Chapter Six - November & Beyond

Thomas Blair stood at the edge of the sleek stage in the upscale New York City strip mall. His manicured fingers trembled as they clutched the microphone. His new hot pink blazer hugged his DD-cup breasts tightly, the fabric straining with each deep breath, while the matching micro skirt rode up his smooth, stockinged thighs. He wore a flimsy white button-up blouse beneath the jacket, which didn’t quite reach his navel and displayed his ‘Bimbo Bitch’ lower back tattoo to anyone who stood behind him. Five-inch stilettos pinched his feet, forcing an awkward perched stance as he faced the middling crowd gathered in the mall’s courtyard.

Thomas parted his pouty lips, striving for the commanding tone he once wielded as a billionaire titan. “America demands a leader who champions traditional values and fights for economic prosperity.” The feminized man was aware of the contradictions in his speech and the humored snickers from the audience, but he battled on nonetheless. “We cannot let radical agendas and identity politics destroy our nation’s future,” he insisted.

However, his speech was interrupted by a heckler who shouted, “Show us your tits!” The comment elicited chuckles from sections of the crowd who had clearly shown up to watch the final fall of a once-imposing leader.

Thomas’s glossy pink lips quivered as he fought to maintain his composure. “Uhmm, our nation’s strength lies in unity and hard work,” he pressed on with a feminine lilt, but he felt uncomfortable and out of place on the stage. The mostly male-dominated crowd stared up at him lustfully as if they were waiting for him to put on a show. There was another heckle from the audience, prompting yet another round of laughter. Thomas blushed but tried to continue as if nothing had happened.

Kendra Blair pushed through the crowd and headed towards the makeshift backstage area, her platinum blonde waves bouncing with each furious stride. The woman’s glittery gold top strained against her new F-cup breasts, and her pleated miniskirt swayed provocatively, accentuating her enhanced hips and ass.

She stormed toward Carly Bush, who was busy enjoying the humiliation of her boss from the edge of the stage, her own red dress showing off the curves god gave her. “You heartless bitch!” She started. “You’ve destroyed Thomas’s campaign!” Her voice was high-pitched and sounded flirtatious even as she tried to intimidate the campaign manager. “Like, look at him! You’ve, like, totally ruined him!” Her voice slipped into its ditsy dialect, a condition she had been trying to control ever since her encounter with that green-skinned demon.

Carly turned slowly as she crossed her arms beneath her chest. A vindictive smile curled her lips, her eyes sparkling with cruel delight as she saw Kendra’s transformed appearance. “Oh, Kandi, you’re too adorable when you try to sound tough,” she mocked. “Look at you. I love the new look. You’re all dolled up like Tiffani’s perfect little cheerleader.” Carly laughed as she stepped closer. “How does it feel to be a trapped little slut?” Kendra’s eyes widened. Did Carly know about Mr Purple’s control over her?

Carly stepped even closer, her lips inches from Kendra’s, raising the tension. The campaign manager glanced down as Kendra’s enhanced assets stopped her from closing the gap further. “Look at those tits,” she commented crudely. “Only a special kind of slut gets enhancements like that. Are you auditioning for a special kind of movie?” She taunted, crudely referring to Kendra’s life as a failed actress before she started dating Thomas.

Kendra’s cheeks flushed with a mix of fury and unwanted heat, her body betraying her as Carly’s humiliating taunts stirred a supernatural compulsion deep within her. She clenched her fists and tried to summon a retort. “I’m not, like, some dumb slut like you,” she fired back unconvincingly. “I’m totally here to support my husband and stop you!” Her ditsy cadence undermined her anger.

Carly’s laughter sharpened as she stepped back, refolding her arms. “Support your husband? You’re barely supporting that top, Kandi.” Carly tilted her head before gesturing to a towering figure nearby. “Let me introduce you to someone who’ll appreciate your new talents. This is Butch, our top security man.”

The African-American security guard stepped forward, his broad shoulders filling out a crisp black uniform, and his dark eyes roaming over Kendra’s transformed curves. “Well, damn, girl. Who are you? You look like you need some chocolate in your life.” His lips curled into a hungry grin that made Kendra uncomfortable. However, something else stirred inside her that rang the alarm bells even further.

Butch’s deep masculine voice sent a shiver through Kendra’s body, her supernatural conditioning igniting a pulse of arousal that made her thighs clench. “I’m, like, not interested, okay?!” She squeaked out as forcefully as she could, folding her arms and turning away from the pair.

The security guard chuckled and stepped closer, cupping Kendra’s chin and running his thumb over her full, glossy lips. “You say that, but I know a bitch in heat when I see one,” he said confidently. “I’d love to spend some time with that body of yours and find out exactly what it can do.” He was speaking to her like an object, but she couldn’t deny the twitch of pleasure whenever he verbally degraded her.

Carly’s vindictive smile widened as she watched Kendra squirm under Butch’s touch. “Why don’t you two take a break on the campaign bus?” she suggested, her voice dripping with mockery. “Kandi’s been working so hard to support her husband. She deserves a little fun, don’t you think, Butch?”

Butch’s grin broadened, his hand sliding from Kendra’s face to rest possessively on her waist. “Hell yeah, I’m down for that,” he said, and without warning, he leaned forward and picked the transformed blonde up into a cradle carry. Kendra squeaked, but the various sensations running through her body gagged her resistance, and she allowed the man to carry her out of the mall.

Carly smiled as she clutched her hands to her chest. “Butch and his bitch. What a lovely couple they make,” she taunted as they walked away. Carly had always seen Kendra as a rival back when Carly was fighting for Thomas’s affections. However, Thomas had only ever seen the campaign manager as a piece on the side. Now, Carly was in control, and the happy couple found their lives unraveling before their eyes.

The campaign manager turned her attention back to the stage, her smile unwavering as she watched Thomas continue his struggling speech, constantly interrupted by amused hecklers. The feminized man’s glossy lips parted in a desperate attempt to rally the crowd, but his attempt had been futile. When the speech ended, a smattering of applause could barely be heard over the businessman’s exit music, the largest clap coming from his vindictive campaign manager at the side. This had gone perfectly, she thought.

❖

The Dallas headquarters of Thomas Blair’s Presidential campaign buzzed with hollow despair. The television screens on the surrounding walls blared Carmen Lopez’s commanding lead: 213 electoral votes to Thomas’s meager 29. While his opponent hadn’t won the target of 270 votes yet, it was only a matter of time before she crossed the finish line. Florida was the lone State to break the businessman’s way, with even Thomas’s home State of Texas being too close to call. It was a disaster.

Thomas stood at the edge of the main room, his custom cream blazer straining tightly over his plastic chest. The matching pencil skirt looked far more demure than his recent style, stopping just above the knee. The man’s blond bob framed his pouty pink lips, and his five-inch cream shoes wobbled as he clutched a crumpled note card; his concession speech was already prepared.

Thomas’s liberal, rebellious daughter, Jade Blair, shoved through the demoralized crowd of volunteers and bolted towards her father, her spiked hair and septum piercing a sharp contrast to his feminized figure. “What have you done?!” She screamed at him, causing people to look her way. “I thought you were fighting for progress, highlighting the plight of trans people everywhere!” Her voice was laced with venom as she stood face to face with her blond father. “You’ve set the trans movement back decades with your stunt. Acting like some vapid trophy doll. You make me sick, Dad!”

Thomas parted his full lips to reply, but he was caught off guard. His feminist daughter turned on her combat boots. She stormed back in the opposite direction, knocking over a chair in anger as she walked out, leaving her feminized Dad stunned and shaken.

Thomas clutched the crumpled note tighter, his long pink nails pressing into the paper as Jade’s words echoed in his mind. He didn’t ask for any of this. He was a traditional family man who intended to run on traditional values. He didn’t want this. The feminized man sighed. “I need to address the nation,” he said solemnly with a high-pitched lilt.

As the man tottered forward, his campaign manager, Carly, blocked his path. “Hold it, Tiffani,” the constant use of his ‘new’ name made the man wince. You’re in no position to be talking tonight. Paul will be taking care of the concession speech.” The blonde woman snatched the paper from Thomas’s feminine hand. I think you’ve done enough damage.” Her words were filled with poison as if he were to blame for the campaign’s collapse.

As Carly called Senator Paul Hague over, the man grinned at the billionaire’s despairing expression. “I’m ready to take on the cameras. You will stand pretty and silent beside me, Tiffani, believe me.” Thomas felt a shudder as Paul invoked the hypnotic trigger lying dormant inside the feminized man’s subconscious. Suddenly, Thomas knew that was precisely what he was going to do, whether he liked it or not.

Thomas quietly followed Paul to the podium, his five-inch heels clicking seductively on the polished floor. The cameras zoomed in on the pair, capturing every detail of Thomas’s feminized form. With members of the press gawking at him, the billionaire wanted to get the hell out of there, but the trigger kept him silent and compliant. He stood to the side just behind the imposing senator, a silent ornament as his running mate took control.

Paul adjusted his microphone and ran a hand through his silver hair before he addressed the nation. “Good evening, America,” he began. “Tonight, we concede the presidency to Senator Carmen Lopez, a formidable opponent whose historic victory has resonated with voters across our great nation.” He took a deep breath. “While we may disagree on many policies and ideologies, we acknowledge the feat Ms Lopez has achieved by becoming the first-ever gay female president of Latin descent. We wish Ms Lopez all the success in the world over the next four years and hope that her message of unity and collaboration was not merely empty words. We wish her strength and wisdom as she leads us into the future.” His words carried a practiced resolve as he stood before the national television cameras.

As Paul completed the speech, Carly’s eyes darted to a corner of the room where she spotted Kendra Blair giggling with a cluster of male volunteers, her glittery violet crop top barely containing her F-cup breasts. The blonde woman pressed closer to one of the volunteers, Darryl, as she pressed against his bicep. “Oh my gawd, like, Darryl, you are so strong,” she chirped, her voice a flirtatious lilt that showed off just how far her bimbo persona had taken over. “You guys are, like, super funny!” Carly folded her arms and grinned, savoring the sight of her former rival reduced to a dumb, giggling plaything.

Thomas stood frozen on the podium as Paul’s speech echoed around the room. His eyes drifted to Kendra, her curvaceous form swaying suggestively as she giggled with Darryl and the other volunteers. A pang of despair twisted in the man’s chest as he witnessed just how much his wife had been pulled into this nightmare.

Paul stepped back from the microphone, and before the press could ask any questions, he led Thomas off the stage. “Time to go, Tiffani,” he commanded. Before Thomas could react or ask where they were heading, the senator pulled the feminized man through the crowd and towards the exit, leaving his wife and campaign manager behind.

❖

President Carmen Lopez strode into the Oval Office with her team for the first time as the leader of the free world, her tailored navy pantsuit stylishly displayed over her C-cup breasts and trim waist. The atmosphere was electric as Washington was still coming to terms with electing the first-ever female, gay, Latina president. Carmen wanted to get straight to work.

The first gay first lady, Kim Walsh, followed her other half closely, wearing a brilliant white suit with a baby blue button-up shirt hiding her bandaged-up breasts below, her rebellious blue hair cascading in bold waves down her back. The polished mahogany desk stood as a centerpiece, surrounded by Carmen’s team.

Suddenly, Carmen notices a flash of purple light in the reflection of a nearby wall mirror, her green eyes narrowing at the implications of the phenomenon.

“Clear the room, now,” The new President ordered, her Latin accent sharp and commanding. Her team paused, and Kim stood confused, but the group didn’t question the order and began to shuffle out of the room. Kim didn’t move until Carmen nodded at her. “You too, mi amor. I need a moment alone,” the Latina clarified. Kim nodded before following the group out of the room, leaving the President alone.

Violet smoke temporarily filled the powerful office before coalescing into the diminutive green-skinned form of Mr. Purple, the demon that helped Carmen reach the pinnacle. His garish purple suit clashed with the Oval Office’s stately decor, his tiny fedora rakishly atop his head. The demon’s red eyes sparkled with amusement as he clapped his hands together. “Well, well, Madame President,” he rasped with a celebratory lilt. “I guess congratulations are in order. You’ve climbed that mountain and claimed the throne. The first woman, the first member of the LGBTQ community, and the first Latin US President. What a historic day.” His congratulations felt more like a taunt than a token of celebration.

Mr Purple’s grin widened as he gestured his claws theatrically while stepping towards the majestic desk. “But let’s not get too comfortable, my dear,” he continued. “You didn’t get here on your charm alone. It’s time to settle the bill for our little deal.” His red eyes bored into Carmen, showing that the time for jokes was over.

Carmen’s eyes narrowed as she folded her arms. “Excuse me? I would have won this election without your filthy, perverse tricks,” she snapped. “My message carried the nation, and what you did to Mr Blair was shameful. You didn’t make me President, I did!” Her heart pounded, but the woman stood tall.

The demon’s laughter erupted, a grating cackle that echoed off around the Oval Office. The short man sat on the edge of the desk with an unsettling confidence as he tilted his fedora. “Oh, Carmen, your fire is positively delicious,” he mocked with amusement. “You think your little speeches convinced all the racists and homophobes to vote for you? It wasn’t because they were convinced the alternate option was even worse?” His red eyes sparkled with menace. “How adorable. I could snap my fingers and put you in Thomas Blair’s. I could have you prancing around LA as a street whore with exaggerated lips and curves.” He chuckled.

Carmen shuddered and caught her breath, and her green eyes blazed with defiance. “You’re a disgusting creature,” she spat with venom. “I won’t let you twist this into your victory. Get out of my office!” Her manicured nails clenched into fists.

Mr Purple’s smile never faltered as he jumped off the table and began pacing the room. “Such spirit,” he said with amusement. “I could always give you the same hypnotic triggers I gave your rival and see how well you handle a UN summit when everyone has figured it out; good girl.”

As he purred the final two words, Carmen’s eyes widened as a torrential surge of pleasure unnaturally flowed through Carmen’s entire body. Her thighs clenched involuntarily, a near-orgasmic wave overwhelming her senses, forcing an unadulterated moan from her lips. The President’s knees buckled, and she needed to grip the table’s edge to keep herself upright. “How does that feel, Madame President?” He taunted mischievously. “That’s a little taste of what your noncooperation may bring.”

Carmen steadied herself against the desk as she glared at the green creature. “What do you want, you vile monster?” she demanded furiously, her fists remaining clenched and her breath still ragged from her near-orgasmic experience. “Name your price.”

The green man paused his pacing, his claws tapping the air with theatrical flair. “Does the name Travis Payne mean anything to you?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual. Carmen’s blank and confused expression gave him the answer. “No? Kim never mentioned him?” The mention of her girlfriend coming from his lips made the President shudder. “He’s the charming Vegas club owner who gave your precious lover her start on the pole, twirling for tips in those seedy joints.” He chuckled. Kim rarely spoke about her stripper experiences, preferring to act as though those years in her life never happened.

Mr Purple leaned forward with malicious delight. “Travis wasn’t exactly a model citizen, and he upset his girls one too many times. Eventually, they turned on him and sent him straight to hell.”

Carmen had never heard of the asshole, but if he had hurt Kim before the pair had met, she was happy that he had met an untimely end. “So? It sounds like he got exactly what he deserved,” she replied.

The demon’s chuckle deepened. “Ohh, he did, but here’s the juicy part,” he continued. His voice was dripping with glee, as if he was dying to get to the point. “Down in hell, my boss is somewhat of a gambler,” he said amusedly. “Somehow, Travis, that degenerate that allowed a bunch of strippers to get one over on him, outsmarted my boss. My boss, Lucifer, got a little carried away in a card game and offered Travis anything within his power if he won. Well, Travis won, and he named his price.” Carmen’s eyes narrowed; she didn’t like where this was going.

“He’s bagged himself a shiny new club in the depths of hell, in a great location no less. He’s got everything he needs, except a star performer.” The green man clasped his hands together as he finally got to the crux of the story. “His final demand is that he wants Kim, your darling first lady, the one who got away, to dance for him every weekend for the rest of her life, leaving her free to play the proper wife during the week.” He paused, savoring Carmen’s horrified expression. “No one else needs to know, of course.”

The President’s heart pounded, her knuckles whitening as she gripped her desk. “You’re insane if you think I’m going to let you drag Kim into your twisted hellhole, especially for that son of a bitch,” she spat with rage. “She’s not your pawn to buy and sell at your whim. Give me another price!” Her eyes blazed with defiance.

Mr Purple’s grin sharpened, his voice dropping to a sinister purr. “Careful now, Madame President,” he warned, his red eyes narrowing. “Reject my offer, and you both may end up performing in hell on earth.” He leaned closer. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to make your mind up. Choose wisely, or Kim won’t be the only one prancing around like a good pet.”

With a theatrical snap of his fingers, the green demon vanished in a puff of violet smoke, leaving Carmen alone in her new office. Her breath hitched as she sank into her plush hair. She had an impossible decision to make, and she wasn’t sure she had the resolve to make it.

❖

Thomas Blair sat rigidly at the lush dining table in the upscale Dallas restaurant, his tight red dress showcasing his DD-cup breasts, with his pierced nipples protruding against the material provocatively. His blond curls framed his plump, glossy, red lips, and his four-inch red heels dangled beneath the table as he gripped his wine glass demurely, his long pink nails clacking against it. Across from him, Paul Hague leaned back in his chair, admiring the feminized man accompanying him.

Paul raised his glass, his dark eyes fixed on Thomas with a predatory smile. “You’re absolutely stunning tonight, Tiffany,” he said with a smooth and deliberate tone. “That dress shows off your body perfectly. I’m impressed.” Every compliment triggered a surge of pleasure through the former presidential candidate’s body, his thighs clenching as the supernatural conditioning took hold.

Thomas’s heart pounded, and he tried to redirect the conversation. This meeting had been billed as a post-campaign debrief, and he intended to treat it that way. “I’ve been thinking about our campaign,” Thomas squeaked as he set down his glass. “We could have focused more on economic policy rather than identity. We would have had something if we pushed more on tax reform.” His words felt hollow and worthless. He knew why he had lost, and it had nothing to do with policy.

Paul’s lips curled into an amused smirk as he supped his wine, his eyes never leaving Thomas’s showcased breasts. “Tax reform, you say?” he replied, his tone eliciting more mockery than sincerity. “That’s an interesting thought, Tiffani. But let’s be honest, I could get lost in those eyes all evening.” He leaned forward flirtatiously. “The way you fill out that dress, it’s a wonder anyone noticed our policies at all.” Another burst of pleasure centered around Thomas’s modified crotch, his glossy red lips parting in a stifling gasp as he tried to control the forced sensations.

Thomas caught his breath back. “We needed a stronger ground game in the Midwest,” he soldiered on. “Our volunteers could have targeted swing voters more effectively.” His words were a fragile attempt to redirect the conversation again.

The Senator chuckled softly, swirling his wine with a patronizing air. “Swing voters, hmm?” he said, humoring Thomas’s effort as he leaned back. “You’re right; we could have tweaked the strategy. But, Tiffani, how your face melts every man’s heart is far more captivating than any voter outreach.” The compliment surged through the feminized man again, and Paul grinned at the blond beauty’s expression.

Paul set his glass down, his dark eyes locking onto Thomas with commanding intensity. “You’ll say ‘yes’ to my next question and act happy about it, believe me,” he said, invoking the hypnotic trigger that sent an unwelcome shudder through Thomas’s body. The former presidential candidate’s eyes widened. What could his former running mate possibly want to ask him, and why was he using that damned trigger?

The Senator slid from his chair, dropping down to one knee in front of the feminized man before pulling out a small box from his back pocket. Paul seized Thomas’s trembling hand, caressing his feminine fingers. “You are absolutely gorgeous, Tiffani, the perfect woman for me.” The transformed man couldn’t believe what was happening. Surely the older man couldn’t be serious? “Will you make me the happiest man in the world and become my bimbo trophy girlfriend?” Paul’s voice was a blend of possession and mockery, clearly enjoying Thomas’s torment.

Thomas’s mind screamed in horror. Despite his disgraced feminized transformation, he was still a powerful businessman and a billionaire. However, the supernatural trigger overwhelmed his conscious will. “Yes,” he squeaked with a high-pitched lilt forced into a chirpy tone as a false smile spread across his glossy red lips. His heart pounded with despair, but his body leaned forward, the feminized man’s DD-cups pressing against the table as he clapped his manicured hands together in feigned delight.

The restaurant erupted in applause when they noticed the proposal taking place, their claps echoing like a death knell to Thomas’s old life. Paul slid an expensive diamond ring onto the trapped Thomas’s ring finger before settling back in his chair.

“That’s my good girl,” he grinned. His words prompted Thomas to clasp the table furiously and moan out in a lustful tone as every cell in his body brought him to the edge of orgasm. Many nearby patrons were still focused on the pair, further enhancing the businessman’s humiliation. “You’re mind forever now, Tiffani,” Paul said ominously. “Here’s to a beautiful life together,” he raised his glass and clinked it against Thomas’s resting on the table. He grinned as his new fiancée recovered from the trigger; his fate as a bimbo trophy wife was set.

❖

Epilogue

President Carmen Lopez sat at her desk in the Oval Office, getting an early Monday morning start on her work as she pored over policy briefs, six months after her historic inauguration. The morning sun filtered through the windows, but the Latina’s focus wavered; her girlfriend had spent every weekend dancing for the worst of the worst in hell for the last half year. Every time her lover returned, Carmen’s guilt compounded.

A flash of crimson smoke erupted in front of the desk, and Kim Walsh materialized before the new president, coughing off the effects of the smoky transportation. She wore a slinky red string bikini that clung to her curvaceous form. Her enhanced breasts were no longer pinned down, and they almost spilled out of the tiny cups of the bikini top, while the tiny g-string bikini panties gave her a permanent wedgie. The blue-haired woman wore a garish red wig, and her nails were 2 inches long and painted a fire engine hue to match her style.

The hell stripper ripped the red wig from her head, displaying her bright blue hair in a tidy hairnet, and tossed the wig on the floor. She stormed forward towards the president, her voice laced with anger. “That hellhole club is packed with the vilest and most disgusting scum, and they ignore every rule. They just don’t care!” Her hazel eyes blazed. “Have you ever had to give a lap dance to Ted Bundy? Of course you haven’t!”

Kim’s fists clenched as she stared at her powerful girlfriend. “That place is worse than you could ever imagine, Carmen. It’s filled with murderers and worse, grabbing me as I perform for them!” The woman pulled off her hairnet, allowing her rebellious hairstyle to run free, reclaiming a semblance of her identity. “The dancing isn’t the worst of it. I can still taste the cum of Lee Harvey Oswald after he ordered the BJ Special.” She spat on the hallowed Oval Office floor to emphasize her point.

Carmen rose from her chair, her heart twisting helplessly as she stepped towards her girlfriend. “I’m so sorry, mi amora,” she said; her Latin accent was thick with guilt as she reached for Kim’s trembling hands. “I never wanted this for you. We’ll find a way to end this, I swear.” Her green eyes glistened with promise, but Kim yanked her hands away, a scowl deepening as she shook her head.

Kim’s hooked her fingers under her red bikini bottom, pulling it down to reveal a fresh tattoo above her pussy, the cursive ‘Travis’s Whore’ etched in black ink encircled by a red heart. “Look at what that bastard Daddy - I mean Travis - did to me!” she hissed with rage, blushing at the language slip. She had been commanded to call her weekend boss ‘Daddy’ whenever she was in the underworld, and it was challenging to switch back. “He’s branded me like some animal!” She shoved the bikini back up, her hands shaking as she glared at Carmen, clearly blaming the new president for all this.

Carmen placed her hand on her chest, her guilt surging as she stared at the degrading tattoo, her hands clenching into fists. The agreement didn’t include permanently marking the love of her life. “You’re stronger than this, mi amor,” Carmen reassured Kim, stepping closer. “You’ve faced worse and always come out fighting. That’s who you are!” The president reached out for her blue-haired girlfriend’s hand again. “I’ll find a way to stop Travis. I’ll break this deal, I swear.”

Kim’s eyes narrowed as they flashed with betrayal. She slapped Carmen’s hand away and retorted. “Don’t lie to me, Carmen!” She snapped, stepping back. “You chose this deal. You sold me to those perverts down there so that you could hold on to power. I can’t even look at you right now!” She turned on her glossy red platform heels and stormed towards the door, yanking it open with a furious tug. The door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing around the silent office, leaving Carmen frozen. She may have become the most powerful person in the world, but her decisions had left her feeling more powerless than ever.

❖

Tiffani minced down the D.C. street towards her and her new husband’s grand manor. Her tight pink sundress highlighted her plastic DD-cup breasts, the fabric straining over her surgically enhanced curves. After the lavish wedding two months ago, she was now Mrs Tiffani Hague, with her billionaire fortune split between her two estranged daughters, leaving her with nothing of her former life.

Tiffani’s six-inch pink stilettos clicked against the pavement as she gripped her designer shopping bags, her extremely long three-inch pink nails sparkling in the summer sun. Kandi, formerly Kendra, sashayed beside her, her glittery silver crop top and skirt decorating her body, her own platinum blond waves bouncing as she babbled. “Your wedding was, like, totally the prettiest I have ever seen, Tiffani,” she chirped in a valley-girl dialect, holding her own bags. “That short sparkly dress? Oh my gawd, you were a total princess!” Her hazel eyes sparkled with vacant delight as she twirled a blonde lock of hair.

Tiffani forced a smile, her glossy pink lips trembling as she suppressed the resentment churning within her. Paul had gone to work on conditioning a set of rules the feminized former man could not disobey. That conditioning was displayed when he let out a practiced giggle. “It was quite the event,” she squeaked, her voice a permanent bimbo chirp.

Tiffani’s heart sank, the memory of Paul’s trigger-laced vows at their Spring wedding fueling her silent loathing as she forced out another giggle. She glanced at Kandi, focused on the curving bulge below her silver crop top, and tilted her head. “How’s the pregnancy going, Kandi?” she asked, aiming to shift the conversation away from the memory of her humiliating wedding.

Kandi’s smile widened, and her hands fluttered to her belly as she tottered in her tall heels. “Oh my gawd, it’s, like, totally wild!” she squealed excitedly. “I’ve narrowed the daddy down to, like, twelve guys. I just totally can’t remember!” Her laughter echoed, her cock-obsessed persona entirely on display as she licked her glossy lips in memory of her antics.

Tiffani’s forced giggle faltered, a pang of guilt twisting in her well-endowed chest as she watched Kandi’s vacant delight. Tiffani may have become a trophy bimbo wife for a powerful senator, but her former wife had turned into a cock-obsessed slut, and the former businessman couldn’t help but blame herself; she had dragged Kandi into this mess. “You seem happy,” she smiled solemnly, hoping to mask the angst in her mind as they neared the manor’s wrought-iron gates.

Tiffani paused at the manor gates, turned to her former wife, and gave her a long embrace. “I’ll catch you later, Kandi,” she chirped. Call me when you get home.”

Kandi giggled. “Oh my gawd, I’ll try,” she replied. “But I got a date with that cute plumber that fixed my sink and stuff. I gotta get myself looking hot.” Tiffani rolled her eyes. That was Kandi’s sixth date this week. When was she going to stop? The transformed former presidential candidate nodded and pushed through the gates, her stilettos clicking as she left Kandi waving with a ditsy grin.

Tiffani stepped through the manor’s grand entrance, her shopping bags swinging as she tottered into the foyer. Her husband, Paul Hague, waited just inside, wearing an imposing tailored suit that reminded Tiffani of her powerful, old life. He grinned with predatory delight, his eyes raking over her bimbofied form as he walked forward, his hand reaching for her waist. “There’s my gorgeous wife,” he purred, his voice thick with dominance, pulling her close until her DD-cups pressed against his chest. “I bet you’ve been turning heads all day, haven’t you, good girl?” Tiffani parted her lips, and the flow of pleasure ran through her before she could even respond. The bimbo needed to lean on her husband to stay upright until the pleasure passed.

Tiffani’s heart pounded, her forced smile almost faltering as she tried to resist the wave of arousal. “I was just shopping with Kandi, honey,” she squeaked. Paul had hypnotically conditioned her to refer to him with endearing pet names. However, they still felt wrong slipping off her tongue. “How was your day?” she asked the senator.

Paul chuckled at her reaction, his fingers teasing the hem of her sundress as he leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “I’ve had a stressful day, Barbie,” he teased. “But I think it's about to get a whole lot better with your plump lips wrapped around my cock, good girl,” he growled, triggering another torrent of pleasure through the bimbo’s body. She moaned out lustfully, the mixture of his forced triggers and the man’s proximity clouding her mind.

Tiffani’s conditioning forced a giggle as she nodded playfully. “Like, anything for you, cutie,” she brushed her manicured hand along the older man’s stubbled face. Paul’s grin widened, firmly tugging the hem of the dress until her huge breasts bounced free of the dress. He then squeezed her plastic tits together.

The gray-haired man chuckled. “That’s my perfect doll,” he purred possessively as he kneaded her breasts. “Let’s take this into the study. I’ve bought the perfect little slutty secretary ensemble for you to try on before we put that mouth to work.” He suggested before taking the bimbo’s hand and leading her toward the downstairs office.

Tiffani’s stilettos clicked on the hard floor as Paul led her towards the study, her shopping bags dropped at the door. She followed obediently, her DD-cup breasts bouncing free as her mind screamed against her conditioned behavior. Outwardly, the former man showed no sign of despair, and her big lips parted in a lustful moan in anticipation of servicing her husband’s needs. Two months as Mrs Hague had cemented her bimbofied prison. She was now bound to a life of servitude and humiliation, prancing around the nation’s capital as a trophy bimbo wife, all because she refused to take a deal with the devil.

The End