Nena's Fuckballons

As a 50-something cougar, Gabriele Susanne Kerner aka Nena never thought her record label would have the audacity to do to her what it had done to so many other singers. Her age should have protected her from these sleazy ideas. If only she had known her fate would come down to a choice between **** retirement or a complete overhaul of her public image.

One hit wonder, the producers said. None of her songs other than the famous 99 Luftballons made it across the pond, and the money she earned from it only lasted so long after decades of a solo career and failed attempt at her own record label. Test audiences weren't on her side either. Too boring and routine they said, nothing to wow them like modern innovators like Lady Gaga or Nicki Minaj. (Un)luckily for her, she did have one saving grace that had vastly improved since her last real success. She had filled out her body nicely, with wrinkles in just the right places.

But she still lacked something essential to make a real splash in the music scene: a gimmick. They all needed one these days. Gaga had her quirky outfits. Minaj had her twerking. After enough workshopping, they hit on the perfect concept to catch the eyes of this younger, hornier generation of listeners. And they would be revealed with a much better English rewrite of her most popular song than the last.

Her new music video started. She appeared in silhouette, the only hint of who she was coming from her familiar voice with its soft German accent.

          Hot, so wet, I sigh for more
          Singin how I long for dick
          On and on my fuckballons

Nobody really cared how the words came out. In the rare case someone did, she could get away with her stilted, improper grammar because of her native tongue. Besides, that wasn't what her producers counted on to sell her.

No, it was the newly revealed namesakes of her song.

The light shifted, first revealing her hugely inflated tits. Anyone who saw her in her small-chested years would have gasped at their size alone, but she had a very different gimmick behind them. They floated. Not from being stuffed to a breaking point with plastic, as would have been done with a typical celebrity whose chest they wanted at the center of attention. No, this was all helium. They literally hovered mid-air, filled with the perfect amount to keep them from sagging too low or rising too high. They wobbled into and against each other while the rest of her remained in shadows.

They had a goal. Despite her older good looks, her face was not the face of her new public image. These were. Her hard and angry nipples, set up to remain so to fit the perceived culture of her country, counted for eyes she could touch.

Touch she did. She moved her fingers over them, toggling the valves that would fill and let out gas from her titty sacks if opened with a special key underneath her bouncy breasts. A couple of the yearned for dicks emerged from the sides of the screen, drawing her hands toward them, where they rested to grab and stroke.

A pair of arms from behind took over boob duty. If this wasn't being recorded with an audio track, Nena's voice would have quavered into a moan when the man from behind flicked her nipples. A shiver of her body certainly gave it away to those most attentive watchers. From that man's teasing, her fuck balloons bobbed and slid in search of their new balance. Her black metal chain and white quartz necklaces remained tucked into her cleavage, an accent meant to dress it up. They had many costumes planned for her twin stars. A whole year's worth of necklaces, pasties, nipple clips, glitter and other toys would find their time to shine, including a few from designer brands who couldn't wait to hop on the next big (old) thing. Or things, in this case. One set of clamps even had a series of red balloons set aside for a very special occasion.

The video cut to a close-up of her rack, free-standing, framed only by her leather jacket. As the song entered into a zesty tempo, her boobs bounced into and off of each other, crashing like a playful mosh pit to electronic mayhem. The red balloons attached to her nipple clamps bopped about with them. She kept going like this, veins throbbing on her stretched out skin, until a return to some lyrics cut to the main event.

Between her bulging sacks, a huge cock found its perfect place. Viewers of this section in later years swore they could hear loud rubbery squeaking, their minds fooled into creating the sound with how viscerally her breasts fit their profile. At every turn, they saw none of the woman who owned them, relegated to a supporting cast, a backup singer making a soundtrack and ode to the real Nenas.

After decades known only for a single hit, she was now known for two. Even if she was just their hot, slutty vessel. Even if she had a life of her boobs gracing magazine covers without her head, or having to point and say 'My tits are down here' any time someone mistakenly looked in her eyes thick with dark eyeshadow, her producers could finally say she had an enduring niche to claim as her own.

No more pretentious talk of walls or wars from an era of the Iron Curtain. Just a windbag's windbags garnering the press they always deserved, in a remake tailor-made for them.