. 01

"We're live in five - four -"

The rest of the countdown was silent of course, with only the assistant director using his fingers to indicate the 'three - two - one' signal. Silence spread throughout the television studio as the program went live on-air. Side monitors displayed the opening montage of "The Charlie Koonts Special" - an interview segment that the veteran broadcaster hosted a few times a year, always with a special guest.

As the montage rolled, everyone in the studio waited with bated breath. Tensions were high. The show promised to be out of the ordinary, and was perhaps the most anticipated interview of the year. Charlie Koonts was famous in his own right, and had landed many important politicians, athletes, musicians, pop stars, and actors over the years. For this particular interview, he'd be interviewing one of his own.

Candy Struthers. A year ago she was one of the most famous newscasters in the business - a rising star. After she was raped on live broadcast television, Candy became infamous. The prison incident incited a brief riot, and during the course of an interview gone awry, the media darling was screwed over, both on the air and then, afterwards, in her profession. Her career took a nosedive.

No news organization or network would touch her with a ten-foot pole. From a six-digit salary to absolutely nothing at all, Candy's fall from grace was a complete and seemingly inexorable downward spiral. She had become the biggest porn star on the planet, yet she

wasn't

a porn star! There didn't seem a way for the beautiful journalist to get back into the game. The idea itself was preposterous and unlikely. Every celebrity website, every gossip magazine, and every entertainment news show was certain her career was dead. Kaput. That there was zero chance of the young woman to ever make a comeback.

However, Candy was showing the world that they were wrong. She was tenacious and hard-working, and knew that it would take time for the public to accept her. Even though she had done nothing wrong! Candy was patient and waited for the right chance to redeem herself in the public's eye. First she hired a good publicist, David Logan, who was one of the best in the business. Next, she made sure that whatever she did out in the open was non-sexual and completely traditional. After several months, she and David made overtures to the networks, shopping her 'exclusive interview' around.

Then she bided her time.

There were a few interesting nibbles in the past few months. A few offers had been made even, but Candy and David wanted a bigger spotlight. Finally they hit pay-dirt.

Charlie Koonts came calling.

She sat next to her host - the veteran newsman and entertainer - nervous and very apprehensive. Yet no one would have guessed her anxious state of mind from the serene poise she exuded outwardly, a picture of confidence and calmness. An aura of demureness was also projected by Candy which was unexpected but not totally surprising; during the past year all reports indicated that the infamous newscaster had reformed herself and had found God, allegedly turning over a new leaf. Her social media showcased a more mature, less arrogant young woman, willing to learn from her mistakes and to move on.

And if there was anything America loved more than a celebrity falling from grace, it was a disgraced celebrity trying to redeem themselves, in the public eye, open, remorseful, and contrite. It seemed the world was, finally, willing to forgive Candy Struthers.

She had on a tasteful outfit. Some might even call it conservative. It was formal business attire and would have served the lovely young woman well in a company boardroom. Charcoal grey jacket and pencil-skirt. A white cotton blouse underneath. It was figure-hugging but not overtly sexual. The jacket was cut in a very modern style that women would be searching for in the department stores the next morning, to get that 'Candy Struthers look.' The pencil-skirt ended right above the woman's shapely knees. The blouse looked crisp and clean, with only the top button unclasped - no cleavage found there! Black stockings and a pair of black leather block ankle boots finished everything off.

Not an extra inch of flesh was showing, other than Candy's hands, face, neck, and just the bare hint of chest at the opening of her collared shirt. The way she dressed was a far cry from a year earlier, when all she wore were extremely sexy and flirtatious apparel; short skirts, clingy blouses, sexy high-heels, and deep cleavage were her raison-d'etre.

Candy was incredibly photogenic. The camera loved her. She had that beautiful girl-next-door look with very beautiful features, a pert nose, big blue eyes, and plump red lips. She was a natural blonde, with long, wavy platinum locks that the young woman had grown in length over the past year, which went all the way down to the small of her back. For that evening Candy had pulled up her hair in a stylish yet severe bun, all work and no play. Very little make-up tarnished her pretty face, except for some black mascara and light-bronze eye-shadow to highlight her eyes. The truth was Candy didn't really need any make-up - she looked gorgeous enough and could do without, helped tremendously by her flawless skin that was the color of pale cream and the texture of smooth butter. There was pale pink lip gloss on her full lips, which Candy was hesitant to put on for the interview, but which David insisted on.

"You have to sell yourself tonight!" her publicist told her adamantly. "Make America love you again!"

Although she was twenty-five years-old, the fallen star didn't look her age at all. She could actually have passed for a teenager, and a barely legal one at that. Her height contributed to the girl's youthful facade; being just five-feet, three-inches tall, Candy's slim, petite figure had most people mistaking her for an eighteen year-old before they realized who she was. The only other thing that displayed her true maturity was her voluptuous body - while she was slender and thin in most places, she had a massive, unbelievably gorgeous double-D-cup rack - much too large for a teen. Even underneath her conservative grey suit, there was no hiding her dangerous curves.

"Welcome, Miss Struthers!" said Charlie Koonts. "Thank you for joining us. May I call you Candy?"

The host was dressed in a navy suit, white shirt and a dark blue tie. The older man looked handsome and trim. With his graying hair and chiseled features, he certainly didn't look his age of fifty-two.

"Of course!" replied Candy shyly. She hesitated for a moment and then asked, "I'm pleased to be here. Can I call you Charlie?"

"Of course you may! Now - let's get started alright?"

"Sure."

Koonts smiled in encouragement. "Don't be nervous. Let's get the difficult questions out of the way first!" The veteran broadcaster paused for dramatic effect. "Tell me about the incident at the Nantucket Penitentiary a year ago."

Candy sucked in her breath, and then exhaled slowly. "Well ... it was wrong. Obviously. Carl Allen is such a psychopath! And - and what happened to me..."

"You're rape..."

The blonde beauty glanced away from her interviewer and the camera, ashamed. "Y - yes - my rape..."

"Does it bother you that the video of your degradation - at the hands of Carl Allen and all those other inmates - has become so popular on the internet?"

"Well - of course it bothers me!" answered Candy indignantly. "I don't know why you'd ask me such a question!"

Raising his hands as if to show he was only trying to get to the truth, Koonts replied, "Well - a lot of folk who watched the video of your sex tape believe that you

enjoyed

being gang-banged! That you enjoyed all those men, clustered around you. That you enjoyed the sex as much as your assailants did!"

"That's an absolute lie!" Candy retorted. "Anyone who thinks so is either a rapist or a sick bastard. Of course I didn't enjoy being gang-banged!"

"Then why did you come? And so often?" asked Koonts, trying to keep his face straight. The elder newsman was a notorious poon-hound, and his predilection for blondes was a well-known fact.

Her cheeks flushed red at those words. Candy tried to calm down. She knew these types of questions were going to be asked that evening; the whole world wanted to know what she thought and felt about her sordid ordeal, and it was the reason why she was sitting there in the spotlight.

"That was simply a

physical

response ... to all the ... sexual stimuli that I was forced to endure!" she finally said, trying hard not to trip over her carefully worded sentence.

Koonts raised both his eyebrows in disbelief. "Come on, Candy! It looked like you really enjoyed it! All those huge cocks, fucking you in all your holes! Are you telling me you didn't love all that hot prison sex?

I

think you loved it, and so does most the world!"

"You're wrong then, and so is everyone who thinks that!" countered the beautiful twenty-five year-old. "I hated

every

second of horrid sex with all those prisoners! And you can quote me on that!"

"I'm sure the newspapers will quote you on that, Candy!" grinned Koonts. "How about we move onto to the aftermath of the Nantucket incident?"

"Alright..."

"Candy, what have you been up to the past year? There have been numerous rumors that have floated around: that you were going to go into porn industry, that your network had second thoughts about your dismissal and was going to re-hire you, or that you were going to move to Europe to do cable news. None of that has panned out so far."

The luscious blonde sat back in her chair. "Well - the first few months the paparazzi followed me everywhere, and I simply stayed at home for the most part. It felt like being a prisoner in my own home, but I had no job, and most everyone shunned me after the - the rape."

"I heard some reports that you have a very strong rapport in the community you're living in? It's been said that they are really very supportive of you?"

"Oh yes! I live in a wonderful community in California and I've been trying to strengthen my ties there. It was ... difficult at first, but after a few months my neighbors began accepting me."

"How did your neighbors treat you initially?" asked Koonts.

"At first everyone was pretty icy. It took a while before they would ... accept my presence," replied the blonde. "But don't get me wrong!

Everyone

treated me like a ... a slut ... after the Nantucket incident!"

"That must have been hard. Did it get really bad?"

"Yes - yes it did."

"Describe it for me, if you don't mind."

Candy looked down at her hands on top of her knees. "Well - none of my colleagues would return my phone calls. The ones that did made fun of me. Even my friends shut me out. If any of my male acquaintances contacted me, it was usually to see if they could have sex with me!"

"That's awful!"

"Yes," said Candy, her eyes downcast. "Whenever I was out, mothers would rush their children away from me! Other women would look down on me ... call me names... like slut, whore..."

Koonts leaned forward, looking fatherly and concerned. "Did that hurt?"

Nodding, the girl answered, "Yes, of course it did! But then - I found God!"

"Ahhh yes! You've been going to church?"

Nodding, Candy said, "Yes - I've been going to church two or three times a week - religiously!"

They pair both grinned at her weak, half-hearted attempt at a joke. But so far the former star newscaster had handled herself with dignity and aplomb. She seemed very contrite and humble to everyone working in the studio, and to the millions of viewers watching at home.

"Why don't we move onto another topic? During your encounter with Carl Allen, you two had anal sex. You stated that it was your first time having anal intercourse. Was this true?"

Candy fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable with the question. "Yes, of course it was true! Why would I lie?"

"Why indeed?" replied Koonts in an almost-snarky tone. "Perhaps you were trying to hide the fact that you were more sexually experienced on camera, in front of the television audience?"

"But it's true!" cried the lovely blonde indignantly. "It

was

the first time I was fucked in the ass!"

"Then why did Carl's penis slide so easily into your ass? For the record, it's a well-known fact that Carl Allen's penis, when erect, is over eleven-inches long. It's also quite thick in circumference. How could you take something so long and thick up so easily your anus, and still proclaim to be an anal virgin like you said you were?" said Koonts, raising a finger to accentuate his point.

"It didn't go into my ass

that

easily!" appealed the young woman urgently. "It was HUGE! It felt so thick and awful! Believe me - it

wasn't

an easy thing to take in!"

"I find that difficult to believe, Candy, I really do!" said Koonts, shaking his head. "And I think the home audience would find that difficult to believe as well."

"Why? Why don't you believe me? Is it because of who I am?" Candy asked in exasperation.

"Let's just say - that it didn't

appear

that you were an anal virgin!" answered Koonts. "It almost seemed like - and this is how Carl Allen would describe it himself - a 'natural born fucker?' Are you a natural born fucker, Candy Struthers!"

Candy allowed some of her fiery anger to bubble to the surface. "How can you -"

There was a commotion by the doors of the studio that interrupted the interview. A small group had gathered there, security guards and other men, and some scuffling and cursing could be heard. Both guest and interviewer paused and turned their heads towards the noise, bewildered and surprised.

One of the men, a tall, well-built fellow who wore dark trousers, a black t-shirt, and an oddly bulky black leather jacket, looked to be in charge. Pushing a security guard down on the ground, he shouted, "NOBODY MOVE!! EVERYONE FREEZE!! I'M WEARING AN EXPLOSIVE VEST!!"

The man had a blunt, ragged appearance - very mean, abrasive and rough looking. He had a thick neck, large muscular arms, and a broad chest. Deep set, beady brown eyes, a crooked nose, a sneering mouth, and sandy, grey-flecked hair that was shorn close in a crew-cut. He looked like a huge, steroid-driven brute - an animal.

Within moments the two security guards were on the ground and handcuffed. It seemed that the large man had three other companions, whom seemed to be cut from the same cloth except for one. All in all, three out of the four were all large men, muscular and trim. Two were black, one was Hispanic, and the leader Caucasian. The fourth man who seemed out of place was the second black man who was short and skinny.

They were all armed, and at least the three large burly men had the appearance of career criminals.

"Away from the doors! Get over there, you fuckers!!" the first black man yelled. He then locked the main doors and began barricading it.

The Hispanic man controlled the small crowd of studio people. He held a handgun and made everyone else stand by the side of the wall. "Who are the cameramen? I know I saw four or five cameramen when we came in!"

No one spoke up. Everyone simply cowered on the ground, trying their hardest not to make eye contact with the man. But the four armed men eventually roughed up the crowd enough so that the five cameramen eventually held up their hands.

The small black man - the only one who carried a backpack - slipped his handgun into the back of his pants and then motioned to the cameramen to follow him. "You guys will be working the cameras like you usually do. I'll be directing you from this station nearby."

He went over to a nearby console, placed the backpack at his feet, and began flipping switches and pressing buttons. Next he pulled out a laptop of his bag and connected it to the console. Within moments the live feed of the studio was back on air. He appeared as if he knew what he was doing.

"You got this, Miles?" asked the leader of the group.

The smaller black man grinned. "We're live, Chuck. Didn't I say if you could get me in here, I could get us on the air?"

Chuck grinned back, but on his ugly mug it almost looked like he was grimacing. He looked at his crew, turning first to the second big black man. "Joe - come with me." Then he pointed at the Hispanic man. "Manny - you're on crowd control for now!"

As the pair of big men sauntered over to center of the sound stage, both Candy and Koonts grew more and more nervous. They had watched the frantic scene unfold in front of them, standing immobile and uncertain before the cameras.

One of the cameras showed full body-shots had all four players in its frame. Chuck and Joe looked huge on camera, and everyone could see on nearby monitors that the feed was still live, and was still going out "over the air" to millions of viewers across America. The big, rough leader walked up to Charlie Koonts and pushed him a few feet in the background.

"Stay there, Charlie! I don't want to hurt you!" said Chuck threateningly.

"I'm not going anywhere!" replied Koonts, rather nonchalantly. After decades of being in the news game, he was perhaps the most cool-headed and least nervous out of everyone in the room.

Then Chuck turned towards the cameras. "My crew and I have taken over this studio for a very specific reason! Now - to the network executives who are in charge: don't even

think

about cutting off this broadcast!"

The man then unzipped his leather jacket and took it off, throwing it on the floor. Everyone gasped loudly, and one woman even screamed. Chuck was wearing a vest that was loaded with explosives. His bulging arms were bare and covered in prison tats. He had told them all earlier about the vest, but hearing about it and seeing it were two different things.

"We stay on the air, or I will blow this place up!" Chuck screamed. "

But

- if you let us have our way, the only person in the room who will have anything happen to them is Candy Struthers!"

Her face fell upon hearing the man's words. Until five minutes ago, the blonde beauty had never seen any of those men before. She didn't know who Chuck, Joe, Manny or Miles were, and she didn't know what they were after. Candy bit her bottom lip cutely, looked at her sudden captors, and wondered what their demands would be.

She spoke up timidly. "What - what do you want from me?"

Chuck grinned back at her maniacally. Without any warning, the tattooed brute unzipped his pants and whipped out something for the world to see.

It was a mighty ten-inch erection.

He waved his massive erection about in the air, making sure that everyone could see it. He made sure that the cameras could see it as well. It was huge, thick, and swollen. "I haven't showered for a week - look at the cock-cheese on this dick! Woowhee!! I betcha it fucking reeks! Oh - and I haven't had sex or jerked off for three weeks! I've been waiting for today like it's Christmas!" The man grabbed his large, hairy testicles and squeezed them. "I've got sooooo much cum for you, babe! My pipes have been backed up and you're going to be my release!"

Disgust was written plainly over Candy's face as she gazed at the stinky, gross-looking cock. "Oh my God! Why did you do that for!?"

"To suck me off, you prissy little bitch!" he howled in amusement.

He took a step closer to Candy, making her cringe. However, there wasn't much she could do other than turn her face away from the crazed horn-dog. "And just

why

would I do that?"

The big man laughed mirthlessly. "Because you're a natural born fucker! The way you took Carl Allen's cock - all the way up your ass with such ease! That was eleven-inches! DAMN! You almost managed to swallow his entire cock as well! You're a talented little cock-sucker, and I'm sure you could easily take my ten-inch dick up that pretty little mouth of yours!"