Chapter Five - October

Carmen Lopez reclined in the plush velvet chair of her campaign headquarters’ private office. Her lithe frame radiated a sultry confidence as she caught her breath from the exquisite pleasure her blue-haired fiance, Kim Walsh, had just delivered. The room glowed with the golden light of the late October sun streaming through tall windows. Polished oak furniture and sleek leather accents surrounded her in quiet elegance. She wore a tailored navy pantsuit that hugged her trim waist like a second skin. The jacket hung open, revealing a cream silk blouse unbuttoned low enough to tease the smooth curve of her chest. Her glossy black hair spilled over one shoulder in a cascade of midnight waves. She adjusted her trousers with a satisfied smile and savored the lingering thrill pulsing through her veins.

Kim Walsh knelt between Carmen’s thighs, her statuesque form poised in a fitted black dress that clung to her voluptuous curves with daring allure. Her wild hair tumbled freely down her back. She wiped her messed-up, glossy lips with a delicate swipe of her thumb and rose with a lover’s grace.

Her voice purred with satisfaction as she settled onto the desk’s edge beside Carmen. “You taste like victory, mi amor.” She winked. “That debate tonight will put our chances beyond any doubt.”

Carmen leaned forward to brush her fingers lovingly along her fiance’s arm. A sly grin curved her pretty lips as she met the former stripper’s gaze. “You always know how to start my day right, Kim. He’s a broken man now, and I’m ready to finish him off on that stage.” Her tone carried a steely certainty laced with her signature Latin warmth.

Kim shifted closer on the desk. Her dress rode up slightly, revealing a glimpse of her thigh. She rested a hand on Carmen’s shoulder with a possessive touch. “His outrageous transformation is all anyone ever talks about. Keep the public focused on that; the White House is ours.” Her words flowed with a seductive confidence.

Carmen tilted her head with a playful nod. Her hair brushed against her cream blouse as she savored Kim’s closeness. “That’s my strategy, mi amor. I’ve spent days crafting an opening statement to hammer his disgrace home. He’s a laughing stock now, not a presidential candidate.” She spoke with a fierce determination that underscored her sexy Latin tone.

Jared knocked and stepped into the office from a side door. He wore a charcoal blazer over a white shirt, the open collar offering a subtle peek at his toned neck. His lean build carried an air of quiet strength softened by respect. He crossed the room with an easy stride and stopped near the desk. “You’re glowing today, Carmen. I’ve set up a strategy session with the team this morning, and we’ll sharpen your debate points over lunch.”

Carmen and Kim exchanged knowing looks before the California Senator turned to face him. She offered a warm smile as she rose from her chair with a fluid motion. “Thank you, Jared. I’m counting on your lead to keep us on track.” Her voice flowed like a velvet melody rich with appreciation. She stood beside Kim and rested a hand on her lover’s knee.

Kim squeezed Carmen’s fingers in return. The blue-haired woman slid off the desk with a graceful sway and pressed herself against her fiance’s side. “You’re going to shred him tonight, babe. Those comical tits and ridiculous wig have turned him into a joke, and America’s ready for a real leader, real change.” Her tone dripped with adoration as she nestled closer.

Jared stood with his hands in his pockets. He nodded with a faint, approving smile. “Kim’s got it right, Carmen. His collapse gives us the edge, and tonight will lock it in. We’ve got everything lined up to make it happen.” His voice carried a quiet pride that bolstered their resolve.

Carmen straightened up beside her lover. Her navy pantsuit shifted with her motion as she savored their unity. “Then let’s make it a knockout blow. I’ve built my career fighting for progress, and I’ll use every ounce of it to bury him tonight.” Her words brimmed with a commanding fire.

Kim grinned as she trailed her fingers along Carmen’s arm; despite the widening lead in the polls, her fiance was still fighting for every vote. “That’s my woman. You’ll own that stage, and I’ll be cheering you every step of the way.” Her voice held a sensual promise that sealed their bond.

Carmen turned to face them both. She stood tall with an alluring, confident poise that made her look twice as tall. The debate loomed just hours away, and she was primed to claim her triumph with every fierce word.

❖

Thomas Blair sat hunched in a secluded booth at Millie’s Diner on the outskirts of Dallas. He tugged nervously at the oversized gray hoodie he’d thrown on that morning in a desperate bid to hide his transformed body. The thick fabric draped over his frame but did little to conceal the provocative swell of his DD-cups pressing against the zipper.

A pair of loose black sweatpants sagged around his hips, failing to mask the smooth curve of his thighs or the dainty sway of his stride in scuffed white sneakers. His blond wig peeked out from under the hood in messy curls, framing a face softened by subtle makeup—pouty lips glossed pink, cheeks faintly flushed. He tried all he could to stop himself from putting on his wife’s makeup this morning, but the urge was too overwhelming. He kept his head low, his hands fidgeting with the drawstrings of his hoodie.

Kendra Blair slid into the booth across from him, no welcome kiss or hug. She wore a sleek burgundy dress that hugged her gorgeous figure with a quiet elegance. The hem brushed her knees above glossy black heels, a fresh change from the morning’s attire. Her raven hair flowed down her back in a glossy sweep. She leaned forward, a mix of concern and frustration evident in her voice. “I’ve missed you, Thomas, but this can’t keep going on. You’re not yourself anymore. Have you seen yourself lately?”

Thomas raised his head slightly. His hands clutched the drawstrings tighter as he met her gaze, his breath coming in shaky bursts. “I know I look different, Kendra, but we can still fix this together.” His voice trembled with a quiet desperation. “I need you with me now more than ever.”

The brunette woman frowned as she watched him struggle to cover his chest. Her arms were folded across her lap in a guarded stance. “Fix it how, Thomas? That sweatshirt isn’t hiding anything. Those breasts and that makeup show through all the disguise. You aren’t the man I married.” Her tone sharpened with a blend of worry and disbelief.

The presidential nominee leaned forward a fraction. The hoodie slipped to reveal more of his curvaceous chest as he spoke in a hushed, frantic whisper. “I can explain it all, Kendra. This isn’t my doing.” His voice quaked with fear. “You’re not going to believe me, but there’s a demon. Like, a real demon; he calls himself Mr Purple. He came to me with a deal during our July 4th celebration, but I turned him down.” Thomas’s face turned red. “He must have offered it to Carmen Lopez instead. That’s why all of this is happening to me.”

Kendra pulled back in her seat and gripped the small cross necklace hanging from her neck. “A demon, Thomas? Are you trying to mock me and my beliefs?” Her tone was angry. “You expect me to swallow a story about some creature from hell doing this to you?” Her voice carried a heavy dose of skepticism and annoyance.

The feminized man gripped the edge of the table with both hands. His fingers dug into the wood as he leaned closer, desperation etching lines into his softened face. “I’m not mocking you, Kendra. I swear it’s the truth.” His voice broke with a pleading edge. “I saw him in my study that night. He had red eyes and a wicked grin like something out of a nightmare. He wanted me to sign a contract. He promised me the White House but wanted me to sell my soul in the process.”

His wife’s grip tightened on her necklace. She shook her head with a nervous laugh. “This sounds like you’ve lost your mind, Thomas. I want to help you, but this story combined with all this,” she waved at the transformation before her eyes. “You’re breaking apart, and I don’t know how to help.”

Thomas slumped back in the booth. His shoulders sagged under the weight of her disbelief. He spoke with a faint, trembling whisper. “Please, Kendra, just give me one chance to prove it to you.” He looked into her eyes. “Stay with me for the photo op later today. Let the world see that we are still a strong American unit.” His tone carried a fragile hope. “I’ll prove it to you; you’ll see.”

Kendra paused as she studied his pitiful attempt to mask his changes. Her fingers lingered on the cross necklace while she weighed his words. She sighed with a reluctant nod. “Okay, Thomas. I’ll stay with you for this photo op today.” Her voice softened with a trace of pity. “But you need to pull yourself together out there. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

The billionaire managed a weak smile. His hands loosened their grip on the table as a flicker of relief crossed his face. “Thank you, Kendra. I won’t let you down, I promise.” His voice quivered with gratitude, though the weight of his transformation pressed heavily on every word.

Kendra leaned back in her seat. She crossed her arms again, her gaze settling on him with a mix of doubt and sorrow. “Let’s just get through today first.” Her tone steadied with resolve, though her eyes betrayed the uncertainty gnawing at her.

The feminized businessman nodded his head. He had won a mini battle. He had a mammoth task before him: convincing the public that he could still lead this country despite the numerous scandals he had faced over the last couple of months. But with his wife by his side, he knew he had a fighting chance.

❖

The late October sun cast a vibrant glow over Dallas’s Fair Park. A modest crowd gathered before a sleek, modern platform adorned with crisp red-white-and-blue banners fluttering in the breeze. The Texas native hadn’t conducted a rally in his hometown since the start of last month, and the crowd seemed much thinner now.

Thomas Blair stood atop the stage, his once-imposing presence diminished by a tight lavender suit that Carly had forced him into moments ago. The jacket strained across his DD-cups, buttons pulling taut against the provocative swell of his chest. At the same time, the trousers clung to his hips and thighs, accentuating every smooth curve in a ridiculous, provocative display. Matching colored dress shoes pinched his feet. His blond wig flowed in loose curls over his shoulders, framing his softened face—pouty lips glossed pink, cheeks dusted with rouge. Why did he follow Carly’s every damn direction?

A shaky breath escaped the feminized man as he gripped the microphone with both hands. His glossy nails pressed into the metal while he struggled to find his voice. “Thank you for coming out. America needs a leader who stands for strength and tradition.” His tone quivered with a timid edge; there was an ironic murmur towards his statement. His current image portrayed anything but strength and tradition. “I’ve always fought for the American people and our values.” The words faltered as his eyes darted across the sparse crowd.

Nervous tension coiled in his mammoth chest as he shifted his stance. “We must protect our future and keep our nation strong.” He kept soldiering on. “Those damn Democrats want to change your way of life, change the fabric of this nation” His voice slipped into a high-pitched octave as he spewed his rehearsed line. He needed to fall back on the only tactic he had left. “If you vote for Carmen Lopez next month, our border will never be safe, and your guns will be confiscated.” His words sounded unsure; he wasn’t even sure he believed them.

The anxious candidate straightened his posture and forced a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve built businesses and led with honor and trust.” His voice cracked slightly as he pushed through the unease gnawing at him. “That’s what I bring to this fight, not some liberal agenda from the West Coast.” A smattering of applause rose from the crowd, but jeers and murmurs of doubt quickly drowned it out.

Kendra Blair lingered near the platform’s edge, away from the polished steps. Her burgundy dress hugged her figure as she confronted Carly Bush behind a row of pristine campaign banners. Frustration tightened her jaw while she jabbed a finger at Carly’s chest. “What the hell are you doing to my husband? You’re ruining him more every day, Carly.” Her voice cut with a fierce sting. “Look at what he’s wearing!”

Carly leaned casually against a banner pole. Her red dress was molded to her luscious curves like a second skin, paired with 3-inch black stilettos. She grinned as she folded her arms across her chest. “He’s doing what I need him to do, Kendra.” Her tone carried a cool, unyielding edge. “What does a trophy wife know anyway? Don’t you have laundry to fold?” The blond woman chuckled.

Kendra’s eyes flashed with anger as she stepped closer, her voice rising with indignation, ignoring the offensive comment. “You’re turning him into a freak show, and you damn well know it!” She snapped. “He’s still your boss, not the other way around!” She clenched her fists at her sides, her resolve hardening against Carly’s taunts.

Paul Hague approached from the sidelines with a measured stride. His navy suit looked expensive and well-pressed, his silver hair adding a stern dignity to his imposing frame. He paused near Kendra and Carly, his voice a low, cutting whisper as he passed. “Keep your pretty mouth shut, darling. There are better things it could be used for.” Kendra scowled. The vice-presidential nominee’s sexist jab showed precisely the kind of man her husband had put on the ticket.

The seasoned senator reached Thomas’s side with a subtle nod. He leaned close and murmured into his ear. “Time for me to take over, Thomas. Step back.” His tone carried a quiet command, firm yet discreet.

Uncertainty flickered across the beleaguered candidate’s face. He hesitated for a moment before loosening his grip on the microphone. He didn’t want to give up the podium to his running mate, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Yes, Paul.” His voice dropped to a faint whisper as he stepped aside.

Anger surged through Kendra as she watched Paul take the stage. She muttered under her breath with a steely resolve. “This isn’t over yet.” Her gaze pierced Carly’s smug expression from the sidelines. “I won’t let you humiliate my husband.”

Carly tilted her head with a knowing grin. She giggled as Paul began addressing the crowd. “Humiliating your husband? Honey, he’d done that all by himself.” Her voice held a trace of triumph while the pair watched Thomas retreat to his trailer.

Kendra shook her head as she followed behind the businessman. Thomas was right, she thought. Her husband’s life, campaign, and entire world could not have crashed so spectacularly if not for the devil's work. She needed to find this Mr Purple and make things right.

❖

The light filtered through the tall windows of a luxurious conference room in Dallas’s Ritz-Carlton hotel, casting a golden sheen across the long, polished mahogany table. A dozen major donors and campaign staff, all male, sat in plush chairs, their sharp suits and murmured discussions filling the sleek space with a tense hum.

Paul Hague stood at the table’s head, his navy suit crisp against his silver hair. His voice carried a firm edge as he addressed the group. “Gentlemen, I’m sure you’ve all seen the scandals on the news. Rest assured, I’m running this campaign now.” He leaned forward, resting his knuckles on the table while strategy murmurs quieted. “We need a strong leader in charge.”

The seasoned senator straightened with a knowing nod. “We’ve got the edge on border security. That Latin piece of trash is weak there.” His tone stayed steady as he glanced at a staffer near the door. “Thomas needs to play his part, but deciding strategy isn’t one of his strong points.”

A ripple of uneasy chuckles spread through the room as Paul signaled the staffer with a subtle flick of his hand. The door swung open, and Thomas Blair tottered in, his once-commanding presence obliterated by a ridiculous pink mini-dress—low-cut and barely skimming his thighs, a garish tease exposing his DD-cups and smooth curves. Heavy makeup caked his face—thick eyeliner, bright blush, glossy candy-pink lipstick—his blond hair yanked into childish pigtails. Towering pink heels wobbled beneath him. He looked like a bimbo caricature brought to life. Gasps and snickers erupted from the all-male crowd, their eyes widening in shock at the state of this once-respected businessman.

Thomas froze mid-step as he stood directly beside Paul at the head of the table, his voice a faint protest over the laughter. “Please, Paul.”

His plea vanished into the guffaws as Paul smirked. The gray-haired senator addressed the men. “Thomas now reports directly to me, and he obeys my every command. Do you gentlemen want an example?” He chuckled, glancing up at the feminized, scantily-clad sissy. He gestured to the center of the large conference table. “Dance for us, Thomas. Get those high-heeled feet on the table, and dance. You will appreciate that, believe me.” Thomas’s eyes widened as the senator used his hypnotic command.

Nervous and humiliated dread twisted in Thomas’s gut as he immediately climbed onto the table, his tall heels clicking against the polished wood. He swayed his hips, the mini-dress swishing with each awkward move, his curves a provocative tease. Hoots and whistles filled the room as the men leaned forward, their eyes gleaming with enjoyment at the sexy display.

One donor, an oil tycoon, slapped the table, his voice booming with delight. “Shake it, sweetheart!” Thomas’s pigtails bounced as he twirled, his heels scraping the wood, his DD-cups jiggling with each exaggerated sway. Laughter and cheers swelled, the men clapping as he bent low, the dress riding up to flash his thighs. Thomas had done business with many of these men, and now he was prancing for them like some cheap bimbo stripper.

Paul watched with a smug grin, his tone steady as he addressed the group. “Gentlemen, we’ve got work to do. We’ve got to discuss how we’re going to tackle the Second Amendment and woke nonsense seeping into our schools.” He leaned back, his gaze flicking to Thomas. “Thomas. Mr. Bernstein and Mr. Sanders just donated another half a million each to the final month of our campaign. How about you thank them by doing what you’re good at while we talk business? You’d like to make them happy, believe me.” That damn post-hypnotic suggestion Thomas never even remembered receiving had struck again. “Ask the nice men if they’d like you to service them.”

The humiliated candidate’s knees trembled as he stepped off the table, his heels clicking loudly on the wood. He shuffled toward Mr. Bernstein, a wiry tech mogul with a sharp jaw and a leering grin, his voice a faint plea.

“Please, may I service you?” Bernstein answered by unzipping his trousers, his hand gesturing with a smirk. Thomas sank to his knees, his pigtails swaying as he leaned forward, his pump, glossy candy-pink lips parting to envelop Bernstein’s hardening length. The mogul groaned, his fingers gripping Thomas’s hair, pulling the pigtails tight as he thrust gently, the taste flooding Thomas’s mouth.

Cheers erupted from the men as Thomas worked, his tongue sliding along the shaft, his cheeks hollowing with each reluctant suck. Bernstein’s grip tightened, guiding him deeper, his voice a low growl. “That’s it, sweetheart, take it all.” Thomas’s eyes watered, his gag reflex kicking in as the mogul’s tip hit the back of his throat, but he kept going, his overstuffed tits jiggling beneath the dress with each bob.

Paul’s voice boomed around the room, steady over the cheers. “The Second Amendment is our backbone. We’ve got to attack her more on the issue.” He nodded toward Mr. Sanders, a burly oil tycoon with a thick beard, who then unzipped his trousers. Thomas crawled over, his voice a choked, practiced whisper. “Please, may I serve you?”

The words felt like ash in his mouth, but Paul had told him exactly what to say, and he couldn’t disobey. Sanders ignored his question and gripped his pigtails firmly, allowing Thomas’s lips to wrap around his sweaty girth, the tycoon’s musky scent overwhelming.

The oil tycoon’s fingers dug into Thomas’s scalp, pushing his head down until his nose pressed against coarse pubic hair. “Suck it good, princess,” Sanders growled, his thrusts quickening as Thomas’s lips stretched painfully, drool spilling down his neck. His DD-cups bounced wildly with each jerk, the pink dress riding up to expose more of his thighs, the crowd’s cheers swelling as he choked and slurped, his face a mess and a symbol of shame.

Kendra Blair rushed down the hallway, her burgundy dress swaying with her furious pace, her high heels in her hands. She reached the door, her voice a sharp cry. “Stop this now!” The blond-haired Carly stood at the entrance of the conference room, blocked her path, and grinned wickedly.

The campaign manager crossed her arms, her tone dripping with mockery. “Your husband’s a little busy, Kendra.” She leaned against the doorframe, her stance firm. “Why don’t you go bake some cookies and come back later?”

Fury surged through Kendra as she lunged towards Carly in frustration, her voice a fierce snarl. “You’re a disgusting slut!” Her words lashed out with raw venom, her fists pounding the door in desperation. “He’s my husband, not your damn toy!”

Carly’s grin sharpened, her voice cold and biting. “I think your husband's the one being the slut right now, sweetie.” She shifted just enough for Kendra to glimpse Thomas’s degradation through the crack, her eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. “Why don’t you come back in 10 minutes, and Thomas can tell you all about it?”

Disgust and rage twisted Kendra’s gut at the sight of her husband on his knees, wearing that ridiculously bimbo-laden attire. She spun away, storming down the hall barefoot, her voice a low, fierce growl. “I’ll end this myself.” Her resolve burned like fire, Mr. Purple’s name etched in her mind. She was going to find that demon freak!

❖

The National News of America studio buzzed with anticipation, its sleek stage bathed in bright lights that glinted off the polished podiums. A packed audience filled the tiered seats, their murmurs swelling as the final presidential debate loomed. Cameras swiveled, capturing every angle of the final high-stakes showdown of this year’s election season.

Carmen Lopez strode onto the stage with commanding grace, her tailored sunshine yellow blazer cinching her trim waist over a cream silk blouse that hinted at her bronzed curves. Matching trousers flowed over glossy white pumps, and her black hair was tied up in a tall ponytail. She took her place at the left podium, her green eyes sharp with resolve as she faced the crowd, their cheers rising in waves.

Thomas Blair shuffled in from the opposite wing, his once-towering frame diminished by Carly’s “professional” pick—a tight, cream blazer and skirt combo, the jacket straining over his enhanced bust, the skirt cinching in at the waist and stopping just above the knee. A white blouse peeked beneath, barely holding his curves, paired with modest white heels. His blond wig hung in a sleek bob, light makeup softened his face, but didn’t make him look nearly as ridiculous as just a few hours ago. Nervous tension gripped his chest as he took the right podium, snickers rippling through the crowd.

Bill Talker, the silver-haired anchorman, stood center stage beside Sandy Rambler, her auburn bob framing a stern expression. Bill’s voice echoed through the studio, steady and firm. “Welcome to the final Presidential debate, hosted by the National News of America.” He gestured to the candidates with a nod. “We’ll start with opening statements. Mr. Blair, you have the floor.”

Thomas gripped the podium, his voice shaky but firm as he began. “Thank you, Bill.” He took a deep breath. “America needs a leader who fights for our core values, not one lost in woke policies and extreme left-wing viewpoints.” He straightened, his tone gaining strength. “Her California record proves it. Carmen Lopez will be the most left-wing president we’ve ever had if she’s elected. She’ll erode traditional American values with her radical plans—open borders, gun control, DEI agendas that destroy what we stand for.” Confidence swelled in his chest as he leaned in, the crowd’s murmurs fueling him. “I’ve built success and stood for tradition. She’ll tear down everything this country had built!”

Carmen’s gaze sharpened, her voice interrupted and sliced through his momentum. “Traditional values, Mr Blair?” She grinned and signaled to an aide, who stood behind the Latin candidate and raised a placard in full view of the audience—an image of Thomas from earlier today, prancing in his pink mini-dress, pigtails bouncing, fake breasts on open display as he danced atop a conference room table. Gasps and laughter surged as she faced the audience. “Is this the traditional man you want to vote for?”

“You can’t do that!” Thomas snapped, his face red with humiliation and anger. “You can’t just bring props to a debate.”

“Calm down, Mr Blair,” Sandy Rambler interjected. “But he is right. Ms Lopez, please refrain from using props during the debate.”

Carmen smiled and nodded, ushering her aide and the placard away. She knew the damage had already been done.

The feminized candidate’s hands shook as he gripped the podium tighter, his voice cracking. “That’s not who I am.” His words stumbled, his confidence draining as the crowd’s laughter swelled and the image burned into their minds. “She’s dodging her record—”

Sandy Rambler’s voice cut in, “We have questions to get to, Mr Blair,” she said abruptly. “Mr. Blair, how do you reassure voters of your judgment after recent events?”

Thomas’s throat tightened, his voice a strained stammer. “My judgment’s in my record.” His hands trembled as he fought to steady himself. “Just look what I’ve built. I’ve led some of the most successful businesses in the world and-”

Carmen’s voice sliced through again, sharp and mocking. “Led businesses? How will world leaders negotiate with those big assets of yours?” Her joke prompted the biggest laugh so far. “Kim Jong Un will be too busy staring to talk trade.” She quipped.

Bill Talker raised a hand, his tone firm. “Senator Lopez, please don’t interrupt.” But instead of allowing Thomas to press further, the anchor moved on to the next question. “Ms. Lopez, how do you respond to suggestions that you’re the most extreme left-wing candidate a major party has ever fielded?”

Carmen stood up straight and took a deep breath, her voice smooth and assured. “I’m a candidate for progress, not extremism. My record shows I fight for all Americans. Jobs, security, fairness.” She smiled, pivoting back. “But let’s talk judgment. Will our next president be dancing on the table at a G-8 summit?” She grinned at her joke. Thomas looked like he was about to pass out.

Sandy Rambler turned to Thomas. “Mr. Blair, how will you address economic concerns that a trade war is looming if you become elected?” Her tone carried a firm edge, her eyes steady on the faltering candidate.

Thomas swallowed hard, his voice a fragile thread as he steadied his grip on the podium. “I’ve handled trade before. My businesses thrived because I know how to negotiate and protect American jobs.” His tone wavered, his eyes fixed on the crowd as he avoided Carmen’s gaze. “Ms Lopez’s plans will tank our economy with her tax hikes and open borders. I’ll keep us strong and competitive.” Sweat beaded on his pencil-thin brow, his cream blazer creaking faintly as he spoke, the audience’s murmurs quieter now, watching his last stand.

Carmen’s lips curved into a subtle smirk, but she stayed silent, letting his words hang in the air. She knew she had already won.

Thomas struggled to maintain his composure as the audience’s snickers grew louder, his earlier confidence now a distant memory. He opened his pretty pink-lipped mouth to add more, but no words came, his voice lost in the swell of laughter echoing through the studio. His hands slipped slightly on the podium, a broken figure under the unforgiving lights.

Bill Talker moved on as he addressed the audience. “We’re going to take a commercial break now. Stay tuned, folks. We’ll be back soon with more from our candidates.”

The lights dimmed as Thomas stood planted on the spot. His professional facade was shattered by the relentless jeers from the crowd. He slumped his shoulder, and his hands fell limp. That debate couldn’t have gone any worse.

Kendra Blair watched from the sidelines, her heart twisting as she saw her husband disintegrating before the nation’s eyes. She shook her head and stormed off toward the dressing room, her heels clicking furiously against the floor as she moved with purpose. She muttered fiercely to herself under her breath. “I’m ending this nightmare, once and for all.” Her resolve burned like a raging fire within her. How does one find a demon anyway?

❖

Kendra stormed into the cramped dressing room backstage at the National News of America studio. Her modest emerald dress flowed around her knees, clinging gently to her elegant frame as her black heels struck the tiled floor with a sharp, determined rhythm.

The door slammed shut behind her with a resounding bang, cutting off the distant hum of the studio crowd. Her dark hair swayed in a loose cascade down her back, framing her furious expression as she scanned the dimly lit space, her hazel eyes blazing with a fiery resolve.

“Mr. Purple! Where the fuck are you?” she shouted with fierce determination. Her voice echoed off the mirrored walls as she planted her hands on her hips. “Show your face right now, you fucking little green freak!” She stood tall, her breath quick and sharp, sure that Thomas had told her the truth about this demon after witnessing his collapse on stage.

A faint purple haze shimmered near the vanity, swirling into the small, vivid form of Mr. Purple. His green skin shimmered unnaturally under the soft lights as he adjusted his garish purple suit, the fabric a bold clash against the room’s muted tones.

He stood just four feet tall and tipped his tiny fedora with a theatrical flourish. His red eyes sparkled with mischief as he flashed a wide, wicked grin. “Well, hello there, darling,” he said in a high-pitched rasp dripping with playful sarcasm. “What’s got your lovely temper all flared up tonight? Did the debate not tickle your fancy?”

Kendra was taken aback by the demon’s sudden appearance, and she clutched the cross dangling around her neck. Building up the courage, she took a bold step forward as her lush figure trembled with rage. She glared down at him with unrestrained fury. “What have you done to my husband, you slimy monster?” she snapped with venom in her tone. “Thomas told me about your deal, and I know you’re the one behind this nightmare. Fix him right now, or I’ll make you regret it!”

Mr. Purple hopped onto the vanity with a nimble bounce. He swung his short legs casually as he chuckled with a taunting glee. “Oh, sweetheart, you’re a real spitfire,” he said with a grin that stretched across his face. “Thomas spilled the beans, did he? Yeah, I popped by his study on July 4th with a sweet little offer. Big win, small price.”

He leaned forward and winked at her. “But your boy turned me down flat. Didn’t even give it a second thought. Guess who didn’t? That spicy Latina, Carmen! Ain’t that just a riot?” He chuckled. “Who would have thought little Miss Righteous had it in her?”

Kendra clenched her fists tighter as fury surged through her veins. “You’re humiliating him! You’re destroying him! I won’t stand for it,” she said with a voice that roared through the room. “You’re a disgusting little creep who gets off on ruining people. Fix him now, or I’ll tear that stupid grin off your face and shove it down your throat!”

Kendra was panting heavily. Her insult made no sense, but she didn’t care. The green-skinned demon’s grin never faltered. What did a mere mortal think she was going to do against a supernatural demon, anyway?

Mr. Purple slid off the vanity with a playful skip and strutted before her. He twirled his fedora in his claws with a theatrical flourish. “Oh, honey, you’re just too precious when you’re mad,” he said with a tone that oozed mockery. “It’s all a big game, and Tommy’s the star! Why would I fix him when he’s so entertaining now?”

Her patience snapped as she bent down to his level with a furious glare. “This isn’t a game, you sick fuck!” she bellowed with words that sliced through the air. “It’s his life! Now fix him before I snap off your tiny green cock!”

Mr. Purple’s grin vanished instantly. His red eyes narrowed to menacing slits as his playful tone shifted to a cold, dangerous growl. “Tiny green cock?” he said with a voice that carried a sudden chill. “You’ve crossed a line, doll. You never degrade a demon’s member.”

He straightened his small frame with a dark gleam in his eyes. His voice dropped to a sinister murmur as he stepped closer. “Now that I think about it, Thomas might need a little help moving forward, a cheerleader to guide him along,” he said with a menacing promise. “You’ve played the trophy wife so well all this time. Now it’s time to fully embrace the part.”

With a crisp snap of his fingers, a loud crack rang out in the room. Kendra’s body jolted as a searing wave coursed through her veins. Her emerald dress vanished in a shimmer of light, replaced by a sparkling tight pink crop top and a matching micro skirt that barely covered her upper thighs.

Her dark hair swiftly shifted color until it settled on a platinum blond cascade that flowed down her back in a thick, luxurious wave, far longer than her hair was meant to be.

Her breasts swelled at least two cup sizes, now even larger than Thomas’s fake monstrosities, pressing firmly against the flimsy fabric. They looked like a pair of tits that could stop traffic. The businessman’s wife felt her waist tighten into a narrow hourglass curve. Her face smoothed out with a youthful glow, thanks to Botox keeping her face youthful and fillers plumping her lips into a pink, glossy pout.

Kendra stumbled back and gripped the vanity for support. She stared at her reflection with wide eyes. “Like, what did ya do to me, you total weirdo?” she squeaked. Her eyes widened as she clasped her hand over her mouth, her long, well-manicured, bubbly pink nails on full display. Why did she talk like that, she thought.

Mr. Purple laughed with a sharp, gleeful cackle. He adjusted his fedora with a smug grin. “I turned you into Thomas’s bimbo best friend, darling,” he said with a tone full of cruel delight. “You’ll cheer him on through the rest of this campaign with all that giggly charm. Enjoy the show!”

She lunged forward with a wobbly sway of her lush curves. “Like, change me back right now, you sick freak!” she squealed, but it was too late. With a click of his fingers, the little green demon vanished into thin air, leaving the transformed bimbo wife alone in the dressing room.

Kendra steadied herself against the vanity, her expressive eyes looking at her pink and blond transformation. She stared at her tits, almost bursting out of the flimsy glittery top, and shook her head. “Like, this is bad.” She pointed out the obvious.

End of Chapter Five