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April O'Neil - Evidence Gathering	By : Nickamano Category: +S through Z > Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Views: 464 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: April O'Neil, the Foot Clan and the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and any related materials are not owned by me. This was created for entertainment purposes only, and I am not profiting financially from the creation of this story.

Chapter List
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April sat and stewed. She was slouched in the passenger seat of one of the official Channel 6 vans, pouting, her arms folded across her colossal bust, long legs propped up on the dashboard, crossed at the ankles. Reggie Collins was in the driving seat. Thompson hadn't even trusted her to do her own video recording, and he’d assigned her a damn camera operator. Probably to “ensure the male gaze” she thought with a pout.
Reggie was a short, plain looking guy. Middle aged, with short dark blonde hair that was receding but spiked upward to hide the loss. While a history - of him staring at a screen for hour after hour, year after year - had long ago created a necessity for glasses. He was neither particularly handsome or ugly, just plain.
He was stockily built but broad across the shoulders and strong due to an adult life of lugging cameras and equipment around. The middle-age spread had hit him in the belly, making it bulge forth. Though the spread also hit his face giving him a double chin, which only served to make his general roundness appear bigger, softer and fleshier.
Even so, April could grant him confidence and outright expertise at his job. He was admittedly damned good. Though that confidence never seemed to manifest elsewhere. In fact, the lack of confidence around women not only made him perpetually single but also, in April’s opinion, possessing a vague distain for women. It often surfaced as verbal misogyny and chauvinism, though not always. There was an occasional respect shown that often, especially for April, could put her on the back foot. He was unpredictable. He would at times seem normal and treat her with respect, even with professional grace, while at other times he could be filthy and utterly sexist toward women both directly and indirectly.
He was currently driving them along the interstate from New York to Connecticut, to cover a tri-state Wet Tee-shirt contest. But his driving was decidedly erratic, driving too fast, weaving between lanes and slower vehicles, all the while blasting the Beastie Boys out of the van’s stereo, his eyes as often away from the road ahead as on it. All together it had April’s heart going ten-to-the-dozen and feeling more than a little jittery and uncomfortable.
“So, what's your take on this story, Collins?” She asked, trying to take her mind off her discomfort. “How would you cover it?”
“Bunch a tit-bitches flashing their wares for self-esteem and a handful of cash. What’s to question?”
He fell silent. She could see that he had his head turned partly toward her. She tried to ignore it for a while but the uncomfortable feeling of being watched played on her mind until she couldn’t hold it any longer and glanced his way, confirming what she already knew. His eyes were glued onto her cleavage, nostrils flared, frowning slightly in what appeared to be an almost aggressive lust.
“You’re gonna fit right in with ‘em ain’t ‘cha, O’Neil?”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Oh, nothing.” Collins said, laughing. “Nothing at all.”
They fell silent for a few miles. April watched the cars as their van sped past, more than a few horns blared in their wake. She couldn't shake the discomfort, not only of Reggie's Collins’ driving but also of his attitude. He shifted the rearview mirror to a weird angle that, April had the uncomfortable feeling, was trained on her rather than through the rear windows of the van. And then, to her silent disapproval, he started to try and make conversation.
“So, I heard you were dating some old bastard, trying to kickstart your career. Getting a rich fella to finance your future endeavours? So, I'm wondering, what exactly were you bringing to the table, O'Neil?”
“Where'd you hear that?”
“It's true, isn't it? Has to be, everyone knows you only have a couple of talents and they're right there on display!”
“Screw you, Collins! You don't know anything!”
“I was told by Thompson, your boss, that you have to work with me. So, I’ll say whatever I want, so, screw you, O'Neil... Bet that’d be what you're best at anyway. Where your true talents lie.”
“You know what? Just, don't talk to me, okay?! I have to work with you, fine. But I don't have to talk to you, unless you’re behind the camera. And then I'll be talking to the camera anyway!”
“Talking to all those thousands of fans who just want to stare at your tits and jerk off every time you're on their tv’s… phones… laptops.”
Having concluded that the silent treatment was the way to go, April committed to it. If she didn't give the asshole any ammunition, then surely, he couldn't continue with these insults. However, he just carried on regardless, filling their air with his vile hostility.
“I have to say though, from where I'm sitting, they look worth it. That's one awesome pair of chest torpedoes you're sporting O'Neil. We should date. I could cum over those melons all fucking day. And I guarantee you'd get off too. I'd get you off like a roman-fucking-candle. So, what d'you say?”
“Just keep your eyes on the road and shut up and drive the van.”
“Maybe I should pull over. Maybe I pocket the keys. We don't go anywhere until you show off the goods.”
“We miss the story and the boss'll be pissed.”
“Except I'm a freelancer with years of experience. I'm in demand. I can get another job like that. Can you say the same?”
“Don’t be an ass…” She abruptly changed tactic. “Please don't Collins... I don't want to...”
“Ah, keep your fucking panties on… I'm just pulling your chain, fuck! You don't have to be such a tight-ass bitch.”
They passed a few miles in silence. It was hot and sunny out. The sun blazing down, the windows open because the van's air conditioning was on the blink. At least according to Collins. His navy t-shirt was stained almost black as a scoop down his chest and beneath his underarms. He had a thick application of antiperspirant on, but it was so thick that the stench of it filled the van's cabin. And April could hardly breathe as it was, with the hot air both inside and out. The chemical potpourri of his deodorant, the smells of the van and the road, made things ten times worse. Though she had to admit. And then he started talking again.
“I bet that ass is tight though...” He said, out of the blue. “So, is it? Your ass cherry? You got a tight untouched cock-choker under them Jeans, O'Neil? Well? Is it your way to keep from getting knocked up, by letting guys empty their balls in your shitter?”
“You're fucking disgusting, Collins!”
“Never denied it.” He laughed. “And my ex-wives all loved it!”
She didn't respond and thankfully he didn't push his raucous line of questioning any further. She turned her head toward the window, at least she was able to enjoy the feel of the warm air whipping through the curls of her collar length russet locks.
Taking herself out of the present, she thought instead about the Trench-coat Vigilante, and her ongoing plans to get her worldwide exclusive.
Megyn Jakes. That punk chick from the subway train. The one who had been attacked by the vigilante. She had reappeared five days after the subway incident, naked and catatonic. The cops had picked her up and taken her to the West Bronx Psychiatric Centre. April had heard about the girl on the grapevine and she had sounded familiar. She had gone over to the hospital but the girl had been placed in a secure unit ‘under observation’.
Managing to get a look at her file, after catching the eye of one of the admin staff. She'd had to sit in the passenger seat of the guy's car and jerk him off while he sucked on her tits, but he’d allowed her to snap some screen shots of the file afterwards.
Back home that night she had emailed the photos to herself and then opened them up on her laptop. They hadn't been perfectly in focus but some downloaded software had allowed her to crisp them up enough to make them readable.
The file had mostly been a list of physical injuries the girl was suffering from. But there was also a preliminary, and very short, psychological assessment by a psychiatric nurse. She had been proscribed a strong sedative after being strapped to her bed ‘for her own safety’. The next step had been a visit from the Chief of Psychiatric Medicine. However, it being the weekend and all, she wouldn't been seen until Monday morning. Hence the continued sedation.
The list of physical injuries and infections had been more telling anyway. A mild concussion following blunt force trauma, other physical trauma symptoms indicative of repeated and prolonged assaults - cuts and lesions, bruising and rawness of the genitals. The report also stated a lot of internal bruising, especially orally, and also some tearing to her vagina and anus. Signs which all pointed to a rough and protracted sexual assault. Her blood tests had shown high narcotic and alcohol content, as well as a mild degree of sepsis, Hepatitis B and other bacterial infections. She had been put on courses of antibiotics for the sepsis, HBV and the other infections. Other tests for STI's had, surprisingly, come back negative.
April wondered how many of the infections she already had been suffering from and how much she might have acquired during her disappearance.
The only thing she could really take from the file was that this particular girl, whom her companions had called Meg, wouldn't able to offer up any evidence, or an interview, any time soon. She was still assuming that the hundreds of miles of sewers beneath the Bronx, and perhaps even all of the Burroughs of NYC combined, formed the lair of the Trench-coat Vigilante.

The sudden blaring shriek of a car horn snatched April out of her thoughts and the van, still going too fast, swerved into another lane, keeping up its momentum but leaving April's stomach back half a mile behind them. She heard the muttered curse from Collins as he brought the van back under control. Even though her attention had been elsewhere, she knew all too well why he had almost crashed.
“Can you please keep your eyes on the road?!” She snapped.
“How the fuck do you expect me to do that, when you have that huge worldclass pair of jugs thrusting out to here!”
“It’s not my fault! And you’re gonna get us both killed!”
“Well, maybe if you kept ‘em under wraps… I wouldn’t be quite so distracted!”
“With the AC broken? I’d melt!”
“Better melting than causing me to crash the fucking truck!”
“If you can't concentrate enough to drive the truck, then you shouldn't be driving the truck!”
“If you'd keep... You know what, never mind. I'm a good driver, so… just, chill out! I'll get you there in one piece...”
April didn't bother to reply, not then, nor as she caught the extra comment, muttered under his breath - “Not like I'd want you covering up anyhow, I'd miss the fucking view.”. She just sat there and fumed in silence.
<><><>
They came off I-84 just past Waterbury at around sunset. Though it took them another hour to find the place. Sweeping east and then north onto I-95 and then off again and into Manchester. April watched them pass a Fire Museum, and then Collins took a left which led them into a fairly rural looking area, grassland followed by quite the scattering of trees, the land beyond crisscrossed with streets and commercial properties. April watched those wide, low buildings shooting by - an Inn, a strip mall, a motel, a brewery. And finally, what looked like an old eighties style roadhouse called ‘Freddie's Supreme Bar and Grill’. The parking lot was packed. And they had to park quite a way away from the building.
Collins dropped April off and then told her he was going to hop back down to the Laird Chesney Motel, which she had seen them shoot past, so he could confirm their pre-reserved rooms. Then he would come back and start setting up. April decided it would give her a fine opportunity to look around Freddie’s, maybe chat to a few interesting people, get a feel for the place, what kind of vibe it projected and perhaps even pick out a good angle or two for Collins viewfinder.
Having pulled on her work jumpsuit before climbing into the van, to avoid the possibility of having to change in front of Collins, she checked that her Channel 6 press badge was clipped to one of her front beltloops and then strolled into the bar.
It was rainbow-lit and loud, raucous rock music blasting through the speakers. However, the bar itself was empty. It was a typical bar, woodwork, glassware and drinks on display, a mirrored surface behind the display bottles. Scores of framed portraits adorned the walls. There were a few table and chair sets but they had all been pushed back to the right to make floor space. There was a small-ish dancefloor to the left, facing the stage where, April assumed live bands usually set up and performed. However, there was no chicken-wire protection for the bands, which she would have expected in a place like this.
In fact, the stage had been completely repurposed. A large plastic banner was slung just below the lighting scaffold, advertising the Tri-state Wet-Tee Contest. The cartoony text was flanked by two pairs of ginormous breasts, in the same animated style and even featuring bounce lines, like from a comic book.
Beneath the banner, the stage was formed from a three-walled square of plastic sheeting. Rear, sides and floor were covered in taped-down sheets of sturdy polythene. There were freestanding three-foot high metal barriers separating the stage from the dancefloor. Though, perhaps most important was the huge eight-foot by ten-foot paddling pool that filled the floorspace of the stage. Though it had only been inflated halfway, the rounded rim only about eight inches high.
A door opened to the left of the stage, a 'staff only' sign pinned at eye level and reinforced with a couple of strips of duct tape on the sides. Through the open door, April caught sight of a gaggle of curvaceous women in a long store room that, at a glance, appeared to have been transformed into a dressing room. A man, biker-style black leather vest over a metal-band T-shirt and ripped jeans, emerged with a tray of empty glasses, flushed cheeks and a noticeable bulge in his too tight pants. The door’s animated open-swing unleashed a loud and sudden roar of giggling and no doubt booze fuelled, noisy conversation.
The man paused, looked April up and down, grinned and cocked his head toward the door.
“Dayum! Go right in, hot stuff!” He called, continuing on his way to the bar.
April wasn't sure if he had assumed her to be a late-arriving contestant. She didn't think Channel 6 made it as far as Connecticut. Then again, he could have spotted her press badge. Surely, they were aware of her visit and her job, such as it was, to cover the contest. She crossed the dancefloor her comfortable white leather cowboy boots clicking on the bare worn wood and pushed the ‘staff only’ door open.
The storeroom had been hastily reorganised, crates and boxes of stock all shoved over to the left lining the wall from the far end right up to the door. All to make room for some little, hastily erected make-up tables and moulded plastic chairs, the kind that are usually found in rear yards. Mirrors with light surrounds were fixed to the wall before each table. There were thirteen women sitting before each of the mirrors, the contestants obviously.
“Hey, you ain’t taking part are you!?” A willowy blonde asked, suspiciously.
“What? No, I’m April O’Neil. I’m a reporter from Channel 6 in New York. I’m here to cover the contest and interview the winner.”
“Really? We’re gonna be on TV?”
“No, we ain’t. Not unless I see some green! I ain’t doing this shit for free!”
“Shaddap, Carla, for fuck’s sake!”
It was still an opening as far as April was concerned, and she fished a postage sized memory card from her jumpsuit pocket and slotted it into the housing beside the battery pack of her wireless microphone. She was focussed on thumbing the on/off switch when, from the door at her back, a man suddenly shoved his way past, barely moving aside enough to avoid knocking the reporter off her feet.
He grunted something but didn’t even look back at her. Instead, the guy - big and bulky, almost as wide and tall as the door, bald head covered by an aged denim cap - lumbered down the line of women. He was carrying too much fat over the wasted away muscle, probably from his college years, and it showed in the way his body jolted and shook beneath his denim pants and matching patch-adorned jacket. He came to a halt near the far end of the line of seated contestants and leaned over as though to whisper into the ear of one of them.
April hadn’t got a good look at the line of women yet. She did so now. They were all dressed identically. A white plain t-shirt, some cropped, some full length, a couple tied up under the bust. All of them a couple of sizes too small. Hot pants in either electric pink or Halloween purple adorned with silver stars glinting like sequins.
There were no name badges but each table and chair setting had an eight-by-ten sheet of acetate pinned to the top corner of their make-up mirror with a first name and a number on it - so she was able to put names to faces. She’d have to rely on Collins to get the footage of course and hope the audio here could be assigned to the right woman. She should have brought a little Go-Pro or something. Too late now.
There were three black ladies along the line, ‘Letitia’, ‘Carla’ and ‘Sharna’. At the far end, ‘Malia’ looked like her heritage might have come across from Indonesia. ‘Dani’ was of Chinese descent as best as April could figure. The rest were white.
‘Amber’, a brunette and ‘Derby’, a full-on redhead, were no doubt the youngest. In fact, April found herself wondering if the two of them were even of legal age. ‘Lara’ was a stunning blonde - svelte, tall and athletic. Definitely the prettiest though far from the most well-endowed. That would be either ‘Raquel’ a tall busty brunette, or ‘Carla’.
That left ‘Tori’ and ‘Alli’ and, going by the name tag, ‘Jenna’ - though Jenna was no longer occupying her moulded plastic seat. She had been the contestant that the huge denim clad hulk had approached and now they were in the shadows at the far end of the long, narrow room. April could just about make out through the gloom that they were standing close together and engaged in some kind of intimate conversation.
“Looks like she’s up to her tricks again.” One of the women muttered, looking in the same direction.
She looked back at the closest woman to her, Carla who loosely resembled a thirty-year-old Pam Grier. The woman, busy applying lipstick, held April’s gaze in the mirror and flicked her dark, well sculpted brows upwards by way of greeting.
“So, go on, reporter lady, what are you here to ask?” The question came from Sharna, to Carla’s immediate left.
Sharna bore a coppery tone compared to Carla whose skin was darker, while her body shape appeared leaner and relatively longer limbed. April turned her attention, her smile and her microphone to the woman, who appeared to be styling herself (optimistically) on Destiny’s Child era Beyonce. She definitely fell short but still looked pretty good.
April felt other eyes turning in her direction. Tiny, slender Dani actually stood up so she could look past the stocky though youthful Amber, while Raquel leaned dangerously back in her chair and Letitia leaned forward to look, if not listen in.
April forced herself not to clear her throat. She smiled brightly.
“Well, I guess my first question would be, and we could go down the line… what got you involved in this kind of competition?”
“Money.” Was the most common answer, repeated half a dozen times. “My man, put me up to it.” Was Tori’s confession though offered in a matter-of-fact manner, rather than sullen or regretful, of someone who might have been coerced. “Easy money.” Was Carla’s final contribution, the last to speak.
Behind April, in the main barroom the music had kicked in and it sounded like a rising rabble of rowdiness was invading – their noise making it into the changing room through the closed door. It was like a raw wave, doing battle with the loud music. Someone in the line of contestants let out a little groan and snatched back April’s attention.
“Money sure… Though I do love showing off.” Raquel said, eying April carefully, full lips not quite a smile.
  “So, other than money, what do you get out of it?” April asked.
“Compliments.” The few who answered shared the same view point.
“My man’s approval.” Tori said, shrugging her nonchalant addition.
“Nothing much.” Someone said from the far end of the line, possibly young Amber.
“The Adoration of the men,” Sharna said, attempting a not terrible Schwarzenegger accent. “And the lamentations of their women, who are never as hot as me.”
“We all have our different reasons and stories, girl. Head on down the line and get a few others’ if you like.” Carla said.
She did so, strolling along the line and coming to a halt by Amber. Pulling back Jenna’s abandoned chair she took a seat while the girl and Tori, who was sitting to April’s right, turned to face her. Dani, beyond Amber, also turned in her chair to include herself in the conversation.
“How do the management or organisers here confirm that all the contestants are of legal age and not participating via force or coercion?” April asked Amber.
The girl blushed crimson. She was round faced and, in a few years, might well be fat rather than nicely curvy but she maintained the perkiness of youth for the time being. And even April admitted her perky boobs were impressive, at least a D-cup, likely higher. Still, she couldn’t help thinking this girl could be as young as sixteen. She also didn’t offer a response to the question. Tori answered instead, though it was offered in a matter-of-fact way and didn’t appear to be some form of protectiveness toward Amber. And actually, she said very little - photo-ID’s checked and backgrounds submitted in application paperwork. April decided not to push. If the girl was here, she would have lied about her age and got herself a fake ID. A choice made for herself, to earn some easy money by all accounts; flaunting her teenage wares, probably to a bunch of men old enough to be her father or grandfather. Unless of course some boyfriend had forced her into it.
April decided to move on for now, perhaps later she could look into this more serious side of beauty contests with a more serious journalistic angle. There might be a potential story here after all. An exposé maybe. She reminded herself to get Amber off to one side and try and wheedle the truth out of the girl, or find out her address and look into her actual age, her background, the schools she went to. She turned to Tori, with a change in question.
   “My researches implied Wet Tee-shirt contests started back in the 1970’s and were pretty much out of fashion by the early 2000’s. Is this still a popular sport… pastime…? Or is it past its sell by date in today’s more feminist-friendly times of sexual equality?”
  “It’s just a bit of fun. No big deal.” Someone called from the far right, possibly Carla.
“It’s actually very pro-feminist.” The Letitia said, like a teacher in a classroom. “We women should be proud of our bodies. Its empowering for us to show off our sexual power over crowds of stupid men who get all freaky and goofy over looking at a nice pair of tits.”
“I don’t care. I have assets, good ones, that men will pay to look at. And I need the cash.” Derby, the young redhead added, sitting to Letitia’s right.
“My man tells me to do it. We need the money. We have, you know… habits and shit.” Tori said.
“If you’re talking about sexual equality, there’re the ‘bare ass - do you know your boyfriend’ contests.” Sharna called out from the right. “The guys would strip from the waist down, and bend over behind a hoarding with ass shaped cutouts. The girlfriends would come up and have a feel and then say which ass belonged to their man. Winners won a prize, losers got drenched in a keg.”
Distant masculine grunts and softer moans filled the gap supplied by a pause in the conversation and April found herself distractedly gazing back toward the shadowy far end of the room. The huge man and the contestant were busy fucking, unsurprisingly. The man had his back against the rear wall so he was facing this way and the woman, Jenna, was up off the ground and folded double with her back to the room. She was held upright in the man’s hefty embrace, face to face with him, her legs hooked over his shoulders, knees practically framing her face. Her naked ass cheeks were gripped tight in his hands while he raised and lowered her on his erection. April could barely make out the movement of his balls flapping up and down in the gloom, the pale unlit flesh of Jenna’s bare ass seemed to glow like a crescent moon. Her T-shirt appeared to be rucked up around her neck, apparently exposing her breasts for his pleasure. The visual brought up April’s next obvious question.

“Have any of you felt exploited by the management or organisers?”
“Oh, so one of the girls is getting fucked against a wall at the back of the room, and that’s the question that popped in her mind? Talk about premeditated assumption.” Dani spat, rolling her eyes before turning her attention back to applying her make up.

“Not the management,” Derby said, with a nonchalant shrug but sometimes it’s gotten a little rowdy after the fact. Guys get drunk, already horny… sometimes things happen. It’s no biggie.”
“That sort of thing rarely happens.” Letitia spat her assertion to April. “You’ve seen the set-up here, the barriers. It’s all above board. The management are professionals, they want people to have a good time and most importantly to spend their cash. If these things were hot spots of rape and sexual abuse, d’you think we’d carry on doing it? It’s in the manager’s best interest to keep everything safe and above board for us girls. Surely you can see that?”
“Got dragged into a restroom over on Cony Island, couple’a years ago.” Derby continued, almost as though she was excited to be in the lime light. “I came second that year. I’d been flaunting it all to try and get the votes, y’know, flashing all I had - bottomless, topless, really going for it. I owed a guy… y’know… Anyway. Like I said, it stood to reason really. Horny drunk guys I’d been flirting with, showing what I got, A couple of ‘em get it into their heads that I want them. Next thing I know, after the contest, I’m shoved into a stall with three big college meatheads and have to work on three hard cocks. Made me fuck for my freedom, you get me? But I got them all to hand over all their cash afterwards, so I wouldn’t go to the cops. I made twice as much as the competition prize money that night.”
“You make it sound like it was worth the getting gang raped.” Dani scoffed into her mirror, shaking her head.
“They were pretty rough,” Derby conceded. “My ass was bleeding afterwards and I had their jizz all over me, but I needed the cash. It came in handy.”
“That just makes you a whore, girl.” One of the women down the line shouted.
April didn’t know what to say, she couldn’t identify the person who had called the poor girl a whore. April didn’t think she was a whore, in fact, it sounded uncomfortably familiar. She’d been made to do stuff herself in order to buy more time to get her rent together, to curry favour from an ex, to pay off that cabbie.
However, she felt shaken up by how nonchalant young Derby had been in sharing her story. As if it was just a part of her everyday life. Her normality. She wondered what kind of life the young redhead actually lived.
“Ladies?! Five minutes!” Came a call from the doorway, breaking though April’s disturbed thoughts.
Suddenly it was as though April ceased to exist. The women checked themselves one last time in the mirror, grabbed the acetate name and number stickers from the reflective surfaces; back peeled off, stickers applied to the front of the right upper thigh. After a toss of the hair or a gulp of a beer or shot, they filed out, heading for the stage. With the opening of the heavy door, the din from the crowd filling the bar escalated five-hundred percent.
Jenna was the last to get herself ready, having to wait until the big man roughly screwing her was finished. April tried to enquire about Jenna as having cleaned and righted herself but the tall, big haired, leggy brunette snapped that she was already running late, didn’t have time for an interview and then hurried past and through the door into the bar to catch up with her competition.
April released a little sigh, trying to ignore the bite of anxiety coming at her due to the horny masculine roar from the already drunk and horny crowd. Steeling herself, she stepped out of the staff/supply room.
The roar of that crowd, who April saw for herself were absolutely packing the barroom from the vestibule right up to the makeshift stage, deafening April its onslaught striking her like some physical force.
The girls were already up on the stage, lined up and lustily gyrating to booming EDM synergy. The MC was close to April, as she took position to the right of the girls on the edge of the stage. The MC was getting the crowd riled up, microphone in hand approach loud and cheesy.
Collins was across on the far side, camera on his shoulder, covering the crowd before panning across in a slow rotation until he took in the girls on the stage. He was also on the stage side of the barrier so as not to be knocked or blocked by any of the patrons. Once securely focussed on the women, he started to slowly sidestep to his left, keeping the women centre stage while improving his angle.
The proceedings started almost immediately, following a couple of minutes of MC promotion and an advertisement for available alcohol at the bar. Then the MC introduced the first of the women, who advance from the line to take centre stage, all smiles and unsupported bouncing, while she enjoyed her sexy minute or two of self-promotion.
That, of course, was also when the garden hose came into play. High pressure water blasting the central gyrator, drenching her ubiquitous Tee-shirt and turning it instantly transparent.
The first of the baker’s dozen was Alli, a shapely though not overly busty Nordic thirty something, with a crisply slicked-back bobbed haircut. She splashed water in all directions as she danced through the showering spray. Observing, April noted Collins had a lens hood attached to fend off the worst of the flying water, and she spotted him wiping the lens with alcohol wipes numerous times between each of the women’s self-promotion sessions.
In response to Collins’ actions, April snatched up her microphone and started to record her running commentary, naming each contestant and taking in the raucousness of the audio reception from the overbearing horny crowd. She could either make use of it as reference or as an actual ADR track in the editing suite when they returned to the station.
The crowd appeared to grow the loudest when the youngest looking girls came to the forefront, to offer their own erotic dance displays. Which April found both Telling and disturbing, though not especially a surprise.
Amber was the first front and centre. As she wheeled herself through the spray from the hose, giving the hose user the chance to also soak her teenage ass cinched in those pink hotpants. The girl was momentarily surrounded by a crystalline rainbow of water droplets - especially as she tossed her gleaming brown hair back out of her face, throwing a cascade of diamond drips up over her head. April crossed her fingers that the effect had been effectively captured by Collins and his camera. It had certainly been aimed at her at the right time.
Hands on her thighs and leaning forward with a broad smile, Amber aimed herself at the raucous crowd. Smiling broadly, she swung hair, tits and ass animatedly, giving her all to her minute in the spotlight, trying to buy as many votes with her body as she could. Just like each of them had don and would do.
Her nipples were like bullets, plain under the transparentized cotton and she leaned over the barriers to shake her big tits right in the faces of the howling crowd, much to their drunken elation. Through the entire time she was front and centre, the teenage girl was going all out, using her hips, her legs and her arms while wheeling her long hair around like an Eighties hair-metal groupie. To April she looked a little frightened by the drunken power of all that raucous attention aimed solely at her. There seemed to be something in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks. She looked overwhelmed, taken aback. The girl spun and shimmied back to her place in the line, though she even lost the song’s rhythm at one point.
Derby was the next bra-less body selected by the hose-master and she instantly had the crowd going nuts with her overtly lewd activity. The girl, at best a year or maybe two older than Amber, didn’t seem to have any filter or modesty or sense of taking things too far. Of course, for the crowd, the organiser and the hose-master that was all just fine and dandy.
She appeared to spot one guy with a drink down on the front row and started gesticulating toward him. It took a second or two but soon enough he caught on and tossed her two hastily retrieved ice cubes. She caught them and then, with a cheekily coy smile, she attacked her own perky nipples with the frozen cubes through her already soaked-to-the-skin shirt. There was something about the use of her crowd interaction that brought the raging onlookers to new heights of horny appreciation. And then Derby yanked the soaked Tee-shirt up across the top of her chest, freeing her deceptively large and youthfully perky young puppies. The crown lost it.
She made them bounce and swing freely while she danced but soon slowed her sensual gyrations, making it more teasing, sliding her hands up and down her ribs and then over her bare breasts, before starting to work at her nipples again. She stroked then flicked them, pinching and pulling with more and more intensity, pinching them, almost to a level of masochism. Her face dancing between, what April assumed was, mock horny expression and sheer narcissistic beaming joy.
The cheeky redhead was doubtless the best entertainer so far, she knew how to get the crowd riled up and drooling. April wasn’t sure if it would be considered cheating as the girl, sliding her hands off her large and perky breasts back down her ribs and smooth stomach to the waistband of her hotpants.
She teased the crowd, flicking teasingly at the button and zipper, running the tips of her fingers beneath the waistband, starting near her jutting hips but then sliding closer to the front while slipping further down as she went until, at least by appearance she was overtly fingering herself. Much to the delight of the all men in the crowd.
With her other hand she quickly unbuttoned her shorts and whipped the zipper’s tab all the way down, flashing the baying gang a neat and glistening landing strip of droplet adorned ginger pubes. The roar from the crowd was deafening. She was past her minute already, but reading the room, the MC let her continue. The other girls didn’t seem to care much.
The crowd topped their own reaction when Derby whipped the hot-pants right down to her knees and then ran a finger lewdly between the blatantly swollen labia. Laughing, she wheeled herself around, showing off her bared and extremely pert looking buttocks.
By the time the organiser, rolling his eyes, came across the stage to bring the girl back under control, she was grasping those sweet ass cheeks and spreading them apart to flash her dripping pussy and the ruddy pinprick of her waxed anus to the deafening, jubilant crowd.
The grinning organiser grabbed her arm, swung her around and frog marched her back into line, though in a good-natured way, even going so far as to plant a particularly noisy slap onto her pale yet creamy bubble butt. It brought another roar from the crowd. From April, it brought up a sense of concern that his behaviour might constitute an actual sexual assault, though Derby herself didn’t seem the least bit put out. Still laughing, she was jiggling, back into line, dancing loosely as she worked the sodden shorts back up her shapely thighs, seemingly in no hurry to conceal her nakedness. April was shocked, while the crowd light-heartedly booed the cutting back of the redhead’s performance.
Lara, the svelte blonde, was next in line and it had to be said she did well, especially going centre stage after young Derby. The crowd were pumped and though not as overtly sexual or as naturally curvaceous, Lara was supremely athletic, playfully muscular with by far the perkiest pair of breasts of all of them, and the tightest bubble shaped ass without it being bony and flat. She was also the most facially beautiful, brilliant blue eyes, full pouty lips, high cheek bones, smooth, lightly tanned and unblemished skin. However, April found herself distracted by something happening over at the opposite end of the stage. Collins, though he was filming away, was in the midst of a conspiratorial looking conversation with the organiser - lip to ear to be heard above the deafening responses from the crowd - who just seemed to be floating toward all new heights of expressiveness following Derby’s overtly lascivious goading. Though by now they were all fawning over Lara, the young slutty redhead eclipsed by the classy eroticism of the athletic blonde stunner, taking the most alluring elements of the redhead’s crowd work, and making it all her own.
April wasn’t particularly sure what she was supposed to be doing. Normally she would have planned a series of interviews, footage of the event and then a face-to-face with the winner or winners, and maybe the runner up. However, this time she had no control over the camera work and she and Collins had not taken the time to discuss set up or what shots April might want. She could either make her way over to the far side of the stage, risking the ire of the inebriated voters by blocking their view or even becoming a target of their drunken interest, as so often happened when she had spent any time in clubs and bars. Or she could simply wait for Collins to make his way across to her side of the stage and hope the footage he had captured before then was useable.
Besides, there had to be a delay between this presentation of the dancers in their skimpy attire and the announcement of the voting results. That should afford them plenty of time to discuss positions and camera use with Collins for the results announcement.
A small number of men on the fringe of the crowd close to where April was standing, had become distracted by her and were starting to show her the typical kind of attention she tended to receive in these kinds of places. First the stares, guys elbowing their mates and pointing her out. She could more or less ignore that stuff. The solidly drunk guys and the guys with too much confidence started to sidle over to her, trying to chatting her up, asking her on a date, asking for her number or her bra size or if she can suck-start a Harley. Then the belligerent and narcissistic guys would come up and try the stupidest pick-up lines they knew.
   “…Are you a haunted house? Because I’m going to scream when I’m in you… …Hey girl, is your name winter? Because you’ll be coming soon… Are you a drill sergeant? Because you have my privates standing at attention… Your breasts remind me of Mount Rushmore, my face should be among them… Want to see if you can add ‘has an awesome gag reflex’ to your resume?... I’m a bird watcher and I’m looking for a ‘Big Breasted Bed Thrasher’. Are you one?”
And of course, the classic, “Those clothes would look great in a crumpled heap on my bedroom floor.” And like all those other times, this time it went on and on and on, yet worse somehow, the men pressing themselves against her under the pretence of making themselves heard over the deafening din. After a few unappreciated yet polite rejections, April simply tried to ignore them, to keep her eyes glued to the contestants while blanking every man who approached her. Maybe if some of them had been polite and respectful, and not here and not now while she was working, she would have given them a polite smile followed by an equally polite rejection. But as so often was the case, it appeared she had fallen in amongst the dregs of humanity.

The violent spray of cold water came out of nowhere and drenched her to the skin. For a moment April was simply too shocked and distracted by Collins and the organiser to react. So, the latter held the hose and, laughing hysterically, continued to soak her torso and groin specifically, face and limbs inconsequential. It went without saying that Collins was capturing every square millimetre of her humiliation in 4k HD.
The crowd went into overdrive, especially those close to April, especially those so recently rejected or ignored. Even the contestants paused their own performances to see what April had on display and to laugh at the obvious prank on the news reporter. Though, probably every one of them was silently grateful that April wasn’t among their number.
To everyone else, the view was a sheer nirvana. Impossibly perky and high placed 32h cup breasts, beneath a yellow pantsuit that had been soaked to the skin and made absolutely transparent. Every tiny blue vein was showed off. A muted veil over visible lightly tanned and toned abdominals. Though no one focussed on her midriff. The puckered ruddy discs of the areolae and the hard studs of her cold stiffened nipples were the eye-catching centre points. Beneath, if anyone had taken a glance, revealed through pantsuit and white thong, a little russet patch of pubic hair. But even southward glances were short lived due to the sheer perfection of the on-display breasts.
Finally catching up, the reporter shook off the short-term shock and slapped her hands across her bust and her water-soaked crotch. The urgency of her cover-up crushed her breasts, making her displayed cleavage bulge enticingly, while sending a shower of water droplet-shrapnel in all directions. And then, with a screamed curse, she turned on her heel and bolted for the staff/store room.
<><><>
April fumed for the rest of the night. It was well after midnight before all the interviews had been recorded and the additional footage caught. Collins stayed behind, drinking and dancing with a couple of the contestants, though he seemed to be aiming his sights almost exclusively on the lewd girl Derby, more than any of the others. April could easily guess the reason. In fact, as she took yet another disgusted glare across the dancefloor, she could see Collins and Derby, who hadn’t even bother to change out of her soaked tee-shirt and hotpants, making their mutual interest blatantly obvious.
Drunk and unsteady, they were making utter fools of themselves on the dancefloor. Collins writhing against Derby’s back, working his hips against the girl’s plump little ass, while his hands openly roved up and down her big tits from behind. He was caressing her from her upper chest down, giving the perky orbs a hefty, lewd squeeze, before following the under curves to her ribcage and down to the swell of her hips before reversing course.
The teenage stripper was simultaneously straddling one of the middle-aged cameraman’s thighs, working her crotch up and down in short gyrations, while her hands worked up and down her own thighs, hips and buttocks, both groins mashing rhythmically together while both pairs of lewdly groping hands moved in time to the raucous music. April rolled her eyes and looked away.
She had been thrown a towel by Carla and then borrowed a hairdryer from Malia, so at least she could dry her body off and her hair. However, her only bra was back at her motel room and it was taking far too long to try and dry her work issued jumpsuit with a damp towel and an old hairdryer. Eventually she gave up on the attempt and just allowed the damp garment to hang loose around her hips and legs, pulling on a plain white t-shirt - a spare that Raquel had - to cover her upper body.
And then it was the humiliation of going back into the bar to do her job, to complete the interviews and to consult with the ever-smirking and never-managing-to-look-her-in-the-eyes Reggie Collins, to get the additional footage to put together the video article for Burne Thompson. It needed to be ‘fully rounded’ - his words, being utterly plastered, he was full of lewd innuendo for the rest of the night.
They had returned in the van to their motel rooms. To sleep through the rest of the night around midnight. April had showered and hung up her jumpsuit over the bath to dry and then slipped between the sheets, wearing pyjamas and a clean pair of socks due to mild anxiety about the state of the bedding. However, she felt too wound up by the events of the evening to fall asleep and lay there wide awake, simmering.
Collins didn’t help either. Less than ten minutes after they had parted to their adjoining rooms, without a word spoken between them, she heard him slip out again. Less than a minute later came the familiar hiccough roar of the van’s ignition, then the squeal and rumble of him and pulling out and rolling away across the black top. Where the hell would he be going at this time of night?
The answer came forty minutes later with the return of the van. The abrupt silence of the engine having been shut off was immediately replaced by the telling laughter of two people. Two obviously drunk people. She recognised Collins’ deep gruff bark but it was accompanied by a higher youthful sniggering.
April slipped out of bed and cracked the outer edge of her vertical blind to sneak a peek at the two shadowy figures approaching Collins’ room. At first, the only illumination cast over the two came from the distant fluorescent Christmas coloured neon of the ‘Laird Chesney’ sign, revealing two close pressed silhouettes, bathed in a halo of red and green. However, as they came closer, the dull and dirty amber glow from the motel’s awning confirmed the familiar short and stocky figure of Reggie Collins. While his companion was revealed, unsurprisingly, as young Derby from the contest. Still in her contest clothes, though finally dried off, her hair combed and straightened. Though her sparkly heels had been switched out for a pair of old sneakers.
Collins was all over her, one hand running through her lush red hair as they swapped saliva and tongue fenced, both of them moaning liberally. His other hand spread its attention between her big perky tits and snug little ass. She was giggling and wriggling throughout, as though energised, rubbing herself against his stocky frame, reciprocating kisses when they were offered and constantly rubbing at his dick.
April watched with mild disgust as the teenager gripped the flabby ass of the sleazy cameraman, who must be twice the girl’s age at least, while her other hand meaningfully caressed his visibly tented pants. The two of them were shuffling blindly backward across the edge of the lot toward the ‘L’ of the motel rooms.
In the shadows, finally beneath the awning, Collins pressed the girl up against his motel room door while they paused to make out some more, hungrily, and frustratingly noisy. Tongues whirling and lips suctioning, continually moaning and slurping. Collins constantly was filling his hands with her impressive tits, going to town on them, while both of them continuing their constantly wordless enunciations of mutual lust. April assumed perhaps unfairly that the girl’s moans were put on? Then again, there was no accounting for taste.
The cheeky bastard abruptly released the girl’s tit and, grabbing her shoulders, abruptly shoved her down onto her knees, pinning her between his stocky form and his locked motel room door. The redhead groaned, struggling. And for a second and April wondered if he was actually going to rape the poor girl.
“Money, remember.” She protested, weakly struggling under his pinning hands.
“It’s right in there.” Collins said urgently. “Just a quick taster, you know. Like I’m taking you out for a test drive. C’mon girl.”
“Okay. But I’d better get paid…”
He replied by sliding both hands around the back of her head and pulling her face firmly into his crotch. From April’s vantage point, once she had levered his hard cock from his pants, and slid her lips around the girth, Collins used the girl with quick paced brutality.
Enjoying her sucking, he held her head tight in both hands, yanking her onto his rapidly thrusting hips to ensure she took it balls deep every time. She started with her hands on his buttocks but after ten frantic seconds she reached around to press her hands against his thighs, perhaps trying to control his depth. Even from inside her room, the sound of Collins’ cock head popping wetly in and out of her throat was plain and noisy, as were Derby’s panting breaths, wet gagging, and Collins’ appreciative moans.
Although the noises Derby was coming out with weren’t quite as extreme and laboured as April produced whenever she had been used in that way, it was all very familiar to the reporter and she felt herself blushing.
Still, the teenager kept up the pace and rather than slapping or making throaty pleading noises. She maintained Collins’ insistent pace and depth as though it was nothing to her, as though she was well used to it. She appeared to have a degree of physical expertise that was as shocking to April as she found it impressive, on some level. And she found herself wondering just how early a girl would have to start to get as good at this Derby was, and how often she had actually sucked dick since that first time.
Collins somehow managed to put a stop to it before she could drain his balls. Apparently, he wanted to savour this sexy, drunk and seemingly up for anything girl.
“Oh, Hell yeah, baby. Can you suck a dick or what!”
“You got my money, Reggie, don’t ya?” The girl repeated, gasping for breath pulling herself awkwardly to her feet.
“It’s like I told you, baby.” He snapped, exasperated. “It’s right here in my room. All of it. As promised.”
“Alright then, let’s get inside and get you seen to. It’s cold out here.”
“I got you all night though, right? And you’ll do whatever?”
“Sure, why not. Ain’t like I got me a pimp. If the money’s what we agreed, and it’s all there, then all ‘a me is all yours.”
They vanished inside, giggling like horny kids. April righted the blind and then slipped back into bed. However, new noises immediately came through the paper-thin dividing wall and, with no other sounds to conflict with, they were loud and distinct almost as though they were in April’s room with her. They were also clear and obvious sounds, barely muffled, that painted a concise picture of what was going on. Great. So, they were going to be noisy-fucking right next door? April hoped they wouldn’t be doing it all night.
“There you go, babe. Count it. It’s all there.” There was a pause before he spoke again. “So, you okay with taking it up the ass, or what?”
“I got lube and you got cash, so why the fuck not? Nothin’ bareback though. You gotta have a sheath or it’s a no go. For anything but oral.”
“I got you covered.”
“Get yourself covered!” She said, suddenly laughing.
Following the initial grumble and squeal of a bedframe in motion there was silence for a while, which gave April a little hope. The hope didn’t last long. Occasional moans seeped through the divider, more bedspring groaning. Then a rapid, slick-sounding rhythm filled the room. It had April rolling her eyes with a sudden burst of agitation and her heart started to race behind her ribs. That had to be either Derby’s mouth racing up and down Collins’ cock, or her teenage pussy.
“Ohhh… Oh fuck! Oh yeah!” Collins groaned.
The moans were all masculine so April assumed he was getting his dick sucked. Then he let out a longer, deeper groan.
“Of fuck. Yeah… tight tonsils! Swallow around it while its down there. Fucking choke on it! Yeah, these’re so fucking fine!”
Okay, so they weren’t about to be quiet about it. April growled in frustration and buried her head in the pillow. It didn’t help.
“Fuuuck… you’d better stop that hot stuff. I’m gonna spew!”
“You sure love my tits don’t cha?!”
“Sure do, they’re great!”
“So, you ready for the condom? You want me to get him dressed?”
“Sure. I can have a play down here while you get busy.”
There was more silence, a little lazy bedspring complaining and then a long mutual groan followed by faster rhythmic bedspring squeals.
“Damn boy, slow down, you got me for all the night ain’t cha?”
“Don’t worry about me little girl, you ain’t getting any fucking sleep tonight!”
And then Derby started to make the expected gasps and moans, accompanying Collins’ guttural din, both punctuated by occasional curses. The headboard started to bang in a rapid staccato against the dividing wall. April rolled her eyes, trying not to grind her teeth with her frustration. Were they really going to be doing that all night? She hoped not.
It went on and on. Noisy and infuriating, even shaking the dividing wall and her bedstead. Unable to cope, she finally called out to them: “Cut it out!” and slammed her fist on the wall a couple of times. All she got in return was laughter, male and female laughter.
“Hey there April! What’s up? You wanna join in?” Collins called out.
All she could do was to shout a curse back at them, which only brought more laughter. She threw herself angrily down on the bed and sulked.
Derby and Collins didn’t quite take all night but they continued making too much noise - sexual and otherwise, but mostly sexual - until almost 3am. Yet even after the couple had settled down into their own exhausted bliss, it took April another hour to get herself to sleep.
Her phone alarm had her up at 8am and she was showered, dressed and eating breakfast at a diner, at walking distance from the motel by 9.
Collins didn’t rear his ugly mug until almost 10am. But she heard him and Derby going at it again immediately after her shower. The squeak of bedsprings, the thump of the headboard against that dividing wall. And of course, loud and explicit running commentary.
“Oh, fuck this ass is tight! Jesus, baby, you only been getting ass fucked by mouse cock or what?!”
“Damn it girl! You feel so fucking great! Your ass is the best girl! You got the tightest little butt! Fuck man, this is great!”
“Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Jesus, Reggie! God damnit! Fuck! Ohh! Ohh! Ohh!”
“I’m gonna fucking cum!” He snapped, then yelled. “I’m fucking jizzing in your ass you no-good little slut! Take all my shit you dirty little fucking bitch! Fuck! Take this dick cream, whore! Jesus!”

By the time April and Collins were making the drive home that afternoon, April’s hot rage had given away to cold, stomach-churning despair. She had begged Collins to get rid of the footage of her getting hosed down. He had just laughed. She had threatened to tell Burne Thompson about Collins’ antics but he just shrugged casually and told her it had all been Thompson’s idea in the first place. So, she sat there in sulky silence for the rest of the trip arms folded, head turned away from the man sat beside her.
<><><>
The Channel Six Editor-in-Chief’s usually messy office was loud, the mood electric with frustration. April was up on her feet and shouting, something between a plea and an accusation at her boss. Thompson was casually sitting at his desk, as usual. He was leaning back in his big comfortable office chair, the epitome of casual and carefree, listening to her going on near to tears. And as usual, his unconcerned eyes were constantly straying down toward her cleavage.
“…Mr Thompson, you know as well as I do, we can't put it on the air! Network indecency laws, prohibit...”
“Did you know, April, that the whole point of Wet Tee-shirt contests, back in the day, was that it was a way to circumvent the public decency laws. It was a way to get around state law down in Florida, how can it be ‘indecent’ if everyone still has their clothes on? I assure you, April, we’ll be safe enough.”
“But they're all see-through! You can see everything!”
He grinned, his eyes momentarily glued to the heavily jutting front of her jumpsuit, as though her top had remained soaked. Feeling paranoid, she even glanced down at herself to double check. She had long since given up asking her boss keep his gaze aimed above her chest.
“At a pinch,” he said, his eyes finding hers even if only for a second. “I can have one of the editors, De Jager, say, mess with the lighting and colour grading digitally. Tone it all down a little… if I deem it necessary after looking over the footage for myself, obviously.”
April huffed, shifting from one foot to the other. That wasn’t good enough. Why couldn’t he see the problem, or at least take it seriously? She had assumed the network indecency option would work with her boss but he obviously wasn’t going for it. It didn’t make any difference. She simply couldn’t allow that footage of herself being hosed down to see the light of day. It would destroy what little reputation she had managed to build up and destroy any prospects for a chance at a future as a serious investigative journalist.
“It still stipulates in my contract that I get to edit my own material. Safi’s a perfectly good editor, but I’m best placed to edit my own story, don’t you think?”
“We could argue that its Collins’ material, not yours at all… It was all his footage after-all. Besides, it goes without saying that whenever something comes up that is going to benefit the studio, up our viewing figures and our profile... Well… frankly April, you can go ahead and forget about your contract stipulations. I mean, what are you going to do? Sue us?”
“Maybe I should, maybe I will!”
“Not with the company lawyer, that would amount to a conflict of interest. You could maybe hire your own attorney if you could afford to,”
His sudden grin made April’s blood boil. Of course, he knew her difficult financial position and that there was no way she could afford a lawyer. He railed on, back to starring at he cleavage, grinning inanely.
“But suing your own company and employer, when there's talk of buyouts and take overs? Well, it won't look very good on a resume, will it? And if it got out that you had filed suit on your own bosses, well who else would bother to take the risk of hiring you, April?”
O’Neil was obviously at a loss for words. Thompson’s smile stretched wider. He was seriously considering demanding a little compliant tit fuck, take the stuck-up little tart down a peg by anointing her with his hot jizz. A threat of termination should be more than enough to get those huge delicious melons wrapped around his meat. However, with the incoming visitors, just like the rest of them, he had to remain on his best behaviour.
Trying to conceal his victorious smirk, he smartly turned his attention to the paperwork - prospective stories in need of approval, budget and wage accounts and worst of all, staff rosters. He really could do with the stress releasing joy of emptying his balls over those tits. But, better not.
“I think you should get to work on editing your story April.” He said, without looking up. “De Jager will only need to look at the finished cut to see what needs adjusting, if anything. So, thank you for your input… if there’s nothing else?”
“No, Mr Thompson. Thank you. For your time” She muttered automatically, then left the cluttered office.
<><><>
It was dark and cramped in the tiny editing suite. April preferred to work in the dark with just the light from the monitors to illuminate her workstation. Almost archaic company desktops, as well as her personal laptop, closer to antique than archaic, filled her awareness. All the systems were connected, through backups, to a multiscreen system of monitors. They used an older version of the ‘Avid’ digital-editing app which was reliable and straight forward, unlike a lot of its more modern iterations. She was stitching together clips of the contestants from Collins’ footage, and mixing in her own recordings of interviews before and after the contest. However, her mind was thoroughly elsewhere.

The meeting with Burne Thompson had not gone the way she had hoped. Well, it had gone the way she had expected and that was exactly the problem. She had no influence here, even though she had a high billing on the roster of staff, and was by far the most popular of all the on-screen talent, she still felt like she sat at the very bottom rung of the ladder, the base of the food chain at the Channel Six studio. And she knew without a shadow of a doubt that ‘base of the food chain’ was not where she should be at this point in her career, not where she deserved to be.
The attractive weather girl, Natalia Marazita had all the men eating out of her hand. Hell, even Mrs Hartman, the well-into-her-forties make-up woman had the respect of everyone in the station. And then there was April, sitting slap bang at the bottom. Irma might be a step below April in the unofficial hierarchy, but at least the higher ups listened to her. Not that Thompson’s PA, and April’s friend, ever had much of anything to say.
No, this could not go on any longer. Things had to change. And April knew what she had to do to make things change. It had become evident that the situation wasn’t going to improve by itself. She had to force change somehow. Take control of her own destiny. But the prospect scared her, scared her to her core.
She had been avoiding the footage that everyone had been so excited about. The footage of her -soaked to the skin, and utterly humiliated. However, she couldn’t avoid it forever, it was starting to feel like a noose around her neck, Jacob Marley’s heavy chains weighing her down. Chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek, she zipped through the collected screenshot-thumbnails until she saw the miniature of a huge pair of breasts surrounded by a haze of dandelion yellow, daubs of glorious technicolour forming an unfocussed background.
She felt herself forcing out a deep sigh as she brought the clip to the full-screen interface. Slightly recoiling, a physical reaction to a face-full of her own essentially bared breasts was like a slap in the face.
The shock immediately doubled up as the door at her back suddenly swung open making April jump and whip her desk chair around in a flurry. She hoped she was blocking the view behind her. It was Thompson standing in the doorway, smirking, his eyes focussed behind her. She half-turned and tried to grab the light pen to minimise the screen but it took far too long, being as shaky as she was. Thompson didn’t give her the chance to get herself straight.
“Extra job for you April. A representative from Kirehashi International is coming in for a walkabout.”
“Kirehashi? What are you talking about?”
“It’s an International Business Conglomerate, owned by one of the big Japanese companies. They’re looking at buying into the American media market, getting a foothold in some of the bigger cities, here, L.A., Chicago, Houston, Florida. They’re sending a representative down here and he wants one of our higher ups to show him around the station, and around town. Your name was mentioned, so now you got the gig. His name’s Sakiwarui-something-or-other.”
“Saki… what?”
“Now listen, April.” He growled following a quick sigh of exasperation. “Listen close ‘cause, of right now, your job is on the line.”
“Mr Thompson, I…”
“No, shut up and listen! You are to do whatever is necessary to impress this fella. Give him the tour. Wine and dine him, take him wherever he wants to go. Show him whatever he wants to see… And if you feel it’s necessary, seduce the guy. You know, fuck him silly.”
For a moment she was dumbfounded. But then once she found her voice, she tried to intercede, to protest. But he overrode her completely, not giving her any chance.
“This is a tiny little station in a cut-throat industry, as you well know. What you don’t know is that we’re on a fucking knife edge here. Financially. This whole station. And this Conglomerate is our best, maybe our only chance of staying afloat for the foreseeable. So, you’re to do anything and everything it’ll take to secure all our futures.”
“Oh, great, okay, no pressure then.”
“Cut the sarcasm. This is deadly fucking serious, April. I’m telling you now, if you fuck this up for the rest of us, not only will you be out on your ear before you can say ‘fired’ in Japanese, everyone else will out as well and I’ll make sure each and every one of them knows who’s to blame. You understanding me?”
“But Mr Thompson…”
“Don’t ‘Mister Thompson’ me April, just get it done! No screw ups and no mistakes. Just convince the guy.”
Her face flushing crimson, April found herself bowing her head. The door slammed. And her stomach felt like a knot of solid iron while her heart was somewhere in the back of her mouth beating ten-to-the-dozen. But Thompson had already gone.
April turned her chair back to the editing suite. She stared at her own all-but-bared-breasts on the screen but saw nothing. She felt numb and shivery. And then the tears came, and they wouldn’t stop.
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April O'Neil - Evidence Gathering