Chapter Five - October

Thomas Blair’s campaign manager, Carly Bush, knelt between her boss’s thighs in the plush leather interior of his private jet, her full lips sliding off his throbbing shaft with one final, teasing kiss. She savored the last pulse of his release, her tongue flicking delicately across the tip before she swallowed, her doe-like blue eyes locking onto his with a sensual gleam.

The woman’s golden hair, swept into a loose chignon, shimmered under the cabin’s soft lighting, a few strands clinging to her flushed cheeks. She wore a sleek green blouse that hugged her generously sized breasts, the silk unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. The blouse was paired with a matching green pencil skirt that accentuated her wasp-thin and curvaceous hips.

Thomas leaned back in his seat, his broad chest heaving beneath a crisp navy suit jacket, the fabric tailored to emphasize his muscular frame. He adjusted his tie, a deep crimson silk that matched his party’s colors, and ran a hand through his slicked-back dark hair. “You always know how to start a day right, Carly,” he chuckled, his deep voice rumbling with satisfaction as he flashed his award-winning smile.

Carly rose gracefully, smoothing her skirt over her thighs with a coy smile. “I aim to please, Sir,” she replied, her tone dripping with flirtation as she perched on the armrest beside him. “You’re going to need all the energy you can muster to crush that little Latina tramp at the debate tonight.”

He chuckled a confident bellow as he reached for a crystal tumbler of whiskey on the nearby tray. “Seriously?” he raised an eyebrow. “Do you think that harlot truly stands a chance?” swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. “She’s a walking scandal now, and I’m the man America wants to see lead the free world.”

Carly crossed her legs, the motion drawing his gaze to the sleek curve of her calves, encased in sheer stockings that ended in four-inch black stilettos. “I can’t argue with that, Sir,” she smiled. “The debate tonight will seal it if you play it right,” she purred, leaning closer so her perfume, a heady mix of jasmine and musk, enveloped him. “I’ve got your schedule lined up perfectly. You’ve got a rally this morning in Dallas, then debate prep at lunch with the team.”

Thomas nodded, his dark eyes glinting with anticipation as he set the tumbler down. “Good girl,” he said condescendingly, his fingers brushing her arm in a casual, possessive gesture. “I want to bury her tonight. There’s only a month before the election, and I don’t want us to take our foot off the gas.” His eyes narrowed. “I want to bury that little bitch.”

Carly tilted her head, her lips curving into a wicked smile promising more than campaign strategy. “Oh, you will,” she said, her voice a velvet caress. “Bringing Senator Paul Hague on board was a genius move. He’s got the bible thumpers and traditional conservatives eating out of the palm of his hands.” She cozied up to her boss. “You can take care of the rest.”

Thomas straightened in his seat, the navy fabric of his jacket pulling taut across his powerful shoulders as he savored her closeness. “That’s exactly how I see it,” he replied, his tone thick with assurance. “Hague’s got the sanctimonious crowd locked down, and I’ve got the charisma to sweep the rest of the nation off its feet.”

She slid a manicured hand along his chest, her fingers tracing the edge of his red tie with a teasing touch. “You’re going to be devastating up there tonight, Sir,” she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. “I’ve polished your speech to perfection, and the team’s ready to sharpen every word. “She might even drop out of the race tonight after we’re done.”

He turned his head slightly, catching her gaze with a predatory glint in his eyes. “That would be the ultimate victory. I don’t plan on showing her any mercy,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Tonight, I’ll strip away whatever shred of dignity she’s clinging to and leave her exposed for the laughingstock she is.”

Carly’s smile widened, her eyes sparkling with delight as she pressed herself closer, her curves a tantalizing promise against his side. “That’s the spirit, Sir,” she cooed, her tone laced with adoration. “You’re the leader America needs,” she softly bit her lower lip. “I can’t wait to see you in that Oval Office. So sexy and commanding.”

Thomas grinned, pulling Carly close. The victory was all but assured. He just needed to perfect the landing tonight.

❖

The historic Musso & Frank Grill, nestled along Hollywood Boulevard, hummed with the low murmur of early morning patrons. Its polished mahogany booths and vintage charm were a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within Senator Carmen Lopez. She sat at a corner table, her voluptuous figure barely contained by a skin-tight red tank top that Jared had thrown her way that morning.

The fabric clung to her enhanced G-cup breasts, the plunging neckline offering a provocative view of her tanned cleavage. A black microskirt hugged her hips, leaving little to the imagination. Her long, silky black hair spilled over her shoulders in loose waves, framing her exotic features. However, her green eyes flickered with a frantic, desperate emotion. Those eyes lit up when she saw the woman approach her table.

Kim Walsh slid into the booth opposite her, her lithe frame accentuated by a tailored gray blazer and matching trousers, the crisp lines a deliberate attempt to project strength for the cameras waiting outside. Her wild blue hair, pulled into a sleek ponytail, shimmered faintly in the diner’s warm light, and her subtle makeup highlighted her sharp cheekbones. She adjusted her posture, her voice firm yet tender as she leaned forward, getting straight to it. “I’ve missed you, Carmen, but I don’t know if I can do this,” she said regrettably. “Look how much you’ve changed.”

Carmen’s bright red-painted nails tapped the table nervously, her enhanced curves shifting as she leaned closer. “I know I’ve changed, Kim, but we can repair this,” she pleaded, her sultry voice trembling with urgency. “I need you by my side, mi amor. We’re stronger together.”

Kim’s piercing caught the light as she frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. “Repair it how, Carmen?” she asked, her tone edged with skepticism. “You’re not the woman I fell in love with anymore. I don’t even recognize you in that outfit, with those breasts, acting like some cheap fantasy.”

Carmen’s full lips quivered, her desperation spilling out as she gripped the table’s edge. “I can explain everything, Kim. It’s not my fault,” she whispered, her accent thickening with emotion. “It’s a demon. A green-skinned demon in a purple suit. He offered me a deal back on Independence Day, but I refused. I believe he offered the same deal to Thomas Blair, and now he’s twisting me into this… this caricature.”

Kim tilted her head, her blue eyes narrowing as she studied Carmen’s frantic expression. “A demon, Carmen?” she replied, her voice laced with incredulity. “You expect me to believe that some mythical creature is behind all this? That’s beyond insane, even for a campaign this dirty.”

Carmen’s lush figure pressed forward, her cleavage brushing the table as she reached for Kim’s hand. “I swear it’s true, mi amor,” she insisted. “I saw him in the restroom that night with his red eyes and a wicked grin. He wanted me to sign a contract, but I wouldn’t. Now he’s punishing me for it.”

Kim pulled her hand back, her sleek ponytail swaying as she shook her head. “This sounds like a breakdown, Carmen,” she said, her tone softening with concern. “I want to help you, but demons? I can’t wrap my head around that.”

Carmen’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, her voice dropping to a husky plea as she leaned even closer. “Please, Kim, just give me a chance to prove it,” she begged, her fingers trembling against the table. “Stay with me for the photo op today. If you still don’t believe me after the debate, I won’t ask again.”

Kim studied her for a long moment, her resolve crumbling under the weight of Carmen’s raw vulnerability. “Alright, Carmen,” she relented, her voice steady but laced with reluctance. “I’ll stay and help you through this mess today. But you’ve got to hold it together out there.”

Carmen’s face softened with relief, a faint smile curving her glossy lips as she squeezed the table’s edge. “Thank you, mi amor,” she murmured, her tone a sultry whisper of gratitude. “I’ll do my best, I promise.”

Kim nodded, her gray blazer shifting as she straightened, though a flicker of doubt lingered in her eyes. “Let’s get through this, then,” she said, her words firm as she glanced toward the windows where cameras waited. “We’ll face them together.”

❖

The late October sun blazed over Pershing Square in downtown Los Angeles, its golden rays glinting off the sleek glass of surrounding skyscrapers as a decent-sized crowd of mainly men gathered for Senator Carmen Lopez’s latest campaign rally. She stood atop the well-built platform, her voluptuous form teetering on 6-inch silver stilettos that Jared had insisted she wear that morning.

Carmen groaned. That man had gotten inside her head. Whenever he gave her a command with his low, domineering voice, the Latina struggled to resist his order. He was a far cry from the submissive whipping boy he used to be.

A shimmering purple crop top strained against her enhanced breasts, the fabric so tight it revealed every curve and contour. A matching mini skirt clung to her hips, the hem barely grazing her upper thighs. Her long black hair cascaded in wild curls down her back, framing her exotic features, though her tattooed makeup—thick black eyeliner and permanent red lipstick—gave her a garish, almost doll-like allure under the midday light.

Carmen clutched the microphone with both hands, her red-painted nails digging into the metal as she fought to steady her voice. “America needs a leader who fights for justice and equality,” she began, her tone firm at first. However, a nervous tremor betrayed her effort. She paused, her full lips parting as a Spanglish slip crept in against her will. “Sí, we need justicia, no?” She winced, her green eyes flashing with surprise and anger as the crowd tittered; some were amused, while her more ardent supporters were not pleased. The Senator shook her head sharply to refocus.

She took a deep breath, her sexy figure standing in full view of the audience and TV cameras as she gripped the podium for support. “We must protect our rights and our future,” she pressed on, her voice straining with resolve as she battled the haze clouding her thoughts. Another slip escaped, her accent thickening despite her effort. “Todos, uh, everyone deserves a chance.” Carmen’s jaw clenched, her wild curls swaying as she forced herself to continue, her frustration mounting with each unintended lapse.

“I won’t let these last few meses, uh, months define me,” she declared, her tone rising with defiance as she caught the latest slip, her body trembling under her scandalous outfit. “My record speaks por, uh, for itself.” She squeezed the podium tighter, her red nails biting into her palms as she fought to hold her ground, the crowd’s murmurs growing louder with each falter.

“I’ve spent years serving this nation, this state, with honor,” she insisted, her voice quivering with determination as she pushed against the forced, natural Spanglish threatening to spill out again. The crowd’s mixture of discomfort and amusement swelled, a few jeers cutting through the uneasy silence of her loyal supporters, and Carmen’s lush figure tensed, her enhanced breasts pressing against the tight fabric. “My trabajo, uh, my work proves who I am,” she said, her green eyes blazing with a mix of resolve and despair as she winced at yet another slip.

Off-stage, Kim Walsh stepped away from the crowd’s edge; her tailored gray blazer and trousers presented a poised contrast to the casual onlookers, her sleek blue ponytail swishing as she confronted Carmen’s Campaign Support Officer, Jared Kissinger, behind a row of campaign banners. Her piercing blue eyes narrowed with fury, her voice low and sharp as she jabbed a finger at his chest. “You’re making this worse, Jared,” the blue-haired woman accused, her tone slicing through the rally’s distant hum. “She’s falling apart up there because of your ridiculous demands. What the hell do you have her wearing?”

Jared leaned casually against a banner pole, his lean frame striking in a dark green blazer over a crisp white shirt, the open collar revealing a tantalizing hint of his chest. His hazel eyes glinted with a cold amusement as he met her gaze, his voice dismissive. “She’s doing what’s necessary, Kim,” he replied, his tone steady and unapologetic. “This is the campaign now, and I’m keeping it alive. Your dumb stripper past has really rubbed off on here.”

Kim’s hands balled into fists, her piercing catching the light as she stepped closer, her voice rising with indignation. “Don’t you dare bring my past into this,” she snapped, her words sharp with venom. “She’s suffering, and you’re turning her into a laughing stock instead of helping her fight it.”

Jared tilted his head, his smirk widening as he let his eyes roam over her poised figure, his voice dropping to a subtle, suggestive murmur. “You’re a fiery one. You’d make me a fortune on a street corner, Kim,” he said, his tone laced with a dark promise. “All that fire could draw quite a crowd.”

As the rally came to a close, Carmen stepped off the platform, her silver stilettos clicking softly as she descended, her ridiculously enhanced form swaying slightly under the tight purple ensemble. She moved toward the sidelines, her breath uneven as she fought to maintain composure, unaware of the heated exchange unfolding behind her. The crowd’s lukewarm applause faded, their mixed reactions still echoing in her mind.

Jared broke away from Kim, his shadow falling over Carmen as he approached, his grip firm on her elbow as he guided her away from the stage. “Good job, Carmita. Now go get dressed,” he commanded. “You have a photo op with the press at one and another meeting with your donors at three.” He steered her toward the campaign bus. “No dawdling.”

Carmen’s shoulders slumped, her resolve buckling under his dominance as she nodded reluctantly. “Yes, Jared,” she murmured, the sultry voice emanating from her plump, permanently red lips echoed a faint whisper of surrender as her curvaceous silhouette shifted with each step, the silver stilettos accentuating her sexy stride.

Kim lingered behind, her fists still clenched as she glared at Jared’s retreating figure. Her voice was a fierce whisper to herself. “I won’t let you destroy her like this,” she vowed, her blue eyes burning with a mix of anger and helplessness as she watched Carmen disappear into the bus.

Jared glanced back at Kim over his shoulder, his smirk deepening as he muttered under his breath, his words a private taunt. “You can join us once you’ve decided to let those puppies breathe,” he said, clearly referring to the former stripper’s own enhanced bust. The campaign support officer’s hazel eyes traced her defiant stance with a predatory glint before he turned away.

Carmen leaned against the bus’s interior wall, her G-cup breasts heaving and threatening to bust out of the shimmering crop top as she caught her breath. Her glossy lips parted in a faint protest. “I’m still me, mi récord, uh, my record matters,” she whispered to herself, although she knew it was a fool’s hope. No one respected her anymore, and the election was just three weeks away. She needed a miracle.

❖

Carmen stepped into the plush hotel conference room, her curvaceous figure trembling in a slinky crimson halter dress Jared had commanded her to wear after the photo op with Kim that afternoon. The deep V-neck plunged daringly between her plastic tits, the scarlet fabric molding to her form like a second skin, while the skirt flared just above her knees, teasing the sway of her hips with each hesitant step in strappy red heels. Her dark hair tumbled in loose, glossy waves, brushing her bare shoulders, though the stark tattooed makeup cast her features in a bold, almost caricature-like glow beneath the room’s amber lighting.

Jared ushered her forward with a firm grip on her arm, his wiry build still wearing that dark green blazer. His piercing hazel eyes gleamed with icy control as he faced the three wealthy donors lounging around the oval walnut table, their sharp, expensive suits and leering grins signaling their eagerness.

“Gentlemen, thanks for coming,” he said, his voice a smooth, authoritative drawl as he nodded toward Carmen. “As we approach the finish line of this campaign, we need to ensure we are set up for success,” he told them. “With your support, we know we can take this into the endzone. We understand it’s difficult to part with your cash, but Carmen is here to make the investment worth it.”

Carmen’s breath caught in her throat; her glossy nails, painted a deep red, were digging into her palms as she stood frozen, her emerald eyes darting between Jared and the donors. “Jared, I don’t—” she started, her sultry voice quivering with nerves, but he tightened his grip, his smirk cutting her off.

The lead donor, a grizzled man with white hair and a perverted grin, leaned forward in his chair, his voice a low rumble as he eyed her crimson-clad curves. “We’re listening, Jared,” he said, his fingers drumming the table with anticipation. “Let’s see what she’s got to sweeten the deal.”

Jared released her arm with a slight shove, stepping back as he tilted his head toward the group, his tone a velvet lash. “Go on, Carmita,” he said, his eyes glinting with expectation. “Show them why they should open their wallets.” He crossed his arms, watching her with a mix of control and relish.

Her statuesque frame quaked under the slinky dress, her nerves coiling tight as she edged toward the grizzled donor, her red heels whispering against the hardwood with each faltering step. Jared had briefed her on what he expected before she entered the room, and his words reverberated in her head. She couldn’t find herself disobeying him.

The presidential nominee lowered herself onto the man’s lap, her thighs brushing his as he gripped her hips, pulling her close with a guttural grunt. “Please, I just—” she murmured, her voice a shaky whisper as she began a tentative grind, her plastic breasts teasing his chest with each reluctant sway.

Another donor, a wiry man with a sharp jaw and slicked-back hair, edged closer, his tailored pinstripe suit rustling as he stood, his voice thick with lust. “That’s a good start,” he said cockily, his fingers brushing her bare shoulder as he tugged at the halter’s tie behind her neck. The fabric loosened, slipping down to expose her massive tits. The third donor—a stocky figure in a navy blazer—joined in, peeling the dress lower as six eager hands roamed around her.

Carmen’s crimson dress fell to her waist, her bronzed, Latin skin glistening in sweat as the white-haired donor yanked her closer, his thick fingers digging into her thighs. He unzipped his trousers, his hardened length pressing against her body as he guided the Senator onto the table, her glossy waves spilling across the wood. “Por favor,” she gasped, her voice breaking as he entered her already slick pussy, his grunts filling the steamy air. Her sexy curves rocked with each forceful pump, her emerald eyes glazing with a mixture of lust and despair.

The wiry donor circled to her head, his pinstripe suit jacket shed as he freed his own erection, gripping her hair to tilt her face upward. “Open wide, sweetheart,” he growled, his voice a husky command as he shoved his cock past her red lips, filling her plump, enhanced mouth with a salty tang. Carmen gagged, her throat tightening around him as he fucked her face, his sharp jaw clenching with pleasure.

Outside the conference room, Kim Walsh stormed down the carpeted corridor. She tried to barge into the room to stop the carnage, but Jared blocked her path, his voice a low taunt as he leaned against the doorframe. “She’s busy, Kim,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “She’s doing what’s necessary to keep this campaign alive.”

Kim’s sapphire eyes blazed as she shoved a finger into his chest, her voice sharp with outrage. “You’re turning her into a damn toy, Jared,” she hissed, her words slicing through the muffled sounds from within. “She’s not your whore to peddle around. You work for us, not the other way around.”

Jared’s smirk widened, his dark green blazer shifting as he crossed his arms, his hazel eyes glinting with disdain. “The campaign’s coffers are empty, Kim,” he replied, his voice steady and cutting. “She’s using her best assets to keep us in the game. You can always lend her a helping hand, too, if you like. I’m sure you’ve had the experience.” He chuckled at his own joke.

Inside, the stocky donor took his turn, flipping Carmen onto her back as he thrust into her used, dripping pussy, her dress bunched around her waist. Her legs spread wide with her ankles near her head, her glossy waves splaying across the table as the wiry donor withdrew from her mouth, his cum splattering across her chest as he groaned out a messy orgasm. The white-haired man reclaimed her lips, his cock sliding deep as she choked out a moan, her body rocking between them in a steamy haze of lust and shame.

Kim’s fists clenched as she witnessed the act through the door’s window, her voice rising with fury as she glared at Jared. “Put a stop to this, now!” She snapped, her tone crackling with defiance. “She’s my fiance, and I’m going to save her from you and this nightmare, you mark my words!”

Carmen’s sultry moans broke through her resistance, her emerald eyes glistening with tears as the donors’ cocks pummeled her throat, her moans a gagged gibberish mumble as they rotated around her. The Latina candidate, covered in sweat and cum, gave in to the overwhelming sensations and screamed in orgasm. She surrendered to the pleasure.

❖

Thomas Blair strode onto the sleek stage of the National News of America studio with confidence, his athletic frame filling out a tailored midnight-blue suit, the crisp white shirt beneath unbuttoned at the collar to reveal a hint of his neck. His dark hair, swept back with a subtle sheen, caught the studio lights, and his chiseled jaw lifted as he flashed a dazzling smile to the packed audience, their cheers swelling in response. The businessman adjusted his red tie, a bold slash of color against the dark fabric. He took his place at the podium, his hazel eyes glinting with unshakable assurance as he surveyed the crowd.

Carmen followed from the opposite wing, her silhouette poised in a fitted charcoal blazer that cinched her trim waist, the lapels framing a plunging black silk blouse that teased a provocative glimpse of her cleavage. Her pencil skirt, slit daringly up one side, hugged her hips and showcased the sleek curve of her thigh with each step in glossy black stilettos. This was Jared’s attempt at a “professional” look. Her black hair flowed in a polished sweep over one shoulder, softening her angular features. Her tattooed makeup continued to undermine any attempt at professionalism she tried to portray.

Bill Talker, the NNA’s silver-haired anchorman, stood at center stage beside Sandy Rambler, her auburn bob framing a stern expression. Bill’s voice boomed through the studio, steady and authoritative. “Welcome to the final Presidential debate, hosted by the National News of America,” he said, gesturing to the candidates. “We’ll start with opening statements. Senator Lopez, you have the floor.”

Carmen gripped the podium; this was her chance to fight back, she thought. “America deserves a leader who fights for justice, equality, and the common good,” she began, emerald eyes locking onto the audience with fierce resolve. “I’ve delivered results in the Senate for years, not distractions. Unlike Mr. Blair, whose rumored affair with his campaign manager keeps the tabloids buzzing, I’m here to put your needs first.” A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, her jab landing as she held her ground.

She had practiced her opening statement for days. It was a bold strategy. Thomas’s affair with Carly was one of the worst-kept secrets in politics. Everyone seemed to be aware except the businessman’s wife. Carmen’s plan was to knock her opponent off balance and keep the topic away from her own scandals. If she could convince the voting public that her misdeeds were no worse than his, she may have something to work with.

Sandy Rambler turned to Thomas and spoke. “Mr. Blair, your opening statement, please.”

Thomas leaned into his podium, his rugged features tightening as he flashed a controlled smile, his voice a deep, resonant drawl. “Thank you, Sandy,” he said, his tone smooth with a hint of disdain as he faced the audience. “I’m here to talk about strength and leadership, not whisper campaigns. But since Senator Lopez wants to dive into the gutter, let’s examine her leadership.”

The businessman nodded to an aide, who unveiled a trio of placards—vivid snapshots of Carmen in rally outfits: the shimmering purple crop top from Pershing Square, a sequined red microdress from an earlier event, and a bikini top barely clinging to her curves, each image more outrageous than the last.

“Objection!” Carmen called out. “Mr Blair is not permitted to use props or campaign aides during the debate.” She was humiliated.

“This is not a courtroom, Senator Lopez,” Bill Talker replied. “However, Ms Lopez is correct. Mr Blair, please keep within the agreed debate guidelines.”

Thomas nodded, but the damage had already been done. The murmurs and laughter from the crowd and the toothy grin on her opponent’s face told Carmen that the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

Carmen straightened, her lush curves shifting under the blazer as she seized the chance to pivot. “My plan focuses on real equity, not just flashy headlines,” she said, her tone steady as she met Sandy’s gaze. “I’ve pushed for tax reforms that help working families, unlike Mr. Blair, whose business dealings—and personal entanglements—raise questions about his priorities.” The crowd murmured again, her deflection holding firm as she leaned into her practiced strength.

Bill Talker turned to Thomas, his voice even. “Mr. Blair, the same question—how do you address critics who say your tax cuts favor the elite?”

Thomas’s grin widened as he leaned forward into his mic. “My plan drives growth for everyone, Bill,” he said, his voice a confident rumble. “But let’s talk optics. Does this look like a President who understands substance?” He gestured toward where the placards previously stood. “These aren’t optics; they’re choices—month after month of parading around like a cheap tease. America needs a leader. Will Ms Lopez be negotiating with China and Russia while wearing a red bikini?” His comment elicited chuckles from the crowd.

Carmen’s resolve wavered, her hands trembling as she gripped the microphone, her voice faltering under the crowd’s rising laughter. “Those images don’t reflect mi, uh, my leadership,” she replied, her accent thickening as she stumbled over the slip, her eyes darting across the crowd nervously. “I’ve delivered resultados for years. Thomas’s unethical practices are the real issue here.”

Sandy Rambler tilted her head, quickly moving to the next question. “Senator, how do you respond to voters who question your judgment, given these recent appearances?”

Carmen’s breath hitched, her lush silhouette quaking as she fought to steady herself. “My judgment is proven in my record,” she said, her tone cracking, a giggle bubbling up despite her efforts. “I’ve fought for—” She bit her lower lip. She was getting too flustered, letting the asshole get under her skin.

Thomas seized the opening, his voice a commanding roar as he stepped forward. “Your record’s a sideshow now, Senator,” he said, his eyes wide with triumph. “Those outfits aren’t missteps; they’re who you’ve become. America can’t trust a leader who turns dignity into a punchline. I’ve built businesses and created jobs. My judgment’s clear, while yours is a wardrobe malfunction.”

Bill Talker raised a hand, his voice cutting through the din. “Senator Lopez, your rebuttal,” he said.

Carmen’s throat tightened, her voice a strained whisper as she struggled to respond. “I’ve served con honor,” she said, her accent breaking through as her resolve crumbled, her eyes darting to the placards’ empty space. “Mi trabajo, my work—” She faltered, her words drowning in the crowd’s rising scorn. The more under pressure she felt, the more difficult it became to focus.

Sandy Rambler raised a hand, her voice firm as she cut in. “Senator, that’s enough,” she said, her auburn bob swaying as she turned to Bill. “We’re going to a commercial break. We’ll return with the second half of the debate shortly.”

Bill Talker nodded before addressing the cameras. “Stay tuned, folks,” he said, his tone steady and professional. “We’ll be back after these messages with more from our candidates.”

Carmen was frozen in the spotlight, starkly contrasting with Thomas’s towering confidence. This was her last chance to turn things around, and she had failed miserably. Kim Walsh stood in the wings, her lithe frame rigid in a navy blazer and slim trousers. Her piercing eyes burned with despair as she glared at Jared beside her, his smirk unwavering.

“She started so damn well before he cheated and put those photos up,” she hissed, her voice a low snarl as she clenched her fists. “You’ve doomed her, you bastard.”

Jared grinned as he watched the stage fade to black. “She tried her best, Kim,” he replied, his tone smooth and unrepentant. “Thomas just plays a sharper game. She’s not cut out for politics, it seems.” He turned away, leaving Kim seething. “Perhaps another role would suit her best.” He laughed as he walked backstage. Kim stared at the back of his head furiously. There must be something she could do.

❖

Kim stormed into the cramped dressing room backstage at the National News of America studio, her heels slamming against the tiled floor as the door banged shut behind her. She’d shed her navy blazer somewhere in the chaos, leaving her in a teal blouse tucked into slim gray trousers that hugged her frame.

The blue-haired former stripper’s hands clenched into fists, her breath sharp with fury as she scanned the shadowed space, now convinced Carmen had been telling the truth all along. “Show your face, you little green freak!” she shouted, her voice a fierce snarl echoing off the mirrored walls, her eyes blazing with determination. She wanted to confront the architect of her fiance’s downfall.

The air shimmered near the vanity, a faint purple haze coalescing into the diminutive form of Mr. Purple, his green skin gleaming under the dressing room lights, his garish purple suit clashing with the room’s muted tones. He stood barely four feet tall, his red eyes glinting with mischief as he tipped his tiny fedora, a wicked grin splitting his face. “Well, well, someone’s got a temper,” he said, a high-pitched rasp that grated against her nerves. “What’s the matter, doll? Things not going your way?”

Kim took a step forward, her fists tightening as she glared down at him, her voice a low, venomous growl. “You’ve ruined her, you slimy bastard,” she said, her words sharp with rage. “Carmen told me about you and your sick deal. I should’ve believed her from the start.” Kim was fuming and needed to let it out. “I guess Thomas signed your damn contract, didn’t he? Fix her now, or I’ll make you pay.”

Mr. Purple perched on the vanity’s edge, swinging his legs with a playful chuckle, his grin stretching wider as he tossed his fedora into the air and caught it. “Oh, toots, you’re a feisty one,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension as he wagged a claw at her. “Yeah, Tommy Boy inked the deal. It’s a fond memory. July 4th, big fireworks, bigger ambitions.” His words were laced with an infuriating playfulness. “He wanted that White House throne real bad. But fix her? Nah, doll; she’s too much fun like this—ain’t she a hoot?”

Kim’s breath hissed through her teeth, her eyes narrowing as she towered over him, her voice rising with fury. “She’s suffering because of you,” she snapped, her words crackling with defiance. “You’re a pathetic little creep who gets off on wrecking lives. Undo it, or I’ll tear that stupid suit off your back.” She had been in more than a few bar fights back in the day, although none of them were with a supernatural being.

Mr. Purple hopped down, his grin widening as he strutted in front of her, his claws tapping a jaunty rhythm on the floor. “Oh, sugar, you’re too cute when you’re mad,” he said, his rasp a playful taunt as he twirled his hat again. “Sufferin’s just part of the gig. You oughta join the fun, dollface; you’ve got the spunk for it!”

Her patience shattered, Kim bent down to his level, her voice a venomous roar as she glared into his face. “You think this is a game, you sick fuck?” she said, her words slicing through the air. “She’s falling apart out there because of your tiny green cock, and I’m done with your bullshit. Fix her now, or I’ll stomp you into the ground!”

The demon’s grin vanished, his red eyes narrowing to slits as his playful demeanor turned cold, his voice dropping to a menacing hiss. “Excuse me? Little green cock?” he said, his claws clenching as he stepped closer, his tone deadly serious. “That’s a line you don’t cross.” Half-sized demons were extremely touchy about the size of their manhood.

“You’ll pay for that, doll,” Mr. Purple said menacingly before lifting a green hand, his fingers snapping with a sharp crack that reverberated through the room.

Kim’s body jolted, a scorching wave ripping through her as the teal blouse and gray trousers she was wearing shimmered and dissolved, replaced by a sparkling blue G-string bikini from her old stripper days. The flimsy fabric hugged her skin, the bikini top yanking her DD breasts, once taped down and hidden from view, into full, open display, the untamed swell spilling over the edges.

The former stripper’s hair unraveled from its bun, spilling into a wild, unkempt tangle, her posture slumping into a sluttier sway as polish gave way to an unrefined look. “What the fuck—” she rasped, her voice coarsening as she stumbled back, staring at her shockingly crude reflection in the mirror.

Mr. Purple loomed closer, his grin returning with a sinister edge as he adjusted his fedora. “You should’ve left it alone, doll,” he said, his gaze raking over her transformed figure with cold satisfaction. “Now you’ll help your fiance be the best version of herself. You won’t be able to help yourself.” He clicked his fingers with a final, sharp snap, vanishing in a swirl of purple smoke, leaving the room silent.

Kim gripped the vanity’s edge, her hands trembling as she stared into the mirror, her reflection a garish reminder of the past—sparkling bikini barely covering her exaggerated curves, hair a chaotic mess framing her face.

“No,” she whispered, her voice a rough, desperate echo. “I’ll stop this. I—I have to.” While her defiance held firm, there was no doubt that this transformation was not the outcome Kim had sought. This was an October surprise she didn’t ask for. Studying her old stripper form in horror, Kim knew that time was running out.

End of Chapter Five