The Newsreader - A Short Story
Posted: 10 Dec 2010, 02:02Radio newsreader Sophie has to read the news under some amount of duress thanks to a prankster DJ. Can she maintain her composure? This one also has a little illustration with it.
Best wishes,
Trouso
The Newsreader
Another day for Sophie Razzall, resident newsreader on Radio69FM. The 29 year-old journalism graduate was pretty hot stuff. Articulate, bright and exceedingly good looking, she had the kind of rolling, husky voice that made the nation’s toast pop. A consummate professional, little did the lovely brunette realise that today this very quality would be tested to the limit.
Lenny Everest, the maverick DJ with the Midas touch was starting his first shift on the Radio69FM’s breakfast show. He too was hot property and the station had paid an astronomical sum to secure his services in the hope that he could work his magic on the listening figures. But they too, like many of his previous employers, had entirely failed to get him to sign any form of contract. On that basis without any binding agreement to remain, he could do pretty much whatever he liked. The zany shock jock loved his pranks and had a reputation for going too far and this had always, eventually, sealed his fate in the past. Many a producer or controller, their nerves pushed to the limit — and their budgets diminished by heavy fines — had simply pulled the plug.
It was a Monday morning and the time was coming up to 9am. Lenny had been quite a good boy so far. So courteous was he that the producers wondered if they were dealing with a reformed character. Sophie had gracefully taken her seat ten minutes before and parting her soft brown, shoulder length hair she donned the headphones. She had inspired lustful looks from the chaps at the station as she had arrived in an immensely short and tight Lycra skirt. She swivelled gently in her seat as she waited for the Cheryl Cole track, which was to play right up to the ‘pips’, to run its course. During the final 30 seconds of the track, Lenny beckoned eagerly for her to stand up as he spoke over the end of the record, gesturing violently to indicate that there was something written on a piece of paper in front of him that she ought to see. She, of course had to move since Lenny was on air, so she obliged and leant across to see what it said. Lenny copped a good look down her blouse at her fabulous cleavage while she read to herself the legend: Got you! You sexy thing! Her eyes widened and she withdrew as the pips sounded across the airwaves. Unknown to Sophie, her few seconds standing to read the note had given a dastardly accomplice the opportunity to swiftly plant a squishy custard cream flan on her chair. As she hurriedly sat down, her skimpy skirt had ridden up an inch or so. What a cold, creamy shock it was as her gorgeous backside plopped right, bang onto the middle of the rich dessert, its contents lubricating her crotch and the backs of her legs down to her stocking tops. She gasped, but in an instant regained her composure — the pips had sounded — and began reading the news in her characteristic caramel voice.
“Good morning, the news at nine, I’m Sophie Razzall. President Firefly today pledged he would do everything he could to ease the situation in New Freedonia as fighting had intensified since the start of the recent troubles on Tuesday…”
Lenny, meanwhile, had disappeared from view several seconds ago. The next thing Sophie felt was a cool wetness on her back and the feeling of a viscous liquid moving downwards. She felt her speech falter but it was barely perceptible to the listener.
“…More troops have been deployed in the problem area…” What was happening now? She could feel a tug at the waistband of her skirt and the as yet unidentified sticky wet liquid funnelled gently into the cleft of her buttocks and began to collect there. The waistband was promptly snapped back. Her nipples now stood on end as the offending jug, wielded by the errant radio jokester moved in front of her and its remaining custardy contents were decanted down her cleavage.
“The prime minister…” She took a sharp intake of breath and continued “...attempted to kerb fears that tax rises might affect key services such as schools and hospitals…”
Lenny disappeared from view again and the next thing she knew, her shoes were being removed. She glanced downward to witness the smart heels being filled to the brim with olive oil before being placed back on her stocking feet. The warm oil penetrated the thin gauze immediately as they entered, the rapidly displaced oil flowed up over her ankles and glooped onto the carpet. She, of course, soldiered on.
“STUDENTS might be the first to suffer under new proposals to…”
Her headphones were now removed by another assistant. She continued reading from her screen, but was now unable to hear the production team. Something thick, heavy and greasy was plonked onto her head and she could feel a pair of hands lift her beautifully conditioned hair from her shoulders and begin folding it into what she realised was a huge pat of margarine. But she moved gallantly on.
“…And a cat got more that it bargained for today as it found itself…”
The shampooing continued for a few seconds before, he turned his attentions to her skirt again. This time working from the front, he pulled the waistband both of the skirt and her panties beneath and emptied a tin of thick, dollopy rice pudding into the opening. The chilly mass enveloped her own warm pudding, causing her to gasp audibly this time.
“…trapped in its owner’s washing machine…ooh!” Feeling quite sullied but strangely excited now she pressed on to the end of the story — and the end was in sight, only the weather to read out.
“And the weather: heavy showers will move across all parts of the UK from the west…”She was hit by a sheet of icy water from a bucket to the left and another that came in shortly after from the right. This was unbelievable! She managed with one last deep breath to conclude the broadcast.
“I’m Sophie Razzall. Next news at ten.” She sighed with utter relief and slumped back in her chair feeling totally soaked and trashed. Everest had returned to his seat and was now grinning from ear to ear.
“Hope you enjoyed that on air sploshing Sophie!”
“Well I didn’t. But do you know what? I’m going to get you back for this,” she said, scooping custard from her lap and letting it plop onto the carpet.
“Ha! Ha! Chuckled Everest. You’ll have to get up early. But hey, thanks for being a great sport. Oh! and by the way, the shower’s out of order!”
But Sophie wasn’t quite as upset as she might be, because she knew she had one over him anyway — unknown to him, it was Sophie’s father who owned the radio station. And even if being sacked (again) meant nothing to Lenny Everest, he was certainly due for the hiding of a lifetime!
Best wishes,
Trouso
The Newsreader
Another day for Sophie Razzall, resident newsreader on Radio69FM. The 29 year-old journalism graduate was pretty hot stuff. Articulate, bright and exceedingly good looking, she had the kind of rolling, husky voice that made the nation’s toast pop. A consummate professional, little did the lovely brunette realise that today this very quality would be tested to the limit.
Lenny Everest, the maverick DJ with the Midas touch was starting his first shift on the Radio69FM’s breakfast show. He too was hot property and the station had paid an astronomical sum to secure his services in the hope that he could work his magic on the listening figures. But they too, like many of his previous employers, had entirely failed to get him to sign any form of contract. On that basis without any binding agreement to remain, he could do pretty much whatever he liked. The zany shock jock loved his pranks and had a reputation for going too far and this had always, eventually, sealed his fate in the past. Many a producer or controller, their nerves pushed to the limit — and their budgets diminished by heavy fines — had simply pulled the plug.
It was a Monday morning and the time was coming up to 9am. Lenny had been quite a good boy so far. So courteous was he that the producers wondered if they were dealing with a reformed character. Sophie had gracefully taken her seat ten minutes before and parting her soft brown, shoulder length hair she donned the headphones. She had inspired lustful looks from the chaps at the station as she had arrived in an immensely short and tight Lycra skirt. She swivelled gently in her seat as she waited for the Cheryl Cole track, which was to play right up to the ‘pips’, to run its course. During the final 30 seconds of the track, Lenny beckoned eagerly for her to stand up as he spoke over the end of the record, gesturing violently to indicate that there was something written on a piece of paper in front of him that she ought to see. She, of course had to move since Lenny was on air, so she obliged and leant across to see what it said. Lenny copped a good look down her blouse at her fabulous cleavage while she read to herself the legend: Got you! You sexy thing! Her eyes widened and she withdrew as the pips sounded across the airwaves. Unknown to Sophie, her few seconds standing to read the note had given a dastardly accomplice the opportunity to swiftly plant a squishy custard cream flan on her chair. As she hurriedly sat down, her skimpy skirt had ridden up an inch or so. What a cold, creamy shock it was as her gorgeous backside plopped right, bang onto the middle of the rich dessert, its contents lubricating her crotch and the backs of her legs down to her stocking tops. She gasped, but in an instant regained her composure — the pips had sounded — and began reading the news in her characteristic caramel voice.
“Good morning, the news at nine, I’m Sophie Razzall. President Firefly today pledged he would do everything he could to ease the situation in New Freedonia as fighting had intensified since the start of the recent troubles on Tuesday…”
Lenny, meanwhile, had disappeared from view several seconds ago. The next thing Sophie felt was a cool wetness on her back and the feeling of a viscous liquid moving downwards. She felt her speech falter but it was barely perceptible to the listener.
“…More troops have been deployed in the problem area…” What was happening now? She could feel a tug at the waistband of her skirt and the as yet unidentified sticky wet liquid funnelled gently into the cleft of her buttocks and began to collect there. The waistband was promptly snapped back. Her nipples now stood on end as the offending jug, wielded by the errant radio jokester moved in front of her and its remaining custardy contents were decanted down her cleavage.
“The prime minister…” She took a sharp intake of breath and continued “...attempted to kerb fears that tax rises might affect key services such as schools and hospitals…”
Lenny disappeared from view again and the next thing she knew, her shoes were being removed. She glanced downward to witness the smart heels being filled to the brim with olive oil before being placed back on her stocking feet. The warm oil penetrated the thin gauze immediately as they entered, the rapidly displaced oil flowed up over her ankles and glooped onto the carpet. She, of course, soldiered on.
“STUDENTS might be the first to suffer under new proposals to…”
Her headphones were now removed by another assistant. She continued reading from her screen, but was now unable to hear the production team. Something thick, heavy and greasy was plonked onto her head and she could feel a pair of hands lift her beautifully conditioned hair from her shoulders and begin folding it into what she realised was a huge pat of margarine. But she moved gallantly on.
“…And a cat got more that it bargained for today as it found itself…”
The shampooing continued for a few seconds before, he turned his attentions to her skirt again. This time working from the front, he pulled the waistband both of the skirt and her panties beneath and emptied a tin of thick, dollopy rice pudding into the opening. The chilly mass enveloped her own warm pudding, causing her to gasp audibly this time.
“…trapped in its owner’s washing machine…ooh!” Feeling quite sullied but strangely excited now she pressed on to the end of the story — and the end was in sight, only the weather to read out.
“And the weather: heavy showers will move across all parts of the UK from the west…”She was hit by a sheet of icy water from a bucket to the left and another that came in shortly after from the right. This was unbelievable! She managed with one last deep breath to conclude the broadcast.
“I’m Sophie Razzall. Next news at ten.” She sighed with utter relief and slumped back in her chair feeling totally soaked and trashed. Everest had returned to his seat and was now grinning from ear to ear.
“Hope you enjoyed that on air sploshing Sophie!”
“Well I didn’t. But do you know what? I’m going to get you back for this,” she said, scooping custard from her lap and letting it plop onto the carpet.
“Ha! Ha! Chuckled Everest. You’ll have to get up early. But hey, thanks for being a great sport. Oh! and by the way, the shower’s out of order!”
But Sophie wasn’t quite as upset as she might be, because she knew she had one over him anyway — unknown to him, it was Sophie’s father who owned the radio station. And even if being sacked (again) meant nothing to Lenny Everest, he was certainly due for the hiding of a lifetime!