Commercial Break

"Sit tight, planet Earth. you're watching the Springdale Morning Hour, where our exclusive interview with Mr. John Doe, ascendant master of humankind and all the world, will return after these messages."

The 'Live' light blinked off, and the broadcast director shouted "Seven minutes!"

Meredith, the Meredith giving the interview, stormed off toward the greenroom, gesturing angrily for the three Merediths in the broadcast crew to follow her. John called after her, smirking. "have fun with the punishments!~"

As the door slammed behind the four indistinguishable women, John stood, and turned to the camera operator. "Hey, real quick, I want to fuck something for a bit, but I shouldn't keep burning through you guys. Someone's gotta keep the show going, you know? Anyone you recommend?" Daryl, the heavyset 40-something man behind the large main camera, replied tentatively, after a moment's consideration, "Well, I dunno boss, I guess Kelly from accounts is pretty hot, or maybe Dana from the mailroom? That's all I got really." "Good enough, thanks. Go ahead and turn into your ideal woman before you wake up tomorrow, and forget I told you to do that at the same time." The camera operator shrugged. John turned to the broadcast director. "Call those two up here, would you? First one standing here stripped naked gets the loser to keep as a prize. And get your boss on the phone, please. Whoever runs the station, a general manager or whatever."

After a terse PA announcement and a quick but casual phone call, the door to the stairway busted open. In ran a tall, freckled redhead, half-tripping over the grey slacks pooled around her ankles, followed closely by a short but wonderfully curvy young woman with lightly tanned skin and sizeable breasts which she was struggling to set free from a sensible black bra. The redhead came to a halt in front of the set, arms at her side. her pale, perky chest and neatly trimmed bush were on full display. A mocking, triumphant smirk creased her face as she watched her competitor stumble to a stop beside her.

John looked the girl up and down, nodding. "Not bad. Which one are you?"

"Kelly Haynes, sir. I work in accounting."

John smiled kindly. "My condolences, Miss Haynes."

Kelly looked confused, and a little concerned. "Didn't I win?"

"Your socks," he clarified. "Head over to your owner's place and clean it up. Light some candles, set a nice, classy mood. Then lie down on her bed and giftwrap yourself, nice and tight. Get help if you need it. You belong to her now now, so behave, you're property, not a person."

Kelly huffed and stared down at the socks as it stamped away, frustrated and disappointed in itself. It could live with the outcome, but it had always had a competitive streak and it hurt to lose over such a simple mistake. Meanwhile, John bent the shorter girl over the back of the couch he had been using on the set. She had black hair, and a cute face. She could have been part Hispanic. "You were, uh, Dana, right? I'm gonna use your pussy for a little bit, could you get it wet for me please?"

"That's right, Dana Bradford. and, uh- OOOooooOHhh"

Her knees buckled as a hot, humid wave of arousal washed over her.

"-go right ahead. All yours."

Dana settled into a steady rhythm as she rocked her hips along with Mr.Doe's thrusting. She was always happy to help, after all. Having seen the first part of the morning broadcast, she had figured something like this was in store when she and Kelly were called up on the PA. She was a little flattered to be picked. She figured there were at least two or three better looking girls just on the production staff, though none of them seemed to be around at the moment. As for her reward, Dana didn't really have much need for something like that, but she appreciated the gesture. She had to admit it was a pretty thing. Of course, Kelly would keep doing its old job at the station to pay for its upkeep, and clean up around the house, and help her pick out outfits... Hopefully it knew how to cook. Maybe it was a pretty good prize after all.

In the production crew break room, Meredith Middleton, a sound engineer, was on her hands and knees on the cheap vinyl floor, shaking and struggling to keep her back level under the weight of Meredith Middleton from Marketing and her naked, expanded ass sitting on her. This Meredith was focusing, as much as she could, on her laptop on the table, one of who-knows-how-many laptops she now owned. Under the table, Meredith the Lighting Technician was aggressively, expertly edging her with her tongue. Meredith the original was supervising the trio, pondering the unenviable task of communicating with and coordinating the untold thousands of selves who now shared her identity - most of her probably didn't even speak English, though they'd be doing their best to fix that soon. Her existing e-mail was a lost cause, and she'd simply turned off her phone. She shuddered to imagine what state her home might soon be in, but she had other homes now, more than she would probably ever see.

She had passed along an order on the station's twitter account for all her sister-selves to follow the original, to check her twitter at least daily, and to pass on the message however they could, and within minutes she had thousands of followers (though, twitter being what it was, she had no way of knowing how many of those were even real people, let alone her selves). Meanwhile, Meredith from Marketing was groaning through gritted teeth, **** for release, and doing her best to compose herself through a video call with Meredith the web development executive from New Zealand. The call was more a statement of instructions than a negotiation, hashing out a set of requirements and a timeline to deploy a global internet forum and web portal for the still-uncounted army of Meredith Middletons to communicate and coordinate their assets and relationships and schedules. The original was silently dreading a call she'd scheduled with Meredith from her local credit union, on the topic of consolidating the dozens of accounts in her name at that one bank alone.

Meredith from Marketing was barely concentrating on her call and the heavily-accented voice of her sister-self half a world away in the southern hemisphere, hands clutching at the table to keep clear of her pussy, which she had been forbidden to touch for the foreseeable future, as the Meredith under the table brought her once again to the edge of climax and backed away, leaving her tense, sweating and writhing. As she bucked her hips in helpless frustration, her seat finally gave out from under her. She fell backwards onto the cold, hard floor as Meredith the sound engineer rolled out from under her, and sat up, groaning and massaging her fatigued, aching arms.

"Three minutes, then switch. Keep it up 'til I come back," The original commanded, now more tired than angry. They could keep it up as long as they needed. John had said to punish them, and punish them she would. After all, only one of her needed to see the broadcast, and she was already conducting the interview. She watched herself from Marketing hurry to the sink for water before shifting her laptop to the floor to take up her new position, as the previous chair stripped her neat black slacks from her huge shapely ass. The Lighting tech squatting under the table seemed to be getting the best deal, for the time being, but she'd had some rather more interesting ideals on how to punish her later, having watched that serendipitously skillful tongue at work.

Meredith turned away towards the set, and drew a deep breath as her apple watch chimed a two-minute warning for the end of the commercial break.