Just Another Day update

The blonde thrust out her breasts, threw back her head in a hail of silken hair, and breathed “This is news… in the nude.”

She stood in the glare of a hot spotlight, almost hot enough to replicate the gazes she would feel if the millions of people who were watching on television were looking at her in person. Her naked body was bathed in golden radiance. She spread open her long, tawny legs and arched her hips back and forth, making her breasts sway like maddened pendulums on her chest.

She knew the intro to the program was playing, her image just one of many in splitscreens and other montage graphics, showing all the tits and ass that she and her many correspondents had to offer the viewer. But soon, the director chopped his hand and she knew the title card was done and she was once more the center of attention, the only thing the viewer saw.

Bethany’s hands went behind her head, elbows out, fingers interlaced tightly. Her long dark lashes settled closed and her pink painted mouth opened slightly, as if she were embarrassed to be caught in such a state, or delighted by the affront of it all. It was a fine line to walk, but Bethany Snow relished her performance.

She bent backwards, still fluttering her supple hips and thighs to the beating of the drummer in the house band. Her breasts thrust outwards, firm melons capped with glinting silver studs.

“Urban crime continues to decline across the US, leading to debates over relaxing various anti-crime measures such as curfews, security guards, and anti-shoplifter protection at grocery stores. Proponents argue that these measures have served their purpose and should no longer inconvenience the populace, while critics say that without these policies in place, crime will rise once again.”

Bethany rolled her chest, imagining how wild a crowd she’d have if there were anyone in the studio but the professionals of the production staff. She could hear hooting, shouting, catcalling—shrieks of excitement for every move she made. Bethany knew she wasn’t imagining it. If there weren’t people at home drooling over her, she wouldn’t be anchoring the number one news program in the country.

“Starrware Industries’ new line of ecologically friendly muscle cars sees record preorders on the heels of a controversial ad campaign in a late-breaking story, but first, an interview with Scarlett Johansson.”

Bethany arched and undulated her lissome body, bent over backwards so that her long blonde hair streamed down to the floor. The house band’s music drove her like she was an animal in heat. She shook her shoulders madly, making her full breasts jiggle. Her wagging hips brought her wet pussy in and out of the spotlight, making it gleam on and off, on and off, like a neon sign advertising the rest of her perfect physique.

Her viewers were crying out for more, more, more and she gave them more. She could twist and grind her body for them until she was gasping for breath. And when the network finally gave her her own show, she would.

“We’ll cover her thirty minute long sex scene in the latest Marvel film, Black Widow & The Incredible Bulge, and find out how much is foreplay, how much is anal, and maybe even how it will finish.”

The five-piece house band beat out their sultry blues hard enough to kill, their loud music filling the air with tension, even if the only suspense was what Bethany would do next.

“In her mouth? On her face? Or an anal creampie like fans have been asking for for years?”

Bethany’s tits ached now; she’d known they would. She felt little tremors of pain pulling on the flesh of her breasts as she continued making them bound for the camera. But she wouldn’t stop now. She, of course, liked when it hurt a little.

Her face contorted in a mask of steadily increasing strain as her dance continued, rocking and bouncing her throbbing tits on her chest. They were quivering hills of creamy whiteness, heaving wantonly, making all who saw them want to run hungry hands over her, squeeze her delightful curves. Rip away whatever she wore, even if it was just sweat, and thrill to even more of her supple flesh.

The feel of it. The taste of it. The ownership of it, with them inside her, possessing her, claiming her, marking her. Bethany wondered how many of her viewers out there in TVland had the big dicks or juicy cunts that she craved.

She pumped and grinded her hips frantically now. Teasing all who watched, letting them know with only her body that they could have her. Her bobbing, rolling tits. Her thrusting hips and quaking thighs. They couldn’t do a thing about it, but what if they could? That was the part Bethany liked best. What if they were there, breaking down the doors, an army of horny men all determined to satisfy their lascivious thoughts about her?

Bethany grinned tightly. One of these days, she liked to think, she would dance so good for them that she’d end up the centerpiece of a gangbang.

Then she straightened as the drummer went into a single stroke roll that vibrated inside her like a sex toy. She flashed the camera a smile, her eyes dancing as if she were only happy that they liked her so much, not dreaming of an orgy.

“Stay tuned,” Bethany said, whirling around to give the camera a view of her ass, then smacking it like everyone watching no doubt wanted to. “You don’t want to miss an inch.”

Not anymore than I do, Bethany silently added, not having to fake the arousal that flushed her skin and hardened her nipples when her mind was alive with thoughts of how many hundreds of inches of cock were stiff for her right that second.

The drummer struck his cymbal and Bethany gave an orgasmic grin to the cameraman counting down until the commercials rolled. But there wasn’t much time for afterglow. Bethany had to think of ScarJo and how she’d pump her for information on that new movie.