The Supple Nail
Super-Earth
- Joined
- Aug 9, 2014
Sarah Morten sighed and smoothed the skirt of her business suit down over her hips as she waited in the elevator. No doubt the network CEO had asked her to his office to have a word with her about her comments on air the previous week. She was equally exasperated at being chewed out and angry that anyone would find her comments objectionable. Yes, perhaps she had gotten a bit more vehement than she should have, but really all that she had said was that he network had a deplorable lack of feminist programming. In the male-centric entertainment industry was it too much to ask to fund programming targeting the female demographics? And their advertising...just deplorable. Hell, the current print adds for Chet Weldon's Late Night Man Talk was a nearly naked model kneeling and looking up worshipfully while Chet and his co-host showered her with champagne from bottles held at waist height. Subtle.
Sarah's own program was tasteful and enlightening, a combination travelogue and archaeological study as she traveled the world making episodes about ancient culture and modern archaeological practices. One of her nicknames was 'the female Indiana Jones'. But, while she had full creative control over the content of her show, a quirk in her programming contract with the network gave them control over the advertising and marketing. And that had led to her second nickname, mostly snickered on internet forums and in locker rooms. 'Titty Cow'. She had refused to take smutty promotional pictures for their advertisements but her travels took her to tropical climates enough that nearly every advertising spot on TV featured her in a string bikini. Just a little cutting and editing and the tamest dig site became a thirty second jolt of soft core porn, right between an add for Cheerios and a payday loan company.
She crossed her arms beneath her bust and furrowed her brow in anger. It wasn't even her fault. She had been one of the trimmest, most slender girls in school while growing up. She had excelled at gymnastics and was even an olympic hopeful when she was diagnosed with Heffner Syndrome. A rare thyroid condition, it usually lead to weight gain, obesity, and convalescence. The disease could be controlled with strict diet and exercise though, and control it Sarah did. She spent hours in the gym and controlled her diet with scientific precision. She worked her ass off even as it grew. By the time her body stopped growing and the syndrome had run its course the effects on her figure were staggering.
From a slender pre-teen she had become an impossibly voluptuous young woman. Her hips and thighs were heavy and round, tapering up to a waist kept impossibly tiny with herculean efforts. Her breasts were enormous, larger than DDs, heavy and disproportionately large compared to her slender shoulders and slim arms. She was a double medical anomaly having worked and exercised so hard through a rapid growth syndrome. She didn't look like a real woman so much as a hyper-sexualized caricature of one. Impossibly curvy figure, mind blowingly huge bust, graceful arms and dainty features, a slim neck and an oval, beautiful face.
Her impossible figure made her feel double the struggle than an average working woman does to be taken seriously in a mainly male dominated industry. But, with the same efforts that she had kept herself trim during her illness, she had fought her way up to be a respected television personality. Her exasperation with the industry, and men in general, had given her something of a reputation as a rampant feminist. Some accused her of misandry and blind dogma but that couldn't be farther from the truth. She simply valued herself as much as any man and demanded that same respect from others around her.
It had all culminated the previous weekend during her interview on the Daily Talkshow. She had gotten a little carried away when they asked her about the very sexual advertisements that the network was running for her show. When presented with the numbers of her male demographic she had gone on a tirade about sexism at the office, misrepresentation in advertising, and the over-sexualization of her image. The audience and social media had shown remarkable support for her in some circles, while others painted her as a man hating femi-nazi.
And now she was being called in to the network CEO's office for...a talk.
Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose as the elevator dinged and straightened her business suit again, then stepped through into the waiting office.
Sarah's own program was tasteful and enlightening, a combination travelogue and archaeological study as she traveled the world making episodes about ancient culture and modern archaeological practices. One of her nicknames was 'the female Indiana Jones'. But, while she had full creative control over the content of her show, a quirk in her programming contract with the network gave them control over the advertising and marketing. And that had led to her second nickname, mostly snickered on internet forums and in locker rooms. 'Titty Cow'. She had refused to take smutty promotional pictures for their advertisements but her travels took her to tropical climates enough that nearly every advertising spot on TV featured her in a string bikini. Just a little cutting and editing and the tamest dig site became a thirty second jolt of soft core porn, right between an add for Cheerios and a payday loan company.
She crossed her arms beneath her bust and furrowed her brow in anger. It wasn't even her fault. She had been one of the trimmest, most slender girls in school while growing up. She had excelled at gymnastics and was even an olympic hopeful when she was diagnosed with Heffner Syndrome. A rare thyroid condition, it usually lead to weight gain, obesity, and convalescence. The disease could be controlled with strict diet and exercise though, and control it Sarah did. She spent hours in the gym and controlled her diet with scientific precision. She worked her ass off even as it grew. By the time her body stopped growing and the syndrome had run its course the effects on her figure were staggering.
From a slender pre-teen she had become an impossibly voluptuous young woman. Her hips and thighs were heavy and round, tapering up to a waist kept impossibly tiny with herculean efforts. Her breasts were enormous, larger than DDs, heavy and disproportionately large compared to her slender shoulders and slim arms. She was a double medical anomaly having worked and exercised so hard through a rapid growth syndrome. She didn't look like a real woman so much as a hyper-sexualized caricature of one. Impossibly curvy figure, mind blowingly huge bust, graceful arms and dainty features, a slim neck and an oval, beautiful face.
Her impossible figure made her feel double the struggle than an average working woman does to be taken seriously in a mainly male dominated industry. But, with the same efforts that she had kept herself trim during her illness, she had fought her way up to be a respected television personality. Her exasperation with the industry, and men in general, had given her something of a reputation as a rampant feminist. Some accused her of misandry and blind dogma but that couldn't be farther from the truth. She simply valued herself as much as any man and demanded that same respect from others around her.
It had all culminated the previous weekend during her interview on the Daily Talkshow. She had gotten a little carried away when they asked her about the very sexual advertisements that the network was running for her show. When presented with the numbers of her male demographic she had gone on a tirade about sexism at the office, misrepresentation in advertising, and the over-sexualization of her image. The audience and social media had shown remarkable support for her in some circles, while others painted her as a man hating femi-nazi.
And now she was being called in to the network CEO's office for...a talk.
Sarah pinched the bridge of her nose as the elevator dinged and straightened her business suit again, then stepped through into the waiting office.