Chapter Four - September

Thomas Blair shuffled onto the stage at AT&T Stadium in Dallas, Texas; the Cowboys’ field stretched out under a rickety platform. The crowd’s half-assed cheers hit him like a slap. It was only two months ago that he was the toast of his home state. Now, he could barely attract fifteen thousand people to a major Presidential rally, not the fifty thousand he had bragged about weeks ago.

The billionaire’s black beard had seen better days, his slicked-back hair looked greasy and unkempt, and his billion-dollar smile struggled to hide a grimace. He continued to wear those pink panties under his tailored suit, a secret shame biting harder than the limp applause. These were his people, but he felt far from comfortable.

The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders kicked off below-blond ponytails flopping, white shorts clinging, their star-spangled tops flickering as they danced to an upbeat country tune. The crowd whistled and cheered, but Thomas barely glanced. Those long legs used to stir him and rile him up; now, he felt like they mocked him.

Carly Bush hovered at his elbow, her blond hair shimmering in the sun. “Play it up, Sir,” she whispered. “They showed up for you.” He grunted in response. She was right. He could claw this back.

The cheerleaders ended their show as Thomas grabbed a microphone. “AT&T Stadium, home of grit, home of guts, home of winners!” His voice cracked, but his words elicited a raucous cheer from the thinned-out crowd. He stared out at the half-empty stands before continuing. “I’m fighting where legends stand because that’s us, that’s America!” The audience piped up again. His chances may have faltered, but Thomas had a core base that would never abandon him.

“I’m standing before you this afternoon to make an important announcement,” he said. Perhaps one of the most important announcements I will ever make.” The crowd cheered. They knew what they were here for. “I need a partner in this race. Someone who shares my vision.” The billionaire cracked a smile. “Please let me introduce your next Vice President, Senator Paul Hague!”

A raucous applause greeted the silver-haired 64-year-old as he stomped onto the stage. The experienced politician’s well-pressed suit fitted his body perfectly, and a preacher’s sneer was all over his face. He crushed Thomas’s hand and shook it before stepping up to the mic and bellowing out.

“America has lost its spine; she’s rotting under our watch!” Thomas’s new VP pick declared. His growl rasped, rough as gravel. “With Thomas Blair at the helm, we’ll bring back God, family, and strength!” A few stetsons flew into the air during Paul’s powerful speech. As he admired the crowd, Paul’s sharp eyes slid to a curvy redhead in the front row, her cleavage almost spilling from her tight top. He absently licked his lips, and a nasty grin flashed until he caught himself, readdressing the crowd.

Thomas retook the limelight, pulling Paul behind him. He wore a grin that didn’t quite seem to fit. “Thank you, Senator Hague. Our next VP will be our rock, moral compass, and ticket to the white house!”

The audience was getting into it more before Carly brought the businessman’s high back down to ear. She cracked a message in his earpiece. “New polls have been released. We’re trailing 61-39, Sir,” she told him. “We need to right this ship.”

Thomas’s gut sank. This race was getting away from him. He knew Carmen was out there, laughing her dyke ass off, her campaign soaring while he hid a two-inch cage beneath his suit.

The cheerleaders trudged back out and performed as Thomas and Paul waved to the crowd. “Blair-Hague” chants rang out. It would have sounded far better in Thomas’s ear if the stadium was packed. He stared out at AT&T stadium, suddenly feeling more like a tomb than a coliseum.

Simultaneously, in her California HQ, Carmen Lopez leaned back against her couch, espresso in hand, grinning at the live feed on the large TV. Thomas looked so unsure of himself, so unfit to be President. “Pathetic,” she muttered, green eyes glinting. She could taste victory, and her VP pick later on would seal it.

❖

Carmen Lopez strode into her campaign HQ briefing room, boots clicking on the hardwood, the air sharp with anticipation. Fifty reporters crammed the tight space, cameras humming, an eager chatter between them, their eyes suddenly locked on her as she approached the podium.

Carmen’s light blue suit hugged her modest C-cup breasts tight, her long black hair swinging loose, her green eyes blazing like she owned the moment. Jared Kissinger, her lead campaign support officer, leaned against the wall, grinning as he examined the anticipation in the room. His boss was on fire, and this would be her kill shot.

The Latin nominee grabbed the mic after the press had settled down, her voice smooth and authoritative. “Good afternoon, ladies, gentlemen, and amigos!” A soft chuckle rippled through the room, and the cameras ate it up. “I’ve had an important decision to make, one that will shape our nation for the next eight years.” She smiled before continuing, “I’ve finally picked my running mate and am happy to introduce a man who will help heal our nation. Please welcome Congressman Graham Birch!” Her Mexican-American accent danced, light and proud.

The media showed their approval of the pick by rising to their feet and applauding as the pale-skinned, older man, wearing a navy blue suit, took the stage. He was a safe pick. Carmen wanted to ensure history was made. She had considered another woman or Latino to accompany her on the ticket. Still, she knew Graham was a safe liberal the white independents could get behind.

Graham gripped Carmen’s hand and whispered something in her ear before he took his stand at the podium. “Thank you, Senator Lopez,” he said respectfully. “I’m here for the working folks, the on-the-fence voters who haven’t made their mind up yet,” he spoke honestly. “We have a real opportunity in this country to make history, and I am honored that Carmen has asked me to be a part of it.” His eyes looked back at the Democratic nominee before the man launched into a speech about unity and hope. These buzzwords hit the room like a fist. Carmen grinned behind him; she had made the right choice.

Carmen replaced her new running mate at the podium and thanked them for attending this historic event. She could sense the buzz and excitement around the room; the election was only a couple of months away, and the Democrats were on the brink of victory. What most of them were unaware of was that the tide began to turn because of the work of a little green man.

Thirty-thousand feet in the sky, Thomas Blair slumped in his private jet, already on his fourth bourbon, as they flew over the Midwest States. He stared at the live feed flickering on his tablet. Carmen’s confidence on stage contrasted with his own fumbling performance.

“Birch?” Carly Bush snarled beside her boss. “She’s buying votes now?” Carly knew it was a genius move. She had considered suggesting a woman for VP to appeal to a broader demographic. However, she settled on a strong public figure after Thomas’s scandals to shore up the conservative vote.

Thomas snarled. “That pandering bitch,” he groaned. “The voters will see right through this publicity stunt.” He wasn’t so sure of his own words. The polls were widening, but he hoped his recent pick would steady the ship and move him in the right direction. He was running out of time.

Thomas fidgeted and adjusted his crotch; the locked-up cage was uncomfortable. He glanced at the key hanging from his blond campaign manager’s necklace. He could overpower her and grab it, but something kept him in line. He grunted; it wouldn’t be long until the surgery changed that, anyway.

Back at the Democratic HQ in California, Carmen’s team was celebrating. Since the Latina’s awful debate performance, she had been in the ascendancy. Carmen knew precisely what turned the key, but the rest of her campaign team were oblivious. “We’ve got this!” She chanted out to cheers and jubilation. She grinned as Thomas’s pathetic Dallas rally replayed on the HQ TV. She was enjoying the misogynist’s ruin.

❖

Thomas Blair barged into the private Ohio clinic, his shoes scuffing on the hard-tiled floor; his grey suit looked more worn down and felt tight over the tiny pink cage imprisoning his shriveled cock.

He barged past the receptionist and stepped into an empty room. “Where’s the damn doctor?” He complained urgently. “Get him now! I want this done.” His voice cracked high, a more common occurrence these days.

Thomas ripped off his suit jacket and dropped his pants in the private room, revealing his pink panties. He lowered the panties and showed his tiny penis hidden inside a pretty pink cage. “Carly, get this shit off me!” He commanded his campaign manager, who held the key.

The brunette nurse flinched but nodded. “I- I’ll get the doctor right away,” she said before scurrying off. It was finally time to set things right.

The Republican glared at his reflection in a wall mirror, shrunken, caged, a total freak. “God-fucking-damn it!” he spat.

Suddenly, the doctor shuffled into the room, a balding man in his early sixties with square-rimmed glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. “Mr Blair, I presume?” He said. “Let’s get started.”

“Fix it, you bastard!” Thomas was in no mood to play games. This was one of the most expensive and discrete cosmetic clinics in the US, and this asshole better damn well fix him. The doctor raised an eyebrow but shrugged; he had dealt with enough rich and famous clients to take a little verbal abuse.

Thomas hopped onto the operating table with his campaign manager looming close. The blond handed the doctor the chastity key and stepped closer to her boss. Thomas waved her away; he couldn’t stand to be near his extramarital lover right now. “Make me whole, doctor,” he said in an almost pleading tone.

The older doctor nodded, flipping through the chart before placing it down. “An extreme and unusual procedure, but we can work with that,” he said as he approached the Republican patient. The doctor slipped the gas mask over Thomas’s face. “Just a few moments,” he reassured the presidential nominee. “And you’ll wake up a new person.” Wait? What did he mean by that? Thomas gasped as the gas took him, and he fell unconscious.

He awoke the next day with a throbbing jackhammer in his chest, an eery sensation in his groin, and a head full of fuzzy fog. “What… the hell?” He chirped, his voice a breathy feminine lilt.

“Good morning, ma’am,” a nurse approached. Ma’am? He was no sissy woman, he thought. The nurse handed him a handheld mirror, which he snatched. Thomas’s eyes widened in horror at what he found confronting him.

A scream tore out, high, girly. “No, fuck, no!” he whined. His face was not his. He could clearly see that it was made from his mold, but he now had cute high cheekbones, his eyes naturally drew wider, his jaw was softer, and most prominently, his lips were large and pouty, inappropriate for a serious family-value-oriented president.

As he drew the mirror further down, his predicament got worse. Large, round D-cup breasts sat high on his chest; red raw scar marks beneath the curve showed how fake they were. His nipples were pointy and adorned with fresh, new silver barbell piercings.

He lowered the mirror past the newly pierced navel until he rested on his crotch. The cage was gone, but what remained horrified him more than anything. Instead of restoring his proud cock to the size it once was, his manhood had vanished completely, replaced by a bald, perfectly presented slit with a small silver piercing through the new clit. “No, no, no!” He screamed out.

“What’d you do?” he shrieked, his voice a lilting wail. He bolted upright, almost toppling over due to his new center of gravity; his new bolted-on tits defied gravity and sat high on his chest.

As the doctor entered the recovery room, Thomas lunged at him. The white-haired, balding man was surprised but managed to take a step back and avoid being tackled to the ground. “What the hell?” He asked, confused.

Thomas clenched his fist. “You bastard! What have you done to me!” He complained hysterically, glancing down at his new, very real tits. “This isn’t me! I look like a freak.” His knees buckled, and the presidential nominee held himself against a table.

“What are you talking about?” The doctor replied. “This was a top-tier job. Your new vagina is perfect; those breasts are sculpted perfection.” He grinned. “I did a fine job.”

Thomas clenched his fists tighter until he gasped and stared at his fingernails. They were no longer short and unpainted. They were now an inch past his fingertips and painted a bright candy pink. “What the fuck?” He cried. “This is a sick dream.”

Carly entered the room during Thomas’s tantrum and smiled. “Well, look at you,” she said almost proudly.

Thomas shook his head. “Carly,” he cried out in his high-pitched tone. “This isn’t me.”

Carly chuckled and approached him. “Sure it is, sweetie,” she said condescendingly. “After all those revelations came out, it was clear you were born in the wrong body.” She grinned. “You’re a perfect little Barbie now.”

Thomas steadied himself, finding it more challenging to stand. Someone had swapped out his black shoes for a pair of pink 3-inch wedge heels while he was asleep. Thomas’s ‘Bimbo Bitch’ tattoo above his groin suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

The Republican businessman glanced over to a silhouette in the corner, forming the shape of the little green demon responsible for his downfall. In an instant, the shadow disappeared.

“Just sign here, and he’s all yours,” the doctor told Carly. She took the form and a pen and signed her name along the dotted line.

“She’s just perfect,” Carly told the doctor. She? Had Carly lost her damn mind? They had a presidential race to win.

“I’m a damn businessman!” Thomas chirped, his words no longer emphasizing their authority. “Reverse all this!”

“Come now, Tiffani.” She ignored him, referring to a new name totally alien to him. “Let’s get you dressed and home.”

“Tiffani? Show me some respect!” He urged, but Carly ignored him again, throwing an outfit in his direction. His presidential chances were getting slimmer by the hour.

❖

Thomas Blair, or ‘Tiffani’ as his campaign manager insisted on calling him, stumbled into the Texas-based Republican HQ, his pink 3-inch wedged heels clacking on the hardwood like a drunk clown.

The businessman’s new D-cup tits bounced under a tight pink blouse Carly had thrown to him at the clinic, his silver piercings obscenely poking through. His rearranged face, high cheekbones, pouty lips, and wide eyes were an unknown entity. Thomas’s cheap blond wig framed his face, Carly convincing him it would be easier for his volunteers to take if he completed the look, but the crew didn’t seem to get the memo. Each volunteer froze mid-step, their coffee cups tipping, phones dropping to the floor, as he lurched through the door, a freakshow in heels.

Carly sauntered in behind, her own blond hair swinging, as she barked orders at her boss. “Move it, Tiff, we have donors waiting.” She yanked his arm, pulling the transformed billionaire towards the main room.

Staffers continued to stare open-mouthed, unable to comprehend what they saw before their eyes. “I guess the rumors were true,” one volunteer said to the other.

As Thomas was ushered into the briefing room, the small press room had seen better days. It was dusty, with half-ripped posters on the walls. This was where the billionaire came to wallow after the initial news. A political commercial for his opponent, Carmen Lopez, played on a TV in the background, showing her standing tall with the American flag in the background.

Senator Paul Hague sauntered in and took a good look at his ‘leader,’ glancing down at the businessman’s busty chest for a little too long. “Ughh, this ain’t going to work,” he muttered.

Thomas’s eyes sharpened. “You listen here, Paul,” he growled in a seductive, high-pitched tone. “I’m still your damn nominee, and I will be respected!”

“Shut up, Tiffani,” Carly snapped fiercely, shutting the transformed candidate down. “You’ve got a speech to make.” The blond campaign manager instructed one of her lackeys. “Get the donors in here, now.”

Thomas’s plump lips parted open in shock as Carly handed the man a crumpled script and ushered him towards the podium.

“Wait, Carly,” he squeaked out. “I am the boss here. I will say how my campaign is run.”

The blond bombshell didn’t stop. “Sure, sweetie,” she said condescendingly. “Be the boss up on that stage.”

With his fake blond wig, plump, pouty lips, and noticeable D-cup chest, the transformed man stood gormlessly at the podium as the campaign’s major donors started filing in and taking their seats. The majority of them were old, white guys in suits, their eyes bulging at Thomas’s new curves as he waited on stage.

Once the briefing room door had closed, Carly instructed Thomas to start. He had never felt so nervous and uncomfortable in his life. Public speaking used to be his bread and butter, and now it felt like a prison.

“Uhmm,” he started off shaky. “This election is about more than who becomes your next president; the entire fabric of our country is at stake.” He was still getting used to his new breathy voice. “America needs us, and we need to save her…”

“What the hell are we watching?” One of the donors at the back called out, eliciting a smattering of chuckles from the rest of the room.

Thomas shuddered and looked over to the side of the stage for guidance, but his campaign manager simply urged him to continue. “Uhm, yes. I have turned faltering companies into successful ones,” he said. “I can turn this faltering country back into the titan it once was. We’re not out of this race yet!”

The applause he received at the end of his speech was far from convincing. The wealthy men in the room gawked at the presidential nominee; they didn’t respect him, not like this.

Carly approached Thomas on the stage and whispered in his ear. “The new polls have come in, Sir. They don’t look good.” Thomas raised an eyebrow before he was ushered off the stage to leave the donors talking amongst themselves. Could this campaign get any worse?

❖

Carmen Lopez sprawled across her king-sized bed inside her LA penthouse, her boots kicked off, light blue suit jacket flung on the floor, a couple of shot glasses formerly filled with tequila knocked over on her nightstand. She was celebrating.

A news outlet had leaked photos of her rival, Thomas Blair, leaving the private Ohio clinic, with his noticeably new D-cup tits barely covered by that pink crop top. His face rearranged, looking prettier and sluttier. The race was over as far as Carmen was concerned. “He’s a total Barbie now,” she slurred her words.

The Latina’s fiance, Kim Walsh, lounged beside her, feeling the same buzz running through Carmen’s veins. She wrapped her arm around the naked Presidential nominee’s shoulders. Kim’s wild blue hair loosely hung by her waist. “Someone even told me that he has a pussy now. I can’t believe the rumors were all true.”

Carmen grinned. She knew the truth. She knew the real reason why this misogynistic, anti-LGBTQ asshole now looked like a Stepford blond bimbo. “This is why I brought Graham in. He’ll shore up those votes that won’t touch Blair anymore.”

Kim grinned and softly kissed her fiance’s neck before whispering in her ear. “I think he’ll quit by next month. No point in continuing down this path.”

Carmen smiled back and gently squeezed her former stripper fiance’s own bare D-cup breasts. “I hope not. He’s making this too easy.”

Kim nodded in agreement. “That’s true. He’s a total doll now. No one will take him seriously with those tits.”

Carmen cackled before grabbing the blue-haired woman’s wrist and maneuvering herself over her fiance, grinning down at her. “You’re one to talk,” she teased. “Those curves could kill.”

Kim thrusted her impressive fake tits up against her politician partners. “If my curves are so damn impressive,” she smirked. “Why don’t you fuck me?” Kim’s voice was laced with lust.

Carmen laughed and softly bit her lower lip. “My pleasure, mi amora,” she replied, her final words laced with her strong Latin accent. Her head slowly made its way down Kim’s curvy body, past her well-maintained blue pubic hair and drove her tongue inside the former stripper’s wet pussy.

“Ohh, Madame President,” Kim gasped and teased. “You have a silver tongue indeed,” she giggled as Carmen went to work on her girlfriend. Life was perfect for the couple right now.

❖

Thomas Blair, not Tiffani, as his campaign manager insisted on calling him, marched into the small HQ office after his failed press conference, his new tits bouncing under the tight-fitted pink crop top he wore. He slammed the door shut, locking him in with his Vice Presidential pick, Senator Paul Hague.

The businessman’s new face, high cheekbones, and plump, pouty lips were twisted in fury, and the silver piercings were noticeable through his blouse. “You bastard,” Thomas squeaked. Don’t you ever publicly doubt me in front of the donors again!” His voice sounded far less demanding than he intended.

Paul folded his arms; he couldn’t hide the brief smirk from his lips. “Doubt you?” He asked. “Have you looked in the mirror lately, Thomas? You’re a damn freakshow.” Paul’s eyes lingered on the nominee’s colossal cleavage, absently licking his lips.

Thomas’s big eyes narrowed. “I am still the nominee. I am still your nominee!” He reiterated, sounding less sure of himself. “I am not some fucking plaything to toy around with!”

The billionaire’s choice of words elicited a chuckle from the VP pick. “Not a plaything? Look at you, Thomas.” his eyes examined Thomas’s body as if to prove a point. “Look at those tits, that mouth, you’re built like a plaything.”

Thomas shook his head as Paul approached. “Trust me,” the Senator continued. “The only chance you have of salvaging this is letting me take charge,” he stepped right up to the nominee’s busty frame. “Your days of thinking are over. It’s my turn to run things.”

Thomas clenched a fist and swung at his running mate, but the Senator easily dodged the shaky attempt. “Not a chance!” was what he wanted to say. However, his phrase came out more airy and vapid: “Like, not a chance!” He clasped a hand over his pouty mouth. What the hell was happening to him?

Paul chuckled. “Cute,” he said patronizingly, stepping back up to the nominee.

Thomas threw another punch but missed just as spectacularly, falling against a table full of campaign leaflets. “You don’t decide nothing,” the businessman said defiantly. “This is my campaign.”

Paul didn’t relent, approaching the hysterical nominee before cupping his face and looking deep into his widened eyes. “This is our campaign,” Paul muttered. “We all have our roles to play, sweety,” his voice soft. “Let me do the thinking and planning, and you just do what you do best.”

Thomas couldn’t think straight. What was happening right now? With minimal resistance, Paul dropped the billionaire businessman to his knees.

The presidential candidate stared up in bewilderment, his plump, glossy lips open in horror. “What? I am, like, still in charge!” He muttered out in a whiny plea.

Senator Hague grinned, cupping Thomas’s softened jaw. “You’re done calling the shots, Tiffani,” he said, using the name Carly had adopted for him. “Being a good girl.”

Thomas’s big eyes widened further as a surge of pleasure ran through every cell in his body. The trigger phrase set off a series of mind-blowing mini-orgasms he couldn’t hold back. He moaned out in forced pleasure, ecstasy overwhelming him.

His running mate grinned and bit his lower lip. “That’s better,” he growled, pleased the trigger phrase worked. “Now, what you do best is using those pretty hands to fish out my cock and wrap those pretty new lips around my shaft. It will make everything better, believe me.”

Thomas shuddered. The following trigger phrase took hold. The businessman knew these triggers shouldn’t work; he had never been hypnotized. However, the fake, alternate reality held firm and he couldn’t resist his arms fumbling with Paul’s pants and fishing out the older, conservative man’s cock.

Without complaint, Thomas parted his modified lips. He wrapped them around the VP nominee’s member and began bobbing his head up and down, resisting the urge to gag. His eyes stared up pleadingly at his running mate.

Paul patted Thomas’s cheap blond wigged head. “That’s it, Tiffani, just like that.” He grinned, encouraging the transformed man possessively. Thomas felt the salty taste of the tip of Paul’s cock as his tongue flicked across it. Paul’s hand gripped the back of the feminized man’s head and plunged him deep, the cock pushing towards the back of his throat.

Thomas’s eyes watered, his lips dripping drool onto his pink crop top and bare cleavage, but he couldn’t stop. His lips locked tight around the member, sucking slow, then fast, like a pro who had done this every day. Thomas’s new pussy twitched, an unwanted hotness forming between his legs.

“Fuck, Tiffani, I’m going to explode,” Paul warned. “You want to swallow it all, believe me.” Despite his alarm, Thomas continued to bob his head furiously, completing the task he had been set. “Arghhh!” the Senator growled out, fucking the pretty mouth and emptying his load down Thomas’s throat. The businessman’s wide eyes looked up in despair, but he continued to swallow just as his running mate commanded. Every salty drop swallowed down the feminized businessman’s throat.

As Paul pulled out of Thomas’s mouth, he grinned down at the pretty, transformed bimbo before him, possessively stroking his hair. “Good girl,” he praised.

Remnants of cum dripped onto the billionaire’s busty cleavage; he squeaked out another moan as pleasure overwhelmed him once more. His body shuddered as a series of mini-orgasms ran through every cell in his body. That trigger was too powerful.

“This…” Thomas whined. “This isn’t over…” he squeaked, his body still shuddering from the previous trigger.

Paul grinned, stroking his new puppet’s blond hair, admiring Thomas’s big, pouty lips, his messy D-cup cleavage, and his sexy, feminine face. He was going to take charge from now on.

In the corner of the room, the green-skinned Demon, Mr Purple, sat and watched his chaos take hold. Everything was going exactly to plan. He smiled widely, watching the disgraced billionaire staring up at the man he had just pleasured. Mr Purple clicked his fingers and disappeared from view, leaving Thomas to pick up the pieces.

End of Chapter Four