After spending a leisurely lunch hour at one of the finer neighborhood strip-clubs, Marty Silverberg, entertainment editor of the National Star, opened his office door to find his best writer perched on his desk. This in itself wasn't a problem; Silverberg was hardly the type to be upset by hot girls rubbing their posteriors on his private property. And the writer in question, Dina Darcy, was a very hot girl indeed. The thing that made him pull up short, staring and swallowing in nervous disbelief, was that Dina was not only stark naked, but smiling at him in a way that suggested he do something about that fact.

Dina had never been particularly pleasant to Marty. Truth was, even though she consistently turned in sensational stories, stories that delivered valuable dirt on the hottest celebrities and brought the Star worldwide notoriety and fame, Dina had never been overly polite to Marty. She treated him, in fact, with barely-concealed contempt. It was obviously Dina's belief that she was made for bigger and better things, and sooner or later would hot-foot it out of the Star's dingy offices for the outer stratosphere of the entertainment industry. And while Marty certainly appreciated the view he now had of Dina's body, a view he had fantasized about for the year and a half he had employed her, he knew that this kind of behavior usually signaled trouble. Dina wanted something-something he would probably be reluctant, with good reason, to give her.

"D'you like my pretty titties?" Dina asked, lisping sweetly.

"I...beg your pardon?" Marty stammered. He didn't move from his doorway, except to carefully close the door behind him. It wouldn't do to have someone see him in here with his star reporter in her birthday suit.

"C'mon, Marty," Dina purred. "You know what I mean. Do you like my pretty titties?" She gave each word a leering emphasis as she lifted a hand and touched her breasts, caressing them with the lightest of fingers so that each rosy nipple pricked up, fully erect. Her soft red lips parted slightly, her eyes slowly fluttering shut as if in the grip of a nearly unbearable pleasure.

Marty swallowed thickly, feeling a tell-tale stiffening of his own. God, he thought, if I were twenty years younger I'd just jump her. Dina was, indeed, very jumpable. At twenty-five, she was curvy and deliciously voluptuous, without an ounce of excess fat; she had a heavy mane of red hair that framed a round, sweetly pretty face that Marty knew all too well was capable of delivering a ball-freezing sneer. Wire-rimmed glasses accented large green eyes with heavy lashes; Dina had kept her glasses on now, he saw, giving her nudity an extra tang of forbidden sweetness. The sight of her smiling at him with her specs on recalled dozens of fantasies Marty had enjoyed of librarians and female professors in his mis-spent youth.

Her tits, though, were the icing on the cake, the thing that made the spectacle of Dina naked so unforgettable; they were firm pink globes, each of which were easily the size of Marty's head, topped by nipples that virtually screamed to be taken in one's mouth and sucked hard. Those boobs never seemed entirely capable of being hidden, no matter how conservatively Dina dressed; many staff meetings at the Star had been enlivened by the spectacle of Dina leaning over the conference room table with her girls just on the point of spilling out of their bra. It was as though they had minds of their own and were determined to break free at any cost.

"Isn't that what they say?" Dina asked, breaking into Marty's lurid thoughts.

"Ahh...huh? I'm sorry, Dina, what? What does who say?"

"The girls at Titty Twisters," Dina pouted, clearly displeased at Marty's vague manner. "C'mon. You know..."

And suddenly, Marty did know. "Oh," he sighed, as the last faint hope that Dina's nudity might have come from the goodness of her heart instead of some personal agenda guttered and died.

"Dina...please. My decision stands. We're not doing the Titty Twisters story."

"And why not?" Dina snapped. Suddenly she looked much less cuddly and sexy, more like a vicious piranha someone had unwisely landed on Marty's desk.

"You know why not. There's probably nothing to it, in the first place. And if there is, investigating it would be dangerous." His voice softened. "I won't have your safety-or any of my people's safety-compromised for the sake of a story." In fact, this was more or less true; Marty was not an uncaring boss, though he did have to admit to occasional fits of sleazery. But it was equally true that his true motives in rejecting Dina's Titty Twister proposal had as much to do with fear of lawsuit as concern for his employees.

Titty Twisters was a chain of restaurants found mostly in remote areas of the country; it gloried in a kind of in-your-face sexism that most of the world naively believed had been eliminated during the sixties. Orders were served by waitresses chosen for their looks, especially their impressive busts. Select locations became strip-clubs after dark fell. The chain had long been rumored to be a hotbed of prostitution and less savory vices, but most of these had been dismissed by the press and police as just that: rumors.

Things had come to a head several months earlier when an obscure female rapper had showed up naked at a Nevada police station, claiming to have barely escaped a Titty Twisters restaurant where she was being held by the management as a "sex slave." There had been an intensive investigation, but nothing had ever been proven and Titty Twisters-as well as the alleged victim--had faded from the news.

Part of the reason for the sudden fade, Marty suspected, was that during the investigation Titty Twisters had been revealed to be a female-owned company. That in itself served to deflect a great deal of suspicion; people simply preferred not to believe that women would be involved in anything so heinous as sex trafficking.

Nonetheless, Dina had gotten a bee in her bonnet about the story. Several other minor celebrities had disappeared recently, and it was the redhead's contention that these girls had been pulled into a vast slavery ring operated by the Titty Twisters chain. At first she wanted to do a simple article on the scandal, but as she pitched proposal after proposal to her unenthusiastic editor, her vision had grown. Her latest idea was to go undercover as a Titty Twister waitress and find the "Truth," whatever that might be.

And Dina, apparently, was not going to let that idea go.

"Look, Marty," Dina said, her voice going soft and kittenish again. "You know how much this story means to me."

Dina touched her nipples again, arching her back and letting her ruby-red lips fall open in another silent cry of pleasure. The image of her touching herself that way was one Marty felt sure he would carry to his grave-or at least to the men's room, where he could relieve his frustration in peace and solitude.

"I would just do anything to do this story..."

"Dina," Marty said pleadingly, "you can do the story, just not on the Star's dime. You can write it up on that blog of yours...or even take it to another magazine, with my blessing. How would that be?" Marty felt sick about encouraging Dina to go to the competition. It could well be professional suicide, but if it was the only way he could get her to drop the subject, so be it.

Dina continued fingering her tits, speaking to him in a voice like honey-but honey laced with acid. "But Marty, darling...you see, the thing is, I already pitched my poor little story to another magazine. They didn't want it. I took it to all the major newspapers, and they wouldn't even talk to me. They were just like you, a bunch of old meanies. They said it was old news and nobody cared. Posting a bunch of speculation on my fucking blog won't cut it. I need money, Marty. I need an expense fund so I can do this thing properly. The crappy-ass salary you pay me won't cover weeks of investigative reporting in the ass-end of nowhere. I need a receptive magazine that will pay my way while I get the story and write it up. And once I break this story, every newspaper in the country will be licking my feet, begging to hire me. So I need you, Marty."

She licked her lips again, looking at him with those sly green eyes that were so sexy and so cold. "And you and I are going to help each other."

"What do you mean?" Marty stammered. "What are you implying, Dina?"

"I know you like titties," Dina said sweetly. "I know you go to the strip-clubs every day on your lunch-hour. Oh, don't give me that look! I'm an investigative journalist, aren't I? I've talked to the girls at all your favorite joints. They all told me about how you go in there and throw money at them, and how you just stare at their racks like you wanted to just eat them alive. Just like some guys ogle their butts, or their legs or their feet. You happen to be a boob man. Maybe that's why you feel sort of protective towards Titty Twisters and keep holding out on me. Hey, that's cool. I figure I can use a little practice before I got out into the field, as it were."

Marty straightened his shoulders, making one last valiant effort to save his dignity. "Dina, you need to put your clothes on right now and get out of my office. I won't mention this to Human Resources, but I have to tell you, you've crossed the line here. I'm not letting you do the Titty Twisters story, and I'm certainly not clearing an expense account for you..."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Marty. Because if you feel that way, I'll have no choice but to go to Human Resources myself and tell them all about your strip club lunch-hours...and how you came back drunk and got me in here and started fondling me. You think they won't believe me? If I give the word, your ass will be out of here so fast..." She rolled her eyes dramatically, hissing between her white teeth. "Ohh, baby, you won't believe it."

Marty's shoulders slumped in defeat. She was right, he knew. Todd Ruskin, the magazine's Editor-in-Chief, had been hinting for the last year that Marty should retire. And the girls in Human Resources were cold bitches. They would love to see his ass put on the street.

Dina swiveled her ass around on the desk so that she faced Marty, her sleek legs parting to expose her flame-furred pussy in all its glory. Smiling like a devil-girl, she stroked her breasts, pulling at the nipples and pinching them between her long-nailed fingers. She licked her lips.

"So be nice to me, just like I'm being nice to you. Come here, baby. Come on and play with Dina's boobies."