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
