that traffic lady on AM 530

“O.K., it’s traffic time!  Construction on I-90 west of the Elgin exchange going eastbound.  The accident on U.S. 14 at Ridgefield has been cleared.  Illinois Route 31 at P - Prairie Grove has been shut down due to f - flooding.  All operators of commercial vehicles are advised of the new regulation as t - to engine b - braking in residential areas.  This is the Illinois Highway Authority station KR12CS9, operating at 530 kilohertz. . . O.K., it’s t - traffic time!  Construction on I-90 west of the Elgin exchange going eastbound.  The accident on U.S. 14 at R - Ridgefield has been c - cleared.  Note: Illinois Route 31 at Prairie G - grove is now open for all t - traffic . . .”

        She has the day shift on Mondays and Wednesdays.  She was bored sitting around the house and persuaded Ephraim to let her earn some pin money.  Sitting at the desk next to the teletype, she only has to read from the little screen once, and press the green button to loop it back, except when the red light flickers which means the alert has changed.  Even if it’s just one word, she has to read the alert all over again, and if it’s changed again, all over again, until the light goes off.  The alerts are inputted by a dispatcher in Rockford, whom she’s never spoken to.

        Mitzi has a good clear voice but it’s getting harder to concentrate and speak now that her supervisor, Conchetta, has taken to sliding under the desk and licking her while she reads.  It’s just the two of them, in this squat little building on the newly built I-94, next to the radio mast and the big salt depository.  Mitzi drives the five miles from their house and has the key to the gate from the back road.  The building is just four rooms, the broadcast room, a snack room, Conchetta’s office and a bathroom.  Sometimes the maintenance crew comes by but otherwise it is a lonely place, occupied only by the nude broadcaster and her boss, and usually the scent of female musk.

        Mitzi struggles as she announces to truckers and motorists across the Upper Midwest.  “C - c - caution is advised on the rough road on U.S. Route 45 north of Mundelein.  This is the Illinois Highway Authority station KR12CS9, operating at 530 k - kilohertz.”  The red light has gone off and she can finally press the green repeat button.  Now her voice comes in over the monitor. “O.K., it’s traffic time! . . .”

        The real-time Mitzi moans as Conchetta intensifies her attack.  The besieged nude spreads her legs further and brings her feet up to the desk, her toes gripping the edges.  Her orgasm is all the stronger for having been suppressed for ten minutes.  Conchetta, age 44, vastly experienced, was quick to map out in her mind Mitzi’s points of sensitivity, the best routes to orgasm.  Ephraim does not know about this.

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        “Your toes are very educated, Mitzi!”

        “How can they not be?”

        Keiko, rather ostentatiously dressed in a kimono, is looking up as the novice wiggles her toes and squashes her soles and gently pokes her heels into the shoulders of the moaning Mr. Greiner on the table.  Taking this course in “Ashiatsu” is another way of getting out of the house, and Mitzi enjoys it.  She signed up as soon as she saw the sign in the new storefront.  She is about to get her certificate and Keiko is seriously thinking about taking her on as an assistant.

        There was some local resistance because “Oriental Touch Therapy” sounded like a “massage parlor”, but it’s not.  Keiko Hayakawa is a serious businesswoman and after six months has won the town’s respect.  She and her sister are now running a successful clinic, and have even gotten referrals from Dr. Scheiner and Dr. Wasselman.

        Now Mitzi places one foot between the shoulder blades and the other to where Mr. Greiner’s sacrum meets the towel (the clients cannot be naked, of course), and pushes her feet apart, stretching his back.  She switches hands on the ceiling bar and seems about to fall; Keiko had to make adjustments to the training positions on account of Mitzi’s breasts, the likes of which one rarely sees in Japan.  Now Mitzi’s footing is secure and the overweight 50-year old gives another grateful moan as a crack or two is heard.

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        “U.S. Route 30 east of P - P - Pecatonia has . . . uhhh . . . been c - cleared.  The R - Rockford exit to I-39 has . . . uhhh . . . b - been c - closed for -- ”

        Conchetta has put in a backless chair so that she can now attack her nude employee from the rear.  The first time Mitzi felt a tongue poking in back there, her knees jolted and hit the underside of the desk.

        “T - truckers are advised of the new regulation as t - to engine b - braking . . .”

        “Ten - eight! Gorgeous George, you read me? Banana Man here!”  This is Simon McQuage, booming down I-74 south of Davenport, Iowa at 75 mph, in his big Mack rig.

        “Ten - two! Gorgeous here!  How about that chick on the traffic alerts??”  This is George Gentry, on I-80 west of Sheffield, Illinois.

        “Yeah, what’s wrong with her?  She keeps stuttering and falling over her words!”

        “Can’t they get anyone who can talk? . . . That girl sounds like she needs some loosening up.”

        “Well if anyone can make her reach the Promised Land, you can, George!”

        The loud laugh is easily heard over the static.  “Ten - four to that!”