beauty contestants. They were all in superior physical shape and he had fucked many of them. But the female standing before him at that very moment was as good-looking as any of them.
He realized that women were attracted to power. They loved it. And the more power that a man wielded, the more likely he was to have a trail of shapely damsels scurrying after him, each yearning to spread her thighs and wiggle her ass. That's why there were so many beautiful women in Hollywood and Washington D.C. On the West Coast they sought powerful movie moguls, whereas on the East Coast they sought powerful bureaucrats. Those lovely Midwestern babes who couldn't afford to make it to either California or D.C, made do by going after local men who exuded power, such as bankers, lawyers, doctors, or media personalities.
But it wasn't enough for a man to have power, he also had to have the appearance of power. He had to look like a commander of men. He needed to maintain the facade of authority at all times if he wanted to keep the shapely damsels scurrying after him.
And that was the nicest thing about being a senior vice president. Prime pussy was everywhere. Even the executive secretaries were the most shapely available. He had no idea how many he had screwed over the years, but everyone of them was Grade A Top Sirloin.
And the woman he was admiring at that very second was also a choice cut of beef. Not only did she have the face of a blonde angel, but she had the body of a she-devil. She was tall-perhaps five feet, ten inches. Her breasts were large--but not too large-probably a thirty-six "C" cup. Her waist was narrow-very narrow-no more than twenty inches. And her tummy was flat and firm and showed no signs of flabbiness whatsoever.
Her hips were those of a woman, not of a girl. They were shapely and seductive. The buttocks were rounded, full and firm, and the material of her dress clung tightly enough so that the cleft of her ass was plainly visible.
She had long lean legs that seemed to go on forever-from her dainty ankles to her enticing crotch. They were the kind that other women dreamed about having, and men wanted to spread. Her calves indicated that she had very shapely thighs, because the fitness of one always indicated the fitness of the others.
He also bet that she had a very pretty pussy. Most tall and shapely blondes did. That is, if she were a natural blonde. There was only one definite way to tell, and hopefully he would have a chance to find out for himself firsthand.
He puffed out his chest like a peacock and strutted over. He wanted to look like he exuded as much power as possible. "Hello there," he said. "I don't think we've met before. I'm Vince Appleberg, senior vice president here at CBC."
She didn't hear his name-only the words "network vice president." They were music to her ears. When their sound resonated against her eardrums her heart beat a little faster and dollar signs flashed through her mind. She looked up at him with tear-filled and sorrowful eyes. She bit her lower lip and quickly stepped forward to embrace him.
"My word!" he said, somewhat surprised by her action. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?"
"It's that beast in there," she sobbed. "That man Jim, somebody-or-other."
"Do you mean Jim Smith-the head of the news division?"
"Yes. He was mean to me."
"Mean! How so?"
"He wouldn't give me a job."
Vince really wasn't interested in her personal problems. He was more interested in the quality of her breasts. They seemed to be ideal, for he felt her hard little nipples through the material of her dress.
Furthermore, they seemed to be large-the kind that were meant for sucking. And they were uptilted slightly, meaning they were easier to get at with one's lips.
He slid his hands downward so that he could press her body more securely against his. Although the action was meant to demonstrate comfort, it was just a foil so that he had an opportunity to check out the firmness of her buttocks. If he was going to seduce a woman, he needed to know if she were totally real. Foundation garments and girdles were the ultimate turn-off.
Although she felt his hands moving down her smooth backside, she didn't say anything. Whatever a senior vice president might want, she would willingly and unhesitantly provide. She would do anything to land a job in the news division of Central Broadcasting Company.
Once he realized the woman was a certified beauty, he offered to assist her. "Why don't you step with me into Jim's office and I'll see if we can't reach an understanding. After all, he's a reasonable man."
She flashed her most dazzling smile. She knew she was on the way to becoming an anchorwoman.
Several minutes later they were back inside Jim's office. Vince had entered without knocking and said in a commanding tone, "Jim, this young woman says that she wants a job here at CBC. What's the problem? Why can't she be hired?"
Jim looked at Vince and then at Be v. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Of all people for her to run into. The cunthound of the network had found a woman who could give a hard-on to a eunuch. It was apparent that the senior vice president had the hots for her. The way that he was puffing out his chest proved that.
How many times had Jim seen this routine? Hundreds? Thousands? Anytime a pretty blonde was within sniffing distance, Vince was after her like a dog after a bone. Whether it be at a meeting, a strategy session, or a company picnic, he was always ready to score. All he had to do was mention his bigwig title, and women began fawning on him like a cute little kitten. Rumour had it that he'd fucked most of the good-looking babes in management, and a fair proportion of the secretaries.
Oh well, Jim didn't care. After all, it took two to tango, and if any woman was stupid enough to get involved with someone having Vince's track record, so be it.
Jim looked up and said, "I think that you and I ought to talk about this alone, Vince. There are a few things that I want to bring out to you."
Vince told Bev to wait outside. He would see her shortly.
As the door closed behind him, Jim looked levelly at the network vice president and said, "I'm not hiring that woman. She has no qualifications whatsoever. She's never worked in television news. In fact, she's never worked in television. From what I can gather she's never even studied television. She merely wants to work here-and not at an entry-level job either, but at the top of the scale. She wants to be a newsanchor, for god's sake! Not a cameraman. Not a gaffer. Not a writer, but a newsanchor. Can you imagine it? She walks off the street, into my office, and wants the number one job in front of the camera."
These were all very good points and they would have been seriously considered by any other vice president from any other network. But Vince's libido was greater than his IQ. His balls weighed more than his brain. Once Jim finished, he simply asked, "Well, why can't we give her a break?"
Jim looked at his superior and laughed. "You can't be serious?"
"I'm very serious. She's a very attractive woman. She's eye-catching, if you know what I mean."
"There are plenty of other, more qualified people who we should hire instead of this bimbo. I have an entire file drawer filled with applicants who can run circles around this young woman. They come from top colleges. They have years of experience. Some have done award-winning feature stories. A few have worked overseas assignments, such as Nicaragua, El Salvador, or South Africa."
"But she's a natural for the camera." Vince replied. "Haven't you had a look at that face and those eyes?"
"Yes, I admit that she's very attractive, but that doesn't mean a hill of beans down here in news. I need people who can think on their feet, meet deadlines, and converse intelligently with various personalities from all walks of life."
"Oh that's pure bullshit!" Vince exclaimed. "You hired that bimbo Doris, didn't you?"
"At your insistence," Jim replied.
Vince coughed. Yes, he remembered. She had given him a very nice blow job. In return, he had given her a very nice job. "Well, what about that bimbo, Lynn? You hired her as well. Hell! She can't utter three words without making a mistake."
"Again Vince, it was at your insistence," Jim said calmly. "I didn't want to have anything to do with either of those hirings. You overrode my decision in both instances."
Vince again coughed. He remembered that Lynn was the one who liked to watch pornographic movies while being balled. She was actually a lot of fun because she screamed like a Banshee when she had an orgasm. Damn! They had a great week together in the Bahamas fucking and sucking in the little thatched hut on the beach. He'd have to look her up and see if she wanted to do a repeat performance.
In the meantime, he pretended to lose his temper. "Damn it, Jim! I don't care about your reservations! Make room for this blonde. Anywhere. I don't give a shit! Fire somebody if you have to. Just get her on the air. That's an order."
Jim didn't say a word. He remained silent. The hiring of Be v proved that the dick was more powerful than the brain--at least amongst television executives.
"Wait a minute!" exclaimed Vince while snapping his finger. "Let's make her the weathergirl."
"We've already got a weathergirl," Jim reminded him. "Connie Jones, remember?"
Vince scratched his chin and said, "She's starting to look a little old. She's starting to get crow's feet around her eyes, and her tits are beginning to droop. I suggest that we can her and hire Bev,"
"I can't believe this! Connie's been here over six years. You just can't get rid of a long-time trusted employee without an explanation."
"Find a way. There must be a way. After all, there's no union here to protect her rights."
"Yea, the employees swallowed the bullshit of CBC protecting them forever," said Jim sarcastically.
Vince caught the gist of the sarcasm and looked into his eyes. "Everyone at this network is expendable. Remember that."
Jim gulped. He knew that Vince was referring to his senior position in the news department. In order to quickly change the subject of the conversation he asked, "So what am I going to tell Connie? 'Honey, your tits are beginning to sag. We want someone who is perky, bouncey, and can give an erection to a birdwatcher.' Is that about it? Do I have the facts correct?"
"Yea, that's about the size of it," Vince replied.
"What are we going to say to Connie's loyal fans? They're going to be mad, you know?"
"Fuck them! There will only be a few who will complain. The rest will keep their mouths shut once they see the gorgeous blonde dish we've hired to replace her. Besides, Connie was a brunette and viewers prefer blondes. It was a mistake to put her in front of the camera in the first place. It's better to get rid of her now while we've got the chance."
"I don't like this one bit," Jim said, shaking his head.
"You don't have to like it. Just do it."
They walked back into the outer office and sat down in front of Bev. Knowing it was his hot potato to handle, Jim asked, "So there, Miss O'Conner, have you ever studied weather before?"
She looked at him with her bright blue eyes and flashed her gleaming smile. "No," she replied.
He wiped his brow and said, "Well, do you know anything about the weather?"
She laughed. "I know that it rains and it snows, and it freezes and it thaws, that's about it."
That response caused Jim to close his eyes and remain silent. He couldn't believe that he was seriously questioning this moron.
Vince continued with the interview, "Bev, do you think that you could do the weather if the forecast were written out for you?"
She smiled broadly. It was quite apparent that she had pressed her body against the right man. "Oh sure. Definitely. Of course, I'd rather be an anchorwoman," she said while looking Vince directly in the eye, sending him an unmistakable sexual signal.
He returned her gaze and couldn't help but wonder what those blue eyes would look like if her pussy were stuffed with his cock. That mental image caused him to become speechless.
Now Jim continued with the interview. "We'll take this one step at a time, okay? First of all, I want you to go into the studio. We'll make an audition tape of you doing the weather and I'll give you some pointers on how to look more effective in front of the camera."
Vince was looking at her magnificent body and growing hornier by the minute. He interrupted Jim and said, "Let's just skip the bullshit of that audition, okay. It's just a waste of the company's money. I don't see where her lack of meteorological knowledge, nor her lack of experience in broadcasting is any handicap whatsoever."
She turned and gave the most radiant smile of her life to Vince. It reeked of joy, gratitude, and sexual promise.
Glances like that were never wasted on a cunthound. They could read body signals better than a blue ribbon coon dog. Vince felt his penis start to twitch and said, "Come with me to my office, my dear. We'll sign the contract up there."
Jim interrupted, "There's no need for that, Vince. We can do the signing right here. I've got the paperwork in my desk." The senior vice president gave him a look of scorn and utter disdain. Jim immediately realized what was up. The cunthound of CBC was hungry for tail and the quarry was the shapely new blonde weathergirl.
Jim walked over to his desk, retrieved a contract from the drawer, and handed it to the VP. "This should pretty well fix you up."
Vince put his arm around Bev's shoulder and said, "Well, shall we go to my executive suite, my dear?"
"Ohhh!" she cooed. "That would be terrific. I've always wanted to see a network executive's office. I hope that it's not as shabby as this one."
Jim heard the sarcastic remark and realized that he had been put in his place. The rookie with the gorgeous ass and no experience whatsoever, was now making caustic comments about his office. Oh well, that was the nature of a business based on superficiality. Of course, once her tits started to sag, she'd be out on the street with the bag ladies.
He was about to return to his duties when he saw Vince turn around and ask, "By the way, where does the signature go on one of these contracts? It's been a long time since I've signed anyone."
Jim took the sheaf of papers, flipped to the back page, and said, "There at the bottom. On that bold line. Where it says 'Signature'."
Vince looked where he pointed and replied, "Got it. That seems simple enough." He turned around and wrapped his arm snuggly around Bev's thin waist. "Come with me, my dear. We have important matters to attend to."
Jim watched them walk away down the corridor. He saw them step into the elevator, all giggles and smiles. He knew that within an hour the beautiful blonde would have an executive's dick buried in her tight little cunt.
In the meantime, he would have to attend to the business of firing Connie as the network's weathergirl.
TWO
Vince watched Bev get into the elevator in front of him, he commented, "You've certainly got a nice looking ass there, weathergirl." Like all true-blue cunthounds he couldn't restrain himself from making sexually explicit comments. After all, it was best to let the female know what kind of a man she was dealing with.
She turned, smiled, and said, "I'm glad that you like it. Are there any other parts of my body that you like as well?"
He wasn't one to mince words when he was on a mission of carnal lust. "Honey, from the moment that I saw you standing in the corridor crying your eyes out, I knew that you were one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the halls of this drab old CBC building. Merely by your presence, you made this place shine."
She bowed her head and blushed. "Ah! I bet you say that to all the girls."
She wasn't far off. He did say that line at least once a week to some young honey. He might find them in the corridor, the elevator, or even in the parking garage. If they had a succulent looking body and a pretty face, he would tell them that they were beautiful, and then he would mention his position in the company. If they needed any assistance he would pull some string, somewhere, to make sure that he was remembered favorably so that he might be able to cash in later.
Of course, everyone else at CBC thought that Vince was a total fucking jerk, but others low opinions never bothered him. After all, his position was secure. He was part of senior management, a large shareholder in the corporation, and a nephew of one of the founders. The company might get fucked up under his pilotage, but he would never have to pay the price with the loss of his job. No way. As in every other large American company, it would be the heads of lower managers that would roll if profits slacked.
God! He was thankful that he never had to work at one of those low-paying jobs on the bottom rungs of the company ladder. Low-paying jobs meant low-quality pussy. Poor women might look all right on the outside, but they lacked the refinements which only came from attending the right schools, socializing with the well-to-do, and spending one's time developing the proper prejudices based on class and social status.
Everyone knew that the rich didn't give a shit about achieving racial integration, but they would never mouth such sentiments. Rich politicians were always extolling the virtues of the Civil Rights Movement and Martin Luther King, but it would be a cold day in hell before they allowed their daughter to attend an integrated public school. And, of course, the rich were always bragging about how they loved the concept of equal opportunity for all. And yet, they were the ones who were most guilty of showing favoritism and practicing nepotism. And if a rich kid got in trouble with the law, everyone knew he wound-up doing community service work-at worst-and never any hard time.
Vince had no idea if Bev were wealthy or not. Once she was disrobed, he would be able to tell. The lack of blemishes or birthmarks meant that she could afford a cosmetic surgeon. Beautiful skin meant that she could afford the best dermatological ointments. Perfect teeth meant that she could afford an orthodontist.
The way she walked bespoke of money. Poor women usually slouched, or had some form of poor posture, or dragged their feet. But Bev stepped like a thoroughbred, keeping her head high and her back straight.
Furthermore, she seemed to know what was expected of her. She walked ahead of Vince, apparently knowing that she got the job solely because of his influence. She moved her ass with a little more verve, shaking it from side to side with slightly more gusto than usual.
He liked women with a take-charge attitude in matters of sex. It meant that he could get down to business without having to explain the realities of the situation. He hated dealing with naive secretaries who didn't realize that spreading one's thighs was part of one's duties.
But with Bev, it was shaping up to be a fine afternoon of fucking and sucking on the senior vice president's custom-made roll-away bed.
When they got to his office door, she turned around, looked at him with a smile, and asked, "By the way, are you into bondage?"
He didn't know if he had heard correctly. "Say what?" he asked.
"I said, 'Are you into bondage'? I am."
"I assume that you mean the sexual kind?" he asked somewhat uncertainly.
"Of course," she giggled. "Is there any other?"
"Well, no ... or at least ... I don't think so." Suddenly he realized that he had never met a woman who was into S and M. Oh sure, he had read about such things in books and magazines, but he never truly thought he would meet someone who had that inclination. "So, let me get this straight," he said. "Are you suggesting that we do a little of that this afternoon?"
She stepped close and whispered, "Isn't that the real reason you brought me up here?"
He smiled. She was certainly his type of woman. "I brought you up here to show you around. That's all," he lied.
"Okay," she said. "Let's look around then."
He opened the door and they stepped together into a sumptuous room decorated with silver, glass, and gold. And lining the walls were dozens of pictures of television stars--some old, some recent, most indistinguishable, because they were all shot in the black-and-white style of thirties. Over in the corner was a large oak desk, without any papers on it. Obviously, this was where the senior vice president did his important thinking.
As Bev strolled around the huge room, he asked, "Well, do you like it or not?"
"Silly boy," she replied. "It's everything that I dreamed it would be. Yes, this is a very nice office for a weathergirl. I'll take it."
"Er...." he stuttered, momentarily taken aback. "I don't think you realize ... uh ... this is my office. You'll be sharing one down on the same floor with Jim."
She turned to him and smiled. "But I like it up here much better." She reached up to her collar and began to unbutton the top button of her dress. She sighed and said, "Why don't you have a seat and enjoy the show? After all, you've earned it."
He winked and said, "My dear, I think that hiring you is one of the best decisions I've ever made." He sat down on the expensive silk-covered sofa and stared at her as she undid the second button of her dress. He wasn't surprised to see that her breasts were straining to break out from the confines of the garment. They were beauties waiting to breathe free.
She undid the third, fourth, and fifth buttons in rapid succession, hurrying and yet moving seductively. She smiled as she parted the material of her dress to reveal her magnificent breasts.
He gulped as he saw the twin orbs spring into view. They were truly the best he had ever seen. They were perfection itself. Round, succulent, and without any sag whatsoever. "You've got a pair of twin beauties, all right. I had a hunch that you did when I saw you standing in the hallway."
"And that's when you decided to hire me, right?" she asked with a smile as she pulled the dress further apart.
"Well, sort of."
"How did you know that I would agree to your offer?"
"You didn't look like a naive virgin."
"Naive ... no. A virgin ... no to that also. Although I must confess that I haven't been around as much as you might believe."
"In other words, you haven't fucked your brains out with every Tom, Dick, and Harry that came along."
"Only if they were rich and offered me something in return."
He suddenly realized that he had finally met his type of woman. She was obviously from a wealthy background, that's why she thought of life in terms of money and power. Just like him!
"My dear, I think that we're going to have a long and fruitful relationship," he said with a grin.
"That remains to be seen," she cautioned. "But if you want to start this relationship off on the right foot, you should step over here and give my beauties some attention. I think that they need some loving very badly."
"I've got a better idea," he replied. "Why don't you remove everything before I step over for a close-up view."
"My my!" she laughed. "You are the voyeur, aren't you? Hopefully you're as good at bondage as you are at vouyeurism."
He still didn't understand this bondage routine she kept mentioning. What the hell was she referring to? Did she want him to tie her up, or vice versa? If it were the latter, he wasn't very hot for the idea. He had never done it before, and had never fantasized about it, either. It just wasn't something which he had a fetish about. Still, new experiences excited him. He remembered getting Doris to make it with the black guy from Public Relations. He never thought that he would enjoy an interracial menage-a-trois until he actually participated in one.
He could still recall the details to this day. Little Doris with her cunt stretched wide and completely stuffed with long, hard, pulsing black cock. Ha! They said that size didn't matter. After Doris got her first taste of a twelve-inch pussy-beater she ran away with Leroy to Tahiti, leaving her husband forever.
But that incident was in the past. The future was now, and the new weathergirl named Bev was discarding her dress, kicking it to the side.
She was a real looker all right. Her body was as sleek as a racehorse. The only thing that kept him from viewing every inch of it was her beige panties, which partially covered her pussy, but didn't completely hide it. Through the sheer material he was able to discern the swollen lips and the thin vertical cleft.
"Do I pass inspection?" she asked.
"Consider yourself passed," he said with a smile. "Of course, this is only the mid-term. You still have the finals."
She began laughing and said, "I like you. You have a sense of humor about women."
"I don't know if it's about women so much as it is about sex. I just think that fucking should be fun, that's all. If it isn't, it can be a real downer."
"Speaking of downers, watch this," she said as she lowered her panties to her ankles and then quickly removed them altogether.
"You're wrong lady. That's not a downer, that's an upper. Just look at what it's done for my organ here." He pointed to his crotch where his penis was tenting his pants outward.
"That looks like a fine specimen, sir. But unfortunately I can't see it. Either unzip yourself or drop your trousers. After all, it's not proper etiquette for a man to remain clothed while the woman is nude."
He stood up and began to remove his immaculately tailored suit. "Exactly what etiquette book addresses such delicate matters as these?"
"The Fucky-Sucky Book of Bedroom Manners," she replied with a smile as she petted her pussy.
"Hmmm, I'll have to look it up sometime at the local bookstore. I'm sure that I could utilize it in my office."
As he undressed, she watched him with keen interest. Her eyes gazed at him appreciatively. "Nice body," she commented.
He had kept himself in shape by regularly jogging, golfing, playing racquetball, and participating in dozens of other sports. Because he had always been an executive, he never had to worry about keeping workingman's hours, or breaking his back with blue-collar labor. He knew that the reason why the lower classes got out of shape was because they were exhausted after a hard day's work for piss-ant wages. Most of the time they were too tired for anything other than sitting in front of the television set and watching the crap which he scheduled.
Oh well! Tough shit! Life wasn't fair-everyone knew it. He was born rich and lucky; the others were born poor and luckless. Maybe things would be better for them in another lifetime. Yet, he doubted it. Even reincarnation seemed to work against the desperately poor. After all, it would be better to come back as an animal and live in the wilds of the jungle, as opposed to the poor people who lived in the jungle of America's inner cities, rotting their lives away in over-priced tenements, dead-end jobs, and crime-ridden streets.
The old saying was indeed true: The poor man got the oyster; the rich man got the pearl.
And Bev was certainly a pearl. Now that she was completely nude he could see every part of her anatomy. Her tummy was just as flat and firm as he had predicted. Her waist was lean and narrow, but incurving just enough to maximize her shapeliness. Her belly-button was an "innie" rather than an "outie". It seemed to form a vertical eye which extended from her cleavage, across the flat plain of her abdomen, to the sparse forest of curly blonde pubic hair below.
Ah! she had a pretty pussy. Unlike a lot of women, hers was oval-shaped rather than triangular. It was no more than palm-sized, and pouted outward nicely. Her thighs and legs were long, lean, and slightly muscular, indicating that she exercised regularly and ate properly. He found that very appealing. The age of out-of-shape females had long since passed-even those who were naturally attractive like Marilyn Monroe could use a little firming up.
"So there, new weathergirl," he said. "How about stepping up to the mike and giving me a demonstration of your oral talents?"
She smiled. His penis wasn't the biggest one she had ever seen, but it was certainly one of the fattest. "Did anyone ever tell you that you have a fat cock?"
"Yea. I hear it all the time. So what? I'm not about ready to put it on a diet."
"For god sake's, no!" she exclaimed. "That would be terrible." She stepped forward, swinging her body and ass seductively as she approached. She looked down at the "microphone" and then reached out with her hand to touch it.
She let the slick head rest in her soft palm and commented, "It's too bad that a man can't add a few inches to his dick the way that he can to his waistline, isn't it?"
"Are you saying that my prick needs a few more inches?"
"No, this one will do fine." she said with a sigh. "I was just being philosophical."
"I say that it's about time you stopped with the philosophical and started with the physical," he said with a noticeable shortness of breath.
"Good idea." She took the chubby penis and began massaging it with her hand. She tried to wrap her fingers around the base, but couldn't. "My goodness!" she exclaimed. "But you really do have a fat one, don't you?"
"All the better to fill you up with, my dear."
She worked her way downward and felt his scrotum. His testicles were large and filled with warm sperm. That was a good sign. It meant that he had a repeater peter. There was nothing she disliked more than a man who only got off once, and was barely able to manufacture one load of sperm. But Vince showed definite promise of satisfying her carnal desires.
She felt around to his buttocks and ran her hand over the flesh. She liked their feel. They were hard and muscular. She tried to grab a handful of assflesh but it was so firm that she couldn't. And then without warning, she slapped him hard against the left asscheek.
"Owl" he cried out. "What the hell did you do that for!" he said as he rubbed his buttock, trying to ease the pain.
"Silly boy! Pleasure has no purpose unless it has some pain along with it."
"That's the wackiest idea I ever heard."
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him. "You've never really tried bondage, have you?"
"No. It's not my thing."
"Well, it's my thing. You're not going to make love to me without trying it first."
That was a horrible thought. He couldn't bear the idea of not making love to this beautiful woman. To leave a beauty like her without a cock stuffed in her cunt was positively un-American. No red-blooded male could back down from this dish. "All right. I'll do it," he said.
She turned around and walked over to her purse. She opened it and pulled out a leather pouch. She opened it and pulled out a pair of fur-lined handcuffs.
"Holy shit!" he exclaimed. "Where did you get those? I thought that it was illegal to possess them."
"The law is only obeyed by good cops and dumb smucks," she said while opening the cuffs to test them. "Those of us who have money can buy anything we want, wouldn't you agree?"
She was talking his language, all right. But how did she get into this S and M kick? She seemed a little off her rocker, but he didn't want to dismiss her without fucking her. That would be a terrible waste of a beautiful body and a hard cock.
He was surprised to see that his penis hadn't shriveled from the shock of the slap on his ass. In fact, it seemed to have gotten harder. Amazingly, it was as hard as he ever remembered it getting.
She saw where he was looking and said, "Yes, pain makes the dick grow fonder and stiffen By the end of the afternoon it will be as hard as stainless steel."
She was either a temptress or a witch-he wasn't sure which. "All right," he said. "But I agree to be handcuffed only under one condition...."
"Wait a minute!" she said, interrupting. "You're not going to be handcuffed. You're going to handcuff me."
"What?" he asked, somewhat confused.
"I'm going to stretch my hands above my head so that they're on either side of this overhead wooden beam. Once I have them there, I want you to securely place the cuffs around my wrists."
He looked up and saw one of the beams which ran the length of his office. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, completely bewildered by this turn of events.
"Fuck yes," she said with an angry voice. "Now get some balls and do as I say."
Men will do almost anything if their masculinity is questioned, and Vince was no exception to the rule. He quickly grabbed the cuffs from her hand, as she obediently raised her arms above her head. When both of her wrists were on either side of the beam he locked the metal rings in place. Just as he was securing the right one on her right wrist he asked, "By the way, where are the keys for these things?"
"I'll tell you when we're finished with our little game."
"Oh shit!" he moaned, not sure if it was such a smart idea to lock her up in the first place.
"Hey! Don't act that way," she said. "This is going to be your biggest turn-on. Just wait and see."
"I certainly hope so," he replied, not quite sure what to think.
"Before we get started," she said with a soothing voice, "I want you to step across the room and tell me what you see."
"Why?"
"Because it will heighten the eroticism of the scene, dummy."
He walked to his desk, turned around, and looked at her. He had to admit that the image before him was extremely erotic. The sight of a helpless female securely with her hands fastened above her head, stirred something deep in his libido. Reading about such things wasn't nearly as fascinating as experiencing them firsthand.
"Tell me what you see," she said.
"I see woman in a precarious situation," he said matter-of-factly and without any embellishment.
She tilted her head to one side and closed her eyes. "If this is going to work, you've got to be a little more enthusiastic. You've got to be more elaborate with your physical descriptions. You sound like you're reading a police report from a Bronx precinct, for god's sake!"
He started to catch on to what she wanted. "All right. I see a beautiful blonde-haired woman with perfectly shaped breasts and a firm, flat waist, helplessly handcuffed to an overhead wooden beam."
"Now you're getting the hang of it," she said with a smile. "Describe the region between my thighs. What do you see there?"
"Something delicious," he replied. "Something exquisite looking, covered with a soft mat of blonde hair. And in the middle of that golden fleece, I see a faint line which extends from the middle of the mound downward to a hidden place between the thighs."
"Mmmm," she began to moan. "You're doing good."
"Yes, I see a passion-crazed woman hanging helplessly before me. She wants cock and needs cock, burrowing into her."
"Mmmm! The observer is very perceptive,' she said as she began to spread her legs apart. She held them wide in an upside down V. "Now, tell me what you see."
"I see the helpless blue-eyed blonde straining to open her thighs wide, desperately seeking cock-desperately seeking relief-from her torment. I see her small pink tongue moistening her lips and her breath starting to come in short little gasps. I see her nostrils starting to flare as she thinks of my fat cock burrowing into her tiny hole. I see her nipples standing tall, wanting to be licked by my tongue, yearning to be surrounded by my lips, and hungering to be nibbled on by my teeth. I see the firm little tummy starting to flutter, moving in an out, secretly seeking satisfaction for its need. Between her legs her labia are straining to open. I can see the pink moisture beyond. I can see the flanges of the inner lips starting to extend beyond the outer lips. They remind me of rose petals, or perhaps a delicate orchid, or maybe even the vent of a volcano." He stepped closer and continued. "I can see moist vaginal juices starting to secrete from her inner folds. Little droplets are starting to trickle down onto her pubic hairs. The light from the open window is making several of the droplets glisten. It is having a hypnotic effect upon me. I want to bend down and begin tasting. I want to know the scent of this woman intimately. I can see the vaginal hole puckering open. I can see...."
"Now! Now!" she interrupted in a pleading voice.
"Now what?" he asked, somewhat confused. After all, he had just mastered the role of narrator.
"Get your belt from your pants and spank me. Quickly! Quickly!" she said urgently.
Since he was new to this game, he didn't immediately comprehend her request, so he simply stood in place.
"Quick! Quick! Grab your belt and spank me! Hurry! Hurry!" she shouted.
He dashed across the room to where his pants lay and hurriedly removed his large leather belt. With it secure in his hands, he rushed back to where she was bound.
"Spank me! Spank me!" she commanded at the top of her lungs.
The senior vice president of the CBC television network doubled the belt in half and prepared to lash his newly-hired weathergirl across her beautiful buttocks. Yet, before he put the lash to those white globes he commented, "What a magnificent ass!
It's the best I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot. Believe me."
"Don't praise it. Just spank it!"
He reared back and prepared to strike those shapely globes. He couldn't help but wonder if she did this sort of thing all the time. This was just the first date. What would she do on the second?
To make the target more appealing she wiggled her posterior provocatively. "C'mon, damn you. Hurry! Hurry! I can't wait a lifetime, you know."
"Whack!" went the belt across her shapely ass-flesh.
"Ohh! So good," she moaned.
"Whack!" went the belt again, and then, "Whack!" again. And then "Whack! Whack! Whack!" three times in quick succession.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she cried out in pleasure. "How I needed a leather belt across my rear. It's been weeks of torment without the feel of a good lashing. Oh! Give me more! More! More!"
He whacked her ass another ten times in quick succession. He concentrated all of his attention on her buttocks. He took note of how the flesh jiggled when it was spanked, and how it glowed a rosy red afterwards.
He admired her butt as he swatted away. Any woman with an ass that shapely should be modeling panties for an underwear company. Hell! Men would start buying them if she were the model. He also liked how clean she kept her posterior. That fact alone indicated that she came from the upper crust of society. Poor women generally neglected this region of their anatomy because they couldn't afford bidets.
He stopped swatting when both globes were a bright blushing red. Besides, he didn't want to get too carried away with this spanking thing. Something like this could be habit-forming. Surprisingly, he noticed that he was sweating profusely. He looked down and saw that his entire body was covered with a thin sheen of perspiration.
It was incredible! This was the first sweat that he had seen on his body in years. After all, the rich didn't have to sweat. They got the poor to do it for them.
He looked at Bev still hanging from the rafter. She too was covered with perspiration. It made her flawless skin look that much more magnificent in the light of the room.
"Run your hands over my body," she requested. "I need to feel you to know that you exist."
He dropped the belt and reached up to touch her lovely breasts. He ran his palms over them, squeezing them, kneading them.
"Ohhhh!" she moaned, as if on the verge of an orgasm.
He moved his hands lower and ran them along the flat plain of her abdomen, as if checking to see if she were pregnant. He moved his left hand around to her buttocks and gently massaged them where they had been lashed. And with his right hand he played with her pubic hair.
He was surprised to see that she still had the strength to open her legs wide. In fact, wider than before the spanking. She doubled her knees and drew them to her breasts. She was now folded completely in half, and her entire vaginal region was completely open for inspection.
He couldn't believe her strength. She was holding her entire weight up by her handcuffed wrists. The tendons in her arms, neck, and thighs were clearly evident. They looked like cables straining beneath the shimmering skin and flesh.
"Feel me," she said. "Feel my femininity. Feel the innermost recesses of my honeypot."
With his right hand he felt into her slit. She was wide open and wet as a freshly cut watermelon. Her swollen clitoris was peeking through the folds of her labia.
"Eat me!" she commanded. "Eat me like you've never eaten anything, or any woman before."
He immediately buried his face between her widespread thighs and began to lap away at her moist recesses. His tongue dipped and probed time and time again. He slurped and smacked and savored her innermost taste. It was then that he realized she was from a wealthy background. Poor women couldn't afford tasty douches, and without a tasty douche, cunnilingus could be a terrible let-down. Only the rich could afford to indulge in such a luxury. But it was certainly worth it. A tasty snatch always made muff-diving that much more inviting.
Her thighs locked around his face, trapping him, holding him in place. He found it difficult to breathe. And yet, he couldn't care less. If he were to die with his nose buried in the weathergirl's cunt, so be it. It would be an appropriate death for a cunthound like him.
The sounds of "Slurp! Slurp! Slurp!" echoed across the office. Her salty tasting secretions covered his tongue and lips as he blissfully lapped away.
She was getting ready to come. Her body was on the edge. He could feel it through her thigh muscles as they pressed hard against his cheek. He could sense it in the way her calves were pounding a rapid tom-tom rhythm against his back. He could perceive it in the way she forced her Mound of Venus more urgently against his mouth.
She was smashing her labia against his face with desperate intensity-grinding, pushing, shoving. "Ahhh! C'mon! C'mon! C'mon! Do me! Do me!" she cried out just before releasing a tremendous scream of "Arrrrrrgggghhhhhhhh!"
Vince didn't have to worry about being overheard. One of the nice things about being the senior vice president was that one could have an office soundproofed. Many a secretary had screamed her lungs out, but never once was an act of sexual intercourse interrupted by someone knocking on the door and wondering what was going on.
She slowly released her grip on his face so that he could finally breathe. "Ahh!" she sighed. "You did well for a first-timer. You'll get better as time goes on. As for now, you can let me down."
He removed his cum-smeared face from between her lovely tan thighs. He stepped back, took a deep breath, and asked, "All right. Where are the keys to the handcuffs?"
She looked at him and winked. "They're in a little tube inside my vagina. Reach in please and pull it out."
"You can't be serious!" he said, laughing.
"Go ahead. Check for yourself." She spread her thighs once more and displayed her cunt in all of its liquid loveliness. He reached forward, not certain whether to proceed or not.
"Go ahead. It won't bite." She twisted her pelvis forward slightly and said, "Look. It doesn't even have teeth."
Knowing what was expected of him, he stuck two fingers into her. Sure enough, several inches up her love tunnel he could feel some type of plastic object. He had to stick a third finger into her to retrieve it, but he did. "I swear!" he said. "Women are absolutely amazing."
"Why?" she asked as the tube slid out of her.
"Because they can smuggle stuff in their snatch without anyone knowing about it."
"Men can do the same, you know?" she said. "They just have to use a different hole."
The thought of sticking something up his rectum made him wince involuntarily with pain. The one sexual act he would never perform was anal intercourse. The mere thought of it made him jittery. This was because he suffered from a serious case of hemorrhoids. He thought that anal sex would create the same intense pain in others which he suffered with each bowel movement. To put it bluntly: butt-fucking wasn't for him. Not at all. It would be a cold day in hell before he spread his asscheeks.
He opened the small cum-covered capsule. He retrieved the key and placed a stool under her feet. This allowed her to stand while he removed the handcuffs.
Within only a matter of minutes, she was free. "Ah! That felt good," she sighed. "Now, let's fuck up a storm on top your desk. C'mon! Let's get it on while I'm still hot and you're still hard."
She walked to the desk and swayed her pink ass. She reached back to feel it with her hands and said, "You did a good job, lover. You're my kind of man. Now let's see if you know how to handle that fat tool of yours as well as you do a leather belt."
She turned around to face him and blew him a kiss. She sat her lovely posterior on the edge of the desk and then leaned back to lie down. She left her calves dangling over the side and then lifted her feet to the edge of the table. Once in this position, she spread her legs as wide apart as humanly possible, holding them in place with her hands. She placed a cushion from the chair beneath her buttocks, causing the entire pelvic region to be raised and more fully exposed. "Mmmm! Come and get it, Vince. Dinner is hot, ready, and waiting on the table."
He'd never seen any female so salaciously displayed. And the scene before him was that much more inviting because the female wore a dazzling white smile. His tongue was hanging out of his mouth as he stepped closer to view her gash.
"Looks appetizing, huh?" she asked. "Well, you've already had a sample taste of it, so why don't you go ahead and ram that fat cock of yours home, eh? Momma's hungry for a snack too."
He was speechless. The beautiful sight of the nude blonde on his desk had left him unable to utter a word. As if in a trance, he simply walked forward, positioned himself between her widespread thighs, and put the head of his penis between the lips of her cunt.
"Mmmm!" she moaned as she wiggled her pelvic region. "Isn't this the best way you can think of to spend an afternoon?"
He still remained silent. He was concentrating on worming his fat rock-hard penis into her tight sheath.
"That's it," she said. "Yea. I can feel Little Vince now."
"Little Vince?" he asked with a smile.
"Mmmm!" she sighed. "Isn't that what you call that chubby fellow between your legs? That's what I would call him if I were you. After all, he is a friend."
Big Vince had never been this turned on with a female before. Regardless of race, creed, or national origin, Bev knew more tricks of how to raise his libido than any woman he had ever known.
"C'mon, Little Vince," she cooed. "You can come forward. I'm not going to harm you."
Big Vince worked Little Vince between the moist vaginal lips .
"That's it," she said lovingly. "That a boy. Oooo! You're standing so tall. Your daddy must be very proud of you."
The sight of a beautiful woman pretending to talk to a dick turned him on. "I hope that you're this creative when you're giving the weather forecast," Vince said.
"Just give me a chance in front of those cameras and I'll do my damnedest," she replied.
Little Vince burrowed into her. In no time at all he was sloshing in and out of her secret chamber as if he were a longtime acquaintance.
Bev found the fat dimensions of the penis stimulating in a different way than she had imagined. Her cunt felt fully stuffed-girthwise. This caused more stimulation of the labia, which in turn created more stimulation of the clitoris. She now understood the importance of studying cylindrical formulae in math class. It was too bad that they didn't make an X-rated arithmetic book. She would have done much better in the subject if they had.
In no time at all she was releasing one orgasm after another, each a little more powerful than the previous one.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she moaned as he worked into her mercilessly. The fat penis was plunging into her so violently that her entire body shook. Her breasts quivered with each forward thrust. Her thighs scissored outward with each jackhammer plunge. Her lungs were emptied of air with each pounding of her torso.
"Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!" he gasped as he worked at her body with his tool of choice. He used his penis as a sculptor might use a chisel on a beautiful piece of marble. With masterful strokes and precise aim.
At long last he felt his testes tightening. He knew that the moment of release was at hand. He drilled himself all the way into his new weathergirl and buried his dick deep in the folds of heavenly flesh.
She knew instinctively what to do. She tightened her vaginal muscles and began to lovingly milk his fat rod with her labia. She wanted to make sure that every drop of warm sperm was safely deposited in her vagina. She didn't want any of it wasted.
"Ungh!" he began to scream as he felt the semen rise from his innermost depths, up through the root of his manhood, to the smooth crown, and then spurt free into the inner recesses of the gorgeous blonde splayed out on his desk. Glob after glorious glob oozed out of him and into her. Trillions of little sperm cells found themselves bathing in her liquid lava-no doubt having the time of their lives.
With one hand she reached down between their bodies and lightly tickled his scrotum. This, she knew, would insure that she received the maximum amount of semen.
"Ahhh!" he sighed as he felt her fingernails working under his scrotum. Several more globs escaped from him and travelled into her. "Ahh!" he sighed again.
"Ahhh!" she sighed in response.
"Mmmm!" they moaned together.
After a while she said, "Didn't I tell you that spanking made a difference?"
"I'm gonna have that belt bronzed," he said as he withdrew his moist shaft from her warm and slippery hole. He started to wipe himself off with a handkerchief when he paused and asked, "By the way, what the fuck did we come up here for?"
"I was going to sign a contract, remember?"
"Oh, that's right. Where is it?"
"I think that it's the piece of paper which is presently stuck to my ass. Your semen is acting like a glue."
He looked and noticed that it was indeed pasted to her buttocks with dried sperm. He asked her to hoist her ass so he could retrieve it. He managed to peel it off as she held up her lovely pelvis. He carefully looked over the small print before saying, "I suppose they can say that this contract has more than its share of sticky details."
They both laughed. CBC had a new weathergirl.
THREE
Jim disliked firing people, it just wasn't part of his normally easy-going nature. This was a job better suited for bastards-like Vince. Yet, he had to get rid of Connie. It was an order.
At one time she was the best looking woman on the air. Her skin was fresh, her eyes were clear, and her breasts were firm. But the years had taken their toll. Her skin had aged most noticeably. As Vince had noticed, crow's feet had begun to appear around the corners of her eyes, and wrinkles were also evident on her brow and around the corners of her mouth.
Jim thought that her body had held its shape regardless of what Vince said. The tits were still full. They might not have had the same youthful perkiness of Bev's, but they still rated a 9.5 on a scale of 10. Her waist was still shapely, as were her hips and thighs. Overall, she still presented the picture of a very appealing weathergirl.
Jim really liked her. Not because he had the hots for her, but because she was a hard worker and never screwed up. She was articulate, intelligent, and punctual, and these attributes, combined with her good looks, made her a natural for television news.
That's why he had such a hard time approaching her to tell her she was fired. He started to think of ways that he might be able to keep her as an employee. After all, she was a real asset. He finally managed to say, "Connie, can you see me in my office?"
"Sure, Jim," she replied with her quick and sincere smile. She stepped through the door and he immediately closed it behind her.
"Have a seat," he said.
She sat on the same seat cushion that Bev had sat on several hours earlier. She crossed her long beautiful legs and asked, "What's up?"
He was never one to beat around the bush. He got right to the point. "You're being replaced as the weathergirl."
She heard the words, but didn't immediately respond. When a person hears a statement which is going to change one's life, that person needs time to think. That's what she was doing. Finally she asked, "Why?"
Again he responded point-blank, "Vince thinks that he has a better personality available."
Connie smiled knowingly. "It's a cute blonde with a shapely body, isn't it?"
"Well yes, actually it is."
"Is it that blonde which was outside your office while Vince was in here?" she asked. "Yes."
She looked at him and asked without any hesitation, Tell me, did he fuck her last night, or is he fucking her now?"
Jim smiled. The last person in the world who he would defend was the senior vice president of the company, so he simply said, "He's probably fucking her now."
"I figured as much. That lowlife son-of-a-bitch doesn't have the decency to do it on his off-time. No, of course not. The bastard has to waste company time to fuck his brains out. Is it any wonder why this network is in the cellar, ratings-wise?"
Jim simply shrugged his shoulders and listened to her continue. His feelings for Vince were approximately the same as hers.
"You know, when I first came here I thought that this company would be different. I mean, you were the first male boss I ever had who didn't make a pass at me. What a relief that was, to know that I was being measured on the basis of my character and my merits, rather than the shape of my body. But now I learn that asshole vice president is balling yet another rookie. Has it ever dawned on him that he's fucking up the whole company? Doesn't he realize that the women he hires aren't qualified for the positions he's placing them in? Doris is a worthless fucking imbecile, and Lynn is the biggest lardass in production."
She paused and looked Jim in the eye. "I know that you had nothing to do with this. You're too decent of a man to do something this low. You're too good to stab a fellow worker in the back. I'll just pack my things and go quietly. Maybe I can get a job as a cashier at McDonald's. I heard that they're going to raise the minimum wage soon."
Jim looked at her and tried to smile. Even in a time of despair she had a sense of humor.
She looked up at him and asked, "By the way, what did he say were my bad points? I'd like to hear."
"You may not want to know."
"I want to know. Believe me."
"He said that you had crow's feet around your eyes and that your tits were starting to sag."
"My tits are starting to sag!" she exclaimed. "Why that bastard! I've got the best pair of tits in this building. Just take a look."
Jim watched in horrified fascination as she quickly removed her jacket and her blouse. He looked to make sure that the office door was locked before he returned his gaze to her upper body.
She removed her bra, threw it on the floor, and said, "There! Do these look like drooping tits? Tell me."
She had a pair of real beauties all right. There probably wasn't another thirty-five year old female working at CBC who had a pair which could compare. And contrary to Vince's belief, they didn't sag at all. They only appeared that way because of the business-like outfits which she now wore. Apparently Vince believed that the enhanced professional appearance detracted from her femininity. If a shapely woman didn't wear a bunny tail stuck to her behind, and rabbit ears on her head, then she was losing her looks.
Well, in Jim's eyes Connie was quite beautiful and had a long way to go before her tits sagged.
She continued, "Did he say anything about my thighs too? Did he say that they weren't in shape? Here. Let me show you how in shape they are."
She quickly reached to her side and unzipped her skirt. In only a matter of a few seconds it was on the floor.
"Wow!" said Jim aloud as he gazed at the sight before him.
"You see!" she exclaimed as she slapped her lovely flanks. "My thighs are as firm as an acrobat's. Just have a feel. See for yourself."
"I don't think I should."
"Go ahead. You can testify to that rotten son-of-a-bitch that you saw me close-up and that I haven't let my body turn to flab."
He stepped close and put his hand on her upper arm.
"Feel the real parts of me!" she exclaimed. "After all, senior vice presidents aren't interested in biceps and triceps. They're interested in tits, ass, and cunt. Feel my tits. Go ahead. See for yourself. Stroke them."
"Are you sure that you want me to do this?" Jim asked with some anxiety as he gazed at her nipples.
She grabbed his right hand and placed it on her left breast. "There. Now squeeze," she ordered.
He couldn't have resisted even if he had had the willpower. Breast flesh was one of his weaknesses. It had been ever since he was a teenager. He gently stroked her tit with his fingers. It felt smooth, firm, and warm. He had been with a lot of women over the years, but none of them had a pair of beauties like these.
He brought his hand down to her aureola. He felt the little ridges which encircled her nipple. He liked the fact that everything about her was symmetrical. A lot of women had one breast which was slightly larger than the other, but Connie's were apparently designed by an engineer. He wedged the nipple between his fingers and tweaked it.
"Ahhh!" she moaned.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked.
"No. Of course not."
He tweaked it several more times before bringing his left hand to her right breast and doing the same. "Connie, I have to admit, you've got a firm set of knockers. I don't understand what Vince is talking about."
"You see. I told you. Get that blonde bitch down here and let's make a comparison. And invite that bastard Vince for the show. Would you do that for me, Jim honey?"
He looked at her and smiled. "I hardly think that it would be appropriate to have a couple of nude women standing side-by-side in my office."
She wasn't listening to him. Instead she said, "And while we're at it, we can have a cunt comparison contest too. Wouldn't that be dandy?" She reached down and quickly pulled off her panties.
Jim had to step back to give her room.
"There. Take a look. Does my pussy sag, too?"
He didn't know where to look. He'd always heard that it was impolite to stare at a woman's body, but if the man were requested to look-and give an appraisal at that-what offense could be taken?
"Well!" she demanded. "Does my pussy say, or doesn't it?"
"Uh no. It looks fine."
"Of course it looks fine. It's a great looking cunt. There's nothing wrong with any part of me. Go ahead. Feel it and see for yourself."
"Connie, I understand your behavior, but I'm not going to take advantage of you."
"Why not? Isn't that the only thing that women are good for? Fucking and sucking? And when they get a few gray hairs you can always trade them in for a younger, more agile model, right? Isn't that what all you men believe? Isn't that what you talk about in the locker rooms? Isn't that why the divorce rate is so high?"
"Don't take it out on me," he said. "I'm on your side."
She leaned back atop the desk, spread her legs, and said, "Show me how much you like it, Jim. Make love to me. Or, as Vince would say, 'Fuck my brains out'."
"I ... I ... I...." he stuttered, not exactly sure how to behave when a beautiful employee is spread-eagled atop one's desk at one's place of employment and asking to have her brains fucked out.
"C'mon," she said. "I need this. If for no other reason than to know that I haven't lost my looks.
Please. I've never begged a man for sex before, but I need it now. After all, I lost my job because my tits weren't firm enough. Goodness knows, I might lose my pension if my cunt's not tight." She reached between her legs and spread the lips of her vagina. She revealed everything to his gaze.
"Connie, you've got one of the most beautiful bodies I've ever seen. I'm not saying that simply to make you feel good, or to boost your self-confidence, either. I mean it. You're a truly gorgeous female."
She smiled, and a small tear welled at the corner of her eye. "I know you do. That's what makes you so special. But I still need you to make love to me. Please. You're such a decent and hardworking man that you deserve this. Do it for me, please."
"Well, if you say so," he said with a smile. He checked to make sure the door was locked, and then quickly undressed.
She didn't pay much attention. She simply stared blankly at the ceiling, as if wishing that she had never gotten up that morning. She began wondering if perhaps her cunt wasn't tight enough. Then what would Jim think? Perhaps she should sign up for cosmetic surgery and have it tightened a tad bit.
He crawled between her widespread thighs and lowered his body atop hers. He looked into her face and said, "By the way, you're not being dismissed entirely from the network. I'll see to it that you get a job behind the camera. After all, you're fully qualified to work in Master Control. If I remember correctly, you have a degree in Electronic Technology."
She smiled. "This is your doing, isn't it? I know that good-for-nothing, lowlife son-of-a-bitch Vince didn't suggest anything like that. What a dear sweet man you are."
It was nice hearing a statement which was actually heartfelt. Too' many people in television spoke in superficial tones and mouthed platitudes. But Connie never did. She was always honest. He looked at her and teased, "Once you're behind the camera you can let your tits sag all you want."
She laughed as she wrapped her long legs around his lower body, locking him in a grip of beautiful womanly flesh. She then reached down with her hand and felt his penis. Her eyes widened in surprise when she touched it and they widened in wonderment when she looked at it. "My word! I had no idea that you were so big."
He smiled. "I never had the opportunity to show you before. Now you know."
"Holy shit! You're the size of a stud slave on a New Orleans auction block."
"Thank you for the compliment."
She tried to get her hand around it, but couldn't. She reached down with her other hand and encircled it. "I don't know if I can take you, Jim. I really don't. I've never had a lover as big as you. Hell! I bet that your dick is twice the size of Vince's-maybe even three times."
"Let's not talk about him, okay? You and I have more important matters to discuss."
She smiled as she lovingly stroked his shaft. She asked, "Do you really think I'm beautiful? Really?"
"Of course I do. I wouldn't have a stiff prick right now if I didn't."
"Oh ha!" she feigned a laugh. "Any man can get a hard-on at a moment's notice. All they have to do is look at a centerfold or gaze at a bikini and they're ready to rut."
"You're making a gross generalization," he replied. "I'm not all men. You know me. I'm not a cunthound. I really have to feel something emotionally for the woman before I get an erection."
She felt the tip of his penis touch her outer labia. She wiggled her pelvis back and forth a few times to assist him with his entry. "Mmmm," she moaned. "It's been a long time since I've been with a man I really liked. Too many one night stands can make a woman yearn for a man like you."
Now it was his turn to be humble. "Do you really like me?"
As she felt the first inch of his penis enter her vagina, she replied, "You know I do. Otherwise I wouldn't be allowing you to do this, silly."
At long last he realized that she was talking to him, rather than taking out revenge on Vince. That made the act of sex with her that much more appealing. After all, no man wanted to give a mercy fuck.
"Mmmph!" she grunted.
"Ungh!" he grunted in response. "I can testify that your vagina's as tight as they come. If you were any tighter, I couldn't get into you."
"Mmmm! Oh Jim! Oh Jim!" she sighed, as she wrapped her arms around his upper body to hold him closer. She was glad to know that her vagina had held its shape through the many years of balling. Thank goodness for those pelvic exercises on those work-out tapes."
"How do I feel?" he asked. "Enormous. Mmmmm! Wonderfully big. Mmmm! Like a fence post. Mmmm! Or maybe a telephone pole. Mmmmmmmmm! Or a tree trunk"
"Cheese! I hope that I don't give you any splinters," he teased as he worked himself all the way in.
He looked down and gazed at her beautiful face. Why weren't brunettes ever given credit for their looks? Aside from her hair color, Connie was every bit as appealing as any blonde at the network. In fact, she was better looking than almost all of them.
This got him to thinking of why American men had a maniacal fetish for blondes. Weren't all cunts basically the same? Oh sure, some were tighter than others, but that didn't have anything to do with hair color or skin color. If any other man had looked at Connie at that very instant he too would develop an erection and want to bury it in her snatch.
He was always amazed at how beautiful women looked with a stuffed cunt. The female face always had a glow about it when the woman was in the throes of sexual intercourse. It was similar to the look they got when nursing an infant. Dicks, tits, and cunt-that's what life was about. Not the bullshit of television news.
Just then the telephone rang. Jim picked it up out of habit and said, "Hello. News division. Jim speaking."
Because the room was essentially quiet except for the squishing sounds of sexual organs, Connie could overhear the conversation.
"Yea Jim, this is Vince. I was thinking that it might be better to hire Bev as a reporter. What do you think?"
"She has no experience," Jim replied.
"That doesn't mean a fucking thing in television. We've got ten thousand inexperienced idiots running around this building as it is, and one more isn't going to make a turd's worth of difference. Besides, we need a few extra reporters."
"Why's that?" Jim asked as he began working his way into and out of Connie.
"Election night, for god's sake! Have you forgotten?"
"Of course I haven't. But I don't think that we need an extra reporter when we already have three hundred too many. For crying out loud, all they do is sit around and interview each other, or those from other networks. There's not enough stories to fill the time as it is. Why do we need more reporters when they only thing they have to report is fluff?"
"I don't care. I want Bev to fill-in on one of those assignments on election night."
"Where am I supposed to put her?" Jim asked. "She's got no experience whatsoever."
Vince paused for a moment before answering. "Hmmm, how about on an interview? They're fairly easy."
"You've got to be kidding! Interviews are one of the toughest things in broadcast journalism. Why do you think they pay those guys on "Sixty Minutes" so much money?"
"Don't get riled up, Jim. I'm not talking about her doing an investigative report on the baby food industry. I'm talking about something simple-like."
"The only interview I'd trust her with is one where she doesn't have to ask any questions. A reporter has to be able to think on his or her feet. If not, everything falls apart."
"I've got it!" said Vince. "When Henry Oxbrow comes to town, let's have her handle that interview."
Jim pulled the telephone away from his face and looked at the mouthpiece in disbelief. "Say what!" he shouted into the transmitter. "That's one of the choicest assignments in television news. Henry Oxbrow gets interviewed by all the big shots in broadcasting. Ted Koppel, David Brinkley, Tom Brokaw, you name it. His face is on television at least once a day."
"That's just it," Vince argued. "That fellow has opinions on everything. And opinionated people are always yakkers. That way, Bev won't have to ask any questions at all. She'll merely have to stand there with a microphone and a remote automatic camera and film him as he talks about this or that."
Jim rhythmically pumped into and out of Connie's tight little hole. It was getting hard for him to concentrate on the conversation. This got him to thinking that a man's brain really was in his pecker. "I don't know about this, Vince. I don't trust Bev with an assignment which other reporters would give their right tit, or right testicle, for. Henry is a big ticket item. They don't come any bigger. Senior reporters dream about getting him."
"That's the other thing," Vince interrupted. "I want to give Bev some national exposure. This would do the trick. When people out in Peoria see what a cute chick we have handling political interviews, they'll stop watching panfaced Ted Kopple and switch to us."
"Hmmm," Jim sighed. "I think that you're underestimating the intelligence of the American people. I have a feeling that news watchers are more interested in newsmakers, not curvaceous blondes."
"Ah ha! That's where you're wrong," Vince yelled. "I see the ratings every fucking morning. And they all make note of the fact that bubbly blondes bring in a higher audience share. Americans love blondes. They love tits! They love ass! They want to see something fuckable when they get home from a hard day's work. They want to look at a scrumptuous babe and say, 'I'd like to get between her thighs and fuck her brains out.'"
"Very well, if this is what you want, I'll do it," Jim replied as he was balling the present weathergirl.
"I want it and you want it too," Vince said. "It's for the good of the company."
Jim almost vomited when he heard that. No one at CBC believed that Vince worked for the company. He merely occupied a plush office on the fifty-second floor, where he could entertain his sexual liaisons during company time. In the Middle Ages they called such a position a sinecure. "By the way," Jim said. "I don't think that Connie has sagging tits."
"Well, I do. You don't check for details like me, Jim. I've always got my eyes peeled for things like that. Once the tits start to drop, a woman is on her way out. First thing you know, we'll have a weathergirl with a beergut and tits drooping down to her knees. We don't need that kind of image here at CBC. We're trying to project one of youthful vitality."
Jim reached down with his hand and began feeling Connie's breast. "I don't know. From what I can tell, she has a lot of mileage left on her. I'd say that she's good for another fifteen years."
She giggled as he talked about her.
"You've got to be kidding!" Vince replied. "She's got all kinds of pockets of loose flesh on that body. She'll be in a wheelchair before too long. It's a good thing that we're dumping her now before she turns into an old hag."
She giggled again when she heard that and thrust her pelvis several times against the one plunging into her.
"By the way," Jim said. "I'm not firing her. I'm simply moving her to a vacancy behind the camera. She's going to be working in Master Control during the election night coverage. After that, she'll be assisting me as a news producer."
"This isn't going to cost us any more money, is it?" Vince asked, suddenly concerned.
Jim almost screamed. Vince had hired a bubble brain for an outrageous salary, but was worried about a long-time employee retaining a suitable wage. "She'll be making the same pay, but you won't have to look at her on the television screen anymore."
"Good," he said with a sigh of relief. "I was tired of looking at that bitch anyway. It's about time we got some fresh meat in the studio. I'm thinking about replacing Sam as well."
"What!" Jim exclaimed as he stopped pumping into Connie. "He's the best sportscaster in the region. He knows everyone: owners, players, veteran athletes, even amateurs. Anyone who is anyone in sports knows Sam."
"Like I said, viewers want tits and ass. And I intend to give it to them. We need someone like Phyllis George to handle the sports beat."
"Some viewers want tits and ass," Jim added. "There are quite a few who simply want facts."
"They're a minority. They don't count."
Jim began to move into and out of Connie's tight vagina once more. His balls were starting to boil with sperm. "Mmm!" he moaned.
"Are you thinking it over?" Vince asked, misunderstanding the sound of pleasure as intensely deep thought.
"Ahhh!"
"Jim! Jim! Are you okay?" Vince asked, somewhat surprised by the response to his question. "Oh yea. I feel terrific."
"Good. I knew that you'd see things my way. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Right now, I've got to get to the golf course. Got to keep in shape, you know."
Jim replaced the receiver and looked down into Connie's eyes. He smiled and said, "Sorry for the interruption, but I had to talk with you-know-who."
"I'm glad for the phone call," she said. "It kept you hard for a lot longer than I expected. Most lovers dump their load only after a few minutes. But you've remained erect the whole time."
He smiled and said, "You know, Vince was right about one thing."
"What's that?"
"He called you a 'tight cunt'. And indeed, you are."
She laughed, and commenced meeting each of his thrusts with a counterthrust of her own. Flesh pounded into flesh. Skin ground against skin. Hairs meshed against hairs. His prick was probing, plunging, pounding, over and over and over again into her liquid depths, turning her vaginal secretions into a viscous mucous.
She was yielding and moving in the timeless rhythm of a woman on the verge of orgasm. Her flesh shuddered, and trembled, and seethed with passion. She had never been so filled with cock. She had never known such bliss. She had never realized that the man of her dreams had been working beside her for over six long years.
Oh! What a waste. She could have been fucking him all that time. She could have been spreading her thighs and receiving daily fucks. Or maybe, twice daily fucks. Or maybe, hourly fucks. To think, they could have been fucking at her house, at his house, and in the parking garage. They could have made it in the bathtub, the swimming pool, and in the gazebo.
Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
To think that she and Jim were screwing right now in the middle of his desk caused her to cross over the brink into the la-la land of orgasmville.
"Ahhh!" she screamed.
"Ahhh!" he shouted.
She felt his semen squirt deeply inside of her, all the way up against the cervix. Mmmm! Just the way she liked it-warm and syrupy. She felt a deep sense of love for the man. Not only had he given her the fuck of a lifetime, but he had also filled her cunt with more sperm than she thought possible. It felt like a puddle down there.
In a moment, they heard a knock on the door. "Jim!" someone called. "Are you all right? We heard a scream come from your office. Are you okay?"
He had to think fast. "Yea, I'm okay. I was simply breaking the bad news to Connie."
"What bad news is that?" asked the unidentified eavesdropper.
"The fact that she's not going to be the weathergirl anymore. She's being replaced as of tonight."
"Oh wow!" said the voice from behind the door. "I'm sorry for you Connie. I really am."
They heard footsteps rush away, no doubt to spread the latest gossip throughout the CBC building. In the meantime, Jim withdrew his shrunken organ from Connie's tiny hole. A slight "plop" sounded in the room as he pulled it out.
"Ah! The sounds of sex," she said, as she watched the penis slip from her tender, fleshy receptacle, leaving a strand of semen trailing from the head of his dick to the base of her cunt.
He broke the thin web-like fiber with his fingertip and said, "I think that it was more than that. I think that was the sound of love."
She looked up at him and nearly broke down into tears. All of her life she had wanted someone to say that to her. She had at long last found her perfect man.
And to think, all she had to do was get fucked atop the boss's desk. Boy! What would the Harvard Business School think about that?
They hurriedly got dressed and immediately went back to work. But they agreed, that from now on, there would be many, many more late afternoon liaisons in his office.
FOUR
Bev wasn't worth a shit as a weathergirl. She didn't know her ass from a cold front. She would point to southern Ohio and refer to it as southern Arizona. She would point to Florida and refer to it as California. She would point to Iowa and refer to is as the Deep South. To say that she needed a remedial course in geography was an understatement.
Ironically, the overnight ratings went up when she was on the air-just as Vince had predicted. Jim didn't know if the viewers were responding to her looks or to her gaffs. He suspected the latter because he heard several people on the subway say, "You've got to watch that new CBC weathergirl tonight. She's a riot. She doesn't know the difference between New England and New Mexico. I laughed my balls off when she pointed to Alburqurque and started talking about Boston."
She had only been on the air a few nights when Jim got her aside and said, "Look, it's obvious that you don't know anything about the weather, so don't try to fake it. There's nothing worse than someone who doesn't know anything, trying to pass himself off as an authority. That shows through on a camera. Just be yourself. Talk the way you would talk at home. Pretend that you're in your living room and that the television audience is your guest. Just chitchat into the lens of the camera. That's all I ask."
Since she wanted things to work out, she listened carefully and attentively to his advice. She wouldn't point to places on the map anymore. She didn't know where the hell she was pointing half of the time anyway. All those lines and dots confused her. From now on she would be herself.
The very next night she opened the weather segment with the comment, "Whew! It was a hot one today, wasn't it? Today's high was ninety-three and we're expecting another scorcher here tomorrow. Yes, there's no doubt that summer is finally here."
She took that as a cue to remove her dress!
"Oh my god!" said Jim from the director's booth as he saw her body come into view. He thought for sure that she was nude underneath. But as luck would have it, she was wearing a one-piece, skintight, flesh-colored swimsuit which fit her like a glove and left nothing to the imagination. She stood in front of the weather map and said in her most provocative manner of voice, "So girls. It's time to get out those swimsuits. Be sure to wear the skimpiest ones possible. They'll attract the most men. Or better yet, just go to the public beach and sunbathe in the nude."
Jim had never heard anything like it on any weather forecast with which he was familiar. And to make matters worse she continued, "And housewives, maybe it's time to invite the milkman indoors for a little refreshment-if you know what I mean. Turn your living room into your own private nude beach. The two of you can massage each other's body. Anyway, tonight's forecast is for clear skies and very warm temperatures...."
Everything that Jim had worked his entire life to achieve was being swept away by a buxomy blue-eyed blonde who didn't know jack-shit about the weather, but could stop an oncoming army with that figure of hers.
Of course, the cameramen enjoyed the show tremendously. Each took turns focusing the camera on her crotch. Throughout the weather report all of them sported a hard-on.
Afterwards, Jim placed a call to the senior vice president and said, "My god! Did you hear her? Did you? That woman has no place in broadcasting-much less at this network. I say that we fire her this very minute. What do you say? Can I, huh?"
"Just hold on to your horses," Vince said consolingly. "She only fucked up the weather report. Nobody but a bunch of stupid-assed farmers gives a shit about it anyway."
Jim didn't like the idea of a worthless son-of-a-bitch who never did any work, refer to some of the hardest working people in the country as "stupid-assed." Of course, that was the way the rich were. They didn't understand how hard it was to make money, so they made fun of all of those who had to work for a living. But he kept his feelings to himself and continued talking about Bev.
"On Monday she misplaced the state of Arizona by two thousand miles. On Tuesday she referred to Florida as California. On Wednesday she called Iowa part of the Deep South. And tonight she practically stripped naked and invited the entire town to have an orgy."
"It'll boost ratings if everyone participates," laughed Vince. "Besides, so what if she flunked geography. Most Americans flunk that bonehead subject anyway."
"You're not going to repremand her?" asked Jim.
"No. I don't see why we should. The only thing that truly matters is the overnight ratings. If they decline because of her actions, then she goes. If not, she stays. Besides, did you get a look at her tits?"
"How could I not?" Jim replied, shaking his head. "They were practically thrust into the camera lens."
"Great! That's exactly what I want every male in town to say. I want them crawling up to their television sets and licking the picture tube. I want them to unzip their pants, whip out their dongs, and pound their peckers when they see her in front of a weather map. I want every man in town to come to work the next morning and say, 'CBC's weathergirl has the best tits in local news.' I want men to drool when she's on, I want women to tune-in to see what the fuss is about, and I want the kiddies to sneak peeks at the broad. I want that body of hers to achieve a status equal to that of Marilyn Monroe. I want those tits to be on everyone's mind. By the way, they sure beat the shit out of Connie's, huh?"
Jim took a deep breath and replied, "Connie didn't take off her dress while doing the weather report. If she had, viewers would have seen a pair of knockers just as good as Bev's."
"Oh bullshit!" said Vince. "They sag."
Jim became slightly defensive of the older woman and replied, "Maybe Connie was right. Maybe we should get them to do a titty comparison contest. We could get Maidenform Bras to sponsor it."
He hadn't expected a response, but Vince exclaimed, "Hey! Now that's an idea. Do you think it would work?"
"Oh come on! Connie has class. She wouldn't sink to such depths." Of course, Jim neglected to mention that she had begged for a fuck atop his desk.
"I don't care how low the depths are to which a person has to sink, as long as they bring in the ratings. If need be, she should display her cunt. Remember Jim, this is television, not a civics class. Television is a game of predators and carnivores, not cute koala bears. We get ahead by being gutsier than the competition. We achieve our growth by reaching out to the broadest comman denominator-and that means sex. Just like the poor working stiff, I want to see tits and ass. I want to see gorgeous cunt-preferably stuffed with fat cock. Well, I have to cut this conversation short. I want to watch Bev's performance again on replay. I've got to get another look at that pair of tits. Yum yum"
Just as Vince hung up, someone knocked on Jim's door. "Come in," he said. "The door's open."
"Well, how did I do?" Bev asked with her dazzling white smile.
He looked at her and said, "I suppose it depends on your viewpoint. I'm quite sure that the housewives of this community took offense to your remarks. On the other hand, it seems that most of the men liked your presentation."
"Oh good," she said with a smile. "They're the only ones who count anyway."
"I was wondering why you didn't take off all of your clothes? It would have made even more interesting viewing."
"Do you think that I could get away with it?" she asked seriously.
He didn't know if she were teasing or not. Something indicated that she wasn't. He decided to dampen any plans by stating flatly, "After midnight you could, definitely. But not on primetime. Do you understand me?"
She looked at him and replied, "Yes."
"Good. I want you to abide by that."
"So, when do you think I'll get a chance to anchor?" she asked.
"You may find this hard to believe, but it may be sooner than you think. In several days there's going to be a big national election. Every reporter from this network has already been assigned some duty. But we still have a great many that need to be filled."
"I'm ready and willing, Jim. Give me any task, and I'll do it. There's no job too tough for this lady."
He leaned forward and said, "We need someone to interview Henry Oxbrow...."
"Henry Oxbrow! Hey! I've heard of him. He was in a bunch of Presidential cabinets and was once the secretary of something-or-other."
"Er ... that's right," he said through gritted teeth, angered by the fact that a network reporter couldn't name the exact cabinet position held by one of the most recognizable men on television. He couldn't comprehend how he could ever face Henry again after sending this bimbo to do an interview. It was akin to sending Alfred E. Newman to converse with Albert Einstein.
"Anyway," he continued, "Henry is a very self-assured man. It won't take much coaxing to get an interview. In fact, I don't want you to ask him any questions at all. I basically want you to stand in front of him and hold the microphone in his face. Do you think that you could do that?"
"Well of course I can do that. It sounds simple."
"Good," he replied. "There's one other thing that you'll need to do. Since we're short of technicians, you're going to have to learn how to operate an automatic camera. It's a very simple device which you carry with you in a briefcase to your destination. You set it up on a tripod when you get there. Connie will show you everything that you need to know about the automatic camera. Now, the interview is to take place at the West Montgomery Hotel."
"Why there?" she asked. "Why not at the election headquarters?"
"Because Henry needs a quiet setting in which to provide his glowing commentaries on American politics and politicians. Therefore, we've rented a VIP suite where you will set-up the camera and conduct the interview. The only things you will say are, 'I'm Bev O'Conner of CBC News. Here with me at the West Montgomery Hotel is Henry Oxbrow. What are your thoughts on these incoming returns, Henry?'
"That's all you've got to say. Less than thirty words. There's nothing else to learn. That's it. You'll find that Henry is the most talkative person on earth. Things will take care of themselves once he opens his mouth. In fact, he won't shut up once he gets going. Last, but not least, when we give you the cue to sign-off, you simply say, 'I apologize, Henry. Our time has run out. Thank you for your expertise.'"
"Wow!" she exclaimed. "This sounds like my big break." She started jumping up and down with joy the way a pre-teen does when she learns that she's landed a big date.
Jim watched her jump around for awhile before saying, "As I told Vince, there's a lot of reporters who would give their left nut for this interview."
She stopped jumping just long enough to giggle and say, "I don't have any nuts."
"Yes, I figured that out when I saw you in your swimsuit," he said, forcing a smile. "On the down side, the interview will be conducted late in the evening-past eleven o'clock Eastern Standard Time. And since most Americans don't give a shit about their political system, and they could give a flying fuck about election returns, it's un-likely that very many people will be watching you-considering the fact that our network is at the bottom of the barrel."
"So, it's not as good as I thought," she moaned. Now she was so depressed, she resembled a little girl who had lost her kitten. "Darn it! I knew I should have tried CBS."
"Now, don't take it that way," Jim said with a touch of anger in his voice. "Shit! One week ago I wasn't even going to hire you, because you hadn't interviewed anyone as important as a high school principal. Now look at yourself. You're interviewing Henry Oxbrow, of all people! My god, woman! You've jumped over about sixty hurdles and six million more qualified people and you don't even realize it."
She felt comforted by his words. In fact, she felt elated. "Boy oh boy! It sounds like I'm on my way to the network. Dan Rather, move over. Here comes Bev O'Conner-CBC Superstar."
She skipped out the door, feeling exhilarated. He watched her bounce, jump, and dance down the hall, before mumbling beneath his breath, "Yea, watch out Dan. Here comes the future."
FIVE
On the night of the big election, Bev headed over to the Montgomery West Hotel. She couldn't wait for her interview with Henry Oxbrow. This would be her big break. This would put her on the same career track as Diane Sawyer and Barbara Walters. She was headed for megabucks and stardom. "Wow!" she exclaimed. "In no time at all I'll be interviewing Cher."
The Montgomery was not the downtown equivalent of the Motel Six. Far from it. It was a resplendent work of Victorian architecture straight out of the 1890's. Unlike many hotels of its period, it had been kept in remarkable shape.
Bev looked up at the ornate details of the architecture and felt wonderful. She felt as if she had been assigned to cover Capitol Hill with Sam Donaldson. What more could she possibly want? She had a prestigious job, interviewing prestigious people, in a prestigious building. Now that was great. Goodness knows, it sure beat being a foreign correspondent in a yucky war zone like Beirut.
Ironically, at the very same moment that she stepped into the elevator, so too did Henry. She looked at the man standing beside her and immediately recognized him. "Oh wow!" she exclaimed. "You're Henry Oxbrow. I'm supposed to interview you."
He wasn't a very attractive fellow, but women fawned over him anyway. Mainly because he exuded power and authority. As Vince had realized, women were usually pushovers for a man with those attributes.
Henry looked at the blonde standing beside him. The last thing that he would have guessed her to be was a network reporter. She didn seem to know how to carry a camera, much less take notes. Nevertheless, she was one of the prettiest reporters that he had ever seen-if not the prettiest. Pretty eyes, nose, and teeth. Pretty hair, complexion, and lips. Pretty hands, tits, and ass. Moreover, she had an innocent look about her. He liked that in a woman. Too many women he met were power-hungry Valkyries.
"Well hello there," he said, seductively. "May I have the pleasure of accompanying you to the suite?"
She blushed deeply, which turned her cheeks a rosy red. "Well, I don't see why not. We're going to be spending the entire evening together."
"Mmmm! I couldn't think of a more delightful way to pass the time."
Again she blushed. Unbeknownst to her, he especially liked blushing blondes.
Since he only stood about five feet six, his eyes were level with her magnificent breasts. He had a yearning to lean forward and begin kissing the nipples which were poking against the material of her dress. But he thought better of it at the last moment. Some women could be real prudes when it came to sexual advances-even if they came from a media bigwig like himself. Therefore, he went back to minding his own business, occasionaly glancing at her breasts.
In several seconds he heard her giggling. "What's so funny?" he asked, somewhat taken aback by her laughter.
"I saw where you were staring," she said with an innocent smile.
"I apologize," he said quickly, immediately worried about a lawsuit. "It happens all the time in these small elevators. A person doesn't have anywhere to look except at another person. I truly do apologize. I didn't mean to embarass you."
"Embarass me!" she laughed. "Goodness no. I like men to stare at me. It makes me feel more like a woman. I know I have a shapely figure. I work hard at it. Therefore there's nothing wrong with you admiring it."
"Er ... you mean to say that you didn't mind me looking at your breasts?"
"Of course not. Why do you think God gave women tits?"
He smiled broadly. Something told him that this was going to be an interview to remember. "Well, I must confess that I was staring. It's just that I have a weakness for pretty blondes with lovely breasts. That's all."
"That's all right. I understand. After all, I stare at men's crotches every now and then. I like to see what kind of equipment they pack between their legs."
Yes, he thought. This would certainly be an interview to remember.
She looked at him and asked, "Do you like sex, Mr. Oxbrow?"
Now that was question he had never been asked. He'd been on the media circuit for a lot of years but no one had ever asked his that. He began wondering if he could be lucky enough to have a blonde bombshell in the elevator? Suddenly he was quite pleased with the management of CBC. From now on he would go out of his way to schedule all of his interviews with them.
"My goodness," he replied. "Those words are music to my ears. Don't tell me that you enjoy sex as well, Little Kitten."
"I sure do," she said with her dazzling smile. "I especially like to be tied-up and spanked."
His mouth literally dropped open. He couldn't believe it! She had said the magic word. All his life he had yearned to meet a woman who enjoyed the spanking fetish. His first wife thought he was weird when, on the wedding night, he bent her over his lap and began swatting. His second wife also thought that he was a bit strange, especially when he held a spanking orgy in his house with several of his good friends from the State Department. And his third wife divorced him the night that he pulled out the paddle.
Alas! Here was a woman who was after his very heart. She obviously had no idea that spanking was what he most desired in a female. After all, if a woman had a lovely ass, it was meant to be spanked.
The last thing that he wanted to do now was spend the remainder of the evening watching election returns and making comments about them for overpaid journalists. When a man was with the woman of his dreams, it was best to spend the evening making slow and exotic love, and getting a few swats in between rounds of penis-plunging.
When Henry had regained some measure of composure, he looked and saw that she was carrying a handbag of some sort. "Is that an overnight bag, may I ask?"
She giggled. "No, that's an automatic camera that I'm supposed to set-up when I interview you."
"Oh damn!" he said. "I was hoping that you brought a see-through nightie along."
"Why's that?"
He stepped close and whispered, "I thought that we could spend the night spanking each other."
She looked at him and her eyes rounded with amazement. "Are you into spanking too? Really? Oh my god! I never realized!"
He leaned back and said with an air of confidence, "Oh, I think that most of us big powerful wheeler-dealers are. It's quite fashionable back in Washington D.C, you know? On occasion, the local spanking clubs run out of paddles."
"Really?" she gasped. "There are spanking clubs operating in the nation's capital?"
"Oh sure. All the Representatives and Senators are into it. They have monogramed wooden paddles sent to them from their home state, or home district. Capitol Hill is practically a spankfest every Friday night."
"Wow!" she exclaimed with obvious delight. "It sounds like I want to be assigned to the Washington D.C. beat, doesn't it?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," he said, noting her unintentional pun.
The elevator arrived at the VIP floor. Henry and Bev disembarked and walked down the hallway. He followed a little behind, wanting to watch her buttocks sway. As many high-ranking women on Capitol Hill knew, he was a real thighs and ass man. They had the sore buns to prove it.
As soon as Bev and Henry got to the room, she unpacked the automatic camera, set-up the little satellite dish, and then called Connie back at the network. Bev had no trouble setting up the camera. In fact, she had no trouble with anything. The Japanese had managed to simplify technology to such an extent, that even blonde-headed bimbos without any experience could operate complex equipment. With the little miniature monitor she was able to see the room on television.
"Isn't this amazing?" she said as she looked at the picture. "Technology never ceases to amaze me."
"Nor I," said Henry from across the room. He had busied himself surveying the shape of her luscious derriere. He especially liked the way that the buttocks completely filled her skirt. "You know when I first started making the rounds of the television talk shows back in the late sixties, it took an entire crew of six or seven individuals to set-up a remote. They needed their own van, their own satellite dish, and about five miles of cables running helter-skelter all over god knows where. But now look, a single woman can set-up a remote all by herself. I must say that I like it a lot better this way."
"Me too," said Bev, blushing. "It makes it more cozy for just the two of us."
"That's right. We won't be bothered with those pesky technicians running in and out of our suite."
She loved the sound of the words, "our suite."
"So, tell me a little bit about yourself," asked Henry. "We've got about four hours to kill before the network requests my expertise."
"No. First you tell me about yourself," she said while shaking her index finger at him. "It's only fair. You're the guest of honor."
He figured that he might as well get these details out of the way, so that he could get on with the real matters at hand. "Most everyone knows my story. I've got a Harvard degree, wrote a few best-selling books, and became the darling of the news media about twenty years ago when TV news needed somebody who sounded authorative on a wide range of political topics. Basically, because I could fake a heavy foreign accent I've managed to bullshit my way to a million dollar a year salary for doing nothing other than giving half-assed opinions on subjects which nobody cares about. The only reason I appear on the air at all is because the network executives feel guilty for forcing crap down the throats of the American public in the name of primetime entertainment. So they schedule me for interviews during the off-hours when the ratings and the revenues are low. On the whole, the scheme works fairly well. They ease their consciences, I pack my wallet with fat checks, and the viewer can switch to a rerun of the "Dukes of Hazzard" when I'm on the air. Everyone is happy, you see. Yet no one truly gives a shit."
"Oh! That's not true," said Bev. "I care."
He narrowed his eyes and looked at her. "If you care, name one book that I've written."
"Er ... didn't you write something about limited totalitarianism?"
"Say what?" he laughed. "I don't even know what that term means. Hell! With your ability to make up bullshit terms like that, you'll probably go further in this world than I will."
"I'm sorry," she said as she bowed her head. "I don't remember anything you wrote."
"Never mind, my dear. Neither does anyone else. Like dozens of other intellectuals, I get paid to write books, not to write books which are accurate. The publishers, like the networks, throw money at me. They advance me several hundred thousand dollars every year, and yet I don't think they've recovered a tenth of that amount on the sale of all of my books combined. I'm one of those status authors. In other words, I fulfill the Charley-the-Tuna syndrome. Publishing my bullshit shows that a publisher has good taste. Ha! What a bunch of crap. But then America operates on crap these days. Every corporate executive is raping the country of its resources, and every public official is on the take. What a truly amazing system! Graft, graft, and more graft. Mix in a little corruption and bribery and you've got what we call American Free Enterprise'."
"You sound so smart, Henry," she said. "How did you ever acquire so much knowledge?"
"That too, is part of the illusion, my dear. In the modern world it is much more important to sound smart than it is to be smart. Memorize a few catch-phrases and learn to drop the right names at the right times and you'll go extremely far in this world. For instance, all you have to know is that William Shakespeare wrote 'Hamlet'. You don't have to know anything about Shakespeare, and you don't have to read 'Hamlet'. But you do have to know that one goes with the other. That's it. That's all there is to sounding smart. Don't waste your time being a scholar. This is an age of hype. Scholarship belongs to a distant, more slowly paced era. Technology has brought us many wondrous things, but television isn't one of them. It has created the media hound-like me."
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Henry," she said with a look of concern on her pretty face.
"Ah, my dear, I'm only telling you this because it's true. Surely you don't think that I've read as many books as I pretend. No man has that much time on his hands. Crap! I would never get on television if all I did was read. That takes too much time and effort. I make my living dealing in superficiality. I guess you might say that I tell 'em what they want to hear. In that regard, I'm the Al Capone of intellectuals."
"You sound so troubled," she said as she reached out to stroke his balding head.
"I'm troubled only in the sense that I feel guilty for making so much money for doing practically nothing. I mean, there are fellows working the graveyard shift at the Dunkin' Doughnuts making $3.35 an hour who have opinions which are just as valid as mine. And a few of those workers are probably graduate students who spent their lives making straight As. Hell! I never made an A in my life."
"But you attended Harvard," she said with surprise.
"So," he laughed. "I didn't get in because of my grade point average, but rather because I could afford the tuition. Money talks, you know." He paused and sighed for a brief moment before continuing, "I've been very fortunate. I was fortunate to be born in the right town at the right time, and to have had family members who had connections with people of influence in publishing, the media, and academia. Whatever I wanted I got. All I had to do was ask my parents and they would come running with the delivery. I even avoided the service because my daddy paid off the draft board. He laughed for weeks about forking over only five hundred dollars for the bribe. He was prepared to go as high as twenty thousand. He told me to never forget that lesson: working stiffs could be bought off for close to nothing."
Henry turned and looked into Bev's lovely blue eyes and said, "I guess the reason I'm telling you all of this is because we share a secret. I know you won't tell on me, because you wouldn't want me to tell on you. That's the nice thing about us spankers. We keep a secret."
He paused for a moment before continuing, "So, now you know my story. I'm basically no different than Joe Blow except that I've got the money and the connections to enhance my image whereas Joe Blow doesn't. Now, I want to know your story."
"There's no story to tell," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. "I just landed this job a week ago because I allowed the senior vice president to fuck me."
Henry burst out laughing. "No shit!" he asked. "No shit," she replied.
He slapped his thighs and said, "It looks like we're two of a kind, kiddo. We're gonna make a great team. But why would they send a rookie to interview me? I ususally get these old rotten crotches who have graying hair, receding gums, and wear glasses as thick as the bottom of a coke bottle."
"Because I told them that I wanted to be an anchorwoman."
"And by interviewing me you'd get national exposure, is that it?" he asked with an understanding wink.
"Yea, I suppose that's the plan."
They were both silent for a moment. He busied himself surveying her luscious body. Finally he said, "Speaking of exposure, we've got a few hours to kill before the interview is scheduled to go on the air. Why don't you and I spend that time getting to know each other intimately. How about it? What do you say?"
She was already reaching for the top buttons on her dress. "I say that anyone who's into spanking, can't be all bad."
He laughed like a schoolboy and said, "Gosh damn! I wish I'd brought my paddle."
SIX
At about the same time that Bev was unbuttoning the top buttons of her dress, a momentous event was taking place on the surface of the sun which would have a tremendous impact on her life. One of the largest solar flares in human history erupted, spewing forth and intense barage of cosmic rays. Within only a matter of minutes magnetic storms were ravaging the ionosphere, causing havoc with modern-day communications technologyincluding television transmission signals.
Meanwhile, back in the studio, things were not going as planned. The CBC executives hadn't expected that the viewers would be tuned-in to an off-year election. But then, guessing what viewers would watch was one of the great unknowns in television. Many a programming executive had been fired because he guessed wrong, even though his instincts may have told him that he was right. Too often, last year's fad, was this year's flop.
Ironically, prelimanary ratings for the election night showed that most viewers in the country were tuned in to CBC. For the first time in history, they were beating NBC, CBS, and ABC. The numbers were absolutely astounding. They rivaled those of a Super Bowl Sunday. What was going on?
Part of the reason for the huge audience response lay in the distant reaches of space. The enormous solar flare had screwed up the satellite feed of the three major networks-including most of the cable channels.
However, for some unknown reason, CBC was spared any interference problem. Its signal came through as clear as ever. As a consequence, people tuned-in by the tens of millions to see anything without a grainy picture.
Jim and Connie were back in master control watching over things. He couldn't get over the preliminary ratings. He had been the in business twenty-five years and had never seen such numbers. The evening was turning into a network executive's dream. It seemed that every person in North America with a television set had selected CBC.
And to think, Bev O'Conner was making her network debut.
"My god!" said Jim. "I've been doing some calculating and I've just come to the conclusion that most of the country is watching us. I can't believe it! We're CBC-the bottom of the barrel network?"
Connie took a look at the scratch pad and asked, "Where did you get these numbers? From Vince?"
"Yes, but he's usually right about these things. Big numbers feed big egos. And big egos can point to big numbers to justify big salaries. And in his scheme of thinking: the bigger the salary, the better the pussy."
"Amazing, isn't it?" said Connie, reflectively. "An idiot like Vince is probably going to wind-up on the cover of "Time" and "Newsweek" simply because of a solar flare. And yet the only thing that he had to do with this broadcast was to select that bimbo blonde to interview Henry Oxbrow."
"By the way," Jim asked. "Did she make it to the hotel okay, or did she get lost because she can't read a map?"
"She found the place all right. She even managed to set-up the camera correctly."
"Does she have it on live-feed? Let's see."
Connie shouted to one of the technicians to cue in Bev's camera. In an instant there was a picture on monitor number twenty-seven. "There it is. Over there," she pointed in its direction.
He looked and saw that the camera had been placed in the bedroom at the West Montgomery Hotel. "What the hell!" he laughed. "Doesn't she know that we rented that suite of rooms because it had a parlor?"
Connie looked to where the camera had been set-up and also laughed. "You don't think that she's seriously going to interview Henry Oxbrow in the bedroom, do you?"
"It could be interesting. He's been interviewed in every setting possible. Maybe it will provide a different touch. Oh well, I doubt that she'll even get on TV tonight. Too bad."
Connie turned to him and smiled, "Yea, I can see that you're real choked up. Do you think we ought to tell her to move the camera to a more appropriate location?"
"No," he replied. "This is Vince's babe and his idea. Let him suffer the consequences if anything goes wrong. Personally I'm against interviewing Henry anyway. He's become too much of a fixture on television news. I worry that when his face appears on screen, viewers switch channels or turn their sets off. He's become too much of a media hound. We'll just keep the other reporters busy at election headquarters. That'll eat up all of our time and keep Henry and Bev off of the air.."
Unseen by the cameras of Master Control, was the scene which was taking place right out of the camera range of monitor 27. There, Henry Oxbrow, the nation's foremost political guru, was tying Bev's wrists high above her head to the upright bedposts and her ankles to their base. In other words, she was being spread-eagled.
He was working fast and furiously. He couldn't wait to spank this blonde pixie. Most women who had a spanking fetish weren't very good-looking. In fact, many of them looked as if they had been spanked one too many times with an ugly stick. But that description didn't apply to Bev. No way. Her body was flawless. Her breasts were large and full. Her tummy was thin and flat. And her hips were just the way that he liked them. Full, rounded, and womanly.
Many women who worked in television news had boyish hips: skinny and without any shape whatsoever. But Bev's were meant to be sculpted in marble and preserved for posterity. They were works of art. And the buttocks were smooth and firm-and just waiting for a swish with his belt.
He leaned forward and planted a kiss on each of her asscheeks. This was the nicest complement he could give any woman. If her ass passed inspection, she would receive a couple of planted kisses.
Bev giggled when she felt his lips on her flesh. "Oh Henry. I can't wait."
"Neither can I, doll," he replied as he stuck out his tongue and swirled it around her left buttock. She had delicious tasting flesh. The kind that rich women acquire from bathing regularly in expensive bath oils. The scent from the oils got into the skin and stayed in much the same way that herbs scented the skin of poultry.
Bev never understood why her buttocks were so sensitive. Even as a child she liked to be spanked. She would go out of her way to do naughty things so that she would be punished with a whip. If her father told her to do something, she would do just the opposite. For instance, if he told her to trim the grass, she would snip away half the petunias. She never ran away when she did something wrong. Quite to the contrary. She would stand and wait patiently for her punishment.
Oh! How she loved it when he led her off to the cellar. Some of her most pleasurable childhood moments were spent there. In fact, it seemed that at least once a day she spent some time with her body folded in half across her daddy's knees, and her naked ass thrust high into the air.
It certainly wasn't unusual for Bev to be beaten three times per week. She was always thinking of new ways to get into trouble. Being sent to the cellar with her father was something she always looked forward to.
To this day the sound of a leather strap swishing through the air caused her body to tingle. Not from fear and trepidation, but from anticipated sexual excitement. She loved it when her father would beat her buttocks until they glowed a bright pink. The sensation would course downward to the lips of her vagina and create the most pleasurable feelings imaginable. And she noticed that if she pressed her Mound of Venus agains his thigh, her little clitoris would intensify the experience even more.
Unfortunately, when she was about ten, her father quit spanking her. Once little blonde hairs started to appear on her pubic mound, her spanking days were over. She tried her damnedest to get into trouble, but even when she did, her father merely gave her a scolding.
In middle school she discovered dating, and she soon learned that she could make some useful tradeoffs with the boys which took her out. She would only let a boy touch her "thing", if he gave her a spanking first. Some of the fellows thought the idea was stupid and wouldn't agree. Some thought it was funny, and did. Others, really got into it and swatted her rear end until their hands were sore. Those were the boys she really liked. They were the ones she saw again, and again, and again. They understood her fetish.
And what a good fetish it was, too. It had taken her to the heights of broadcasting, and apparently to the highest levels of the United States government. For Henry Oxbrow, was a spanking enthusiast as well. Imagine that.
She looked over at him. She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue and said, "I hope that we have enough time to really get it on."
He winked at her and replied, "Right now, every bonehead in media is sitting at a desk in election headquarters and looking at a stack of papers covered with a bunch of numbers. They don't know what to make of them until someone at another network makes a half-baked hypothesis. Then that hypothesis will start to roll like a snowball. Soon, you have a 'great theory' which explains everything. And it probably wasn't correct in the first place. It was simply presented on television and that gave it the appearance of being authoritative."
"Oh Henry!" she said breathlessly. "I'm horny as a Bible Belt minister's wife. Let's not talk politics. Let's talk sex."
Unbeknownst to either of them, Bev had left her directional microphone open. As a result, the word "sex" was heard back in the studio by none other than Connie. She tapped her earpiece several times to see if she had heard correctly. She looked over at Jim and asked, "Who's talking about sex?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "What are you talking about?"
"I overheard someone say, 'Let's talk sex'."
"Are you sure they didn't say, 'Let's talk about Ward Six', or, 'Let's talk about Senator Sext'?"
"Jim, I've got a good set of ears. I know what I heard."
He smiled and said, "Your ears aren't the only good things on you." He reached over with his left hand and squeezed her right breast.
"Not now!" she whispered, gently pushing his hand away. "Later! After the results are in. When we get off the air, I'll be needing a lot of that Polish sausage you've got packed in your pants."
"You've got yourself a date," he said while reaching over to give her nipple a gentle tweak.
Connie was about to turn her attention to other matters when she heard a familiar voice say, "Describe what you see. Please. Describe what you see." This was followed by another familiar voice saying, "I see a beautiful and naked blonde-haired beauty spread-eagled in front of me. Her ripe succulent breasts are dangling freely and the nipples on those magnificent breasts are large, distended, and yearning to be sucked."
"What the hell!" exclaimed Connie.
"What's wrong?" Jim asked.
She turned to him and handed him a set of earphones. "Here. Listen to this."
He put them on and adjusted them. He turned up the volumn and listened to the conversation. He heard the man continue with his description, "Oooh! I see a cute little belly button winking at me right there. Mmm, it's a nice little indentation, but it isn't attracting my attention as much as this other indentation down here between your lovely thighs. Oh my, but you have a beautiful cunt. It's all blonde and pouting for attention."
"It's all wet and ready for you," the female voice teased. "It needs something big, and long, and hard."
Connie and Jim looked at each other. They couldn't figure out what was going on. Jim said, "I've heard both of these voices before. I can't place them, but I know that one belongs to somebody famous. Just who, eludes me." He paused to ponder who it might be.
Connie became worried and asked, "Do you think that it's somebody breaking in on our satellite feed?"
"I don't think so," Jim replied, shaking his head. "There's nothing on any of our monitors except election coverage. Of course, that solar flare has screwed up so many things tonight that we could be listening to a Mexican porno movie."
He heard the male voice again. This time it said, "I've got a nice wide leather belt for you, doll. Would you care to shake your buttocks a little more provocatively. I want a better target."
"Oh Henry!" he female said in low sensual moan. "You make me feel positively ecstatic."
Jim quickly turned to Connie and said, "That's Henry Oxbrow. I'd know that voice anywhere."
"You mean he's with Bev?"
"Apparently so."
Connie laughed, "Oh, this is too much. The foremost political analyst in the United States is making it with our rookie reporter. Strange, she doesn't seem like his type."
"When it comes to sex, any beautiful woman is a man's type," Jim said cynically.
Connie looked at him and smiled. "I guess that's the greatest truism in the world." She paused for a moment and then asked, "Well, should I tell Bev that she's fired, or do you want to do it?"
Jim sat perfectly still and didn't say a word.
"Well?" asked Connie, waiting for a reply.
He smiled wickedly and said, "Let's wait."
"What!" she exclaimed. "You can't be serious?"
He looked at her and explained his reasoning. "In a manner of speaking, what she's doing isn't hurting anybody. After all, she's not on the air, and not likely to get on the air for the remainder of the evening. Besides, Henry Oxbrow is one of the most important people in the United States. He has a lot of clout with a lot of other important people. He has a lot of prestigious connections. He has a lot of friends in high places. If we were to cancel his fun at this particular moment he would never forgive CBC, nor the individuals responsible."
Connie realized that the word "individuals" referred to Jim and her. She understood the implications of what he was saying.
"I suggest that we just leave them alone and let them have their fun. Their secret won't go further than you and me. Agreed."
She looked at him and smiled. "You're truly a wonderful man, Jim. Have I ever told you that?"
"As a matter-of-fact, you did. It was just the other day, right before I filled you full of my cock. So, I hope that every time you make that statement, I can look forward to uninhibited sex with the most beautiful woman in television broadcasting."
"Crow's feet around the eyes and all?" she asked with a smile.
"Every delicious aspect of you-even though you're a brunette instead of a blonde."
Now it was her turn to reach over and grab something. Of course, she went right for his big cock and gave it a loving pat.
Meanwhile at that very moment back in the hotel, Henry was raring back and preparing to give the first swat to the beautiful white globes wiggling enticingly in front of him. She had the best looking ass he had seen since the State Department picnic.
Bev could barely stand it. "Oh please! Please hurry! I need a spanking so badly. Oh please. Give it to me now. C'mon, Henry. Go for it. Give me a swat on the buttocks that I'll never forget. Let me know that you want me. Let me know that you're hot for me. Let me know that you understand me. Oh Henry, c'mon!"
Henry's beady little eyes were nearly popping out of his head. The pupils had dilated to mere pinpoints. His mouth was open and his tongue was hanging out. Even a small droplet of saliva was dribbling down his chin. He revised his earlier appraisal. This was the best ass he had ever had. Wait till he told the fellows back in the Executive Branch that he had swatted Grade A Prime Beef Top Sirloin Buttocks. Boy! Would they be jealous. Yum yum!
"Oh Henry!" Bev cried in desperation. "Henry! Now! Please now! I can't wait another minute."
He rared back, looked at the magnificent twin globes swaying in front of his eyes, and then tightened his grip on the belt. Without further delay, he let go with a mighty swat.
In the next instant, a loud "Swish!", followed by an even louder "Swack!", reverberated through the VIP suite and travelled via satellite back to the CBC Master Control room.
"What the hell was that?" Connie asked. "It sounds like a slapping noise of some sort."
"Swish! Smack! Swish! Smack! Swish! Smack!
Swish! Smack! Swish! Smack! Swish! Smack! Swish! Smack!" sounded through the earplugs.
"My god!" Jim laughed. "What the hell is going on over there? It sounds like they're doing some sort of bondage thing."
Connie turned up the volume, listened for a moment, and said, "Well, this is a new one on me. I've heard about these types of things, but I always thought they were made up by comedy writers for TV talk shows."
At that very instant a lightning bolt struck the CBC communications van which was parked in front of election central. As a result, all the electronic signals being sent back to Master Control were interrupted, and completely shut off.
"Oh no!" screamed Connie when she saw the Master Monitor go blank. "I think that we've been knocked off the air, damn it! Quick, Jim! Help me fix it." She began looking around to other monitors to see if any of them were working.
He'd been in the business long enough to know what had happened. "There's nothing we can do at this end, Connie," he said calmly. "A lightning bolt hit our transmitter. They have to fix the circuit breakers in the van before we can get any feed. In the meantime, switch to any monitor that shows something interesting."
"I can't," she said as she threw switch after switch. "Every camera that we've got is at election central. Every monitor is completely blank. As far as I can tell we're completely off the air."
"Surely not all of them?" Jim asked, sitting up and suddenly worried. "That's never happened before."
"Look for yourself," she replied, waving her hands in front of her. "There are over a hundred monitors in front of me and every single one of them is blank. That is, except for the automatic camera at the West Montgomery Hotel."
"What about the feeds from the other networks-NBC, CBS, and ABC?" Jim asked, while trying to throw a switch which would correct the problem.
"They're all a bunch of fuzz. Nobody's able to transmit anything. That solat flare has fucked up everything."
"Holy shit!" Jim exclaimed, suddenly realizing the true dimensions of the problem. "What are the chances of something like this happening? One in a billion? One in a trillion?"
Connie merely shrugged her shoulders, totally bewildered. "I don't know. I'm not a mathematician."
At that instant, the red phone rang. That meant one of two things: either a world-shattering news event had occurred, or the senior vice president of CBC wanted to talk to the news director.
Jim immediately picked up the receiver and said, "Master Control. Jim here."
"Goddamnit! This is Vince. Are you aware of the fact that we're off the air?"
There was nothing quite like hearing the obvious during a time of crisis from an overpaid executive. "Yes. I'm quite aware of it," Jim replied.
"Well, what the fuck are doing about it?"
Jim took a deep breath and explained, "Every camera we have is at election central. Since the communications van was knocked out, we'll have to wait for them to repair it at their end. Once they tell us they're ready, we'll patch them back in. Until then, there's not a thing we can do."
"Oh bullshit!" screamed Vince. "There's got to be some camera somewhere. Whereever it is, switch it on. I don't care what the hell the picture is. We've got to have something on this television screen. Shit! Over a hundred and twenty-five million people are watching us tonight. Do you hear me? That's nearly one half the population of the entire United States. I don't care if you only have an out-of-focus picture of an ugly kid petting a three-legged puppy, I want you to put it on the air-immediately!"
Jim looked at monitor number twenty-seven and said to Vince, "We've only got one camera that shows anything. It's the one from the West Montgomery Hotel."
"All right!" exclaimed Vince joyously. "That's Bev. Hallelujah! Is she there with Henry Oxbrow?"
Jim rolled his eyes upwards and replied, "Er ... I think that you can say that."
"Well, patch her in, damn it!" Vince pounded his desk for emphasis. "Tell her that this is her moment. She's going to debut on prime time television with half the country watching. Talk about an auspicious introduction! She's lucky that there's nothing else on television except her and that opiniated asshole Henry. Get her on the air. You've got thirty seconds."
Jim knew the implications of that request so he immediately cautioned, "Er ... I don't think that we should do this, Vince. There are ... er ... certain parameters ... er ... which should be followed."
"Don't give me that bullshit about her not being ready," Vince jumped in. "She's just as good as every other reporter. All the fuck she has to do is point a microphone at somebody's mouth and let him talk. Now go ahead. Patch her in. I want the country to get a good look at the tits and ass reporter I hired. She'll give America a hard-on it won't soon forget."
Jim was doing his damnedest to think of a way to dissuade the senior vice president from patching her in. "I want to go on record as being against this decision," he said firmly.
HI
"Fine," Vince replied as he slapped his desk once more. "Your opposition to my request is duly noted. I'll remember that the next time you ask for a raise. Now, get her on the air before I blow my fucking, stack. I want America to see the beautiful broad that I hired."
Jim turned to Connie and said matter-of-factly, "Vince wants to put Bev on the air-immediately-without delay."
"We can't do that," she said with deep concern. "Every affiliate in the whole network will lose its license."
Jim shrugged his shoulders and replied, "I know that, and you know that, but senior vice presidents don't."
She grabbed the phone and said, "Vince, it's not possible to patch her in at this time."
"Why?" he screamed.
"Because ... er ... because she set-up the camera wrong." Connie too was trying to think of a delicate way to explain the situation.
"Do you have audio?" Vince asked.
"Yes."
"Do you video?"
"Yes."
"Then there's nothing wrong, goddamn it. She set the thing up right. Now you listen to me, Miss Sagging Tits, if I don't get a picture on this TV set in a matter of microseconds I'm going to boot your flabby ass and your ugly face down to the lowest paid job at this network. Do you understand me, bitch!"
To say the least, he had not scored any points with her. She certainly fumed over his offensive remarks, but being the trouper that she was, she didn't allow her emotions to override her reasoning. "The camera's pointed in the wrong direction. It's not at the precise location that we requested," she explained, hoping that this argument would dissaude Vince from pursuing his suicidal demand.
"Listen you old bag. Shove a vibrator in your mouth and shut the fuck up. In the meantime, put Jim back on the line."
She slammed the receiver into Jim's palm. She damned near mangled his hand in the process.
"Yo. Jim here," he said with a tremendous amount of pain while shaking his hand.
"Don't those new automatic field cameras have remote control?" Vince asked.
"Yes. Come to think of it, they do," Jim replied without enthusiasm.
"Well then, take control of the camera from your booth and focus it on Bev and Henry. You've got five seconds to comply with my order before you're fired. Now do it."
"I think that it would be better to wait for the communications van to correct the problem before we...."
Vince didn't let him complete the sentence. He interrupted and said, "You've got two seconds before your ass is grass and I turn into the proverbial lawn mower."
"All right. Since you put it that way, you've got it, Vince."
There's a certain point in an employee's life when one realizes that his job really doesn't matter in the whole scheme of the cosmos. One individual can't really change things. What will be, will be. Fate guides all men's lives--great and small-and only fools tempt the hands of Fate.
Jim reached forward, closed his eyes, and switched on the re note control for monitor 27.
Vince yelled back over the phone, "Give me a picture-now-or you're history!"
Jim did as he was told. He fed the picture which was presently coming over monitor 27 into the CBC Master Monitor, and hence into about eighty million American households.
Vince watched from his executive suite and said into the receiver, "Very good. It's nice to see that you finally carried out my request. Where in the hell did she set the camera up, anyway? In the bedroom? That's what it looks like."
"Yes," Jim replied in a soft tone.
"Oh well," Vince laughed. "It'll be a change of pace from the usual Henry Oxbrow interview. I won't hold this little faux pas against her. Shit! you guys were acting like this was the end of the world. This is nothing. Why were you worried?"
The camera panned slowly to the right and a bedpost came into view. A leather strap securely bound around a wrist could easily be discerned. The camera continued to pan to the right and a naked forearm came into view, followed by an elbow, followed by a woman's bicep, followed by a feminine shoulder. The arm seemed to be struggling against the binding because the flesh was quivering.
As the camera continue to pan to the right several strands of long beautiful blonde hair came into view. And then the right eye of the woman, followed by her nose, and then her left eye. Soon the entire face was in focus and it was apparent that the woman on the screen wore an expression of ecstasy.
She had her eyes closed, but her nostrils were flaring like those of a woman on the verge of orgasm. Her lips were quivering and seemed to be mouthing something. Numerous droplets of sweat dotted her forehead and upper lip.
Incredibly the camera had managed to miss everything below the shoulders. "Thank god for small favors," said Jim. "Thus far we've only got a G-rated movie."
"What's she doing?" asked Vince over the phone. "Is she preparing to sneeze, or something? Turn up the audio."
Jim turned to Connie and said, "Vince wants the audio turned up."
Thus far they had lucked out. She knew that if she threw the audio switch a new chapter in television history would be written. If the executive vice president of the network hadn't called her every disgusting name in existence, she might have foregone the opportunity to seek revenge. But, what the hell! It was time that bastard Vince got what he deserved.
She flicked the switch. Since she had been listening through the earpiece, she wasn't too shocked to hear the words, ""Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Give it to me! Give it to me! Oh come on!" The beautiful face was contorted with lust and mouthing every four-letter word in the English language. "Oh fuck! Oh goddamn fuck! Oh fuck! Oh you son of a bitch! Fuck! Fuck! Beat me! Oh fuck! Beat me!"
"I think that we just dropped to an R-rating," said Jim sarcastically.
To make matters worse, a male voice in the background was screaming, " ... sixty-five, motherfucker! Sixty-six, motherfucker! Sixty-seven, motherfucker!" Proceeding each, "motherfucker" came a "Swish!", and following each, came a "Smack!"
Jim bowed his head and prepared for the worst. He expected Vince to be screaming into the phone, telling him to turn the damned monitor off. But instead, there was no response from the other end of the line. This was most unusual for Vince never missed the chance to mouth a few expletives whenever the opportunity presented itself. "Hello, Vince? Vince? Are you there?" he asked.
Connie looked over and said, "Well, I guess that this sets a new standard for election eve coverage, doesn't it?
"Yes. It's television's finest hour. The soap operas have got nothing on us."
She sighed and looked down at the floor. She quietly asked, "Has he told you to turn it off yet?"
"I think he died," Jim replied.
But Vince hadn't died. At that very moment he was running at breakneck speed down the corridor to Master Control. He dashed through the outer computer room, and literally smashed through the door marked 'CBC Red Room: No Admittance."
Jim and Connie heard the door crash open and immediately turned to their left. There stood Vince, his hair disheveled, and his face an ashen gray. He was gasping for air and saying, "Get her off. Get her off. Do anything, but get her off. This is going to spell the ruination of all of us. Quick! Quick! Where's the remote control for that camera?"
"Right there under the monitor marked '27'," said Connie, pointing in its direction.
Jim saw Vince reach forward, but noticed that he was handling the remote control switch. "No!
Don't touch that one!" Jim screamed at the top of his lungs. "Whatever you do, don't!"
But it was too late. Vince had already touched it. The camera backed away from a close-up shot to a wide-angle view. "Oh no!" moaned Jim. "The worst has just happened."
SEVEN
Yes, things had certainly taken a turn for the worse. In fact, Jim had just seen the number of years he would need to spend in prison jump from ten to twenty-if not more. He figured that he would get out of the penitentiary about the same time as Charles Manson.
Americans were now treated to a full-frontal view of a lovely naked blonde facing them in a spread-eagled position. Now they could sit in the comfort of their living rooms and look at the full tits and the luscious cunt which went with the beautiful face of the woman saying those dirty words.
Jim said to Connie, "I think we've just entered the X-rated realm."
Immediately behind the beautiful blonde was the familiar face of America's foremost political sage, and his unfamiliar pot-bellied and rotund body. It took the average viewer only a few seconds to deduce what Henry was doing with the wide leather belt he held in his hand. In no time at all 125 million Americans put the sounds of "Swish! Swish! Swish!" together with the sounds of "Smack! Smack! Smack!" and realized what was transpiring on nationwide television.
Out in Paducah, Kentucky a man said to his wife, "I don't know the name of this here program, honey, but it sure beats 'Hollywood Squares'."
Up in Sheboygan, Wisconsin an elder female said to her friend, "I swear! Television's getting more morally lax all of the time. Just look at the filth they're putting on the air now. Just look. That's disgusting! That's revolting! That's an outrage! By the way, since you're over there, could you turn up the volume?"
Down in Atlanta, Georgia, a young housewife said to her husband, "You see, Billy Joe! I told you spanking was an accepted form of sexual foreplay.
When are you going to get the balls to spank me like that man on TV? Huh? When I'm an old dried-up prune and can't enjoy sex anymore?"
Down in Jackson, Mississippi an old black man asked his daughter, "What the hell are these crazy white folks into now?"
If anyone had any doubts about what was going on, all they had to do was listen to the beautiful blonde say, "Oh spank me! Spank me! Spank me! Let me have it! Oh please! Give it to me like I've never had it before! Harder! Harder! Harder!"
And if that didn't explain it for them, then surely they got the message as Henry swatted away and counted, " ... Ninety-five, motherfucker! Ninety-six, motherfucker! Ninety-seven, motherfucker!...."
Vince's hands were moving with lightning speed from dial to dial, from switch to switch, and from button to button. He was trying his best to learn the subtle nuances of 1990's remote control technology in thirty seconds or less. But, of course, he was having a considerable amount of difficulty since he didn't understand a thing about the controls he was handling. The poor fellow didn't know the difference between Ohm's Law and Murphy's Law.
He thought he had made some progress until he heard, " ... One hundred and five, motherfucker! One hundred and six, motherfucker! One hundred and seven, motherfucker!...."
"Switch to any monitor, Jim!" he cried out. "I don't give a rattail shit which one it is! A test pattern would be better than this."
"... One hundred and fifteen, motherfucker! One hundred and sixteen, motherfucker! One hundred and seventeen, motherfucker!...."
Jim was trying his damnedest to get the image of a tied and bound female off the television screen, but couldn't. He was flipping switch after switch, but somehow Bev's gorgeous body wouldn't vanish. In desperation, he shouted over to Connie, "Hey! I'm open to suggestions here. Anything. I don't care. Even witchcraft would be accepted." ... "One hundred and twenty-five, motherfucker! One hundred and twenty-six, motherfucker! One hundred and twenty-seven, motherfucker!...."
Just then an idea popped into Connie's head. "I think I know why we can't switch monitors."
"Why?" Jim and Vince turned and asked in unison.
"Because when the remote controls are activated, they override the manual and the semi-automatic controls. Hence, this picture is locked in place until we can figure out some way to deactivate the remote."
"And the only way to deactivate the remote is to get the communications van back in the linkage," Jim added. "But how are we going to do that with the feed down to election central?"
Vince got frustrated listening to the technical gibberish. He turned and grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall. "The time has long since passed for mouthing theories about electronics!" he screamed as he hoisted the large red canister over his head. "Step back folks. I'm about to teach you underlings what separates the men from the boys."
Connie and Jim looked at each other and smiled. They realized that the real measure of a man was the size of his penis-and in that regard, Jim stood miles above the senior vice president.
Vince took a deep breath and rammed the butt-end of the canister into the control panel of monitor 27.
"There! That should do it," he said, as sparks went flying around the room.
But unfortunately he was wrong...."One hundred and thirty-five, motherfucker! One hundred and thirty-six, motherfucker! One hundred and thirty-seven, motherfucker!...."
It was a good try, but it didn't work. In fact, it actually made things worse. The camera moved forward and locked itself in position. Now the TV screen was filled with Bev's body from her knees to her eyes. And wouldn't you know it! Her beautiful blonde pussy was right smack in the middle of the TV monitor. In fact, it was one of the clearest pictures that CBC had ever transmitted. The lighting was perfect, the camera angle was precise, and everything was in focus. A veteran cameraman with thirty years experience couldn't have gotten a better shot.
When Vince saw the picture on the monitor he said, "Oh no! Oh no no no no no no no no no no! Dear god! This can't be happening to me! Things like this aren't supposed to occur. Never in a million years! Never in a billion years! Certainly not in one's lifetime." ... "One hunderd and forty-five, motherfucker! One hundred and forty-six, motherfucker! One hundred and forty-seven, motherfucker!...."
Jim decided to sit back and just take things in stride. He reached for a cigarette and lit-up. The last thing he worried about was getting lung cancer. He figured that no matter what happened now, the damage was already done. He was now the crap-filled diaper at the top of the shitheap. He was ruined. After this, he's be lucky to get a job working the graveyard shift at an Iranian owned 7-11.
Connie also realized the futility of the situation. She would have gone from weathergirl, to Master Control, to permanent unemployment within a week's time. Oh well, that's the way it went at the network level. First you're up, then you're down, then you're smashed flat as a pancake on the ground.
Jim looked over at her and said, "I would say we're getting close to an XX-rated picture here, wouldn't you?"
Vince stepped back, snapped his ringers, and said, "I've got it! I've got it. I have the solution! I know what I'll do! I'll throw the main power. Where is it?"
"It's over there behind monitor number one," said Jim, pointing without enthusiasm.
Vince rushed over, opened the metal cabinet, and tried to throw the switch, but it wouldn't budge. The damn thing had been locked in place in the "On" position. When he realized what had been done, he screamed, "Who the fuck thought of this imbecilic idea! I want the bastard fired immediately. Do you hear me! Immediately! I don't give a flying fuck who he is. He's history here at CBC."
Jim looked at him and smiled. "You thought of that idea. Last year. Remember? You even wrote a memo to that effect. Would you like me to pull it out of the file and show you? You said that you never wanted to run the risk of someone knocking us off the air accidentally."
Vince closed his eyes and said, "Oh fuck! That's right. Well, where's the key? We've got to unlock it. There's no other choice."
"You threw it away," Jim reminded him. "You also thought that was a great idea."
"Oh fuck!" Vince moaned, finally realizing the hopelessness of the situation. "My life is ruined. Everything I've tried to accomplish is a shambles.
They'll never allow me on the prestigious golf courses again. Oh shit! Oh fuck! I'll be removed from Celebrity Status at the best restaurants in town and I'll have to wait in line with the other smucks. Oh shit! Oh fuck! I think I'll just jump out a window and end it all now."
"There aren't any in this building," Connie replied with a streak of vindictive meanness. "You'll have to go next door to do it. May I suggest that you jump from the top floor. It's a lot messier, but it's more thorough."
Vince leaned back against the wall. He was exhausted and exasperated. He had no idea what to do. No crisis of this magnitude had occurred during his tenure as senior vice president. Oh sure, there was the flap of scheduling "Gilligan's Island" opposite "Leave it to Beaver"-but that was hardly the same seriousness of this. Of course, there was the incident of running condom commercials on Saturday mornings between the kiddie cartoons. That mistake had certainly generated a lot of flack. The letters poured in for weeks from irate housewives. Goodness knows how many letters he would receive over this incident.
Shit! he thought. Who was he kidding. He wouldn't be the one to receive the letters. It would be his replacement.
He looked up and watched the scene taking place in front of him on the master monitor. He saw that Henry had now positioned himself underneath Bev's widespread, outstretched thighs and was aiming his seven-inch cock at her blonde twat.
Connie commented, "You know, I never knew he was that well-hung."
"Yea, I wouldn't have guessed it either," replied Jim. "He has his mouth open so often that it's hard to imagine him taking the time out to make love to a woman."
Like a 125 million other viewers, he was privy to the sight of Henry Oxbrow's cock worming its way slowly and methodically into the beautiful cunt of the rookie CBC On-The-Spot reporter.
"Nice aim," said Connie.
"Yea, he's pretty handy with his tool," added Jim. "I'd say that we're definitely bordering on an XXX-rating now."
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" moaned Bev ecstatically.
"Mmmmmmmmmm!" sighed Henry, equally ecstatic.
"Ohhhhhhhhh!" groaned Vince, not ecstatic at all. For the first time in his life, sex wasn't stirring his hormones.
Jim watched the head of the penis bury itself in Bev's warm folds. As the pulsing shaft started to disappear inward, he turned and said, "I have to hand it to you, Vince. Bev really does have a terrific-looking body. Although I think that you've always underestimated Connie's."
She chimed in, "I think my body's just as good, but I wouldn't expose it like that on primetime network television."
"Ohhhhhhhhh!" groaned Vince again, not wanting to be reminded of the situation.
"You must have given her one hell of a salary increase?" Jim asked. "I don't know too many women who would go through something like that with 125 million people watching."
"Ohhhhhhhhh!" groaned Vince once more, this time practically bending over with the heaves.
And as Henry's shaft sunk all the way into Bev's cunt, Vince began sobbing. "My whole life is ruined," he said. "All of those three hour workdays-down the drain. My executive salary will probably be slashed in half. And worst of all, the value of my stock will probably drop through the floor. And this doesn't even take into account the fact that from now on I have to tolerate less than Prime Beef pussy."
Jim didn't pay any attention. He was too busy watching the action on the TV monitor. He turned and said to Connie, "Yea, she's got a beautiful body, all right. But you know what?"
"What?"
"I would never take hers in place of yours."
She smiled, displaying the crow's feet and the laugh lines on her face without regret. She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, and then the lips, and said, "I love you."
"And I love you too-slightly sagging tits and all."
"Are we going to go through that again?" she said with a wink. "I told you, my tits don't sag. Here, have another look." She quickly reached up and undid the top buttons of her dress, allowing her magnificent pair of jugs to plop free.
They were just as beautiful as Jim had remembered them. They were the breasts of a mature woman, not a girl. They were attached to a female who was at the peak of her sexual power. They belonged to a woman who knew how to make love. And most importantly, they belonged to the woman that he loved.
He saw that her nipples were firm and hard. He looked at Bev's on the television monitor, and then back at hers. He squinted his eyes and said, "There's no doubt about it-you've got the better pair."
He stuck out his forefinger and lightly tickled the underside of her right breast. She giggled slightly as he traced a blue vein from the underside to the large aureola. He liked the fact that she had big ones. They looked more womanly and more sexually appealing than small ones. He also like the large nipples. They were much nicer to suck than teeny ones.
Vince, who had been feeling suicidal only moments beforehand took note of what was transpiring in the control room. He glanced over at Connie's breasts and was surprised by their fullness, firmness, and beauty. He commented, "Wow! I never knew that you had such a great set of knockers! Why did you keep them hidden behind that business attire all the time? Hell! If I would have known you to have a pair like that, I wouldn't have hired that goddamn bimbo Bev."
Connie looked at him with cold, unfeeling eyes and replied, "I don't know. I just happened to think that it looked professional to dress professionally, that's all. I guess I should have done the weather reports in a see-through halter top and skin-tight bikini briefs. Maybe every once in a while I should have rubbed my crotch when I delivered the daily temperatures. Would that have made a difference, Vince?"
He fumbled for words. "Why sure. I mean ... it's always nice to try new ideas. Maybe it could have boosted ratings. Who knows?"
She looked at him and declared, "I swear-you're fucking incorrigible. You're a sexist pig! How did a man like you get to hold a prominent position in this company?"
Jim replied for him, "He's related to the founder. Nepotism always helps." He reached over and gave Connie's left breast a gentle squeeze. As he ran his palm under it he asked, "I notice that your nipples are as hard as steel. Is that because of me, or what's taking place on the screen?"
"I've got to confess," she replied with a sensual sigh, "Bev and Henry are starting to get me worked up. I'm becoming hot. I'm beginning to get turned on."
"Tell me how I'm to know when you're worked up?" asked Jim as he extinguished his cigarette.
"First of all," she explained, "I get an itch in my vagina. And then the itch turns to a tickle. And the tickle makes me squirm my ass against a seat cushion, or cross my legs and rub my thighs together. In no time at all I can feel my Mound of Venus fill with blood and billow outward. And then I can feel my labia pout open, yearning for something to squeeze-something long and hard."
For the proper effect she began to squirm in her seat before continuing, "A finger won't do, nor will a plastic vibrator. The only thing that satisfies my lust is a penis. And the bigger it is, the better I like it."
She crossed her legs and began squeezing her thighs together. She swirled her tongue around her lips and said, "I'm just like Bev up there on the monitor. When I know a cock is near, I practically go bonkers. And anytime I see something erotic or sensual, it effects me the same way."
"And they say women don't like pornography," replied Jim with a wicked smile. "Ha! What we're sending out over the air is about as pornographic as one can get, right Vince? They're going to have to invent a new rating system for us. Maybe XXXX-rated!"
The executive vice president hadn't been thinking of his predicament for the past few minutes. Instead, he had been concentrating on Connie's body. But with the reminder of what was taking place on his television network nearly gave him a heart attack.
Jim and Connie knew the mental qualms that Vince was having. They knew that the cunthound of CBC was going out of his mind, unable to concentrate, unable to decide what to do. That's why they were playing their game.
They knew that he couldn't decide whether to watch Connie, or Bev. Should he look at a brunette, or should he look at a blonde? Should he look at an act of sexual intercourse in progress, or should he watch Connie disrobe completely?
Decisions, decisions!
Connie quickly removed her dress and threw it aside. She stood up and turned around, displaying her lovely back and posterior for everyone present. She had a truly lovely backside. Everything was firm and muscular. There wasn't a sign of fat anywhere. The shoulders were straight, the waist was thin and incurving, and the hips were shapely and full. Even her shoulder blades and spinal column had a certain sensuality in their symmetry.
She looked over her shoulder and said with a wink, "I think that we should try what Bev showed us."
"Do you mean bondage?" asked Jim, somewhat surprised.
"We can skip the knots-and-rope stuff for the time being," she said. "Let's just do the spanking. Remove your leather belt from your pants."
Vince was short of breath but managed to say, "Here, Jim. Use mine. It's good for this sort of thing." He quickly removed it from his pants and handed it to Jim. He didn't mention that he and Bev had already practiced the spanking routine with that very belt.
Vince admired the long and lovely legs of Connie. He never realized how attractive she was. Even though she had been working at the network for nearly six years, he never took the time to fully appraise her. He didn't understand that, for he had gone out of his way to survey every other woman in the building. He even kept a ledger with each woman's name and her rating. Some might call it sexist, but so what? He was the senior vice president of the network and he could do what he damn well wanted.
He gulped when he realized that he might not be the network vice president much longer. That would be a serious hindrance to adding new names to the ledger in the future.
He looked back at Connie and thought that maybe she was too intelligent and assertive for his tastes. He preferred to have women at his disposal who were bimbos-like Bev. That way he didn't need to worry about carrying on a conversation during sexual intercourse.
Connie probably wasn't impressed with his bullshit titles the way other women were. She could take him or leave him. Because of that she made him feel insecure and unsure of himself. And a cunthound must always be sure of himself.
He looked over and noticed that Jim had removed his pants and underwear. Apparently the news director and the lovely assistant were going to have a love-in right there in Master Control!
"Surely you aren't going to do what I think you're going to do," he cautioned. "You could get fired, you know?"
Jim laughed several times and said, "Vince, our asses are already history at this network. None of us will be able to work in television again-ever! In fact, what's on the screen right now will probably send us to Marion for the rest of our lives."
"Marion?" Vince asked, unsure of the term.
"In case you haven't heard, the federal penitentiary in Marion, Illinois is now the number one prison in the United States. Being incarcerated there is similar to having been incarcerated in Leavenworth and Alcatraz earlier in this century."
Vince didn't like the sound of the place at all. If worse came to worse, surely he would be able to bribe a judge or a jury and get sentenced to one of those nice country club prisons up in the mountains, complete with golf course, tennis court, and swimming pool. He had heard it rumored that they even employed foxy-looking female guards to keep the prisoners happy.
Ah yes! Now that was his idea of prison.
Jim stepped behind Connie and ran his palm over her buttocks. He slipped his fingers under the waistband of the panties and began to slowly lower them down her ass. Vince watched the hem move downward past the half-moon position, past the three-quarter moon position, and even lower until her full moon was visible.
"I feel a draft on my rear end," she giggled.
"It's probably just my dong waving in the breeze," replied Jim as he slapped her buttocks with his twelve-inch.
Vince looked at the monstrous organ and exclaimed, "Holy shit! Where did you get that thing! It's enormous!"
Connie looked over her shoulder and smiled at the senior vice president. "It's a beauty, isn't it? I'm sure glad that I've been balling someone who has a dick like that rather than someone with a minnow like yours."
"Hey! I'm pretty well hung," replied Vince defensively. He unzipped himself and exposed his penis. He grabbed it with his right hand and shook it at her. "See for yourself."
Again, she decided to put the son-of-a-bitch in his place. "Right now I can see three dicks: Henry's, Jim's, and yours. Believe me, yours is the last which I would want drilling into me. I'd take a plastic vibrator over that ugly thing. Furthermore, I don't even know how you can give a girl an orgasm with something that small. Tell me, do your girlfriends fake it, or do you pay them to scream?"
He had turned beet red from her insults. "Hey, I admit that I ain't hung like Don Juan here, but women don't complain about my performance."
A wickedly lascivious smile crossed her face as she said, "If they had Jim first, they would."
He looked at her and angrilly replied, "Just wait until you get my schlong up your love channel, and then we'll see whose you like better."
She laughed. "The only way you'll get a piece of my ass is if you win a mega-state lottery, and even then it'll cost you every penny." She turned her head in Jim's direction and said, "C'mon honey, hurry with that whip. I want to see if this spanking stuff really works." She wiggled her ass from side to side as if in desperation. She couldn't wait for the fun to begin.
Jim wrapped the belt around his hand the way that he had seen Henry Oxbrow do. When the leather strap was securely in place, he tested it to make sure that it wouldn't come off. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he looked at the white globes of assflesh in front of him. He had to admit that there was something exciting about the thought of spanking a fully grown woman. Maybe there was something to this kinky stuff after all. He may have dismissed the idea too soon. Nevertheless, to make certain that he wasn't living in the Twilight Zone he asked, "Are you sure that you want me to do this?"
She looked back over her shoulder, wiggled her ass, and said, "Do it, damn it! Do it!"
Without further delay he reared back and whacked her ass. The ass flesh jiggled and he worried that he had hurt her, but she simply sighed, "Ahhhhhhhh!"
He was encouraged with her response and whacked five more times, or until he saw six bright red horizontal streaks stretching across the curving hillocks of her ass.
"Ohhhh! Do me again! Do me again!" she cried out. "I want it hard three more times."
He smacked her ass thrice more with the strap. Both buttocks were completely red now, and yet she didn't seem to be in pain. Quite to the contrary. She was on a spanking high of some sort.
As he prepared to give her a tenth whack she called out, "Stop! Stop! I need you now, Jim. Hurry! Hurry!"
He dropped the whip and stepped forward. He positioned himself between the fleshy orbs. He looked down and was surprised to see that his dick had filled to its full dimensions in the past few minutes. As long as he could remember, it had never gotten so hard so quickly. It was literally pulsing. There was little doubt that it needed to be enscounced in her vagina immediately.
She aided him by leaning over the console and raising her ass up high. She stood on her tiptoes and spread her long, lovely legs as wide as possible, exposing herself fully. She bent her knees slightly so that he had a better view of her openness.
He looked at her liquid gash and reached forward to feel it with his hand. "Are you ready?" he asked as he wiggled two fingers in and out of her liquid depths.
"Just stick it at the entrance and ram it home, buddy boy. Momma needs relief like she's never needed it before."
With his left hand he held the base of his monstrous organ, and with his right he steadied himself by holding onto her flanks. He gave a quick deft shove and forced the head of his rod into her.
"Ohh!" she gasped, having the air knocked out of her lungs. She had never accepted so much cock so quickly. And yet, she was hungry for it. She wanted him to fill her lower cavity as rapidly as possible. She suddenly realized that the pain associated with the spanking had immensely heightened her sexual awareness. Somehow the leather belt lashing across her virgin orbs had caused her mind to focus on the lower half of her body. The spanking of her lower hemispheres made both hemisheres of her brain think only of sex. The pain had cleared her mind of all other thoughts. Every synapse in her cerebrum felt as if it were connected to her cunt. Her entire body felt like one large vagina. She wasn't ashamed for thinking that way either.
She was damned proud to think of herself as a cunt meant to be stuffed with cock. Long cock, fat cock, any cock at all; white cock, black cock, as long as it wasn't small.
It suddenly dawned on her that the idea of heaven itself must have come from sexual intercourse. The sheer blissful pleasure associated with coitus surely led some ancient philosopher to dream up the concept.
"Mmmm!" she moaned. "This is terrific. I don't see how any woman can exclude spanking from foreplay once she experiences it."
Jim was too preoccupied with pummeling her cunt to pay any attention to what she said. He only knew that his dick was having the time of its life. Hard cock; hot cunt; and a televised broadcast of a nude spanking-what more could a man want?
Connie was rotating her ass, trying to capture as much as him as possible on each in-thrust. For some reason she got to thinking about the texture of his penis. It suddenly dawned on her that she had never felt so many textures of a man's organ before. She could feel everything. The crown had a wondrous new sensation to her. Never before had it felt so smooth. It felt like satin or melting ice.
She began to believe in a divine plan. Only a god could design something as splendid as a man's dick. Was there any other similarly shaped object in the universe which was so wonderfully designed for its purpose?
Ahh! The dick!
The only thing more beautiful was the sight of a dick in a cunt, and the only thing better than that was having your own cunt stuffed with a twelve-inch dick.
The first third of the shaft seemed to be larger than she remembered it. It truly did feel like the blunt end of a baseball bat. Of course, Jim might have grown a few more inches since the last time they fucked, but she doubted it. Too bad. She wondered what a fifteen inch organ might feel like. Would it poke her stomach? Would it stick in her throat if she gave a blow-job? What size balls would support a fifteen inch monster?
These ribald thoughts heightened the sensuality and the pleasure of her sexual experience.
Vince had a hard time deciding where to look.
There were two fuck scenes taking place right in front of his eyes--one on the monitor; the other on the console. Although he preferred blonde pussy, there was always something to be said for fresh cunt. Besides, there was something especially savory about discovering an unknown beauty like Connie. For years he had simply dismissed her without a second's thought. But underneath her clothes he saw that she was something wonderful to behold.
And yet, the appearance of Bev on the monitor starting to strain from the preliminary stages of a tremendous orgasm was also quite appealing. Henry's dick was moving into and out of her now. He was handling himself like a masterful cocksman, knowing exactly what to do and precisely how to achieve the maximum response. He was beneath her, lying on the bed in the VIP suite, ramming his wand into her snatch with a vigorous energy that Vince didn't think was possible.
Connie saw where he was looking and commented, "Old Henry sure does have the stamina, doesn't he? Who would have believed that an old codger like that would be able to fuck so long and with such energy."
"Remind me to ask him what vitamins he takes," Jim said. "I could use a few of those myself."
"I bet that he takes a lot of vitamin E," Connie replied. "That's the fuck vitamin, you know?"
"A man doesn't need a fuck vitamin with a woman like you around," he said as he drilled into her. "All you have to do is strip off your clothes and a man develops an instanteous hard-on."
"You're just bragging, Jim. Ask Vince if that little hard-on he has is the result of my disrobing or Bev's bondage?"
"Oh don't bother the poor fellow," said Jim. "He's obviously thinking of what he's going to do with a hard-on once he's in prison."
Connie turned her head to Vince and asked, "Do you like butt-fucking?"
He looked at her and winced. He nervously shook his head. "No, the very idea of it is repulsive. Anal sex is for the lower class."
"Aren't we the smug one," replied Connie. "I always heard it was the other way around. The rich prefer the cellar entrance. How else can you explain all of those Greek philosophers going at it like gangbusters."
He didn't have any reply. He refused to discuss such a disgusting subject with an employee. Instead, he turned his eyes back to the monitor and saw that Henry was pounding into Bev with such vigor that he lifted her body upward as much as her bonds would allow. Her tongue hung out and she drooled. Her eyes were those of a woman consumed with passion. And now she was counting the plunges. " ... Twenty-five, motherfucker! Twenty-six, motherfucker! Twenty-seven, motherfucker! Go motherfucker, go!...."
Jim decided to chime in and began matching his thrusts with those of Henry. "Yea, thirty-one, motherfucker! Thirty-two, motherfucker! Thirty-three, motherfucker!"
Even Vince got into the act by reaching down with his right hand and grabbing his cock. He started moving his fist up and down and counting, "Thirty-five, motherfucker! Thirty-six, motherfucker! Thirty-seven, motherfucker!...."
The sight on the monitor became hectic. Bev thrased about with a wanton wildness that Jim didn't know a woman was capable of. She started screaming, "Argh! Argh! Argh! Oh Henry! Oh Henry! Oh Henry! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me!"
Connie laughed and said, "I don't think we'll win an Emmy for dialogue with this broadcast."
Henry's hands were sliding up and down Bev's body. He couldn't quite reach her breasts, but he spent ample time on her sexy tummy. It looked as if he were checking to see if he could feel his dick buried in her. Occasionally he would reach up and rub her clitoris. He stuck his finger into the slit and played with the little nubbin which was peaking out for 125 million viewers to see.
"Oh Henry! Oh Henry! Oh Henry!" she panted desperately. "Make me cum like I've never cum before. Oh, give it to me, Henry! Give it to me! I beg of you."
Jim began to laugh.
"What's so funny?" asked Connie.
"I'm convinced that we'll all be sent to the electric chair for this. If not, they're going to bring back public hanging."
Vince heard those words and stopped moving his hand up and down on his penis. He had just begun to feel good about things-almost forgetting his situation entirely. But with the reminder of prison, his organ shrunk back to a wet noodle and dangled uselessly between his legs.
Connie looked over and saw what had happen. She said, "I don't see how you can remain a network vice president. After all, you've got a sagging dick. Thank goodness the news director is a young buck and can keep a hard-on."
Vince was too despondent and depressed to pay any attention to her caustic comments.
Throughout America that night people were riveted to their television sets. Men, women, and children, all kept their eyes glued to the screen. Men were fascinated by the sight of the most beautiful nude blonde they'd ever seen in prime time. Women were fascinated by Henry's capacity to hold-back his release. And children were all very curious and inquisitive as to what was going on.
Ten million kids that night must have asked the question, "What are they doing, mommy? Are they exercising, daddy?" And in hundreds of thousands of those homes, neither the mommy nor the daddy could answer because the scene on the television screen had gotten them so worked up that they too were fucking up a storm.
Out in Paducah, Kentucky a man was spanking his wife.
Up in Sheboygan, Wisconsin an elderly woman was spanking her nude friend.
Down in Atlanta, Georgia, a woman was being bound and spanked in a spread-eagled position.
And down in Jackson, Mississippi an old black man was watching the television set and saying, "Baby these white folks have finally stumbled upon something worthwhile."
Yes, Bev and Henry had caused more cocks to rise, and more cunts to flower open, than all the films of Marilyn Chambers combined.
Even back in Master Control, Connie and Jim were pumping and humping in rhythm to Henry's pounding pelvis.
And even in the Cheif Executive's suite of CBC, the president of the company had tied-up his curvaceous Prime Beef secretary and was busy swatting away while counting, "One, motherfucker! Two, motherfucker! Three motherfucker!"
And even in the White House, the President and the First Lady were spanking each other and then balling each other like they had never balled before.
When Henry Oxbrow finally spurted his semen into Bev O'Conner's pussy, nearly two hours had elapsed since he had first appeared on screen whacking her gorgeous behind. To say the least, it was a milestone in TV coverage. And when it was over, every able-bodied American male had had an ejaculation, and every able-bodied American female had had an orgasm.
The very next morning, stock prices for leather belt companies went sky high on the New York and Tokyo exchanges reaching unparalleled heights, and fur-lined handcuffs became the rage in fashion.
When it was over, every American who had been watching the unprecedented telecast went to the bathroom at one time and flushed the toilet. In hundreds of cities across the land, the water pressure dropped precipitously after Bev released an orgasm heard around the world.
Ironically, just as she screamed, "Arrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhh!" at the top of her lungs into eighty million homes, the unusual solar flare subsided and the other networks went back on the air. It was as if Fate had determined that Henry and Bev should partake in the greatest event in TV history. After all, more Americans watched Henry cum, than watched The Beatles on "The Ed Sullivan Show", or Neil Armstrong step onto the surface of the moon.
It was one small cum for man, but one giant cum for all mankind.
Not a single set was turned off after the momentous event. No one dared to switch their channel from CBC. Tens of millions waited with bated breath to hear the blonde reporter interview Henry Oxbrow and ask his opinions on political matters. It could be said that she did more to strengthen American democracy than all the politicians who ever lived.
For her first interview Bev's rating's share became the envy of every TV journalist: a 97 share! And Henry was the envy of every television commentator. The man had the sexual stamina of a gay porno stud.
In the long run, no one held a grudge against Bev, Henry, nor CBC, for displaying a fuck-in-progress on network TV. Only a few million people wrote letters and complained, but they were the ones who wanted to watch the fifty-thousandth summer repeat of "Gilligan's Island". In other words, their brains were already fried.
On the whole, it could be said that America had turned a page in regards to sexuality. Because from thereafter, spankfests, bondage, and fucking were part of prime-time network programming. Even the news encouraged blonde bimbos to get tied-up and spanked. A lot of them resented it, but all of them agreed to participate. After all, they weren't about ready to give up one of the cushiest jobs in America over some silly-assed principle And Bev, bless her little heart, finally wound-up as an anchorwoman. Within ten months of her televised fuck she had replaced Dan Rather at CBS.
The network executives wanted Dan to spank a tied-and-bound Connie Chung, but he refused. Too bad. He was fired.
It seemed that Bev had established a new criteria to be judged on resumes: "willing to do televised spanking."
The only one to get into serious trouble was Vince because he was the one responsible for televised programming. He had to spend a few months in the county jail. And although he once complained about butt-fucking, he grew to like it once the inmates had their way with him. They too liked the smell of a well-groomed, wealthy individual.
