Miranda, the News Anchor

Art by 8ig8oobs

Miranda sat at the glass desk, her foot-long cleavage spilling out of her blazer, so deep and bare that every breath looked like it might pop a button. Her massive, natural breasts strained against the fabric, pressing forward in a way that made it impossible to ignore, her neckline plunging low enough to make viewers wonder if a slip was seconds away. No straps, no support, just smooth, bare skin holding the line—barely.

Miranda leaned forward, popping a button on her blazer and letting her cleavage spill all the way down to her navel. Her massive breasts shifted with the motion, jiggling slightly, each breath sending a soft ripple through the exposed skin. There was nothing underneath, just a deep, unbroken valley of smooth skin that dared viewers to keep watching for the slightest slip.

“Good evening, Mammopolis,” Miranda began, her voice steady and smooth. “Tonight’s top story: Tanaka Corporation has officially declared hostile intentions toward McKenzie Defense Technologies. The former dairy giant has rapidly expanded its reach from gene and hormone research into genetic warfare and defense technology, transforming itself into one of Mammopolis' most formidable powers in this sector.”

“Tanaka owns most of the Lion’s Den district, where personnel live, work, and rely on the corporation for everything from security to essential services,” Miranda recapped smoothly. “Over time, the area has become a near-autonomous corporate state, with city influence fading to almost nothing.”

A slight smile tugged at her lips as she glanced at Jackson, both anchors letting the tension hang, inviting viewers to imagine just how far Tanaka’s grip on Mammopolis might spread.

Jackson picked up seamlessly, his voice just as calm, almost amused. “Looks like we’re in for a fiery Q4, Miranda,” he said with a small chuckle. “Speaking of hot territories, Aldana Biotechnics has been implicated in recent Los Cuervos activity. Sources allege Aldana is funneling experimental genetic mods through black market channels to the gang’s lieutenants, ensuring a more… enhanced enforcement team on the streets. Allegations remain unconfirmed,” he added with a wink, “but you can bet on tonight’s highest betting pools for which lieutenant will appear with new mods first.”

Miranda arched an eyebrow, leaning slightly toward Jackson. “Well, Jackson, maybe Aldana’s just offering an upgrade package to their old friends. Can’t have Mammopolis’ finest gang slipping behind on the latest tech, can we?” Her smile was playful, conspiratorial, and the two shared a quiet laugh.

“Onto lifestyle news,” Miranda continued, her tone lightening as she switched gears, “social media sensation Velvet_Angel has broken records on TruScene, topping one million live tributes in under an hour. Fans tuned in to watch her latest installment, ‘24 Hours of Velvet,’ where she livestreamed her every movement, including a rather… interactive Q&A session.” She smirked, her gaze unwavering. “In response, Velvet issued a heartfelt thank-you to her followers, saying she’s ‘thrilled to be setting new benchmarks for Mammopolian excellence.’ Her engagement metrics have since hit an all-time high, with AR stats showing over 70% interaction rates with men aged 18-34.”

Jackson chuckled, shifting in his seat. “Gotta say, Miranda, she’s setting quite the example for today’s youth. Maybe some of our younger viewers could take a page out of her book—learn how to give back to the community.” His tone was as earnest as it was condescending, completely devoid of irony. “After all, we all need a role model.”

“Absolutely, Jackson,” Miranda said smoothly, her eyes gleaming as the holo-screen behind them switched to the Hunt’s notorious highlight reel. The “Best of the Hunt” compilation showed Bustocrats—famous actresses, influencers, socialites—all thrown into the chaos of last year’s Trophy Hunt. Each clip was a wild, unfiltered shot of busty women being cornered in alleys, dragged out of sleek cars, or pulled from high-end lounges, their clothes ripped away in seconds by cheering mobs. Hands groped their massive tits, squeezing and yanking as the crowds eagerly took turns, their faces showing that mix of shock, pleasure, and ecstasy as they were completely used up by the night: Shir Khovansky, the young fashion influencer, was pinned against a club wall, her designer dress ripped open as the mob took turns, her firm, massive tits bouncing wildly with each rough grab. Senator Julia Vevrier, a symbol of conservative power, was hoisted onto a street podium, her blouse and blazer pulled over her head, exposing her enormous, sagging motherly breasts as factory workers took her from behind, each thrust stripping away her dignity. Professor Phoenix Sakova, a renowned academic and cultural authority, was dragged into an abandoned strip club and **** to pole dance, her glasses askew, her huge tits swaying as her students cheered and jerked off to her every move. Lastly, Valentina di Roma, the Italian exchange student, lay pinned on the hood of a car, her face flushed and dazed as a group of professors stood over her, releasing their loads across her heaving chest.

Miranda kept her practiced smile steady, her voice light and almost playful. “As always, the biggest names in the Bustocracy are gearing up for this year’s Hunt. The Plain Class will hit the streets next weekend, ready to get up close and personal with Mammopolis’ most sought-after women. And remember, any girl with a big enough pair is fair game—though, of course, celebrities and public figures tend to get the most… attention. Citizens, make sure to download the Trophy Hunt app to track, tag, and rate your encounters live as they happen.”

The screen flashed to a bold countdown timer, the lurid colors flickering with each second ticking down. Jackson glanced at it, his smirk widening as he looked back to Miranda. “And if last year’s turnout is any indication, we’re in for a record-breaking Hunt this time. Bustocrats, remember: opting out isn’t an option—unless you manage to buy yourself a pricey permit to leave town for the night.” He paused, his eyes glinting with mischief as he turned to her. “Though I bet some of our viewers would love the chance to see you in the thick of it, Miranda. Imagine the thrill of seeing you out there, giving the crowds something unforgettable.”

Miranda’s smile didn’t falter; instead, she met Jackson’s gaze with a cool, knowing look. “Oh, Jackson,” she replied, her tone teasing. “As exciting as that sounds, I’ll be out on assignment in the outer districts that weekend. Purely work, of course.” Her excuse was flimsy, but she played it off with enough charm to suggest she didn’t need an explanation. There was no point in flaunting her connections when she could just brush it off, leaving Jackson to chuckle as he turned back to the camera.

Jackson nodded, a smile creeping across his face. “And to wrap things up tonight, we have an exclusive look at next month’s Product Exposition. Featured this year are the latest AR implants by Cybreyes Corp, promising 20% faster data relay and full-sensory integration. That’s right, folks, full sensory—meaning you’ll be able to feel, taste, and touch digital experiences with the same intensity as the real thing. The future is now,” he added with a wink, “and it’s looking more immersive than ever.”

Miranda tilted her head thoughtfully, eyes gleaming. “I might have to schedule a demo myself. Could be useful for keeping up with viewer tributes.” She grinned, leaning into Jackson as he laughed.

Jackson kicked things off with his usual charm, leaning into the camera with a polished grin. “And that wraps up tonight’s top stories, Mammopolis. Thanks for tuning in to Channel 8—your go-to for everything big, bold, and breaking.”

Miranda joined in, her voice as smooth as ever, flashing her brightest smile. “And don’t go anywhere just yet! Up next is After Dark with Jessica Meyers, where she’ll be taking on a hot topic that’s sure to stir things up: Dairy Queens - Milking it for Mammopolis” She chuckled, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

Jackson leaned over, giving Miranda a cheeky look. “But, you know, before we say goodbye, Miranda, maybe you could give the audience a little something to milk themselves? You know they’ve been waiting all night.”

Miranda gave a mock gasp, her hand at her chest as if she couldn’t believe the suggestion. “Jackson! Really?” She hesitated for just a beat, but the music had already shifted to a heavy Latin electro beat, and her expression shifted from surprise to a mischievous grin. Leaning into the beat, her shoulders started to sway. She rolled her upper body with the rhythm, her massive chest bouncing in time to each thumping bass note. With every sway, her tits jiggled under her blazer, the fabric straining as she leaned into the movement. A flicker of her areola peeked over the edge, disappearing before reappearing with each bold bounce.

The control room scrambled, but just as another nipple flashed into view, the loud, blaring outro music took over, cutting off the show with flashing colors and blaring horns.

Behind the scenes, the crew wrapped things up with smiles and satisfied nods, the program closing without a hitch. Jackson and Miranda rose from their seats, the playful energy fading as the familiar post-show fatigue set in.

“Good run tonight,” Jackson murmured, loosening his collar, his earlier charm replaced by a weary tone.

“Yeah, smooth show,” Miranda replied, checking her AR display out of habit. Her stats spiked impressively near the end, a clear indicator that plenty of viewers had started jerking off right as she’d leaned into that final bounce. She gave a small, tired smile; it was exactly what Channel 8 aimed for. Another night, another job well done—Mammopolis had gotten its fix, and they’d be back tomorrow, hungry for more.