Breaking The News


By Nomdreserv

Angela Yoshida checked her appearance carefully, although it was still a good 15 minutes before they would go live. She loved adding these little ambush sessions to her reports. It gave them that extra spice that made her one of this major market’s fastest rising news talents. A second generation Japanese American, she sometimes wished her parents had chosen a traditional first name instead of one they hoped would let her fit better into the mainstream culture. Low profile wasn’t her style.

At age 25, she was already the top investigative reporter for the highest-rated station in the city, and some of her reports were gaining national attention. The fact that she sometimes had to embellish the truth to make them as sensational as they were bothered her not a whit – that was television, wasn’t it. Highly telegenic with her fit, young figure, pretty face and lustrous black hair, her propensity for sensational sex exposes had jet-propelled her rise. She was sure an anchor position was next, then the national news. And if her boyfriend, Steve, sometimes complained about her total immersion in work, with no time for fun, she would retort it was time he grew up and concentrated on his own career instead of worrying about hers. She really liked Steve, but couldn’t understand his relaxed attitude – life was something you had to beat.

Today, she was launching the first part of a new series on hypnotherapy clinics, and how their unscrupulous practitioners could turn it into a personal sexual fantasy. It was hot. It was headline, details-at-eleven, soon-to-be-seen-on-CNN hot. She was going to ambush the therapist at the clinic they waited outside now with allegations of controlling women’s minds and leading them into sexual slavery and debauchery. And it was all true….well, except for the sexual slavery stuff. But, wow, did that ever raise the profile.

“Excuse me. Ms. Yoshida?”

The interruption to her final primping annoyed her. She turned to frown at a vaguely familiar man in nondescript clothes.

“How’d you get by my crew?” she snapped.

“I can be very persuasive,” he smiled. “I told them…”

“Never mind. I’m almost on the air. No autographs. Get out of here.”

“I’m not here for an autograph,” he continued patiently. “It’s about your story. When you interviewed me, you said you wanted to emphasize how much good could be done with hypnosis. Instead, I’ve learned you intend to mislead people with fictionalized and sensational accounts of sexual depravity. I assure you, we hardly ever … er, that is, never take advantage of our clients that way.”

His face finally registered. This was the guy whose interview she had so carefully edited, he was going to find himself saying the most startling things on air. It was amazing how you could change the tone of an interview by cutting and pasting a few nodded agreements to different questions.

“Oh, yeah, Dr., um, Mermes, right? Well, I’m sorry you’re upset, but the news is sacred, and people have a right to know.”

“But…but…you’re lying to them!”

“Look, buddy,” she growled. “If you have a problem, take it up with management. I’m going live with this in five minutes.”

“But you can’t.”

“Watch me, Doc. You guys are all a bunch of phonies anyway. You deserve what I’m about to do to you.”

“But I help people. If you slander us like this…”

“Slander?” she sneered. “Are you threatening me? Our legal team will cut you to shreds. Now, get out of here before I have you arrested.”

His eyes narrowed, and his voice suddenly took on an edge that quieted her.

“Ms. Yoshida, I see now the real person I’m dealing with. Your concern is not truth but advancing your career to feed an already oversized ego. Very selfish, very immature.” His eyes lit up. “Yes, the very thing.” Now his eyes fixed hers with an intensity that made her gasp, but she found she couldn’t look away. “It may surprise you to learn that we are not all charlatans. I, for example, have a truly remarkable power to shape people’s minds. I usually use this to help people with problems, but right now, YOU are the problem. Since a mature, responsible person would never deliver such a false report, it stands to reason that if you attempt to do so, you are not the mature woman you appear to be.”

His eyes burned into hers for what could have been seconds or minutes. Suddenly, she blinked several times, and found herself alone.

“Hey, Angela,” the remote producer called. “What are you sitting around for? You’re almost on.”

“S…sorry,” she answered slowly, looking around but seeing no sign of her accuser. The vague sense of fear those eyes had drawn started to fade away, and she snorted dismissingly at such a pathetic attempt to scare her. Taking her position, she smoothed her expensive new suit and skirt while they attached her microphone and waited for the signal they were live. The crew held her remote teleprompter.

The red camera light came on.

“Good evening,” she began earnestly, feeling a slight flutter of camera shyness she thought she’d long outgrown. “I’m Angie Yoshida.” She hesitated for just a second – she always insisted on the full, proper form of her first name. Why had she just introduced herself with a diminutive? “I’m standing here in front of the Wellness Hypnosis Center. An innocent looking establishment ostensibly here to help people overcome unwanted habits or behavior.” A pressure began building in her pelvis. Damn, she should have gone before the story. But it was odd – her bladder hadn’t felt so full a minute ago. “But things are not always as they seem.” The pressure built, and she had to really concentrate to read the teleprompter. “Tonight, we begin my five part expo…expos…explosion? No, um…” The pressure made her begin to squirm and twist her legs, even as she suddenly had to give up on the jumbled words on the teleprompter. What idiot had transcribed this garbled nonsense? She could barely make out any of the words now, and decided to improvise. Unknowingly, her voice also seemed to shift to a slightly higher range and took on a sing-song quality. “I’m gonna tell a big story about, um, really naughty stuff, and, um, oohhh!” Her hands dropped to her crotch. “Oohh! Me gotta go.”

Her camera crew watched in shock as she began to dance frantically while on air. Then, to everyone’s jaw-dropping astonishment – not the least the producer and staff back at the station and many thousands of viewers – the front of her tight, gray skirt began to show a dark stain.

Angela suddenly felt the awful pressure in her bladder begin to subside, but her sigh of relief was momentary. To her horror, a warm flood filled her panties, immediately soaking through and running down her legs. The stain on her skirt spread, and an impossible to mistake stream ran down her legs, discoloring her otherwise fashionable light hose.

She blinked into the camera while her crew stood transfixed in horror.

“Oopsie.”

At the station, the director finally found his voice.

“Shit! Tell me I didn’t just see Angela pee on camera.”

“I dunno, Chief,” an alert underling commented. “It sorta looked like…”

“Idiot! I know that! Cut the feed. Switch to the anchors.”

Even the normally plastic and therefore imperturbable anchors took a few seconds to recover as they stared into the cameras with shock.

“Uh, we’ll check back with Angela later. We’re, um, experiencing technical difficulties.”

Those technical difficulties had left Angela standing miserably in soaked skirt and pantyhose, the urine now seeping into her expensive Italian shoes. The full shame and horror of her situation only seemed to hit home when the red camera light went out. Suddenly released, she crouched down, trying to hide her stains, dismayed at the clammy, cooling wet that met her hands as she covered her skirt.

“Oh my God!” she screamed. “I’m…I…” Her gaze swept her open-mouthed crew, then she bolted, running in embarrassment from goggle eyes. Her shoes squished and her wet skirt clung accusingly as she raced for the nearest door, finding herself inside the very clinic she had planned to slander. Sobbing, she ran into the lobby restroom.

A minute later, Janet, her audio technician, joined her.

“Uh, Angela? You OK?”

“Oh my God,” Angela repeated. “Janet, I just…just…”

“Yeah, I saw,” Janet mumbled. “You sick or something?”

“No, I don’t know what…” Angela paused, suddenly seeing Janet’s suggestion as an out, trying to disguise the fear she really felt. “Um, yeah, that’s right. I’ve got a bladder infection. Sure. Of course.” She even tried to convince herself of the lie. After all, what else could it be?

Janet seized the obvious confabulation.

“Well, that’s a relief.” She grinned. “Or looked like a relief to you. Guess we better get you some new clothes, huh?”

“God!” Angela pulled at her soaked skirt distastefully. “I never want to see this outfit again. I’m gonna toss everything.” She looked at her stained clothes in the mirror. “How am I going to face everybody like this?”

“Just wait here. I’ll get some stuff.”

Janet returned some time later with jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt from a nearby store, and Angela discared her suit and skirt with relief. Checking her appearance once more, she was amazed how much younger she looked wearing the teenage style clothes. The thought gave her an unexpected thrill, and she pulled her hair into a ponytail to heighten the effect. By the time she walked out to mumble explanations and apologies to the crew, she looked more like a contrite and embarrassed teenager than a confident TV reporter. Someone handed her a phone almost immediately.

“It’s the boss.”

“Angela! What the hell happened?”

She tried to cover using the infection story. Not surprisingly, he tried to get away from the subject of pelvic infections as fast as possible.

“Jesus, Angela, get that taken care of. We’ll never live this down. I heard it’s already been picked up by CNN, the Comedy Channel, and you’re showing up online.”

She shivered and – inexplicably – felt a tingle of sexual excitement at the thought of so many people witnessing her loss of control. She shook it off.

“No problem, Chief. I feel better already.” She tried to redirect her shame into anger. “And wait ‘til I unleash my amended report.”

“Amended?”

“I’ll throw in another sexual abuse angle. I’ll make up something before going on tonight.” Her mind seemed to shift. “It’ll be weally neat.”

“What?”

Angela caught herself. “Hot. It will be 50 share hot.”

He seemed to consider. “A lot of people will probably be watching just to see what you do next. I mean, say next. OK, we’ll tease it up tonight and use it as the 11 o’clock hook. You’d better report this time from the studio, maybe get Judd and Judy [auth: the co-anchors] involved to play it up.”

“Great. I’ll be in as soon as I change at home.”

Angela stopped at her apartment and picked out another suit, though to be honest, she hated to give up her jeans. They just seemed to suit her better right now. Sighing, she stripped off her clothes and briefly admired her trim but properly rounded figure in the mirror. She really needed to show it off more often – Steve certainly told her so often enough. All her high-powered reported stuff was too stuffy. Maybe she should pick up a few tank tops and minis, or a little, brightly-colored sundress, or…

She shook off the thoughts. She had a job to do. She opened her underwear drawer. To her surprise, none of her usual lingerie appealed to her. Instead, she dug out an old pair of thick, white cotton panties and a simple bra decorated in a floral motif. Cute, she thought. I wonder why I stopped wearing these?

A sudden urgency made her forget the question as she ran to the bathroom, just making it in time. It was like her bladder couldn’t quite decide when it needed to empty, but once it did – watch out. Her earlier anxiety returned, but she forced it down and continued to get ready. She looked at her hair in the mirror. Her sensible cut suddenly seemed boring, though there was nothing to do about it right now, and it was a pain to brush and style it. Why not try something simpler? She played around a bit, trying the ponytail again, then – just for laughs, of course – wondered how she’d look in pigtails.

To her surprise, she thought she looked just right. Cute, but very practical. It would save her having to waste time now, and she could always change it back before airtime. Of course, it did make her look younger, but she decided it was in a playful way, and it was really no one’s business but hers. In fact, she cut such a different figure in her girlish underwear and pigtails, she almost could pass for high school again. Odd, but the thought gave her a mild sexual rush.

She reluctantly put on another suit and skirt – the proper professional attire looking quite strange with the childish pigtails – but hesitated when she went to put on another pair of pantyhose and heels. Heels were so uncomfortable, why not go with sneakers? A lot of women walked around like that, and again, she could change before going on air. She pulled on some pretty socks to go with her new sneakers, then stuffed her shoes and stockings in a bag.

And promptly forgot the bag.

At the station, she edited her tapes and wrote some new material, surprised at how many spelling mistakes she made (the computer redlined her constantly) and how hard it was to think of the right words. Several people paused or stared outright at the sight of the pigtailed reporter, working intently with her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth, and her sneakers swinging restlessly under her chair.

“Um, Angela,” Janet finally got the nerve to ask. “Your hair…?”

“Yes?” Angela blinked innocently at her sound chief.

“Isn’t it a little, you know, different?”

“Oh, yeah,” Angela agreed. “I thought…” Suddenly her eyes went wide. “Oops. Gotta run.” She bolted towards the restroom. The recurring and almost uncontrollable pressure she kept feeling from her bladder had pretty much convinced her she DID have an infection. It seemed to have very little capacity to hold on. This, together with some more unexpected nervousness about going on camera, kept her running, and no one else had a chance to comment to her about her appearance. However, after about an hour she was starting to feel like her old self.

Then the phone rang.

“Angie…, um, Angela Yoshida,” she answered.

“Ms. Yoshida,” a vaguely familiar voice began. “I trust you’ve reconsidered that report.”

It clicked. “Dr. Mermes,” she growled. “Listen to me you bastard. I don’t know how the hell you tricked me like that, but I’m going to fuck you royally tonight. I decided to add a couple of episodes just for you, and I’ll nail…”

“Silence.”

Her voice cut out.

“I see you still need a lesson in responsibility, not to mention controlling your temper. Now, listen to me…”

Angela hung up the phone. Her report now sat untouched as she began to doodle on some paper, chewing intermittently on her pencil eraser. Inspiration struck, and she folded the paper gleefully. A second later, it sailed across the room, hitting Jennifer Shields (a younger but equally ambitious colleague) in the head. Jennifer glared around in disbelief, while Angela ducked her head, giggling uncontrollably.

The last couple of hours passed quickly. She’d never realized how much fun work could be, thanks to a never-ending supply of rubber bands and paper clips. Of course, not everyone appreciated her sudden sense of humor, but they pretty much left her alone, trying to ignore her strange behavior and appearance.

Until near airtime when she got to makeup.

“What the hell, Angela?” Marge asked, pulling on the pigtails accusingly

“Huh? What’s wrong?” Angela asked brightly.

“Nothing, if you’re doing Nick News,” she shot back, pulling out the bands that held the pigtails. “And looks like you haven’t touched your makeup since this afternoon. It’s a mess.”

“Sorry,” Angela admitted guiltily. “I forgot about it.”

“I’ll see if I can pull off another miracle,” Marge grumped. “But you owe me.”

15 minutes later, Angela – her face and hair much more professional – took her seat at the features desk. This time, it was the director who barked.

“Cute, Angela. Now, where are your real shoes?”

“Oh, um, sorry, Jay. I guess I left them at home.” She swung and crossed her feet nervously.

“Wonderful. Be sure to stay behind the desk. Camera crew, upper body shots only.”

Anchor Judy smirked, and Angela stuck her tongue out in response, making a face. It seemed to catch the older woman off guard, and Angela congratulated herself on such a devastating comeback, rocking in her chair triumphantly. Unfortunately, the motion proved just enough to remind her that she hadn’t peed since before makeup. Although, she felt no real urgency, she’d just decided she’d better make a prophylactic run to the bathroom when…

“OK, people, we’re live in 5…4…3…”

Too late. She sat back down heavily and her chair bounced. Cool. She’d never really noticed how springy these were. She hopped up and down a few more times while the show started, then remembered the chairs also swiveled and were on wheels. While the anchors droned on about the usual fires and firebrands, she began to push her chair around, then in and out of the desk, lost in her enjoyment.

As they neared the first commercial, the anchors laughed at a forced joke, then instantly switched to “concerned and shocked” look.

“Still to come,” Judd intoned. “Our own Angela Yoshida cracks open the sordid, secret world of hypnotherapy.”

“Smoking relief or sexual slavery?” Judy asked earnestly. “Angela takes her usual hard-edged investigative skills and shows us some amazing…”

She was distracted by the crew’s expression and a giggle behind her. Suddenly, in full camera view, Angela rolled through the background across the set, arms and legs extended and spinning madly in her chair.

“Wheee!” she called as she rolled off stage right.

Judy stared open mouthed before recovering.

“Um, I see Angela is eager to deliver her report. We’ll catch up with her after these messages.”

“Cut!” the director shouted, bursting from the booth. “Angela, what the hell are you playing at?”

She put her finger in her mouth guiltily.

“Sowwy.”

“Soww…sorry? Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“Well,” she stuck her lower lip out stubbornly. “It was really boring just sitting there. Blah, blah, blah,” she mimicked the anchors. “It’s not my fault the stupid chair rolled so far.”

The anchors glared, but secretly were glad Angela had pulled such a childish stunt. Maybe this would squelch rumors about her as the new co-anchor.

“You’re not supposed to be rolling at all,” he shot back, exasperated.

She stuck her tongue out again. It seemed a snappy comeback for all occasions.

“OK, that’s it!” he exploded. “Off the set!”

Her lip trembled, but she stood her ground and shook her head.

“Uh uh.”

“What do you mean, ‘uh uh’?”

“I wanna do my STORYYYY.”

“Listen to me, you ditzy…”

The producer’s voice through his earphones interrupted him.

“Jay, we’re too close to live. And we’ve been hyping her story all night. Lead with it, then get her off the set.”

“All right,” he grumbled. “Judy, lead to Angela. Let’s get this over with.”

“Oh goody!” Angela jumped up and down again. Her earlier nervousness seemed to have disappeared, and now she just thought it would be really cool to be on TV.

Judd and Judy exchanged smirks. Her stock must be sinking lower and lower.

“At least pull your skirt down, honey,” Judy suggested sweetly. “Unless you want the rest of the country to know you’re wearing white cottons.”

Angela blushed and adjusted her skirt more demurely, though secretly, almost being caught flashing her panties gave another sexual thrill. What was going on with her all of a sudden?

The cameras came back on.

“Hypnosis – medical marvel, huckster hype, or sexual servitude?,” Judy asked gravely. “We warn you that you WILL be shocked by our own Angela Yoshida’s special report.”

The camera cut to Angela. Suddenly, her nervousness flooded back, mirrored by the return of the irresistible pressure in her bladder. She stared into the camera, a deer-in-the-headlights look on her pale face.

Several seconds passed. “Um, Angela?” Judd prompted.

Her head spun nervously from the camera to her coworkers and back again. Everybody staring at her. All those people watching. What if they could tell she was lying? She began to tremble, while her suddenly unbearable bladder pressure made her squirm in her seat.

“I…I…” she stuttered. Abruptly, she felt a loosening in her pelvis. With a shock, she realized she no longer had to concentrate on holding her bladder – her body no longer remembered how to do it. She felt the warm gush, even as the crew stared again in shock.

“I wet myself!” she blurted miserably. And then, with thousands watching, she put her thumb in her mouth and started to suck furiously.










Copyright 1999 by Nomdreserv