The leggy, blonde, conservative author was getting nervous. She was moments away from appearing on the highest-rated urban talk show on cable, The Jackie Martin Show. She didn't want to do the show -- she thought it was not the right audience. But her publisher thought different and insisted. Her new book was about the current state of race relations and was highly critical of the current president, welfare, affirmative action and other minority-focused government programs. Red meat for her usual readers. But the people in this studio audience weren't her usual readers.
The Jackie Martin Show was based in Detroit and usually had an audience of all African-Americans. From inside the Green Room she could hear the audience getting warmed-up for the start of the show: There were loud cheers, laughter -- this was not going to be an easy hour. Still, Kim Fairchild felt she could win over even this audience, so strong were her convictions ... and her ego.
There was a rap on the door and a voice called out, "Five minutes, Ms. Fairchild." It was a black voice. Aren't there any white people here, she thought to herself. Her agent was supposed to be with her but he missed his flight so she was going solo, which was not what she was used to. Her previous books had all been bestsellers and she was quite wealthy now, wealthy enough to retire. But she wanted her voice and her point of view to be heard so she kept writing.
Fairchild checked herself one last time in the mirror. At 47 she was still incredibly sexy. About 5'11" and while not as thin as she used to be, she was still nicely in shape from long work-outs, with long blonde hair that fell straight down to the middle of her back. Her large breasts still stood out nicely from her chest, but as she checked her backside she noticed a little bubble adding to her curviness. And, of course, her legs always got the men's attention. Long, lean and toned, with a slight tan. Her black skirt was mid-thigh and her silk blouse and bra were a bit thin. She noticed her hard nipples popping out in the cool air of the Green Room. Because the material was light, there was no way to hide their stiffness.
There was another quick rap on the door, and a different voice, harder. "You ready in there? People are waiting." Fairchild didn't know what to think. The directness was not what she was used to from the fawning cable network she usually appeared on. No, she thought to herself, this is not going to be fun.
Fairchild opened the door to see two big black men standing waiting for her. Each held something in his hand but she couldn't make out what. As her eyes searched their hands, their eyes searched her body, from her legs to her tits and those pointy nipples. "Damn," was all the bigger one said.
Suddenly, the other one moved behind Fairchild and held her hands behind her back. She felt handcuffs snapped on her wrists. Then the bigger one handed over something else to the man behind her -- it was a blindfold -- and he quickly tightened it around her head, covering her eyes.
"What the hell are you doing?!" Fairchild screamed and struggled to throw the blindfold off but it was no use. Next she felt another cloth come down hard in her mouth -- a gag -- and her screams and protests were quickly muffled.
"That's how Jackie likes his bitches," the big one laughed and they started leading Fairchild down a long hallway to the studio.
THE BIG DEBUT
Fairchild was hustled forward and she could sense the sound of the audience getting louder and louder. The air grew thicker but still cool and through the blindfold she could feel the brightness of the stage lights. Then a voice -- loud with anticipation.
"Are you ready?!" It was Jackie's voice. The crowd erupted and it was frightening to Fairchild. Then her two escorts roughly pushed her forward and the crowd erupted again, but this time in boos and catcalls and profanities. Fairchild struggled against the grip of her minders, but to no avail.
"Hold it, people, hold it now," Jackie soothed the audience and they quieted down. "We are gathered here today for a special taping of a very special show. It's a special show -- because we have a very special guest!"
The audience members roared with approval -- then more boos. Fairchild could smell the overwhelming scent of Jackie's cheap cologne. Jackie Martin was a man in his early-50's, tall, muscular, actually quite handsome. He had been a civil rights activist in the Detroit-area before landing his first television gig on a local cable channel. Soon, he was syndicated all across the nation and one of the most popular TV hosts on the air. And his opinions were 180 degrees opposite Kim Fairchild's.
Jackie continued. "How many of you know today's guest?" Boos and hollers. "Have any of you ever read one of her books?" A thunderous "no." He put a hand on Fairchild's back and whispered to her, "This is not your crowd, sister."
Then he chuckled.
"OK, folks. Well, I said we have a special show for you. This one is not going on my usual network -- and for good reason.
Today, we are going to have some fun with a woman who thinks she has all the answers." Boos. "Thinks she knows the hearts of my brothers and sisters." Boos. "Thinks she can write whatever she wants without, um, repercussions." Cheers.
Fairchild swallowed hard. She still didn't want to believe what was happening to her. But it was all very real.
She heard some commotion behind her and the sound of something being wheeled forward. Her minders led her backwards a short distance and she felt hard steel against her back. The minders placed her arms along other steel bars and she felt her wrists strapped with leather bindings. Then her legs were firmly spread wide and were also bound to steel with leather. She imagined what she must look like, spread-eagle in front of the hostile audience. Her skirt rose slightly from the stretching and Fairchild couldn't tell if her thong panties were visible. She could tell the crowd was getting wilder.
There were shouts of "slut" and "whore" and people were noticing her hard nipples. People like Jackie.
"Can you all see those nipples?" he asked the crowd. "I believe she likes being on display for you good people."
Then a shout from the crowd. "Let's see the bitch's titties for real!"
"Oh, you want to see those fine, white tits, do ya? Who wants to come down here and give Jackie a hand?"
The crowd went crazy, yelling and screaming, hands shooting in the air.
Jackie pointed to a woman in her early 20's to come down to the stage. The woman, who said her name was Latisha, was dressed in tight blue jeans and high-heeled boots and a tube top. Her skin was black as coal and her hair was braided.
She wore large hoop earrings and bright red lipstick.
Jackie started talking to the woman. "Now, what do you know about our guest here, Latisha?"
"She a white slut, probably. Look at those big titties, and those hard nipples. Her age dressed like that. I bet her panties are already soaked." The crowd roared in laughter.
"Why don't you tell us if they are," Jackie directed her.
Latisha walked up to Fairchild and stood next to her.
"Why you got to write all that shit?" she said softly to Fairchild. "You hurt people's feelings, you know?"
Fairchild struggled against her bonds and tried to speak through the gag but couldn't. She felt a hand on her stomach, making small circles. The crowd noise started escalating, reacting to Latisha's movements. The girl moved her hand down to Fairchild's skirt, pausing to rub the front of it.
"Go ahead, sweetie," Jackie encouraged her.
Latisha moved her hand under the skirt and because it was stretched the audience had a clear view of Fairchild's panties.
She started rubbing the satiny material and turned to Jackie and smiled.
"Oh, they wet, all right."
Jackie had a big smile on his face. Then he faked a stern voice. "I don't believe you, baby, better bring them to Jackie."
The crowd yelled at that. Latisha grabbed a handful of panty and pulled sharply. The black thong broke free of Fairchild, exposing her shaved pussy to the full audience.
Latisha walked the panties over to Jackie and handed them to the host. He immediately brought them to his nose.
"Mmmmm. Jackie likes that. Now, how can such a vile creature smell so sweet? Does anybody here have a knife?"
A few hands shot up. Jackie pointed to a heavy-set black man of about 35 and motioned him to come on down.
"Let me see the knife, brother." The black man, whose name was Morris, pulled out a knife with about a six-inch blade.
"That'll do. Get up there and cut those clothes off the bitch. I wanna see me some titties!"
Morris made his way to where Fairchild was bound. He was about to start cutting off her blouse but paused to feel her boobs first. He smiled back at the crowd as he spent some time squeezing her large, firm mounds under the thin material.
Fairchild struggled, but it was no use, there was nothing she could do to stop the stranger from feeling her up.
"That's it, Big Mo, get your money's worth!" Jackie called to him. Morris pinched her nipples and slapped at her tits.
Fairchild shook her head back and forth, wincing at the slaps. Then she felt a hand holding her blouse and the sound of ripping silk. Morris was working on the blouse with his knife. He pulled the tattered rags away and Fairchild was in a bra and skirt only. The studio was chilly, her skin had goose bumps and her nipples, of course, were hard as rock.
"So close, my man, so close. Finish the job, dude," Jackie commanded of Morris. Morris turned back to Fairchild and grabbed the strap of her black bra and sliced it easily. He yanked it away from her body and the crowd went wild. Fairchild felt her big tits flopping free and imagined the studio audience gawking at her. She could hear cameras clicking away. She started to cry at her shame and predicament.
"Wow... look at those tits!" Jackie screamed in amazement and the crowd agreed. "Morris, you did a fine job, my man. Get yourself one of those nips."
Morris leaned back over Fairchild and started sucking her nipple, biting it with his teeth.
