Pete the Griphead
Verified
- Joined
- Feb 24, 2009
- Messages
- 135
- Points
- 16
As a lead field correspondent for the local FOX News affiliate in the Philadelphia market, Adrienne Winters was simply used to getting what she wanted; there was just no denying that. So when she drew whatever figurative ‘short straw’ and got bumped out of the running on her most recent news coverage assignment, it went firmly against what she’d become used to. Instead of landing what she had assumed she’d snag, the gig covering the verdict announcement downtown for the highly sought after Bobby-Lou Ray multi-murder trial, she had for whatever reason been relegated instead to covering the labor strike at the local Beef Dog packaging plant. The first was a sure to be nationally talked about Grand Jury trial, and the later a yawn-inducing stint at a local pet food cannery. It didn’t take a genius to see why she’d been pressing for the trial assignment, but it might take some fancy ass kissing to get herself off of whatever shit list she’d ended up on at the station. The fact was, it was that list which had landed her in the field covering canned doggie food instead capitalizing as she’d expected on her national spotlight debut!
She’d arrived that morning, early and eager as always, and dressed to the nines for her expected shot at large-scale exposure for once. She’d put on her best pair of black DKNY dress slacks, and her favorite NY&Co button down white blouse under a freshly dry cleaned Banana Republic V-neck sweater. All of it had been topped off, or, rather more appropriately ‘bottomed off’, with a pair of medium heeled black leather Manolo B zip-up boots. The boots looked fantastic, as they should given their ridiculous price tag, but equally as important they added nearly a full 2-inches to her overall height. Not that she was a shorty, since at just north of 5’9” she was actually taller than the average woman. Nevertheless, the extra inches did much to add to her on camera stature…and her on camera appearance was certainly something that Adrienne NEVER took for granted!
She had also gone to the trouble of having her hair done at Toppers in town, just for the occasion. She’d even gone so far as to have her nails done in a darker than normal hue, opting for what the Topper’s sponsored experts had informed her was a “hot” color that Fall season for professional women. It was a dark mauve polish, and looked fantastic with her neutral-colored attire and accented against her fairly light colored skin. They’d done her toes in the same color at no extra charge, given she spent a small fortune between the hair and fingers. How charitable of them, she’d thought, when her nail tech had suggested she take off her shoes and socks and take advantage of the free pedi! Those Toppers experts really knew their stuff, though, and she’d found herself staring at the nails on more than a few occasions over the past day. It was totally out of character for her to go with a shade this dark, as she normally stuck with either French mani’s or kept things strictly in the beige and pinkish tones. The darker color had thrown her at first, and took some getting used to. She’d even found herself pulling off her boots and socks again on the cab ride back to her apartment, and giving her toes a quick wiggle to take in the color. She’d left them off as well, carrying them from the cab to her building instead & sporting the freebie pair of ‘flex flops’ the spa had thrown in at no additional charge. The color looked fantastic on her long fingers and her (dare she admit it) rather large-ish feet. Her feet were 9.5’s, and even at times 10’s, depending on the shoes, but somehow the sexy dark color had her feeling far less self-conscious about her big feet and even feeling up for the flex-flop strut back to her Rittenhouse condo to show ‘em off. Several times she found folks, male and female alike, sneaking glances southward at her nearly naked feet.
Since then, she’d been met with a plethora of compliments on the dark fingernail shade, and couldn’t wait to see how the color popped on camera. Given that it was mid-September, no one around the station had caught a glimpse of her toes yet since they were safely hidden away behind concealing footwear. Truth be told, Adrienne wasn’t much on showing off her toes even in the summer, given her level of self-consciousness over their size and width. But the newfound self-assurance, aided greatly by the sexy dark shade of polish, had her debating whether she’d be apt to change that mindset come warmer weather.
Unfortunately it had become painfully obvious to her, almost first thing upon her arrival at the station, that her chance to be broadcast to a potentially nation-wide audience was not in the cards. It seemed as though she’d gone to great lengths over her appearance for nothing. Instead, she’d be showing it all off in front of what was sure to be a local-yokal target audience if she was lucky. Her segment editor, Clark, had accosted her within minutes after she’d arrived at the news station that morning. He informed her, with more than a mild amount of condescension-rich pleasure, that instead of heading downtown to the courthouse she’d be traveling with her cameraman Travis out to Beef Dog’s main warehouse on the outskirts of town. It was a total BS assignment, and one typically reserved for freshman field reporters at best, if it was even bothered to be covered at all. She harbored more than a strong sense of why this had come her way, but had taken the professional tact instead of getting in to it with Clark in front of the entire station. Adrienne and Clark had crossed tension-filled paths on more than a few occasions since he’d taken over as her editorial director just a few short weeks ago, and this was just another example of her being underutilized and taken advantage of by her dimwitted new boss. Her suspicions were further warranted when she found out that Sherry Ann Winters, the barely legal field correspondent, and newest edition to the station’s team of reporters, was being hand picked by Clark to cover the courthouse in her stead. This had Adrienne fuming by the time she headed out in the direction of the news van pool of vehicles located in the adjacent building.
She’d found Travis, her cameraman of more than two years, waiting in the news van on the second level of the garage. He’d been chatting it up with Rachel, one of the newer field audio mixers on rotation at the news station’s pool of freelancers. Adrienne had known Travis for a long time, and even longer than their two-year stint as field partners, and she could quickly tell by his mildly flirtatious mannerisms that he was way into Rachel. She was cute (even Adrienne had to admit that), but was doing her best to dress down her appearance by sporting the standard freelance uniform of jeans, hiking boots, and a fleece pullover over top of her shirt. Apparently, Rachel didn’t want to be construed as the type of gal that was looking to flaunt her attractive appearance to get ahead, and Adrienne could respect that; even if she couldn’t relate to Rachel’s choice to leave the house looking like a tomboy.
Still reeling from her encounter with Clark, Adrienne barked in an all too short manner in Travis’ direction “get the keys and let’s go, we’ve gotta drive out to Pottstown to the Beef Dog plant”!
“What the…” replied Travis, a bit taken aback by both Adrienne’s tone, as well as their newly planned destination. “What happened to the verdict announcement”?
“They’re sending Winters to cover it” she fumed, still determined to take out her bad mood on her unsuspecting cameraman, “so stop asking stupid questions and get the van fired up already”!
Travis shot a hurt look in Adrienne’s direction, before quickly composing himself to save face in front of Rachel. “Well, grab your audio gear kiddo, it looks like we’ve got an assignment to cover”.
With that, Travis, Rachel, and Adrienne began piling in the van, gear first & bodies second. Adrienne’s mood did little to improve in the nearly hour-long drive out to the Pottstown plant. She’d taken it upon herself to claim the passenger seat, while relegating Rachel to the small technician’s swivel chair in the rear of the van, but even the comfier confines and familiar co-pilot Travis did little to heighten her sullen disposition. She spent the vast majority of the ride dwelling on the whole Sherry Ann Winters debacle, becoming more agitated and annoyed with each passing mile. The background noise caused by Rachel and Travis’ combined flirtations didn’t help much either, and by the time the van rolled up to the site of the striking factory workers, in full picket-mode, Adrienne was already thinking about the end of the day. She was well passed interested in the activities, and did little to hide her disinterest.
The news gathering trio churned through the initial portion of the assignment with relative ‘rinse and repeat’ ease, but Adrienne wore her apathy on the sleeve of her designer jacket for all to see. Travis could tell that her attitude was being picked-up on by all of the striking factory workers, who as it turned out were a group of angry women in which most were just as likely to be linebackers in the NFL as packaging plant employees. They were a big and burly bunch of women, and more than once Travis felt a slight sense of mile apprehension as he witnessed them begin to chatter about Adrienne in an outright negative manner behind her back. It was unfortunate to him, as he’d known Ad’s a long time, and never knew her to be a conceited person at all. But her bad day, combined with her lackluster approach to this particular assignment, was definitely giving this intimidating group of women that very impression.
When the three of them headed back to the van, to sit and await the arrival of the plant’s management team for a second round of interviews and b-roll footage, Travis decided to take the opportunity to share his observations with Adrienne. While Rachel went around to the front of the van, to rest in the passenger’s seat while reviewing playback of her audio feed, Travis encourage Adrienne to have a seat on the back of the van, and opened the rear cargo doors to clear a spot for them to sit and chat. Rachel, partly because she was young and green, and partly because she was distracted by her attempt to beat Adrienne to the front seat, neglected to switch off the reporter’s hidden lavalier microphone, which had been taped to Adrienne’s chest, just below her buttoned blouse. Travis also neglected to take notice to this fact as well, as he engaged Adrienne in a bit of casual dialogue.
“Ad’s, you’ve gotta loosen up” he advised, more in friendly feedback mode than outright criticism. “I know we drew the short straw here, but these women are pretty worked up over this strike thing, so you might not want to let on that you’re head is somewhere else”.
“Well, my head IS somewhere else, and quite frankly I don’t give a good gosh darn whether these women know that or not” she retorted immediately, and almost as quickly regretting her rash and childish behavior.
“Fine, and fair enough, but just try not to wear your bad day on your sleeve is all I’m saying” Travis offered, trying to get through to his colleague.
“Oh come off of it, Travis” Adrienne defended, “we both know you’re just as pissed off to be here with these complaining group of overweight crybabies as I am. We got royally screwed, we BOTH know it, and we’re both dealing with making the best of it in our own ways. Simple as that.”
Defeated, Travis let his attention wander for a moment back to the crowd of factory workers, who oddly enough had started to circle and hover around the field monitor that was still on a c-stand back by the gated fence and entrance to the plant driveway. It took him a moment to register the fact, and his recognition was jarred in part by the increasingly angry looks on the burly women’s faces, but it suddenly dawned on him that their conversation must have been broadcasting wirelessly back to the open speaker on the field monitor. With this sudden and drastic realization, Travis turned to share this observation with Adrienne at the same moment that the more vocal ‘leaders’ of the factory worker group started making their way over to the news van.
“Uuhhhh, hey Ad’s” Travis whispered, doing his best to discretely alert his associate of this newfound discovery, “you, uh, might wanna start practicing an apology speech, and maybe gulp down a slice or two of humble pie.”
“What on earth are you talking about Travis” she quipped, becoming increasingly annoyed by her cameraman’s incessant meekness, “and what’s with you today! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to pull of the ‘nice guy’ routine to impress our new audio girl.”
She said this as a jab at her cameraman, with the full intent of getting under his skin. After all, misery loved company she’d come to believe. Suddenly however, she too was distracted and all too aware of the looming factory workers, and before she could switch positions off the tailgate of the van, the two heftiest of the husky were nearly on top of her, leering.
“Ya know, we’ve had just about enough of your bullshit Little Miss Microphone” taunted the bigger of the two women, clearly the leader. “You’ve had an attitude since you arrived; and it's one that none of us ‘overweight crybabies’ has very much appreciated!”
The leader offered this in a mocking, sing-songy tone, to drive home the point that they’d been eavesdropping on her conversation. And while she offered it, a number of her co-workers had begun to fall in behind her. Without so much as a warning, two of the women grabbed Adrienne off the rear lip of the van so fast she almost came out of her boots, while a handful of others accosted and restrained Travis, ensuring he was unable to intervene.
Dragging her back towards the fence, with her boot tips dragging in the dirt, the pair of assailants brought Adrienne to a stop in front of the ring leader long enough to allow access. Taking advantage, the leader grabbed the front V-hem of Adrienne’s sweater, and jerked sharply down on that and her blouse, stretching the sweater’s fabric and sending the top two buttons of the reporter’s blouse flying. This left the top of Adrienne’s pink silk bra exposed, and accentuated the lavalier microphone that was dangling between her ample breasts.
“Next time you decide to slink off and talk shit on someone, you might want to make sure you turn off your microphone first” the group leader taunted, while leaning forward and tapping on the tip of the microphone. “Testing, 1, 2, 3.”
This newfound exposure and humiliation of the pretty reporter suddenly had the group of miserable, unemployed factory workers feeling a tad more elated, and in almost viral fashion this emotion began to spread throughout the group. Meanwhile, the taunts and abuse began to escalate as a handful of the women workers began shoving Adrienne back and forth, roughly engaging in an almost comical game of catch with the poor news correspondent. Like a rag doll, Adrienne was thrust back and forth while various pairs of meaty fingers pawed at her and her clothing, both of which were quickly becoming disheveled. At some point, while one of the taunting workers was ‘catching’ her, a particularly meandering set of hands found their way to just the right spot on Adrienne’s sides, and a ticklish jolt of electricity caused her to almost jump out of her own skin.
“Oooohhhh, well lookie here” exclaimed the factory worker responsible for exposing the reporter’s ticklish secret, “seems Ms Microphone has a bit of a ticklish streak.”
With this discovery, the theme of the pitiable reporter’s maltreatment shifted dramatically from a schoolyard-shoving match, to one more exploratory in nature. The leader approached the hapless reporter, while two of her cronies held Adrienne’s arms outstretched, allowing access to her newly discovered ticklish sides. The leader, who at some point during Adrienne’s unfolding exploitation had been identified as Marge, began torturing the tousled journalist’s extremely sensitive sides and ribs. Lifting up the hem of her sweater, Marge continued the assault as she untucked Adrienne’s shirt from the hem of her pants, allowing more unencumbered access to the smooth, toned skin of the reporter’s side and belly.
“NOOOOOOOOO” screeched Adrienne, between violent fits of laughter, as her attackers continued their ticklish assault. “Get your grubby paws off of me, you crazy bitches!”
“Tsk, tsk, such language from a LAAADDY” Marge offered mockingly, while continuing to manipulate the bare exposed skin of the reporter’s tummy and ribs. “You’d better watch yourself, or we’ll have to wash that mouth of yours out with soap.”
Adrienne was quickly panicking, as the groping hands continued to exploit the ticklish vulnerability of her sensitive bare skin. Her brow began to sweat and her make-up began to run, as her hair fell in increasingly unkempt strands around her face. She valiantly attempted to draw meaningful breaths of air, for fear of passing out from the assault, but her laughter and screams increased commensurately with the intensity of the tickling. Partly as a defense mechanism, but equally as a reflex of sorts, she began to kick her legs in an effort to shake herself free of her tormentors. One such tormentor just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and caught Adrienne’s flailing booted foot by the heel and toe of her leather Manolo B. The female worker now holding the reporter’s boot clad foot in her hand started twisting it, in an attempt at added restraint, and Adrienne looked on as a devious look came across the woman’s face. With scheming motives, the woman began pulling up the cuff of Adrienne’s pant leg, to gain access to the zipper that ran along the inside of the boot. Slowly but with purpose, the teasing factory employee began working the zipper ever so slowly southward, in an effort to gain access to the surely ticklish prize inside…
TO BE CONTINUED
She’d arrived that morning, early and eager as always, and dressed to the nines for her expected shot at large-scale exposure for once. She’d put on her best pair of black DKNY dress slacks, and her favorite NY&Co button down white blouse under a freshly dry cleaned Banana Republic V-neck sweater. All of it had been topped off, or, rather more appropriately ‘bottomed off’, with a pair of medium heeled black leather Manolo B zip-up boots. The boots looked fantastic, as they should given their ridiculous price tag, but equally as important they added nearly a full 2-inches to her overall height. Not that she was a shorty, since at just north of 5’9” she was actually taller than the average woman. Nevertheless, the extra inches did much to add to her on camera stature…and her on camera appearance was certainly something that Adrienne NEVER took for granted!
She had also gone to the trouble of having her hair done at Toppers in town, just for the occasion. She’d even gone so far as to have her nails done in a darker than normal hue, opting for what the Topper’s sponsored experts had informed her was a “hot” color that Fall season for professional women. It was a dark mauve polish, and looked fantastic with her neutral-colored attire and accented against her fairly light colored skin. They’d done her toes in the same color at no extra charge, given she spent a small fortune between the hair and fingers. How charitable of them, she’d thought, when her nail tech had suggested she take off her shoes and socks and take advantage of the free pedi! Those Toppers experts really knew their stuff, though, and she’d found herself staring at the nails on more than a few occasions over the past day. It was totally out of character for her to go with a shade this dark, as she normally stuck with either French mani’s or kept things strictly in the beige and pinkish tones. The darker color had thrown her at first, and took some getting used to. She’d even found herself pulling off her boots and socks again on the cab ride back to her apartment, and giving her toes a quick wiggle to take in the color. She’d left them off as well, carrying them from the cab to her building instead & sporting the freebie pair of ‘flex flops’ the spa had thrown in at no additional charge. The color looked fantastic on her long fingers and her (dare she admit it) rather large-ish feet. Her feet were 9.5’s, and even at times 10’s, depending on the shoes, but somehow the sexy dark color had her feeling far less self-conscious about her big feet and even feeling up for the flex-flop strut back to her Rittenhouse condo to show ‘em off. Several times she found folks, male and female alike, sneaking glances southward at her nearly naked feet.
Since then, she’d been met with a plethora of compliments on the dark fingernail shade, and couldn’t wait to see how the color popped on camera. Given that it was mid-September, no one around the station had caught a glimpse of her toes yet since they were safely hidden away behind concealing footwear. Truth be told, Adrienne wasn’t much on showing off her toes even in the summer, given her level of self-consciousness over their size and width. But the newfound self-assurance, aided greatly by the sexy dark shade of polish, had her debating whether she’d be apt to change that mindset come warmer weather.
Unfortunately it had become painfully obvious to her, almost first thing upon her arrival at the station, that her chance to be broadcast to a potentially nation-wide audience was not in the cards. It seemed as though she’d gone to great lengths over her appearance for nothing. Instead, she’d be showing it all off in front of what was sure to be a local-yokal target audience if she was lucky. Her segment editor, Clark, had accosted her within minutes after she’d arrived at the news station that morning. He informed her, with more than a mild amount of condescension-rich pleasure, that instead of heading downtown to the courthouse she’d be traveling with her cameraman Travis out to Beef Dog’s main warehouse on the outskirts of town. It was a total BS assignment, and one typically reserved for freshman field reporters at best, if it was even bothered to be covered at all. She harbored more than a strong sense of why this had come her way, but had taken the professional tact instead of getting in to it with Clark in front of the entire station. Adrienne and Clark had crossed tension-filled paths on more than a few occasions since he’d taken over as her editorial director just a few short weeks ago, and this was just another example of her being underutilized and taken advantage of by her dimwitted new boss. Her suspicions were further warranted when she found out that Sherry Ann Winters, the barely legal field correspondent, and newest edition to the station’s team of reporters, was being hand picked by Clark to cover the courthouse in her stead. This had Adrienne fuming by the time she headed out in the direction of the news van pool of vehicles located in the adjacent building.
She’d found Travis, her cameraman of more than two years, waiting in the news van on the second level of the garage. He’d been chatting it up with Rachel, one of the newer field audio mixers on rotation at the news station’s pool of freelancers. Adrienne had known Travis for a long time, and even longer than their two-year stint as field partners, and she could quickly tell by his mildly flirtatious mannerisms that he was way into Rachel. She was cute (even Adrienne had to admit that), but was doing her best to dress down her appearance by sporting the standard freelance uniform of jeans, hiking boots, and a fleece pullover over top of her shirt. Apparently, Rachel didn’t want to be construed as the type of gal that was looking to flaunt her attractive appearance to get ahead, and Adrienne could respect that; even if she couldn’t relate to Rachel’s choice to leave the house looking like a tomboy.
Still reeling from her encounter with Clark, Adrienne barked in an all too short manner in Travis’ direction “get the keys and let’s go, we’ve gotta drive out to Pottstown to the Beef Dog plant”!
“What the…” replied Travis, a bit taken aback by both Adrienne’s tone, as well as their newly planned destination. “What happened to the verdict announcement”?
“They’re sending Winters to cover it” she fumed, still determined to take out her bad mood on her unsuspecting cameraman, “so stop asking stupid questions and get the van fired up already”!
Travis shot a hurt look in Adrienne’s direction, before quickly composing himself to save face in front of Rachel. “Well, grab your audio gear kiddo, it looks like we’ve got an assignment to cover”.
With that, Travis, Rachel, and Adrienne began piling in the van, gear first & bodies second. Adrienne’s mood did little to improve in the nearly hour-long drive out to the Pottstown plant. She’d taken it upon herself to claim the passenger seat, while relegating Rachel to the small technician’s swivel chair in the rear of the van, but even the comfier confines and familiar co-pilot Travis did little to heighten her sullen disposition. She spent the vast majority of the ride dwelling on the whole Sherry Ann Winters debacle, becoming more agitated and annoyed with each passing mile. The background noise caused by Rachel and Travis’ combined flirtations didn’t help much either, and by the time the van rolled up to the site of the striking factory workers, in full picket-mode, Adrienne was already thinking about the end of the day. She was well passed interested in the activities, and did little to hide her disinterest.
The news gathering trio churned through the initial portion of the assignment with relative ‘rinse and repeat’ ease, but Adrienne wore her apathy on the sleeve of her designer jacket for all to see. Travis could tell that her attitude was being picked-up on by all of the striking factory workers, who as it turned out were a group of angry women in which most were just as likely to be linebackers in the NFL as packaging plant employees. They were a big and burly bunch of women, and more than once Travis felt a slight sense of mile apprehension as he witnessed them begin to chatter about Adrienne in an outright negative manner behind her back. It was unfortunate to him, as he’d known Ad’s a long time, and never knew her to be a conceited person at all. But her bad day, combined with her lackluster approach to this particular assignment, was definitely giving this intimidating group of women that very impression.
When the three of them headed back to the van, to sit and await the arrival of the plant’s management team for a second round of interviews and b-roll footage, Travis decided to take the opportunity to share his observations with Adrienne. While Rachel went around to the front of the van, to rest in the passenger’s seat while reviewing playback of her audio feed, Travis encourage Adrienne to have a seat on the back of the van, and opened the rear cargo doors to clear a spot for them to sit and chat. Rachel, partly because she was young and green, and partly because she was distracted by her attempt to beat Adrienne to the front seat, neglected to switch off the reporter’s hidden lavalier microphone, which had been taped to Adrienne’s chest, just below her buttoned blouse. Travis also neglected to take notice to this fact as well, as he engaged Adrienne in a bit of casual dialogue.
“Ad’s, you’ve gotta loosen up” he advised, more in friendly feedback mode than outright criticism. “I know we drew the short straw here, but these women are pretty worked up over this strike thing, so you might not want to let on that you’re head is somewhere else”.
“Well, my head IS somewhere else, and quite frankly I don’t give a good gosh darn whether these women know that or not” she retorted immediately, and almost as quickly regretting her rash and childish behavior.
“Fine, and fair enough, but just try not to wear your bad day on your sleeve is all I’m saying” Travis offered, trying to get through to his colleague.
“Oh come off of it, Travis” Adrienne defended, “we both know you’re just as pissed off to be here with these complaining group of overweight crybabies as I am. We got royally screwed, we BOTH know it, and we’re both dealing with making the best of it in our own ways. Simple as that.”
Defeated, Travis let his attention wander for a moment back to the crowd of factory workers, who oddly enough had started to circle and hover around the field monitor that was still on a c-stand back by the gated fence and entrance to the plant driveway. It took him a moment to register the fact, and his recognition was jarred in part by the increasingly angry looks on the burly women’s faces, but it suddenly dawned on him that their conversation must have been broadcasting wirelessly back to the open speaker on the field monitor. With this sudden and drastic realization, Travis turned to share this observation with Adrienne at the same moment that the more vocal ‘leaders’ of the factory worker group started making their way over to the news van.
“Uuhhhh, hey Ad’s” Travis whispered, doing his best to discretely alert his associate of this newfound discovery, “you, uh, might wanna start practicing an apology speech, and maybe gulp down a slice or two of humble pie.”
“What on earth are you talking about Travis” she quipped, becoming increasingly annoyed by her cameraman’s incessant meekness, “and what’s with you today! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to pull of the ‘nice guy’ routine to impress our new audio girl.”
She said this as a jab at her cameraman, with the full intent of getting under his skin. After all, misery loved company she’d come to believe. Suddenly however, she too was distracted and all too aware of the looming factory workers, and before she could switch positions off the tailgate of the van, the two heftiest of the husky were nearly on top of her, leering.
“Ya know, we’ve had just about enough of your bullshit Little Miss Microphone” taunted the bigger of the two women, clearly the leader. “You’ve had an attitude since you arrived; and it's one that none of us ‘overweight crybabies’ has very much appreciated!”
The leader offered this in a mocking, sing-songy tone, to drive home the point that they’d been eavesdropping on her conversation. And while she offered it, a number of her co-workers had begun to fall in behind her. Without so much as a warning, two of the women grabbed Adrienne off the rear lip of the van so fast she almost came out of her boots, while a handful of others accosted and restrained Travis, ensuring he was unable to intervene.
Dragging her back towards the fence, with her boot tips dragging in the dirt, the pair of assailants brought Adrienne to a stop in front of the ring leader long enough to allow access. Taking advantage, the leader grabbed the front V-hem of Adrienne’s sweater, and jerked sharply down on that and her blouse, stretching the sweater’s fabric and sending the top two buttons of the reporter’s blouse flying. This left the top of Adrienne’s pink silk bra exposed, and accentuated the lavalier microphone that was dangling between her ample breasts.
“Next time you decide to slink off and talk shit on someone, you might want to make sure you turn off your microphone first” the group leader taunted, while leaning forward and tapping on the tip of the microphone. “Testing, 1, 2, 3.”
This newfound exposure and humiliation of the pretty reporter suddenly had the group of miserable, unemployed factory workers feeling a tad more elated, and in almost viral fashion this emotion began to spread throughout the group. Meanwhile, the taunts and abuse began to escalate as a handful of the women workers began shoving Adrienne back and forth, roughly engaging in an almost comical game of catch with the poor news correspondent. Like a rag doll, Adrienne was thrust back and forth while various pairs of meaty fingers pawed at her and her clothing, both of which were quickly becoming disheveled. At some point, while one of the taunting workers was ‘catching’ her, a particularly meandering set of hands found their way to just the right spot on Adrienne’s sides, and a ticklish jolt of electricity caused her to almost jump out of her own skin.
“Oooohhhh, well lookie here” exclaimed the factory worker responsible for exposing the reporter’s ticklish secret, “seems Ms Microphone has a bit of a ticklish streak.”
With this discovery, the theme of the pitiable reporter’s maltreatment shifted dramatically from a schoolyard-shoving match, to one more exploratory in nature. The leader approached the hapless reporter, while two of her cronies held Adrienne’s arms outstretched, allowing access to her newly discovered ticklish sides. The leader, who at some point during Adrienne’s unfolding exploitation had been identified as Marge, began torturing the tousled journalist’s extremely sensitive sides and ribs. Lifting up the hem of her sweater, Marge continued the assault as she untucked Adrienne’s shirt from the hem of her pants, allowing more unencumbered access to the smooth, toned skin of the reporter’s side and belly.
“NOOOOOOOOO” screeched Adrienne, between violent fits of laughter, as her attackers continued their ticklish assault. “Get your grubby paws off of me, you crazy bitches!”
“Tsk, tsk, such language from a LAAADDY” Marge offered mockingly, while continuing to manipulate the bare exposed skin of the reporter’s tummy and ribs. “You’d better watch yourself, or we’ll have to wash that mouth of yours out with soap.”
Adrienne was quickly panicking, as the groping hands continued to exploit the ticklish vulnerability of her sensitive bare skin. Her brow began to sweat and her make-up began to run, as her hair fell in increasingly unkempt strands around her face. She valiantly attempted to draw meaningful breaths of air, for fear of passing out from the assault, but her laughter and screams increased commensurately with the intensity of the tickling. Partly as a defense mechanism, but equally as a reflex of sorts, she began to kick her legs in an effort to shake herself free of her tormentors. One such tormentor just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and caught Adrienne’s flailing booted foot by the heel and toe of her leather Manolo B. The female worker now holding the reporter’s boot clad foot in her hand started twisting it, in an attempt at added restraint, and Adrienne looked on as a devious look came across the woman’s face. With scheming motives, the woman began pulling up the cuff of Adrienne’s pant leg, to gain access to the zipper that ran along the inside of the boot. Slowly but with purpose, the teasing factory employee began working the zipper ever so slowly southward, in an effort to gain access to the surely ticklish prize inside…
TO BE CONTINUED
