Watch the Big Ones

NOTE: This story is fiction intended for adults. Any resemblance between this story and real life is strictly coincidental. Except for the whole idea of what's been happening to local TV news. That's pretty much real.

Cathy threw the Nielsen ratings book onto her desk with a resounding 'slam'. She was disgusted. Here she was, general manager of a local television station, and her ratings were in the toilet. Nothing she'd done since she took over six months ago had made a difference. Not hiring away the newscasters from the top-rated station in the market, not beefing up the investigative reporting unit, not the clever marketing slogan she'd devised playing off the station's channel position on the dial. This called for more desperate measures.

She grinned mysteriously. The department heads were due in for their weekly meeting in a minute. Cathy's new idea would floor them. Were they ever in for a surprise!

Slowly, they filed in, mumbling their good mornings. Cathy nodded politely, her face betraying nothing of what was about to go on.

When everyone was in place, Cathy spoke.

"I'm not interested in hearing what each department has been up to," she began. "Not today. And I certainly don't want to hear everyone telling me how busy you've been! You've all seen the ratings. I don't give a shit what you've been busy at; obviously it's not ... fucking ... working."

They were a little surprised at Cathy's language.

"We're in fourth place during the newscast hours. Do you hear me? Fourth," she said, standing up and walking around the conference table. "That means that not only are the other three stations that run news beating us..." Cathy stopped significantly behind the news director. "But we even rank behind syndicated reruns of Suddenly Susan."

The news director opened his mouth to speak. Cathy cut him off. "Save it, Ron," she snapped. "I don't want to hear any goddamn excuses. The fact is, nobody wants to watch the news programs we're putting on."

Ron looked at the floor. He'd tried a more serious journalistic approach to the news — and it looked as though the viewers had rejected it. Every other department head — sales, programming, promotion, even engineering — either agreed with Cathy or was afraid to say otherwise.

"That's why we're trying a new approach, starting today," said Cathy, taking her seat at the head of the conference table again. "Sam! Ned! Come on in here!"

Two well-dressed young men in suits walked in.

"Sam and Ned are consultants. They represent a firm called Cummings and Associates." The men nodded politely at the assembled managers. "They've got a plan that'll make us number one. Tell 'em, boys."

One of the consultants cleared his throat and wiped his glasses before winding them round his ears and running nervous fingers through his light brown hair. "I'm Sam. Ned and I have a little research to show you."

Ned, a blond fellow with a mustache, powered up his laptop to begin a Power Point presentation. "This is how your newscasts — Channel 11's newscasts — do with women twenty-five to fifty-four. The other stations are beating you. Badly. So badly that we feel it's inefficient to continue to try to attract that audience. All the women are watching the other guys — so why bother?" said Ned.

"That's why we think Channel 11's best bet is sort of a niche marketing idea," continued Sam, signalling to Ned to proceed to the next graphic. "Since the female demographic clearly prefers the other stations — why not go after the men? All the men? If you could get every man, young and old, in the metro area to watch your news, that'd be a big enough number to make you number one!"

"How, you might ask?" picked up Ned. "Chucking everything that appeals to the female audience. Health stories, parenting reports, consumer news..."

"And taking a cue from international hit shows like Baywatch and V.I.P," said Sam, as the laptop projected a photo of Pamela Anderson. "Perennial pay-per-view favorites like the Bikini Open," said Ned, clicking to another pertinent illustration. "And the phenomenal success stories of web sites like Danni's Hard Drive," continued Sam, the laptop displaying a topless photo of busty model and entrepreneur Danni Ashe. The shock of her nudity certainly got the group's attention.

Ned stepped forward. "We plan to slowly phase out all the male newscasters and reporters on Channel 11," he explained, "replacing them with well-endowed women." He set an animation going that showed a mockup of their news set with Pamela, Danni, and Cindy Margolis popping into the anchor chairs — just by way of illustration. "The best part is that it fits in with Cathy's slogan — the one that plays on your channel position? Cathy, remind them."

Cathy grinned from ear to ear. "Watch The Big Ones," she said softly.

"The Big Ones, yes," said the persuasive Sam. Ned clicked on a photo of an enormous pair of boobs, crammed into a too-tight T-shirt, with the slogan superimposed over them. "Two ones make an eleven, but with this change in the on-air talent lineup — it'll take on new meaning! What do you think?"

"Ladies and gentlemen?" said Cathy, looking around.

Ron the news director stood. "This has nothing to do with good journalism," he began.

"No, it doesn't," snapped Cathy. "Get over it."

"But ... Channel 11's credibility..." stammered Ron.

"You can't sell credibility," said Cathy.

"But ... this is just window dressing! Cosmetics!" said Ron.

"Oh, hell," said Cathy, losing patience. "No — it's window undressing. And cosmetic surgery. If you won't do it, leave. We're going forward with this plan."

Without a word, Ron got up and left the conference room.

"I expected that," said Cathy, addressing the consultants, Sam and Ned. "No matter. We'll go ahead without them. I'll tell the men on-air they're out. I'll make up something about going in a different direction ... or we're holding you back! Some bullshit like that. I'll need Sam and Ned here to start looking for new talent. You know, if any of the girls we've got on the news right now want to stay and get boob jobs, they're welcome. Go to work!"

"Uh ... Cathy?" said the sales manager, a burly, bearded fellow.

"Yes?" said Cathy.

"The guys might want to check out ... uh, interview my sales assistant," he said shyly.

"Missy! Perfect!" shouted Cathy. "She's got huge boobs," she said to the two men. "We could make her a weather forecaster. When her nipples are erect, it's cold out! Great idea. Let's go!"

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Sam and Ned stepped out of the conference room.

"Went pretty well, don't you think?" said a confident Sam.

"I ... I guess so," said Ned, nervously. "Do you think they're on to us?"

"Ned, I've told you a thousand times, you don't need any credentials to be a consultant," said Sam, straightening his partner's tie. "It's not like being a psychaitrist or something. If we say we're consultants — we are!"

"Yeah, but I'm afraid they'll figure out we've never done this before," stammered Ned. "That we've got no studies, no data, no track record ... and that we're just a couple of horny guys with a Power Point presentation, looking to get laid!"

"Snap out of it," said Sam. "If it works, nobody cares! You go talk to that Missy — the sales guy's secretary. I'll scope out the gals on the news staff, and see if any of 'em have big funbags already. If not, I'll find out if any of 'em will get boob jobs in order to keep their jobs!" he snickered.

"Well — okay," said Ned. "Good luck."

"You, too, pal," said Sam. "I can tell this sales guy's never been able to get into this secretary's pants. I'll bet you have better luck!"

"Hope so," said Ned, crossing his fingers.

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"Hey, Jayne?"

"What is it, Kim?"

"Who's that guy hanging around the newsroom?"

Kim, the slim and fashionable health reporter, knew that as senior anchor, Jayne would know what was going on in her own newsroom.

"I don't know," said Jayne, peering at the young man in the suit going from desk to desk, talking to reporters. "Is he talking to everyone?" she wanted to know.

"Only the girls, it seems," noticed Kim. "I wonder why...?"

Jayne gathered her scripts for the noon news and checked her short-cropped blonde hair and minimal makeup in a mirror before walking to the set. "Beats me," she said to Kim. "God, I hope it's not another consultant. I'm sick and tired of these yahoos from out of town telling me to grow my hair out or wear a different lipstick. I'm about journalism, not fashion modeling!"

"Who is he? And what's he up to?" muttered Kim. She noticed that the man was walking toward her desk. He was kind of cute, she thought. The glasses gave him a kind of intellectual look.

"Kim?" he said.

"Yes."

"I'm Sam Stevens. Consultant," he said extending her hand. Kim smirked at how accurately Jayne had called it. She guessed that was one of the reasons Jayne was a top reporter. "I'd like to talk to you about something we're planning for the station image — and how you fit into it!"

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Ned wandered over to the sales department. He thought he might ask someone where this Missy's desk was — but then she caught his eye. There was no mistaking this girl. This must be Missy. She was seated at a desk outside one of the more plush offices — the sales manager's, Ned guessed — and her tight overstuffed dress, hugging the gentle curves of two huge rounded boobs, was overflowing onto the desk in front of her. She had apparently devised a system of sitting sideways so she could work at her computer keyboard. The delightfully fitted garment displayed an enticing olive colored cleavage, with a dramatic valley between the two breasts that was black as night. Italian, Ned guessed. Missy's face was gorgeous, and revealed a dazzling smile. Her long dark hair was pulled back into a sort of ponytail — apparently so as not to interfere with admirers' view of her cleavage!

God, thought Ned. If that won't get men to watch the fucking news...!

He walked up to her desk, and cleared his throat.

"Um ... are you Missy?" he asked, tentatively.

"That's me," she said, barely catching an empty coffee cup that her bust had accidentally nudged off the desk.

"I'm Ned Daniels," he said, extending his hand. He watched in fascination as Missy swiveled her chair around, navigating her bosom around the office equipment. She shook his hand. Those olive-colored breast-tops shook, too, expanding and contracting the dark valley between. "I'm a consultant, and my firm..." He paused and considered Missy's breasts as he used the word "firm". "My firm has been hired to make some changes to the newscasts."

"I see," said Missy, not seeing what this had to do with her. Her dark brown eyes locked onto Ned's, destroying all hope he might have had of forming a coherent sentence.

"Have you ever...?" he began. Missy reached to adjust a bra strap, clearly lifting a great weight. Ned wondered if he had lost the power of speech forever. He stammered once again. "I mean, would you consider ... that is to say, do you have any ambitions toward..."

Missy let an amused smile escape her lips. Breast-crazed men could be so annoying — or so endearing. Something about this one endeared him to the spectacular sales assistant.

Ned exhaled deeply. "I think men all over the viewing area would tune in to see a woman as unspeakably lovely as you. Would you consider a career change — to become a TV star?" He mopped his brow with his handkerchief.

Missy smiled. "Eight o'clock," she said.

"Hm? I mean, I beg your pardon?" said Ned.

"Eight o'clock at the Hearth Restaurant," said Missy. "That's where you'll meet me to buy me dinner and discuss it." She reached for a report from the printer and started toward her boss' office.

Ned watched, still enraptured.

"Don't be late," she teased as she disappeared through the doorway. Ned stared after her. The image of her lusciously curved bottom seemed to hang before him, Cheshire Cat-like, in the air.

Ned mopped his brow, adjusted his pants, and headed for the general manager's office to report on his progress.

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"Kim! You're not really considering it?" said Jayne, not believing what her colleague was saying.

"I don't know, Jayne," whined Kim. "I mean, maybe it wouldn't be so bad! As health reporter, I should be the picture of health. And what says good health more than..."

"Than a big bouncy artificial pair of breasts? You must be out of your mind!" scolded Jayne.

"Jayne, you're the senior anchor!" whined Kim. "You don't have to worry about keeping your job the way I do! I think I might have to do this!"

"Oh, I don't believe that," countered Jayne. "That'd be discrimination. You could sue."

"But would I?" said Kim, even more conflicted. "With things being the way they are in the broadcast business ... if I sued and won, I'd be labeled a troublemaker! On-air reporting jobs don't grow on trees, you know."

"Well, I'm not worried, and I don't think you should be, Kim," said Jayne, turing back to her script.

"Jayne, you've at least got a few curves. I'm stick-skinny and flat as a board," said Kim, loudly but under her breath. "That's not what these consultants want on the news!"

Jayne turned back to Kim. "Then what do they want?"

"Um ... excuse me ... Jayne?"

Both newswomen turned at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. There stood a voluptuous creature in a tight dress that neither of them had ever seen before.

"You don't know me," began the young woman, "but my name is Missy. I'm the administrative assistant to the general sales manager."

"How do you do," said Jayne, unable to take her eyes off this woman's outsize bosom. "We rarely meet anyone from up there on the second floor."

"I know," said Missy. "And I'd usually take a message like this to the news director, but it seems we don't have one right now!"

"Don't have one? Where's Ron?" Kim wanted to know.

"I'm told he doesn't work here anymore," said Missy. Jayne and Kim exchanged a suspicious look. "You know that story about the salesman at Schumacher Toyota who was arrested for passing bad checks? We'd really like it if you'd stop mentioning where he works. They're a client, and they're threatening to pull their commercials." Missy leaned over the desk to pass Jayne a memo detailing her request. Kim's eyes widened at the view of Missy's gaping cleavage. Jayne wondered if both boobs would pop out onto her desk top.

"We'll consider it," said Jayne, "from a journalistic point of view."

"Thanks," said Missy, straightening up. Kim noticed that her breasts did a small jump into place as Missy landed on her heels. "See you later!" she said brightly, and spun around. Jayne and Kim watched as her curvy rear clad in clingy material retreated and slunk its way out of the newsroom.

"And you think that's what they want on the news?" Jayne asked Kim, her eyes still fixated on Missy.

"I know that's what they want," said Kim. "Look at all the men in the newsroom watching her go! They're practically getting whiplash!"

"I don't know, Kim," said Jayne. "I wouldn't do it. Besides, I'm sure you misunderstood what the consultant meant. If that's what they wanted, they'd put that secretary on the news!"

Kim shrugged. "I guess you're right."

Missy made her way to the elevator to return to the second floor. She could feel the heat of all those male eyes searing her abundant flesh. She smiled. She was glad she had the chance to scope out the competition. The blonde was probably a 34C; not bad but not big and bodacious — and Missy knew that's what the consultants were looking for. As for that skinny brunette, she might just as well start looking for another job, Missy snickered — unless she was willing to visit a plastic surgeon.

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"So — what's the word, boys?" asked Cathy, the general manager.

"Missy is a great prospect for weathercaster," said Ned. "I'm having dinner with her tonight. I expect to get a closer look at the goods."

"Bravo, Ned," smiled Cathy. "Well done. Sam?"

"I'm not sure," said the bespectacled con artist. "Kim, that slim brunette who does health? She seems desperate enough to get the boob job."

"We could use her for sports!" cheered Cathy.

"Not for health?" wondered Ned.

"Guys don't care about health reports," snapped the boss. "I'm not sure anybody does. But if we have a skinny girl with pumped-up tits doing sports ... and jumping up and down when the home team wins, then that's something!"

"Yeah! She could wear tight workout clothes," added Sam. "Or just a sports bra!"

"And every Friday," offered Ned, "could be the Sports Swimsuit Edition!"

"That's why I hired you guys," said Cathy. "I like the way you think. You know, this will also fit in better with the sleaze the network is putting on in prime time. Great audience flow! Tits in the early evening, tits at night! Now, what about Jayne? It's important for continuity that we retain the senior anchor. She's most familiar to the audience."

"Doesn't look good," said Sam, shaking his head. "She was shocked and disgusted. Said it had nothing to do with serving the community."

"Yeah, well, if we get rid of her, she'll be serving the community, all right," said Cathy. "Serving them burgers and fries, most likely! She might come around. I was going to e-mail our owners in Los Angeles about this change, but then I decided fuck it. All they need to see is the increase in ratings, and the subsequent increase in profits. Good work, guys. Ned? Enjoy yourself in there tonight," she said, showing the consultants the door. Ned exited, wondering if "in there" meant Missy's cunt or her cleavage. Either prospect made him feel warm inside.

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Ned and Missy held each other after Ned shot his first load into Missy's receptive pussy.

"I'm sorry it was so quick," whispered Ned.

"It's all right, baby," murmured Missy. "Been a long time, huh?"

"You have no idea," said Ned, hiding his ashamed face in Missy's lush olive-colored bosom.

"That's all right," she cooed. "These big boobies will have you up again in no time."

"I know they will," said Ned, grinning. "Did the sales guy hire you because of those things?"

"Probably," said Missy, reaching around the side of her left tit and moving it up and down to gently stroke Ned's face. "But he pretended he didn't. Said it was my qualifications. Sure, it was. But I never heard these two things called 'qualifications' before! I have some of the biggest qualifications in town!"

"I gotta ask you something," said Ned, still nestled in the comforting squash of her cleavage. "Why'd you go to bed with me? Because I can get you a new job?"

Missy smiled, still caressing Ned's face with her boobs. "I'd be lying if I said that had nothing to do with it. But ... well, compared to my boss in sales ... he'd give anything to get his hands in my bra, and I won't let him. I hate it when guys pretend that my boobs don't matter."

"Of course they matter," said Ned, barely audible under the flesh mountain.

"You were more honest. I knew you wanted my titties," she said. "You led with your cock. It was refreshing!"

Ned fished his face out of Missy's mammaries. "That's very kind of you to say that," he said. "You're sweet."

"Oh, no I'm not," protested Missy.

"No, I mean it," said Ned. "You're really sweet."

"How would you know?" she teased.

"What do you mean?" asked Ned.

"The only way to tell if I'm sweet," giggled Missy, pushing his head downward, "is to taste!"

She parted her legs and Ned licked his lips.