This Ain't The Weather Channel

"This Ain't The Weather Channel"

by J. D. Savanyu

Another hot crazy Georgia summer. Hurricane Bill was raging through the Peach State, bringing a little relief from the heat but also bringing major floods and power outages. A team of elite meteorologists were hard at work at Weather Channel headquarters in suburban Atlanta, analyzing radar and satellite data and comparing it against historical hurricanes, using state-of-the-art AI software to formulate a highly accurate forecast. Meanwhile, a pair of gorgeous talking head bimbos reported their results in the main studio room, yakking toward UHD cameras.

"Welcome back," beamed Alexandra Steele, a busty bodacious blonde. "We're tracking the progress of Hurricane Bill over western Georgia. This storm is still quite large at category two strength with top wind speeds of 106 miles per hour, after making landfall near Panama City as a major category three storm with top wind speeds of 127 miles per hour."

"That's right, Alexandra," replied Bonnie McLaughlin, a slightly less attractive redhead with perky c-cup breasts. "Bill has already caused substantial damage in the central Florida panhandle, where a ten foot storm surge inundated entire neighborhoods."

Meanwhile in the nearby control room, Jake Johnson pressed a button to overlay a security camera video feed of palm trees swinging wildly in the storm, in front of Panama City Guns n' Ammo.

"Damn, Alexandra is fucking hot tonight," Jake grunted. "That blue dress really highlights her blonde hair, and flatters her big hooters."

"Totally," Pete McGee agreed while monitoring the microphone levels. "She has a porn star name and a porn star body. Why the hell is she wasting her 'talents' on the fucking Weather Channel?"

"Because she loves meteorology, I guess.'"

"Leave that forecasting shit to Al Roker. She could've been a supermodel, or she could've 'made it rain' as a stripper at the Pink Pony club."

"Giddy-up, horsey," Jake grunted, spanking his own hips. "McLaughlin ain't too bad either. A real 'bonnie' lass."

"Fuck yeah, I love gingers. I wanna lick some scotch right off her fire crotch."

Jake sighed in erotic frustration; not getting any action at home lately from his bitchy wife. Bonnie interviewed Jim Cantore via satellite from a city park in Columbus, a hundred miles south of Atlanta.

"Man, the wind and rain is really picking up here," Cantore shouted through the raging wind and rain, wearing a blue waterproof outfit with the iconic Weather Channel TV-shaped logo.

"That's the very definition of 'raining cats and dogs," Bonnie remarked, lightening the mood during a natural disaster.

"There's gonna be a lot of repair bills after Hurricane Bill," Jim grunted. A sudden gust of wind knocked him on his ass in a big puddle.

"Down goes Cantore! Down goes Cantore!" Alexandra giggled off-screen.

"God, I hate this job," Pete grunted in the control room.

"Me too. It would be somewhat bearable if I was banging that hot fucking blonde."

"So, why don't you bang that hot fucking blonde?"

"Is she available?"

"She's 'on the market,' and so is Bonnie. Most guys are too intimidated to even approach girls that sexy."

"Let's grow a pair, and grab their pairs."

"Hell yeah. That goldilocks is mine."

"And that ginger cutie is mine."

"... highlighting the need for stricter environmental regulations, capping greenhouse gas emissions to keep hurricanes from getting stronger and stronger."

"That's right, Alexandra. Climate change is a major factor in all these major storms we've been reporting about lately. Not just hurricanes, but also tornadoes, blizzards, droughts, heat waves and cold snaps all over the world."

"It's a huge problem, Bonnie. We have to break our fossil fuel addictions before it's too late."

Alexandra grinned wryly as the teleprompter reached the end of the script. "Oh-kay, that's the end of our shift tonight. Bob Stokes and Hilary Andrews will take over after these messages, giving you the latest updates on Hurricane Bill, right after your local forecast on The Weather Channel!"

Those two hotties faded out on the side broadcast monitors. Yet another sappy smooth jazz instrumental played during automated local weather sequences from coast to coast. Bonnie grunted angrily, breaking her sweet 'girl next door' character.

"God, I'm sick and tired of parroting that 'climate change' crap. It's just a big corporate scam, a thousand times worse than Enron. A bunch of billionaire douchebags using senators as finger puppets," she ranted, ripping off her microphone and marching away from the broadcast desk.

"Damn right," Alexandra agreed, following her toward the women's dressing room. "The Weather Channel is owned by a company that makes windmills and solar panels, so we have to keep kissing the asses of our liberal bosses."

"I guess they never read 'The Boy Who Cried Wolf.'"

"They probably never read anything besides their socialist school textbooks."

Jake and Pete were waiting for those ladies in the hallway after their own shifts ended. Leaning against the wall with sleazy expressions.

"Hey ladies. Great job tonight," Pete cooed.

"Thanks, Petey. I love all the attention I get during hurricanes," Alexandra replied sweetly, tossing her shiny golden hair.

"Me too. Hurricane Bill is heading right toward Atlanta, bringing relief from all this... heat," Bonnie added with a sly wink. Those ladies were also desperate to get laid; shooting off pheromones after dumping their no-good 'manly' Georgia boyfriends.

"Speaking of 'relief,' how about you and me go out for a little 'night on the town,'" Jake said boldly to Alexandra.

"I'd love that," Steele beamed, cocking her head sideways to express arousal.

"I'd love a little night on the town with you, Petey," Bonnie added seductively, cocking her wide firm hips.

"Let's make it a double date at the Cosmolava club," Jake proposed.

"Sounds great," Bonnie beamed. Alexandra agreed while tapping on her phone.

"But damn, Cosmolava is closed tonight because of the big storm coming in. Pretty much everything will be closed tonight."

"Damn you, hurricane Billy Bob Thornton," Jake remarked, shaking his fist toward the ceiling.

"That's okay, honey. We can have a little... fun right here," Alexandra replied devilishly.

"What do you mean?" Jake replied confusedly.

"I know what she means," Bonnie snickered.

"Follow us, we'll show you," Alexandra giggled girlishly. The ladies sashayed down the hallway, wiggling their heart-shaped asses alluringly. Alexandra turned around in front of a stairway and gave them a sexy come-hither finger wag. "Come on, guys. The party penthouse awaits."

They followed her up two flights of steps, hearing heavy rain pattering on the metal roof of a nondescript suburban office building.

"You're taking us up to the roof?"

"That's right," Bonnie uttered seductively.

"But the outer bands of Bill just arrived, and it's raining like hell."

"Duh, bro," Alexander giggled. "We're famous weather anchors, so don't tell us which way the wind's blowing."

She opened the topmost door, revealing heavy sheets of rain, splattering all over the roof. Obscuring the view of the nearby Appalachian foothills.

"Let's get naked and have an aquaphile ball," Bonnie beamed. The girls ripped off their stylish anchor attire, revealing slutty lacy Victoria's Secret bras and panties. Those were quickly off too, making Jake and Pete gape like horny teenagers.

"Damn, you're the hottest blonde bitch I ever saw," Jake groaned toward Alexandra's amazing d-cup hooters.

"And you're the flaming-est redhead I ever saw," Pete groaned toward Bonnie's pink puffy pussy, with just a little square of red pubic hair right above her clit. Her skin was white as mother's milk, and her pointy pink nipples looked so damn sweet.

"Less talking, more splashing!" Bonnie exclaimed. She raced Alexandra out into the maelstrom, getting instantly soaked from head to toe. Their shiny long hair and bouncing boobies looked even better wet.

"Holy shit, bro. Don't pinch me out of this dream," Jake murmured.

"This is like a porn parody of those stupid shampoo commercials," Pete remarked with a big bulge pressing against his pants. The ladies romped around like giddy little girls in the tropical deluge.

"Come on, boys," Alexandra beckoned. "Whip out your dicks so we can blow 'em like Bill!"

"Fucking go for it, man," Pete groaned incredulously. They got naked just as fast, and the weather girls cheered like Dallas Cowgirls.

"Nice peter, Pete!" Bonnie giggled. "Step in the shower, and momma will clean you up real good."

They marched over those gold and copper vixens, groaning with exhilaration as plenty of water blasted their muscular bodies. The girls dropped to their knees in a big puddle on the black roof tar, grabbing their long dicks with both hands.

"I've had a crush on you for so long, Jake," Alexandra cooed seductively.

"Me too, Pete. That creepy Bob Stokes keeps trying to get in our skirts, but we like real men like you."

They shoved those schlongs right down their throats, making the guys howl in unison toward a full moon, well-obscured by Hurricane Bill.

"Fuck yeah, blondie! Keep choking on my big fucking dick."

"Oh shit, you're so fucking good," Pete echoed. "I love hot redheads who skip that dinner-and-a-movie shit, getting right to dessert."

Bonnie laughed with a mouthful, bobbing her back and forth briskly. Storm water quickly filled their mouths, making nasty sloshing sounds as they performed frantic fellatio.

"Suck my balls of Steele, blondie," Jake growled. He pushed his dick up against his crotch and mashed her pretty face against his hairy sack. Bonnie slurped Pete's scrotum just as eagerly. Jamming both balls all the way into her mouth and sucking as hard as she could, almost painfully.

"Oh god, you freaky ginger cunt!" he growled, smacking her wet cheeks with both hands. "Get my swizzle stick back in your mouth!"

She gladly obeyed his order, fellating him faster while working her clit in slow circles with her right hand. Alexandra deep-throated Jake aggressively, gagging over and over as the wind picked up all around them.

"Damn, bitch, you're way better than my old girlfriend," Jake groaned. "She's on the training staff for the Atlanta Braves, but she never played 'hardball' in the bedroom."

He grabbed her blonde hair and whipped her head back and forth on his dick, gagging her like a machine gun. He let go a few moments later, and she jerked back with a loud awkward gasp.

"Oh shiiiiit," she groaned gutturally. "Play hardball with pussy, boy! Fuck the shit out of me!"

"Yes ma'am, Miss Weather Girl," Jake snickered. "Get your ass up on that AC vent. You too, ginger."

Those soaked sluts hopped onto a humming stainless steel platform, leaning back and spreading their legs nice and wide, interlocking their right and left ankles.

"The forecast calls for torrential tropical lust, followed by a blizzard of splooge," Pete quipped.

"I'm StormReady, like fucking FEMA," she growled. They rammed their rods up their tight twats, making those anchor bitches scream. Standing and delivering, spanking their wet asses firmly and repeatedly.

"Yes, yes, YEEEEESSS!" Bonnie wailed. "Fucking break that twat!"

"Don't fucking stop! Keep spanking my naughty ass!" Alexandra ordered.

"You're the naughtiest meteorologist in the business," Jake grunted. He smacked her ass five more times, then he whacked her big wet tits.

"Hopefully you won't get caught, and get fired," Pete growled. "But you can always go back to WKRP in Cincinnati."

"Fuck me harder, you piece of shit!" Alexandra wailed, masturbating in a rapid blur.

"You know what the only good thing about climate change is? Slutty bitches like you are wearing skimpy outfits way past the end of summer," Jake remarked.

"Climate change is a scam!" Bonnie muttered. "Oil companies didn't cause the ice age that killed off wooly mammoths, and they have nothing to do with Hurricane Bill Clinton."

"Shut the fuck up, bitch," Pete muttered back, wrapping his hands around her neck and hammering her honey-hole. She moaned theatrically, quickly reaching a staggering orgasm.

"Ride me like a cowgirl, blondie," Jake muttered.

"Yes sir, you crazy button jockey," Alexandra giggled. Jake lay down in a big puddle on the roof tar, and she mounted him eagerly. Bouncing up and down in a wild blur, with her big natural bazooms splashing H20 like crazy.

"Good girl, Steele!" he barked out, spanking her wet ass even more. "Squeeze that pussy on my big fucking dick!"

She contracted her vaginal muscles, hugging his thick prick real tight while slamming her pilates-toned ass up and down on his muscular thighs, making richly layered splashing sounds. She reached an epic orgasm a minute later, squirting like hell in the pouring rain. It was the most amazing aquaphile sex he ever had, boiling his balls to the breaking point.

"Oh shit, I'm gonna cum! On your fucking knees, Steele!"

"Fuck yeah. I wanna drink that shit right from your swizzle stick."

Alexandra assumed the standard facial position by a big satellite dish, and Bonnie knelt down right next to her. Jake and Pete lined up like a two man firing squad, pumping their "rifles" while Hurricane Bill kept blowing and blowing.

"Ooo-waa, ooo-waaaa ooooooWAAAAA-HA-HAAAAA!"

"Oooh yeaaah, fucking biiiitch. RrrrrUUUUUUUUZZZUUH!"

Their pretty faces got blasted with plenty of spunk. Sticking their tongues and savoring that sour cream before the rain washed it away.

"Great job, Petey," Bonnie beamed. "That was way more fun than the fucking Cosmolava club."

"I can't dance worth a damn, but I ride cocks like a pro," Alexandra giggled, then she sucked every last drop out of Jake's cock.

"That was the best 'local forecast' ever," Pete groaned breathlessly, gazing out at the murky Atlanta skyline while Bonnie slobbered his schlong.

"Fuck yeah, Petey," that hot redhead replied sweetly. "No radar screens, and no stupid-ass Kenny G songs."