tagNonConsent/ReluctanceNatural Born Fucker

Natural Born Fucker

byGrandflasher C.©

Candy Struthers was the hottest reporter on television at the moment. Her career had skyrocketed over the past two years with her uncanny ability to sniff out momentous leads, as well as landing extraordinary interviews with infamous celebrities, disgraced politicians, and celebrated lawbreakers. That she was only twenty-four years of age was only part of her aura – she had a law degree, an incredible razor-sharp intellect, and an amazing talent to rise to the top.

She was also a complete and arrogant bitch.

The public didn't know how she bent and twisted the rules to get where she was now. They didn't know how many balls she had busted. They didn't know of the people she had screwed over, or lied to, or blackmailed. Candy had fucked over so many people that if she ever made a mistake, she knew there was no one out there to save her.

Candy didn't care, though. She knew she was the best. That's why she was at the top, and that's why she would stay at the top. Take right now, for instance. Here she was, inside the Nantucket Penitentiary – one of the most violent prisons in the U.S. – interviewing Carl Allen, the notorious serial rapist.

The reporter smiled inwardly – she was on live television, coast to coast, within a prison filled with real convicts, interviewing the infamous Carl Allen, aka The Big Bopper. The censors were terrified and had put a five-second delay on the feed. The networks were scared Carl would whip out his dick and start masturbating. The warden had hated the whole thing from the get-go, insisting that his prison was too dangerous for a hot little number like reporter Candy Struthers, and that the prisoners might riot at her presence.

Of course they might riot, Candy thought to herself amusingly. She knew she was smoking hot. Other words, such as lovely and beautiful, would also work. Candy was short at five feet, three inches tall, but that didn't matter in television. What mattered was that she was photogenic, and she had that in spades. Long, wavy, platinum blonde locks that ran to the past her shoulders framed the girl's adorably cute face, pert nose, big blue eyes, lush red lips, and young, pale skin. These features had made her famous on television, and – although she didn't have that classic "model" look – she was still sexy and sultry, in that "girl next door you'd spy on all day" kind of way.

For such a tiny girl, Candy had an unbelievable rack; massive D-cup breasts that mesmerized all half of America when she was the substitute anchor for her network. On those nights she would make sure wardrobe had some form fitting and sexy for her to wear – preferably something made of silk and was as thin as possible. But the rest of her body had also been noticed – from her thin waist, to her teenage ass, all the way down to her slender legs. This sexy reporter - bright, inquisitive, bold and courageous – had also become a favorite target for the paparazzi these past few months. She didn't mind at all. In fact, she tried to dress her sexiest whenever she went out now, delighting whenever she saw pictures of herself in the tabloids. Whether they caught her in a yoga outfit (figure-hugging tights that showed off her voluptuous body), in a cocktail dress (short mini-skirts to paint the town red), or throwing out the garbage (tiny shorts and a tank top), it always meant that someone – somewhere – was thinking about Candy Struthers!

Today Candy was wearing one of her favorite outfits: a figure-hugging pink blazer cut to show off her ample bosom, paired with a tight matching-pink skirt which was super-short to show off her bare, silky legs. Underneath the blazer the blonde wore a silky see-through, armless white blouse, with a cream-colored lacy bra to top it off (matching sexy thong underwear, of course). Lastly, the reporter had on a pair of sexy white stilettos, with five-inch heels to give her some extra height. Her hair was pulled back in a pony-tail, and she decided to put on some white glasses for that sexy-librarian look. All in all, she looked breathtaking and caused quite a ruckus walking through the jail earlier, heels clicking on the cement floor as the convicts whistled and hollered at her with lewd comments. Twenty prison officers guided her through her journey to the interview room.

The room was actually a virtually impregnable room that had large bulletproof windows, and Candy wanted the television audience to see outside these windows where the prison fence and guard towers were, a distance away. The room itself was built for facility lockdowns for guards and had an ample power supply, another reason that led Candy and her producer, Lance, to choose this place; it had enough room and power to set up their cameras and lights.

The warden hated this idea because the room was a "safe house" within the prison – a place where guards could hold up if needed, but the room itself was situated far from other guard facilities, meaning it was rather isolated in an emergency. Candy half-listened to the warden try to explain all of this to her – the look on her face clearing showing that this was all minor shit that she didn't want to deal with. Eventually the reporter had pulled some strings, and the warden had no choice but to allow the television crew to use this room, but the man wasn't too happy about it.

Candy didn't care, and - halfway through the interview with Carl Allen - Candy was pleased that she was right, thinking that no one but she could have pulled this off. All of the red tape, the bending of rules, made for an even more satisfying interview. It had been hard, and she had had made many enemies just setting this one interview up alone, but it had definitely been worth it.

And what an interview this was shaping up to be! Carl was pouring his heart out to Candy. He was angry – he was sad! He said some delightfully crazy things, which made him seem that much more dangerous next to her. It was a nice contrast – the hulking, threatening black rapist - known for his large dick - dressed in his orange prison uniform and sitting across from the diminutive young reporter who looked so defenseless and helpless next to him in her hot pink business suit. It also made for great television.

Lance was giving her an enthusiastic thumbs-up sign, which at this stage usually meant that ratings were through the roof; the producer was in constant contact with the network and could tell when the bigwigs were happy. Even the cameraman, Logan, was uncharacteristically pumped and enthusiastic at the moment. Usually the man was pretty low-key, but the location and subject matter were exceptional, and he was pretty excited to be there as well, it seemed.

Of course things were going well, she thought to herself. She pulled back when Carl responded back too loudly, as if she were afraid of the man, her innocent blue eyes wavering in fear. Candy Struthers was quite the actress, and she knew how to get the audience eating out of her hand.

Leaning forward, squeezing her tits together with her arms, she then asked her next question. "Carl – you had stated for the record that your last trial – against the victim Amy Hutchens – was all bluster and show. That it was a circus – a show-trial. You said it was meant to make an example of you, and that a lot of the evidence was circumstantial. What do you have to say about that?"

Carl Allen smiled charismatically for the camera. "I stand by what I said. If you actually go through the evidence – a lot of it was circumstantial, and really it was my word against that cunt Amy Hutchens!"

"Carl – please!" said Candy, in a scolding tone. "This is live television – you can't use words like that!"

"My apologies, Miss Candy!" grinned Carl. "It was the coozes word against mine! Can I say cooze on TV?"

Just then there was a loud noise outside of the room, followed by some heavy shouting. Candy glanced briefly over at Lance with a questioning expression, but then turned her attention back to Carl. The room had only four guards in it; a few others were outside and the rest were taking a break, waiting for the interview to end.

"I – I'm not sure, Carl!" the gorgeous blonde responded, truthfully. For a split second doubt entered Candy's mind, and she felt rather exposed – one woman in the prison full of dangerous inmates. Then she continued onward, ever the professional. "But go ahead and use that colorful phrase, and we'll let the network censors deal with it!"

Lance, in the meantime, had given her another thumbs-up for her clever response. He was watching the interview on a small monitor and listening to this with a set of large earphones, to ensure that the censors were doing a good job. What was showing on this monitor wasn't the raw feed of the camera, but actually what the audience at home would be seeing, complete with commercials.

"Cool! Well – this cooze – she's pretty much begging for it, ya know? She don't outright say it, but she wanted me to fuck her!" Carl said with a lascivious grin on his face.

"Carl – please!" said Candy, looking downwards innocently. It was hard to control, but the hot reporter found that pretending to be a little bit shy and demure paid off in spades.

"Oops! Sorry again, Miss Candy!" said Carl, enjoying the limelight and the company of the sexy young blonde. He kept staring at her tight young body and big, bouncy tits like there was no tomorrow, having not seen a female in the flesh for nearly a year. "Well – like I said, she was practically begging for it! I can read body language – that sort of stuff – ya know?"

Candy leaned forward, adjusted her glasses, and then brought her hand to her chin, as if in deep thought. "So you're saying that what happened between you and Amy Hutchens was consensual?"

"Yes," replied Carl, "of course it was consensual! That little cooze was dripping wet and by the time we were done! And believe me - she had a good time!" The big black man's boastful tone was dripping with pride and arrogance.

The blonde succeeded in holding back a smile. This asshole was making her interview so good! The man had the ego the size of the Titanic, and a sense of self-delusion that bordered on psychotic. He was huge and looked like a pro footballer, and he looked sensational next to the tiny blonde reporter.

"When does 'no' mean 'no,' Carl?" asked Candy. It was a loaded question and she knew this would make the audience perk up. "After all, Amy Hutchens said in her testimony that she repeatedly yelled out 'No!' when you raped her!"

"When I had sex with her, Miss Candy," Carl said lightly, "but to answer your question, she was really yelling out, 'No – don't stop, Carl – No – don't stop fucking me!' That's what she was screaming out!"

"Language, Carl, language!" Candy reprimanded the prisoner. She took off her glasses and chewed on the end of it sexily. Then the young woman, in her best sultry school teacher expression, asked, "So are women just your playthings, Carl? And you are wrongfully accused because they are secretly asking for sex? That they secretly want to have sex with you?"

"Yes, Miss!" replied Carl.

"So," continued the reporter, "what makes you different, Carl Allen? How do you know when a woman wants or needs sex? How are you different than other men?"

"Simple - because women feel the difference when they have sex with me! They may not want it at first, but soon they are lovin' it, this I guarantee! All women are just bitches in heat – they just hide it inside! When I fuck 'em – that just brings it all out of 'em bitches!"

"That seems rather condescending towards women, don't you think, Carl? That we women are all just "bitches in heat!?" asked Candy incredulously. "I can assure you that -"

"Have you ever had really great sex?" Carl interrupted the reporter, his eyes maniacally ogling Candy's huge tits.

The pretty reporter appeared a bit flustered at this question, but it was still just an act; she was actually ecstatic about where this conversation was heading. "Ummm – errr – what does that have to do with this?"

"Because if you've never had great sex, then you won't know what I'm talking about! You see - your lust is caged up deep inside of you, and - while you may not know it, while you may deny it - you're just begging for the right person to free that lust! Miss Candy, that person is me!"

Candy struggled to put this into words and wrap this up. Commercials were coming up in five seconds. "Because you're what? You're a – a -"

"Because I'm a natural born fucker!" said Carl in a lazy Southern drawl, an evil gleam in his eyes.

The camera focused on his face for a moment, zooming in closer, to enhance the moment. Then Lance gave the signal to cut, and they were off the air. Both he and Logan gave each other a high-five, and Lance said, "Lovely, Candy! Network is eating this up! This is going to be your highest rated interview yet!"

"Fucking A!" chimed in Logan. Then he laughed, shaking his head. "Natural born fucker! Jesus!"

"Three minutes!" warned Lance, looking at his watch and timing themselves for after the commercial break.

That loud noise was there again, outside the room, bringing a low thudding boom to their already confined environment. And then the radios on the four guards were suddenly crackling, and they answered back in hushed tones. It was altogether very distracting for Candy to concentrate, as she struggled to go through some of her notes.

"Yes – I agree these two!" said Carl, eying the reporter intently. "You are lovely, and definitely a fucking A!"

"Now now, Carl," Candy said absentmindedly, toying with her glasses in her hand, "behave yourself! We have ten more minutes left for our interview, so when we're done, I'll make sure you get a nice treat for all your cooperation today!"

More sounds from outside, and the guards had raised their voices now. Candy could absolutely not work in this type of setting! "Can you officers please keep it down? And Lance – go see what is going on outside!"

The producer had stepped over, unlocked, and then opened the steel door before the four officers could notice or stop him. One of the guards looked over and shouted at him loudly, fear in his voice. "NO!! CLOSE THAT -"

Suddenly the door was shoved open and a bunch of prison inmates surged into the room. Lance hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, while the four guards were quickly overpowered. A bunch of convicts came in and then closed the entrance. After which there was a moment of stunned silence in the room, as if no one really could believe this had happened.

Candy and Logan were absolutely dumbfounded. They were surrounded by ten to two now, with the guards and Lance down, being held down by some burly inmates. Logan had his camera on his shoulder, and didn't know what to do. Candy was sitting tensely in her chair, speechless.

Carl was the first to break the silence. "Jesus – Crothers! What the hell is going on out there!?"

A huge white man who looked like a biker – complete with tattoos and handlebar mustache – answered back. "Big riot, Carl! The minute this reporter bitch showed up, the place has been a zoo. Dunno what happened – a whole bunch of us got out before they could lock the place down. All the guards who weren't caught out in the open are in their guardhouses, trapped! All for this one gorgeous cooze!"

The platinum-blonde beauty didn't like the way the man looked at her, and exchanged a nervous glance with Logan. Suddenly the phone rang, and everyone stared at it. Carl went over and picked it up.

A voice on the other end was speaking urgently. "Lance – what the hell is going on!? You were supposed to be broadcasting a minute ago!!"

"Ah – sorry! Hold on!" replied Carl, a malicious smile on his face. It was as if a light bulb had appeared over his head. He said to Logan, "Turn on the camera, boy!"

It was if a bucket of cold water had splashed over her face. Dropping her glasses, Candy came out of her trance. "Stop! Don't do it, Logan!"

Logan looked at her and then at Carl, who flexed his large muscles and gave him a leering grin. He opted to go for the less painful option available to him and turned on his camera. "We're live!" he whispered. They could see on the monitor near the back that they were on the air, showing the live feed coming from Logan's camera.

"Point the camera at me, boy!" ordered Carl, who then flashed a smile with his white teeth. "Good afternoon, America! Sorry for the delay, but we are now back at the Alabama State Penitentiary, where a full-scale riot has taken place and we are in lock-down!"

The big man picked up the lovely blonde and placed her on his lap. Candy didn't try to stop him, since she was too shocked to do anything at the moment. She couldn't believe they were on live TV! They were broadcasting, and she was not in control! In the back of her mind, she registered Carl's immense strength and size, and knew she was too powerless against him to mount any kind of attack, or even defense.

She tried to take back control of the situation. Looking in the camera, Candy said, "Ladies and gentlemen, what Carl just said was true. But I'm sure the police have the situation in hand and have a plan in place – if they are not already in motion! I'm – I'm still fine, and will -"

"Hold on, honey! I'm not done yet!" said Carl in a teasing tone, as he ran his hands along her shoulders and sides, giving the girl a few squeezes along the way.

Candy knew how bad this looked, because she could see herself on the monitor. She was sitting on Carl's lap with her knees and long, bare legs showing, her pink mini-skirt riding up high on her thighs. One of the man's arms pulled Candy against him, wrapped around her right arm and slim waist. His other hand was roaming around, all over, before it ended up on her bare knee, clearly visible for the audience at home!

"C – Carl! What are you -" asked the reporter nervously.

But the man was only getting started. "If the network bigwigs want to keep this luscious young thing alive and in one piece, than I suggest you listen to my words carefully!" said the big black inmate. "What you have to understand is that no one – and I mean no one – can get through that there door unless the inmates in this room decide to open it, got that? Until then, these four guards, this producer, this cameraman, and this reporter, are our hostages. Okay!?"

Then Carl squeezed one of Candy's breasts, causing her to squeal out. "But if you network guys leave this live camera on, with NO censoring, and NO commercials, then we'll let these people alive. Got that!? We've got a monitor here that will show us if we get cut off or not, so we will know!" Carl opened top button on Candy's pink blazer, her magnificent cleavage suddenly even more tantalizing. "I'm going to show you, the viewers at home, the Carl Allen philosophy that all women are 'bitches in heat' inside! All it takes is for the right man to set loose her passion – starting on this hot, snooty little reporter here!"

As the other convicts in the room guffawed and enjoyed Carl's little tirade, Candy was horrified and stunned. Was this really happening?

"No - Carl – you don't have to do this! You can't – not in front of – oh God – the viewers!" pleaded the young blonde, knowing that the audience was coast to coast across America, and hit most of Canada as well. Nearly all of North America could just turn on their televisions right now and watch as she was felt up this serial rapist. "OH NO!"

Carl ignored the panicked girl, and had undid her second and third buttons, opening up her blazer to show off Candy's silky white blouse underneath, which was practically see-through; it wasn't something that she would wear without something to cover it, so to show this off to television viewers was mortifying. Her rack was spectacular, but with this blouse she looked really lewd. To make matters worse, her cream-colored lace bra made it look like she had gone braless, when she actually hadn't. She tried to cover up her breasts with her free hand.

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byGrandflasher C.© 0 comments/ 352342 views/ 619 favorites

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