Chapter Six - November & Beyond

Backstage at the Velvet Vixen, a seedy New York strip club, the air pulsed with the thump of bass and the nose-twitching auror of cheap, alluring perfume. Carmen Lopez stood frozen, her bronzed skin prickling with dread, as her Campaign Support Officer, Jared Kissinger, thrust a shimmering silver dress into her trembling hands.

“Get dressed, Carmita,” Jared ordered, using the name he had given her a couple of months prior. The man’s hazel eyes glinted with cruel amusement, no sign of the timid, cock-blocked loser Carmen had hired to run her Presidential campaign. “You’re making your final appeal tonight, and you need to look the part.”

The Latina’s fingers trembled, clutching the silver dress, its plunging neckline and scandalously short hem a mockery of the tailored suits she once wore as a respected senator. Her G-cup breasts, artificially enhanced since her political rival’s supernatural deal with the devil, strained against the thin satin bra she wore, their silver piercings a constant reminder of her obscene degradation.

Carmen’s full lips, swollen with permanent collagen and painted a garish red, parted in protest. “A strip club, Jared?” she asked in her thick accent. “This is my final chance to reach the voters. I don’t think this is a good idea.” Her exotic green eyes, framed by the tattooed eyeliner that sharpened their allure, flickered with a mix of defiance and resignation.

Jared sneered, his gray suit shifting as he leaned closer. “You let me do the thinking from now on, Carmita,” he said dismissively. “You just focus on doing what you are told.”

Carmen’s heart pounded, a surge of defiance urging her to hurl the dress back at the man and scream that she was still in charge and that he would do as she told him. But her body betrayed her. The woman who once commanded Senate hearings with fiery feminist rhetoric now quivered under her Support Officer’s gaze, her resolve crumbling as these humiliating months flew by.

The Latina Senator slipped into the silver dress, its fabric hugging her enhanced curves, the plunging neckline exposing her cleavage and making a show of the thick barbell piercings. She stepped into a matching pair of five-inch silver stilettos, each click on the hard dressing room floor echoing inside her submissive mind.

Carmen’s bronze curves glistened as she stepped through the purple velvet curtain onto the VIP stage, her silver dress catching the pulsing violet lights. The crowd, a raucous mix of leering incel donors and drunken strip club johns, roared with delight.

The transformed senator gripped the stripper pole, her full lips quivering at her embarrassing actions as she thrusted her scantily-clad hips from side to side. Without the will to challenge Jared’s commands, Carmen surrendered to the rhythm and began dancing to the sensual bass, her stilettos gliding across the platform.

As Carmen worked the crowd, her girlfriend, Kim Walsh, stormed into the dressing room, her transformed figure a cruel caricature of her once-defiant spirit. A little black minidress clung to her voluptuous frame. Her fresh blonde hair, her rebellious blue hue a fading memory, cascaded over her shoulders, her septum piercing glinting in the light—one last vestige of her feminist self.

Kim’s plump lips, glossy and parted, trembled with rage as she faced Jared. “You’re fucking destroying her, you piece of shit!” She screamed. “Stop her now!” Her fists were clenched, and her eyes were bulging out of her head.

Jared chuckled as his lips curled into a vicious sneer. He judgmentally looked the former stripper up and down. “Carmen fucked herself the moment she hooked up with a filthy whore like you,” he spat sadistically. “Look at you. Would a respectable senator ever actually give some bimbo tramp the time of day?” His voice was laced with contempt. “You’re both exactly where you’re supposed to be. You were made for each other.”

The senator’s girlfriend’s tanned skin flushed with fury, her alluring curved frame shuddering with anger as she stepped closer. “I was a stripper, you sadistic fuck!” She screamed defiantly. “Not a whore,, and Carmen’s worth a thousand of you!”

Jared’s sneer widened, his eyes glinting with malicious glee as he leaned in and cupped the furious blonde’s chin. “Ohh, blondie, you’re so predictable,” he mocked her. “Keep lying to yourself like that.”

His words sunk in, and suddenly, false flashbacks surged through the woman’s mind - vivid scenes of her kneeling in some back alley, her lips wrapped around a john’s cock, an anonymous man wearing a wife beater as he collected her earnings. The memories, conjured by Mr Purple’s transformative magic, felt as real as her own, making the former blue-haired rebel sick to her stomach.

The support officer’s grip tightened on Kim’s chin, his voice dropping to a venomous purr. “You’re back where you belong, girl. Time to remember what you’re truly good at.” He released her, his hands moving to unzip his pants, his enormous erection springing free with a deliberate swagger. “Get to it.”

Kim’s fiery resolve shattered, the false memories redefining her past and future as they anchored her to Jared’s cruel narrative. She reluctantly sank to her knees, her plump, pink lips parting in stunned submission. Kim’s hands, painted a glossy shade of pink, hesitated before briefly grasping Jared’s member, her mouth enveloping his cock with a slow, deliberate motion.

The former lesbian moaned out. She knew this was wrong, that this should have been disgusting and made her sick, but something about it also felt right. Her lips glided along Jared’s length, her tongue swirling with practiced ease, her saliva glistening as she bobbed. Jared groaned, his fingers tangled in her blonde cascade. “That’s it, blondie. Just like the old days.” He growled.

The music and cheering crowd from the VIP area echoed in the dressing room. Kim’s glossy lips stretched tightly around Jared’s rigid shaft as her mouth moved with rhythmic precision. The former stripper’s tongue flicked against his sensitive tip, prompting him to groan a low murmur of pleasure.

Kim’s throat tightened around Jared’s cock, her saliva dripping onto her fake tits. Her eyes still showed the same fire and disdain they had always presented. Still, she continued to do as she was told, driven by the submission of her false memories.

Eventually, Jared couldn’t hold back and emptied his load inside the woman’s waiting mouth, almost choking the blonde. He pinned her head down as he emptied, before pulling back away from her, a train of saliva connecting his cock to her pink lips. Jared slapped the blonde once across the face with his member before zipping himself back up. “This is who you are now, whore. When this election ends, we will put you and your sister back where you belong.”

Kim spat remnants of his cum on the floor before glaring up at him. How had her life fallen apart so quickly in a matter of weeks? She parted her lips, but her voice was caught in her freshly fucked throat; nothing she could say would bring her dignity back. This is who she was now.

❖

The Democratic headquarters in Los Angeles hummed with despair on election night. Television screens blared the current electoral tally, Thomas Blair at 237 electoral votes, Carmen at 54, her lone victory in her home State of California a hollow consolation. The crowd, a mix of weary volunteers and disappointed aides, muttered in defeat. However, they knew deep down the result was a sure thing months ago.

Carmen stood at the room’s edge, her tailored navy suit a desperate nod to the feminist leader she once was. Its crisp lines strained against her transformed curvy bust, the silver piercing pressing beneath the blouse. Her big lips parted as she spoke in a thick accent. “I guess it’s time to prepare my concession speech, si?”

Jared loomed at her side, his hazel eyes glinting with malicious glee. Jared was perhaps the only one in the room not to be devastated by the inevitable result. “You won’t be making the speech, Carmita,” he snarled. “Graham has this one.” Before she could react, she saw Jared lift an object in front of her face. “You’ll be busy apologizing to the team for dragging them through this trainwreck campaign.” Carmen’s eyes widened. He held a wide metal ring gag with a red strap on either side.

Carmen’s golden skin flushed, her hands clutching the hem of her suit as she recoiled. “You’re fucking insane, papi,” she gasped. “I’m not your damn toy!” Her defiance flickered under the man’s cruel gaze as she moved away from him.

Jared snapped his fingers, issuing a venomous command to a group of burly male volunteers. “Get her ready, boys,” he said, and the men didn’t need any further encouragement as they surged forward swiftly, and seized Carmen’s arms.

The Latina struggled, her angry accented protests muffled as the ringleader forced the metal ring gag into her mouth, the red straps tightening around her head, stretching her collagen-swollen lips wide. Another volunteer ripped her professional suit apart with practiced ease, the fabric tearing to reveal her huge bare breasts and the shimmering decorations attached to her nipples.

The volunteers’ rough hands stripped away Carmen’s remaining dignity, her torn blouse and skirt falling to shreds to the floor. A musclebound man parted her legs and slid a pair of remote-controlled vibrating G-string panties onto her. Another man yanked her arms behind her back. He began securing them in a red leather armbinder, using two other men to lace it tightly behind her until the Senator’s elbows touched. He connected a hook on the end of her armbinder to a fish-eye bolt on the hard floor, forcing Carmen to kneel helplessly in the headquarters’ center.

Kim Walsh stormed into the headquarters, her arrival punctuated by a string of curses from her mouth as she pushed past a stunned aide. She had just sped from a high-end Beverly Hills salon, fresh from an inexplicable appointment she couldn’t even recall booking but knew she needed to attend.

The session had sculpted her into a vision of provocative allure. Her new blonde hair teased into voluminous waves, her plumped lips glossed a vibrant pink, and her smoky eyeshadow and long lashes amplified her sensual former stripper appeal.

Kim’s black minidress, a far cry from the outfits she always wore to escape her sexual past, clung to her voluptuous frame. She was more pissed off after being stopped by a cop on the way back to HQ, scurrying to support her significant other, for speeding. The cop leered at her and left the blonde subtle hints that he may have been able to let her go with a warning if she gave him a simple handjob. “Keep your filthy hands away from me, pig!” was Kim’s immediate response, and she soon ended up with a ticket before being sent on her way.

Jared’s gaze tore away from the bound Democratic nominee and swept over Kim. His lips twisted into a sadistic smirk. “Wow, you look like a proper slut now, blondie,” he purred with delight. “I’m glad you attended my salon appointment. It suits you.” His taunt was a cruel reminder of his inexplicable control over the couple.

Kim tensed up with fury over the man’s crass words, but she saw red when she witnessed her lover bound and gagged in the center of the office around a circle of men. “You’re a sick fuck, Jared!” she lunged forward with her fists clenched. “Let Carmen go, you twisted bastard!”

Jared chuckled at the blonde’s words as he circled the furious woman, shaking his head. “Kinky Kim, the dumb kinky bimbo whore,” he taunted. “There’s no depraved fantasy too extreme for you, is there?” He absently stroked her cheek, and she swatted his hand away. The blonde felt a nervous shudder run down her spine as he spoke.

Jared’s smirk grew sharper. “Grab the bimbo too, boys,” he commanded as he snapped his fingers towards the burly men. The large-set volunteers surged forward, seizing Kim’s arms with iron grips. She thrashed against their touch, her minidress riding up her thighs and high heels scraping against the floor, but her struggles were futile against the men’s collective strength.

The ringleader forced a pink ring gag into her mouth, tightening the straps behind her, and stretching her freshly painted lips wide. Another man ripped open her flimsy dress and cut away her underwear, leaving her as exposed as her formerly powerful girlfriend. The men slid a pair of pink G-string vibrating panties onto the blonde rebel before pushing her down to her knees.

The woman’s arms were yanked into a pink leather armbinder, the ringleader pulling the strings tightly until her elbows were forced to touch, and her knees were kicked out from behind her, dropping the blonde to her knees. Kim’s armbinder was bolted to a fish-eye hook in the ground beside her girlfriend, and the two hopelessly struggled in unison.

Carmen struggled more vehemently with her partner beside her, unable to close her inviting mouth as her vibrating panties sent pulses of pleasure down her bare body. The California Latina glanced helplessly at the crowd, her green eyes searching for allies and looks of horror, but she only found a mixture of amused and lustful stares. Although Carmen wasn’t aware, Jared had spent the last few months meticulously purging the team of feminist and allied voices, replacing them with men who shared his new, magically enhanced, perverted worldview. No one was here to intervene.

Graham Birch ascended the sleek podium just outside the front of the headquarters, greeted by dejected followers who clung to the hope Carmen would turn it around until the very end. The VP-pick’s voice resonated with a practiced gravitas as he addressed the cameras, the nation watching his every word. “Good evening, America,” he began with a somber yet resolute tone. “Tonight, Senator Lopez and I concede the presidency to Thomas Blair. I apologize for Senator Lopez’s absence from this podium, but she is currently tied up with more pressing commitments.” A knowing glint reflected in his eyes. “I wish to congratulate President-elect Blair and his team. He was a formidable opponent whose vision for America has resonated with voters. While we don’t see eye to eye, we hope he can bring unity to our great nation, and that the new President leads with integrity and strength.”

Back inside the HQ, the atmosphere was buzzing with anticipation; the volunteers stared leeringly at the bound couple in the center of the room. Jared approached them and lowered himself mockingly. “Time to apologize properly, my little sluts,” he barked, gesturing to the men as they began to close the circle around the women.

Carmen’s ring gag kept her mouth wide, and a volunteer’s thick shaft pressed against her lips, his hands gripping her hair as he thrust with deliberate force. Her tongue involuntarily flicked against the cock as Jared set her panties to the highest vibrating level. Beside her, Kim’s own gag stretched her lips, and another volunteer’s cock slid in effortlessly, his rough hands pushing her head onto him as she gagged shamefully. They moaned out lustfully as the pair were resoundingly facefucked by dozens of perverted men.

Jared lit a cigar and smoked it away from the action, staring at the pair in their new station in life. He didn’t know for sure whether those memories in his mind were real or not, but he knew that he liked them, and Carmen and Kim made far better whore than they ever made as feminist symbols, he thought. He looked up at the TV on the wall, which displayed Thomas Blair in front of an adoring crowd in Dallas, and laughed. It’s funny how things work out.

❖

Moments after his inaugural address, Thomas Blair walked into the Oval Office with a triumphant stride, his senior team following behind him. The man stood and took in the majestic room. He had made it, and it was time to start bringing back traditional values to the nation, he thought.

The new President’s dark eyes swept across the room, catching a flicker in the large ornate mirror on the wall that sent a chill down his spine. A flash of green and purple reflected off the surface; the out-of-place clashing colors could only mean one thing. “Clear the room,” he ordered, to the confusion of the others.

Thomas’s face showed no sign of argument, and the Secret Service led the senior team, including the President’s campaign manager and new Chief of Staff, Carly Bush, out of the circular room. Thomas tensed as a flash appeared before his eyes.

Mr Purple materialized in a burst of violet smoke, his green skin clashing with the muted tones of the room, his tiny purple suit tailored to perfection, and a fedora tilted rakishly on his head. The demon’s red eyes danced maliciously as he clapped his clawed hands together. “Congratulations, Mr President,” he rasped. “You’ve climbed the mountain, claimed that golden throne. You must be very proud of your work.” There was an eerie silence as Thomas waited for what he knew would come. “However, there is the small matter of payment to discuss.” Mr Purple flashed a toothy smile.

Thomas’s jaw clenched, and he shook his head, gripping the edges of his suit jacket. “You listen to me,” he hissed back at the demon. “I’d have won this election without your cursed perverted tricks.” His eyes blazed with resistance. “My campaign was unstoppable. You didn’t make me President, I did!”

There was a tense moment of silence before Mr Purple erupted in mock laughter, a grating cackle reverberating around the room. “Ohh. Tommy, you really are priceless,” he sneered. “You think you won with your charm? I could always snap my fingers and put you in Ms Lopez’s position right now.” He took a step forward. Despite his small stature, the green man had an intimidating aura, forcing Thomas to step back. “Would you like that? Let’s see how well the people respect their new President like that.” He lifted his hand as if he were about to snap his fingers.

“No!” The President exclaimed in desperation, the image of Carmen’s last appearance on television flashing through his mind. He sighed. He had signed the deal and now had to pay the price. The Devil had lived up to his end of the arrangement. How bad could it be? “What do you want?” He asked the green man solemnly.

Mr Purple’s smile grew wider, and his claws gestured widely with a theatrical flair. “My boss, Lucifer, wants to expand his playground on Earth,” he declared. “We had an agreement with the man upstairs that we would stick to Vegas. However, times have changed, and my boss wants a bigger slice of the pie.” His red eyes narrowed maliciously.

“You’re going to use those fancy new Presidential powers of yours to sign executive orders legalizing all drugs, gambling, and prostitution across the United States,” Mr Purple continued, to Thomas’s shocked dismay. “These will no longer be a State’s issue. Every city and every town across the country will become a haven for sin. It’s going to be beautiful.”

The President’s face contorted with disbelief as he leaned forward and rested his hands on the polished desk. “You’re out of your damn mind!” He roared back, the consequences of the act running through his mind. “Those orders will shred my popularity to pieces. The evangelicals, the conservatives, they’ll burn me at the stake for this!” His skin flushed with anger. The visions of his supporters who had just cheered his historic victory, turning on him in righteous fury, etched into his mind.

Mr Purple’s cackle sharpened as he leaned forward. “That’s the price of dancing with the devil, Mr President,” he taunted. “You wanted that throne, and you got it. Now, it’s time to pay up.” The green demon raised a clawed hand, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You have twenty-four hours to sign that first executive order, or the punishments will begin.” He grinned. “Trust me, Tommy. You won’t enjoy our brand of fun.”

Thomas’s breath caught as the demon snapped his fingers and disappeared in a puff of purple smoke, leaving the perplexed new President alone in his office. He couldn’t possibly betray his base like that, start a process that would destroy the fabric of this nation. However, Carmen was proof of the demon’s powers, and the idea of ending up like the new LA whore was too much to bear. There was only one realistic option.

❖

On the night of the Presidential inauguration, a freshly showered Carmen Lopez sat on the edge of a sagging motel bed with a towel wrapped around her torso. The Latina’s eyes were fixed on a flickering television screen replaying the day’s ceremony. The grainy image of Thomas taking the oath stirred a pang in her chest, her mind drifting to visions of herself at the podium: that was how it was supposed to go.

The motel room door swung open, and Carmen’s girlfriend, Kim, entered. Her transformed figure was a stark betrayal of the once-feminist spirit she claimed to be. A kinky leather harness crisscrossed her torso, accentuating her enhanced DD-cups, paired with a transparent PVC bra and G-string that did nothing to hide the blonde woman’s modesty. A pair of handcuffs and a red ball gag hung loosely along the harness at her waist. Kim’s septum piercing had disappeared, although a tongue, navel, and clit piercing took their place, and her lips were glossed a prominent pink.

Kim leaned in and kissed Carmen deeply, the Latina wincing as she tasted the salty remnants of some random man’s cum on her partner’s lips.

Carmen’s former election support officer, Jared Kissinger, followed, wearing a sharp gray suit in contrast to Kim’s slutty attire. He glanced at Carmen’s figure before glancing at the television screen to witness Thomas’s jubilant celebrations.

Jared’s lips curled into a wicked smile as he tossed Carmen a slim red leather choker. A silver tag across the front was etched with the word ‘Caramela.’ The former senator blinked before she noticed that Kim was already wearing a matching choker, her tag labeled ‘Kiki,’’ and a padlock secured tightly behind her neck.

“Time for your debut, Caramela,” Jared announced with menace. “Your outfit’s in the closet. I can’t wait to see you wear it.”

The Latina’s hand trembled, clutching her choker. How had it come to this? With her last vestige of pleading defiance, Carmen cried out in a thick Mexican accent, struggling to hold on to her fluent English. “No es tarde, por favor, we stop this, si?”

Jared laughed, stepping close to the dark-haired beauty, and spanked her bare ass hard, the sting forcing a gasp from her plump lips. “You’re right where you belong, Caramela,” he taunted in a whisper.

Carmen’s new pimp’s grip tightened, pulling her towel-clad body flush against his own, his hand lingering on her stinging asscheek. “Kinky Kiki’s already a start on the streets. I can’t wait to see the reaction when her famous sister joins her,” he said, his fingers tracing her choker. Without waiting for her permission, Jared took the strand of leather from Carmen’s hand. He wrapped the choker around her neck, fastening it snugly before the ominous click of a padlock securing it in place.

Kim stood nearby, awkwardly teetering on her 7-inch platforms as she watched the scene unfold before her. Her recent acts humiliated her, but the more she played the part, the harder it became to remember her old life. She was now just the kinkiest bitch on Figueroa Street.

Holding his new whore close, Jared stepped towards the closet. He yanked the door open with a theatrical pull and revealed the shocking outfit inside the wardrobe. Carmen’s eyes widened in shock, and her plump lips parted as a tense shudder ran down her spine. The outfit represented everything she had become; her dreams of the presidency were shattered forever, all because she refused the offer of a little green man.

❖

Epilogue

Six months after his famous inauguration, President Blair sat behind the polished mahogany desk in the Oval Office. His tailored black suit looked crisp, but his posture was heavy, with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

The man’s attention was on his Chief of Staff, Carly Bush, standing before him. The blonde wore a tight business outfit: a navy blazer and a form-fitting pencil skirt. She was always dressed to impress for the President.

The woman sat opposite Thomas, flicking through a tablet in her hands. “The economy is thriving, Mr President,” Carly announced, her words firm and professional. Your executive orders have boosted GDP by four percent in just six months. That type of growth is unheard of in the modern era, Sir,” she said optimistically.

Thomas forced a smile, his lips curving despite his hollow, dark eyes. The economy was booming, but at what cost? “That’s impressive, Carly,” he said. The President leaned forward and interlocked his fingers on the table. “What’s the status of the protests? Are they still spreading?”

Carly’s sunshine expression dropped as she paused her fingers over the tablet’s screen. “They’re, umm, still ongoing, Sir. Particularly in the South,” she replied, knowing it wasn’t the answer her boss wanted to hear. “Dallas is a focal point. Southern Baptist coalitions and conservative groups are organizing daily marches, denouncing your orders as a moral catastrophe.” She lifted her gaze, searching for Thomas’s reaction.

Thomas groaned. His hometown, a city where every resident used to adore him, was now the epicenter of unrest. “Any suggestions?” he asked his Chief of Staff.

Carly stared blankly before setting her tablet down and leaning forward. “Frankly, sir, I think you should roll back the executive orders,” she said cautiously. “They may be a boon for the economy, but legalizing drugs and sex work has fueled this unrest.” She paused momentarily. “Allowing the Southern states to opt out might calm the protests and save your political career.” It appeared to be a logical suggestion, at least for anyone unaware of Thomas’s deal with the devil.

Thomas shook his head, his forced smile fading. “That’s not possible,” he said dismissively. He knew that Lucifer’s deal was a chain he couldn’t break. These laws would define his Presidency.

“What about crime data?” The President tried to divert the conversation. “How’s our inmate reduction policy performing?” He never wanted to half the prison population. Still, Mr. Purple had told Thomas that Lucifer viewed them as ‘his’ people, and the demand was non-negotiable.

Carly’s expression grew somber as her eyes darted back to her pencil skirt-clad lap. “It’s concerning, Sir,” she replied. “Your decision to halve the inmate population has driven crime rates up by thirty percent. Robberies, assaults, even murders are spiking, Sir.” She sighed. “High population centers such as New York and Los Angeles are suffering the worst of it. A recent poll suggests that 87% of the public feel the streets are too unsafe.”

Carly’s voice softened. “There’s more, sir,” she said with heavy reluctance. “Congress is growing uneasy. There are plenty of dissenters in your own party, and whispers of an impeachment have been circulating. Some lawmakers are claiming your policies have turned America into a vice-soaked hellscape.” She met his gaze, but her eyes quickly averted him, not wanting to reveal her own thoughts.

Thomas groaned, slumping back in his chair, his hands raking through his hair. “Thank you, Carly. That will be all,” he dismissed her. The blonde stood and straightened out her shapely skirt. The job was weighing on Thomas’s mind so much these days that he rarely commented on her outfits anymore. She wondered why she even bothered as she made her way out of the room.

Thomas sighed as he felt a tightening in his chest. Thanks to his despicable deal, he had forged a nation of vice to appease the supernatural Lucifer. The surge in GDP did nothing to appease his supporters when they were witnessing their own way of life being degraded. The whispers of impeachment stung him like a blade as Congress threatened to strip him of the power he had given so much up for. His Presidency was on the brink of collapse, and Thomas discovered that one should never make a deal with the devil unless you are prepared to pay the ultimate price.

❖

Meanwhile, across the country, Caramela held on to the back of a rotten discarded sofa in a dim back alley off Figueroa Street, her screams echoing as one of her regulars pounded her from behind, his thrusts relentless inside her accommodating ass.

The whore wore her staple slutty French maid outfit: a black micro dress with white lace, barely covering her huge G-cup tits, paired with thigh-high stockings, a white frilly apron, and matching headband, along with 6” black patent stilettos. The dress was so low cut that her pierced nipples escaped the cups as the john slammed her back and forth, her long, red talons gripping the grotty sofa.

The client grunted, his release flooding Caramela’s ass and her heavily made-up face contorted in a mix of pain, pleasure, and resignation. “Gracias, señor. See you next week, si?” she panted as the man lifted his pants back up. The man grinned and nodded before handing her $50 in small bills and leaving the disgraced woman in the alley.

Caramela straightened her dress and pulled the flimsy black lacy g-string back up her stockinged legs when she heard a muffled cry call out deeper inside the alley. “¿Quién está ahí?” she called out with concern, timidly tottering past a large dumpster blocking her view.

The dark-haired whore’s eyes widened as she spotted her girlfriend, Kiki, her platinum blonde hair tangled, as the woman was cuffed to a rusty drainpipe. Kiki’s hands and legs were chained high, her lingerie tossed to the side as the red leather harness decorated her curvy body. Caramela winced as cum seeped from the trapped woman’s pussy, leaking out as though her orifice had been overfilled. “Mmphhh!” the blonde cried out, her sounds muffled by her large red ball gag.

Caramela rolled her eyes and sighed at the familiar sight. “This is the third time this week, Kiki, ¿por qué siempre tú?” she muttered, fishing a small key from her garter and unlocking the cuffs.

Kiki slumped to the ground and removed the kinky ball gag before standing up with wobbly legs to collect her lingerie. The blonde’s new navel and clit piercings reflected against the dim lights as she slipped the g-string back on and reattached the half-cup lacy red bra.

The blonde former rebel adjusted her harness and tightened her 7-inch platform stilettos as she steadied herself. Caramela grabbed her freshly fucked girlfriend’s arm, guiding her towards the alley’s exit. “Vámonos, mi amor, let’s get back to hotel,” she said.

The pair’s heels clicked in unison as they made their way towards the unsafe street before the silhouette of a man blocked their view. “Carmen?” the man called out, using her real name. Caramela shuddered at the recognition of the voice as she approached Graham Birch, her former running mate. The man was uncharacteristically casually dressed, but he still attracted an auror of confidence.

“What you want, Graham?” Caramela spat with a thickly accented venom. “Go away!” The dark-haired woman grasped her girlfriend’s hand and began hurriedly guiding the woman away from the alleyway.

Graham’s mock concern turned into a mocking grin. “You look good, Carmen. Or is that Caramela?” He said, pointing to her choker.

Caramela’s tanned skin flushed as she tightened her grip on Kiki’s hand. She tried to ignore him with hurried steps, but the man’s following words made the former politician’s skin run cold. “Jared told me to ask for the Senator Special,” Graham called out, his tone turning smug.

The dark-haired French maid froze on the spot, clenching Kiki’s hand tightly. Jared’s control was inescapable. Caramela turned to her girlfriend. “I meet you back at the hotel, mi amor, está bien.” Kiki was confused, but simply nodded. It wasn’t the first time this had happened.

As the blonde shuffled off, cum still trailing down her thigh, Caramela faced the older man. She forced a sultry smile and swayed up towards the man with a seductive swing of her hips. The whore wrapped her arms around Graham’s neck and purred, “How may I serve you, Mr President?” The words tasted like vomit in her mouth.

Graham’s smirk deepened, his hand sliding against the Latina’s plump ass as he guided the whore back into the alley’s shadows. She may not have ended up in the White House, but Caramela still spent her life serving the people of California.

The End.