[Fonk]

I had this idea… and I had to run with it. ;D

————

The Biggest News Around

Claudia Chatwin flicked her hair irritably. Life was definitely not going her way at the moment.

The 30-year-old brunette was sitting in make-up with a couple of chatty black-clad blondes fiddling with her hair and face, making sure everything looked just so. "Not that it's worth it for the audience at this time of night," she reflected grimly. Claudia had spent years making her way to the top of the news broadcasting profession. She'd been selected, amidst very fierce competition, to front the then-new 24-hour TV news service her network was launching. That had been five years ago. Five years of the most profound professional satisfaction, getting to grips with the pressures of creating something totally new, and then sustaining its success.

However, a week ago Claudia had been told that she was being dropped from the daytime schedule. No explanation was given. Unfortunately for the feisty brunette, she'd signed an exclusive contract for seven years those five golden years ago. At heart, she was an honourable person, so she elected not to break the contract. Part of her was keen to find out if she would be presented with a new challenge. She was: the graveyard shift. The televisual deadzone of 1am till 5am. Claudia had nodded and smiled and tried to look enthusiastic in the meetings she'd been to about the change. It was a chance, she'd been told, to revitalise this difficult time-slot. It was in no way, she'd been told, a step down from her previous role. Then Claudia had been introduced to her replacement.

Sarah Featherstone was a 22-year-old bottle blonde with more make-up than sense, and her make-up bag was barely bigger than a pencil case. She had no journalistic aspirations at all, but her breast implants, deep tan and whitened teeth had earned her the prized presenting slot that Claudia had worked so hard for. Ever the professional, Claudia had held her tongue when they met, but inside she was fuming. "Another sign that news is sacrificing itself on the altar of ratings," she'd said to herself. Early viewing figures indicated that Sarah was a big hit, particularly with the coveted 24-40-year-old male category. For them, it was as if the news was being presented by a Playboy Playmate.

All these thoughts ran through Claudia's head again as a production assistant came in with her usual black coffee. The anchorwoman smiled in recognition: it was Sam Waters, whom she'd had a hand in hiring. He was in his early twenties, dyed black spiky hair, with a little goatee beard. His chin and right eyebrow were pierced and he wore black for preference. He looked every inch the stereotypical skinny pale Goth boy.

"Hi Sam!" she said, more cheerily than she felt. Sam grinned and handed her the piping hot mug of caffeine.

"Here's your coffee, Ms. Chatwin," he said. "Black, just the way you like it." She took the mug and smiled at him. The make-up girls chittered their way out of the room and Claudia checked her watch. It was ten minutes till she was due on.

"Thanks," she said, taking a big slug of the coffee. It tasted better than usual. "Is this new coffee?" she asked. Sam nodded.

"I've started to bring my own in," Sam admitted. "Almost everyone complains about the stuff the machine downstairs spits out – " Claudia nodded enthusiastically at this whilst taking another sip of the coffee " – so I decided it was TFC." TFC was part of a special code that Sam used with his favourite people on the staff. It stood for "Time For Change". Claudia laughed: a kind, happy laugh. Sam grinned in response.

"Thanks, Sam," Claudia said. "You've done a great job with this coffee. Now I've got to get ready before I go on. Thanks again." Sam nodded and left the make-up room. Claudia stood up to check her five foot five reflection in the full-length mirror. As ever, the make-up girls had worked wonders with the crow's feet and wrinkles her stressful occupation had given her. In her formative years as a journalist, Claudia had specialised in war reporting. She had been to some of the most violent and deadly places on Earth at their most violent and deadly times and had lost crew members on more than one occasion. The constant worry had taken its toll on her otherwise beautiful face.

Deep green eyes stared back at Claudia. Her nicely-tanned body, kept in great shape by a good gym routine and healthy eating, was clad in a slightly off-white suit jacket, button-down white blouse and matching knee-length skirt. She also wore simple white pumps. As part of her psyching-up before she was due on the air, Claudia turned her butt to the mirror, wiggled it a couple of times and slapped its firmness hard. Her perky ass, slight curves and pert breasts had helped Claudia net a husband, Steve, a good, kind man who doted on her. The change to a night-time schedule had kept them apart most of the past week, a fact she regretted deeply. "It can't be helped," she said to herself for the umpteenth time and, gulping down the rest of the delicious coffee, she began the walk to the studio.

As ever these days, it wasn't a real studio. The arena the viewer saw at home was generated by a great big computer somewhere. Claudia actually sat at a sub-IKEA desk in a very sparse room. As time had gone on, there were fewer and fewer people needed for a news broadcast. These days there were only two cameramen, two members of the lighting crew, one sound engineer, a production assistant (Claudia was delighted to spot Sam, and waved) and a director. When the anchorwoman had made her first ever broadcast, she'd been surrounded by a team of around twenty professionals, now reduced for "cost effectiveness" to just seven. Claudia felt her mood worsen as she approached The Chair. She'd read the news from the morning papers and kept herself up-to-date throughout the day via the Internet. There had been a few gruesome stories during the day, including the murder of a 14-year-old girl in the Greater London area, and that always turned her stomach. In fact, as the sound guy wired her up, the broadcaster could feel her stomach gurgling away.

She sat, frowning, clutching her flat belly as it churned away. There were a few minutes till the broadcast started, so Claudia called Sam over.

"Sam," she winced, "I'm not feeling too good. Could I have another cup of your magic coffee, to see if it'll calm my stomach?" Sam grinned widely.

"Sure," he said, "I've got some freshly brewed. I'll just get you some." Claudia nodded and smiled. She read through the stories she was about to present – to an audience made up of students and insomniacs, she thought miserably – to familiarise herself with the details. A couple of minutes later Sam returned, carrying a plastic cup from which a plume of steam was rising.

"Here you are, Ms. Chatwin," he said, smiling good-naturedly. He placed the cup on her desk. She thanked him, took it and downed its boiling contents in one burning gulp. The restlessness in her stomach abated. When Sam had taken up his position, she smiled at him and gave the thumbs-up. He returned it.

"OK," the director, Larry Gottlieb, said. "We're on in a minute. Have you got everything you need, Claudia?" The anchorwoman nodded in response. "Good. There are rumours of a big political story about to break in the US, Claudia, so you'll need to be alive to any changes in the schedule that we have to make." Claudia nodded again. Larry grinned the grin of one professional to another. He knew Claudia was too good for this spot, but he was grateful for having the chance to work with the acknowledged best in the business. He walked back to his position on the floor and checked his watch.

"OK, we're on in five, four, three, two – " And with that, he gave the signal to Claudia. The red 'on-air' light in the studio flicked on.

"This is TeleNews 24," Claudia began, professional air now perfectly in place. "The top stories tonight." Claudia went off-camera as various flashy graphics depicted scenes of the main stories she was announcing. "A 14-year-old girl is murdered in the Greater London area: police are appealing for witnesses. A new poll released today shows that the British public want Prime Minister Tony Blair to step down sooner rather than later. And growing rifts within the European Union threaten to tear it apart." The camera returned to Claudia.

"Good evening, it's one o'clock, I'm Claudia Chatwin." Claudia turned to the second camera. "A 14-year-old girl has been brutally killed on the streets of Greater London. The girl, who cannot be named for legal reasons, was found dead by a neighbour at a park near to her house. She had been stabbed nineteen times. Our legal correspondent, Rob Mitchells, has this report." The on-air light went off.

"Great, Claudia, you're doing great," Larry said, giving her two thumbs-up signs. The anchorwoman nodded, smiling weakly. Her stomach pains had come back and brought some big, unpleasant friends with them. She felt faint and broke out into a cold sweat. Fortunately, they would be off-air for a few minutes more. Again Claudia called Sam over. The production assistant looked genuinely concerned when he saw the anchorwoman wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Sam," she croaked, "could you fetch me a glass of water?" The young man nodded and hurried off. Claudia felt her stomach gurgle and groan. It felt like intense nausea: great tidal waves of bile thrashed around her gut. Quickly the broadcaster thought of what she'd eaten over the past day, trying to pin down what could have caused it. "It must be the prawns I had for lunch," she groaned. Thinking quickly, she called Larry over.

"How long have we got until I'm on air again?" she asked.

"Another three minutes," Larry replied, after checking his watch. Claudia made an apologetic face.

"I'm not feeling so good," she said, and right on cue her stomach rumbled loudly. Larry frowned at her abdomen, and then gasped in amazement.

"Something's wrong," he said urgently, pointing at her mid-section. Claudia looked down and gave a gasp of her own. Her belly had swollen up like a balloon, and was still expanding. Her blouse and pants were slipping off to reveal her inflated abdomen.

"What's going on?!" she cried, standing to get a better look at her enlarged stomach. She clutched it like a pregnant woman, which she was beginning to resemble. Sam came hurrying up with a plastic cup of water. Claudia thanked him briefly and downed it. Her whole body trembled violently for a couple of seconds. A horrified Sam and Larry helped her back into her seat. As soon as Claudia sat down, her belly gurgled again and her abdomen returned to its normal flatness. Claudia started. Sam and Larry checked that she was OK. When Claudia had nodded, Larry checked his watch and cursed under his breath.

"Can you carry on?" Larry asked, his concern sincere. Claudia nodded. In fact, she felt better than she had in a good long time. Larry and Sam hurried back into position. The director began a second countdown.

"Back in five, four, three, two – " Once more the on-air light came on.

"An opinion poll released earlier today by MORI shows that the British public want Prime Minister Tony Blair to hand over the role to Gordon Brown as soon as possible. 79% of the 7,000 participants – making this the largest poll of its kind – thought that the Prime Minister's reluctance to step down was damaging the government's effectiveness. Our political editor, Nick Stevenson, has this report." The on-air light went off again, leaving spots in Claudia's eyes.

Claudia shifted uncomfortably on her chair. During that link, her clothes had started to get tight. Her shoes and bra in particular were beginning to pinch her skin painfully.

"How long till we're back, Larry?" she asked.

"Four minutes," came the reply. "I hope that was some sort of practical joke, Claudia. If it was, it was beneath you," he admonished. But the newscaster shook her head, too worried to respond to the criticism.

"No, it's not," she said vaguely. "It's just…" She thought better of it. "No," the anchorwoman decided, "I'll be OK from now on." Claudia tried to surreptitiously slide her shoes off under the desk, but they wouldn't leave her feet. Frowning, she drew her right foot onto the chair and tried to remove it by hand. She undid the laces but the shoe wouldn't budge. She tried to take off her other shoe, but it too was stuck fast. After a good few minutes of tugging and grunting, Claudia gave up. With all the effort, the broadcaster failed to notice that her calf muscles had increased in size.

"Right, everyone ready?" Larry called across the studio. Claudia was on the point of shaking her head – her bra was really painful now, and her feet felt ready to burst through the pumps. However, ever the professional, the anchorwoman gave the director a nod. "OK, we're back in five, four, three, two – "

"Flooding in Bangladesh has swept away hundreds of homes and villages." If you had been watching at home, you would have seen pictures of houses poking above a raging water line taken from a helicopter appear next to Claudia's head. "The devestation has caused over two hundred deaths and many more people are reported missing. The UN is organising a vast aid package to help this stricken area. Our foreign correspondent, Priya Jawani, is – ow – on the scene. This report contains images which some people may – ahh – find distressing."

Claudia blushed deeply as she went off-camera, but the pain had been too much. Larry stalked over to her desk, fuming.

"What the hell is going on, Chatwin?!" he roared. "Are you trying to get me fired?" Claudia shook her head, fidgeting uncomfortably in her seat.

"No, it's just…" she began. The newscaster looked down at her body and realised the truth for the first time. "Ohmigod," she breathed. "I'm growing!"

Claudia looked in shock at her forearms, which were fighting the cuffs of her blouse. She quickly undid the buttons, releasing the muscles. Veins slowly appeared on her thickening arms as the muscles they fed turned into thick cables of power. The anchorwoman felt her blouse "shrink" as shoulder and arm muscles began to fill it out. She cupped her boobs. Claudia estimated she'd put on two cup sizes, accounting for the pinching of her overworked bra straps. Her pumps were feeling it most as her feet grew. With a loud gasp of pain, the front of both shoes gave simultaneously. Claudia poked her toes through the gap, trying to widen it and relieve the pressure. The broadcaster lifted her blouse a little and saw that her flat stomach was developing abs. Embarrassed, she tucked it back in. She felt her thighs pressing against her skirt.

Larry was watching all this, jaw agape. Claudia was on the verge of tears.

"What do we do now?!" she said, exasperated. Larry set his jaw determinedly.

"We've got work to do," he said. "Take off anything that's going to hurt." Nodding, Claudia wiggled her still-expanding feet, shredding her shoes slowly, methodically ripping bits from each side. She kicked the scraps under her desk. Leaving the chair, Claudia found a private corner of the studio. She slid her hands up her back, trying to unhook her bra. Much like the shoes, it was impossible. Her growing boobs and pectoral muscles had conspired against her.

"I can't take off this bra!" she hissed to Larry as she stalked back to her chair. Larry merely shrugged.

"We'll just have to go with it," he said. "We're on in twenty seconds." Hastily Claudia sat down and arranged herself as best she could. She tried to appear relaxed and composed – just like audiences had always seen her – when Larry gave her the count-in. The broadcaster began the next link.

"At home, scientists believe that a cure for diabetes is only just around the corner. Researchers – argh! – at Oxford Univ – University say that they are close to…" Claudia's bra straps finally broke as the combination of expanding shoulders, ballooning boobs and pulsating pecs won out. The broadcaster was noticeably filling out now, her clothes getting tight to her body. Gritting her teeth, she carried on. "I'm sorry. Researchers at Oxford University say that they are close to being able to artificially grow pancreatic cells to be able to restore function to the pancreas, which is the organ that breaks down in diabetes sufferers." Just as Claudia thought she'd got her composure back, there was a tear. Her thighs had gotten too big for her skirt. Each second brought new growth, so the tear started to make its way up her thighs to her pelvis. The anchorwoman blushed deeply. Then something worse happened.

Free of the constraints of her bra, Claudia's breasts had billowed up to meet her blouse. They were pushing hard, so hard that her tanned brown nipples were visible through the white fabric. Unable to continue, Claudia started to moan. Everyone watched, aghast, as the broadcaster forgot herself and began to writhe in her chair. The skirt had stopped tearing, the rips having reached her waistband. Slowly the waistband stretched as Claudia's hips widened and power layered onto her abdomen. A button popped off the middle of her blouse, giving an oddly-angled peek at her squashed cleavage. The sleeves of her blouse tore open at the top, new veiny biceps and triceps bursting through. Anything that wasn't tearing at this stage started to look like it had been painted onto the anchorwoman's burgeoning frame.

The broadcaster, in the throes of her painful ecstasy, saw that the on-air light was still on. She began to panic, moaning and groaning louder and louder. She spasmed and kicked both feet through the desk, breaking it in half and sending splinters flying everywhere. Feeling even the chair compress against her as her hips and glutes expanded, Claudia stood up. The effort sent another button flying. At the same time, tears started to appear in her jacket as her upper arms, traps and deltoids began to push on through. She stood, head in her hands, as the growth rampaged around her body.

Claudia was growing taller as well as wider: her blouse came untucked, revealing her two lowest abs and a growing trickle of veins spreading up from beneath her waistline as she passed six feet in height. Her thighs and calves were immense and growing thicker and wider by the second as her tattered skirt rode up. Two more buttons popped off and tinkled onto the floor – only the top and bottom ones remained. Claudia looked down at her growing cleavage: she'd passed a double F cup and was still going. If she had been able to see her abs through them, she would have spotted that they were growing wider, thicker and larger, obliques expanding to catch them. A couple of tears at arm level indicated that the anchorwoman's blouse had given up the ghost. She shook her expanding arms and the useless fabric fluttered out from under her jacket.

The mass that Claudia had put on was now turning into bulk. Her shoulders had torn through the jacket, revealing powerfully broad traps and massive, perfectly rounded deltoids. Claudia's top blouse button finally popped off as her torso grew wider. Her massive breasts were freed, but the newscaster didn't care – an insistent panic had taken hold of her brain. As her new muscles flexed, spasmed and expanded, her jacket ripped in more and more places. Claudia trembled uncontrollably, shredding the remnants of her jacket with a series of sensual ripping noises. The tattered rags fell to the floor, joining the pile.

The amazed anchorwoman was naked from the waist up. The waistband of her skirt was fighting a losing battle with her widening body. Every part of Claudia's frame was getting bigger, stronger, sexier. Strong lines turned into deep grooves as her midsection turned into a blistering eight-pack of powerfully bulging muscle. The broadcaster's bosom seemed to swell the most, the astounding growth in her mighty mounds backed up by the awesome expansion of her powerful pectorals. Claudia's cleavage now started as muscle just below her neck – itself as thick as a lamp-post – and ended, several drooling inches away, just above the line that separated her amazing abs.

Everything above Claudia's billowing boobs was now at top male bodybuilder standard: her broad, brawny shoulders were made of strong lines and powerful curves. She could have burst through any defensive line you could care to name. Her biceps bulged menacingly even when unflexed – as Claudia's body writhed and spasmed, she flexed involuntarily from time to time, making her upper arms swell into huge rocks of power. Her thick, hard, big triceps formed the perfect complement. Underneath her split skirt, the broadcaster's legs had taken on incredible size. It was as if someone had hooked a bicycle pump directly into her legs and was adding muscle with each pump. Lines, grooves and veins appeared as huge layers of she-beef bulged into being. Her calves swelled up too, forming the perfect diamond shape and growing beyond.

Strength wasn't the only thing to come Claudia's way that night. As the team looked on in seemingly stupefied horror, each noticed that their anchor was becoming more beautiful. Her all-over tan deepened to the perfect healthy colour. The wrinkles that had beset her face since she was 24 became smooth, giving her a gorgeous complexion. Her jaw rounded out and her cheekbones became more prominent, giving the broadcaster a peerless face of classical beauty. Her deep brown hair gained lustre and volume, extending in a cascade of brunette brilliance that dazzled as it caught the light.

Finally the ripped skirt gave up the ghost, snapping loudly and fluttering to the floor as Claudia rocked and writhed, unable to stem the flow. Only her simple white cotton panties remained, themselves stretched beyond what the manufacturers would have thought possible. Occasionally the nwescaster turned enough for the crowd to see her back and glutes growing. Her bum was gaining mass too, but in such a shapely and gorgeous way that a few of the men in the studio began to drool. Claudia's panties were disappearing as her tush swelled beautifully. Her back was bursting into big, beefy muscle, each ripple and bulge perfectly delineated.

After a minute of terrified writhing, the growth visibly began to slow. The dull panic that Claudia had felt since the changes accelerated so viciously began to fade. She panted deeply, enormous bosom rising and falling with each snatched breath. As a final act, the anchorwoman's panties snapped and fell to the floor. Claudia Chatwin, ace anchorwoman, was now naked on national television. Slowly, realising what was going on around her, the broadcaster straightened up.

Simply put, Claudia was a vision of whatever you could care to name that is good about the female form. Her long brown hair reached to just above her stunning, gorgeously well-rounded butt. She was easily the most beautiful woman of the age, her tanned face lit up by a powerful and confident smile. Her shoulders were as wide as the desk she had been sitting at, huge rounded delts melting perfectly into thick traps that reached up to just below her ears. Her neck was so thick she couldn't encircle it with both hands. Claudia's slight B-cup boobs had blossomed into immense, basketball-sized mounds, blue veins criss-crossing their surface. Her tanned brown nipples were two delicious inches long, pointing straight ahead.

Claudia's new arms were gigantic. Huge, thick, veiny biceps melted into immense, rock-solid triceps. Her forearms were now made of solid steel. The anchorwoman's abs were textbook: cobblestone-sized bulges of power Claudia couldn't make a dent in, the original abs of steel. Her hips flared out to accommodate the incredible changes in her lower body. The broadcaster's legs, previously toned and sexy, had changed beyond all recognition into the sort of broad, strong muscles that men dream of having. Layer on layer of thick strength, trailed with veins, flowed perfectly down into calves of diamond shape, strength, and prodigious size.

Her growth complete, Claudia turned to Larry – now having to look down at the panicked producer – and gave him a quizzical look.

"Just – just cover your nipples and your… y'know, downstairs, and we'll roll with it," Larry stuttered. Claudia raised an eyebrow imperiously at him, but did as she was told. She moved her mighty right arm to cover her enormous, proud nipples. The gigantic globes squashed and billowed out under her arm. A big left hand splayed in front of the important part of her pelvis. "OK, good," Larry said, some of the composure back in his voice. "Carry on for me, in five, four, three, two – "

"In breaking news," Claudia began, her voice deeper and more resonant, "TeleNews 24 anchorwoman Claudia Chatwin has transformed into a seven foot tall muscular Amazonian goddess live on air. At present, the causes of this change have yet to be determined, but Ms. Chatwin is in a stable condition. More than stable, in fact." With a mischievous smile on her incredible face, Claudia slowly struck a double-biceps pose. She looked from side to side at her awesome arms, split heads towering into the air, veins shining under the studio lights. She addressed the camera again. "Actually, Ms. Chatwin feels better than she has ever done before. This will be my last bulletin. Thanks for watching TeleNews 24." She turned to Larry. "I quit," she said, and strode back to her dressing-room. No-one dared to stop her.

— EPILOGUE —

Sam presented the rest of the programme that night. The station was inundated by hundreds of complaints about Claudia's on-air nudity, but they were countered by thousands of calls congratulating the network for livening up the news. Claudia got her old job back, presenting the daytime slot with a renewed intellectual vigour, passion and professionalism. Ratings for the channel were the highest seen for any station in twenty years.

Sarah Featherstone took over the graveyard shift. She left the profession a few months later and went to work in the porn industry with moderate success.

Larry Gottlieb was not fired, much to his surprise. A couple of months later he was promoted to marketing, where he came up with the famous "The Biggest News Around" billboards advertising TeleNews 24, alongside a picture of Claudia smiling with her arms folded to emphasise her tremendous bosom.

Sam Waters, as he always did after his work was done, slipped unnoticed out of the building at the end of the night. Quietly he headed for a run-down building on the edge of town. He carefully pushed the door open, which was hanging off its hinges, and rearranged it artfully over the entrance. "Greg!" he called out once he was in the dark and dingy room. "Did you see it?" A voice trickled down the stairs. "Oh yeah," it said. "You passed." Sam punched the air. "Oh, yes!" he shouted. Now that Sam had passed the initiation test and was a fully-fledged warlock, there was no telling what sort of chaos he could get up to…

— THE END —

[nam]

Is this a true story? 😉
Nice work as always.

[Joshua Corin]

Great shout-out to the end of "The Howling." 

[Cowprobe]

8)

Great explanation for and realization of that mega newscaster's transformation.

It's nice to know that things turned out well for the enriched journalist.

I really like how you're able to create a character from a few habits and quriks and make them endearing and readable.

You keep writing and I'll keep reading.

PS- Here's hoping Torchwood doesn't get a hold of Mrs.Chatwin.  :-X

[gblock01]

Another amazing story! I could have gone without the belly swelling, but other than that, the story was unbelievable.

[El_Roy_1999]

Cool. Great sequential description of Claudia's growth. I enjoyed reading this a lot.

[00tree]

I LOVED IT!!!

[The_Pimp_NeonBlack]

A most excellent tale, dear Fonk.

Thank you greatly for sharing it with us.

Peace
Neon

[Jon Saul]

Fantastic! Two bulging biceps up.  🙂

[Anonymous]

That's a nice story!

[Author]

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