“Maybe I should do this one,” Jimmy said.
Tara jammed the doorbell with her finger.
It made a cheery, Americana ding-dong. She glared at her fellow volunteer while the two of them waited. Jimmy looked back at the white clapboard door and shrugged.
The housewife who pulled the door open was a picture of Betty Crocker innocence, wrapped in an apron. Big, doe eyes, wearing a skirt, and styled brown hair. Sporting a baby bulge behind a pink tanktop.
“Miss,” Tara said, just like she had practiced in the mirror. “Do you want your child to be shot to death somewhere overseas?”
The housewife blinked at them and put a hand on her belly, protectively. Tara could feel Jimmy cringing, just to her right.
“What my colleague means to say,” he burst in, “Is that we represent Senator Dominic, and we’re eager to earn your vote this November.”
The housewife shifted her limpid blue eyes to him. They all did, eventually, whether they were college-bound eighteen year olds answering the door, or suddenly-blushing grandmas.
There was just something about Jimmy.
“Senator Dominic wants to help you,” Tara tried, “Get you out of your rut—“
“The country’s rut,” Jimmy interrupted.
“And make sure that women aren’t just barefoot in the kitchen—“
“make sure you are MEETING your FULL POTENTIAL,” Jimmy said, with just the slightest sidelong glance. His voice had an inky quality about it. It sank in right away, and it was hard to wash out. “Mrs. Bayh, right? Twenty-two? First kid? One hundred and fifteen pounds, five foot six?”
Mrs. Bayh blushed. Tara shook her head. Jimmy had an uncanny talent for ages and sizes—or at least for flattering guesses.
“That was all pre-baby, of course,” Mrs. Bayh said. It was the first time she had said anything. Her voice was a low whisper. Her eyes were locked on Jimmy.
“And once again soon, no doubt. I’ve been blessed myself,” Jimmy said. He tucked a lock of hair back. “Two boys.”
Tara was used to the unofficial wardrobe of campaign volunteers—t-shirt, politically-themed, and a pair of worn jeans. Washed jeans if on the actual trail. Her “Deadset on Dominic,” shirt hung loosely around her waist.
Jimmy had shown up for work in a pinstriped pair of pants, an expensive dress shirt, and a tie. His only concession to campaigning was a single “Dominic!” button placed prominently on his shirt pocket. A gold wedding band glittered on his left hand.
The two chattered about babies for a good five minutes.
Tara fidgeted. Behind Mrs. Bayh—now increasingly animated about pre-natal nutrition—was a stockpile of Ikea furniture and a wall mirror. It reflected back on a slender girl with shoulder-length black hair, east asian descent, with black frame glasses falling down her nose. Tara grimaced, and watched the girl in the mirror do the same.
Jimmy readied his closer. He affixed Mrs. Bayh with his eyes. They were hard black, like handles on a cast-iron stove, and glinted in the light. Something about them made Tara nervous.
“So, can I count on your vote, Mrs. Bayh?” he said. “And your kid’s vote, too?” He winked at her.
“Of course, Jimmy,” Mrs. Bayh gushed. She bent over to shake his hand. Two growing boobs rode high under her tanktop. Tara she ignored. “I’d be happy to vote for you!”
“For Senator Dominic,” Jimmy corrected.
“Right!”
“It’s because I’m asian,” Tara grumped, as they made their way over to the next house. “I look… foreign. They won’t take me seriously.”
“Nonsense,” Jimmy said, crisply. “Stop seeing the worst in everybody. These are modern, ordinary Americans.”
The two volunteers walked through a patchwork ocean of well-kept lawns. The rest of North Dakota was mostly brown, or punctuated by agriculture. Camden was a rare oasis, a town of twenty-thousand near a babbling river. A boom town of young miners and their pretty small-town wives. Jimmy and Tara were canvassing one of the company-built suburbs.
“Exactly!”
“Tara! Please! You were raised in the Midwest. You’ve got the accent. You know that it’s called pop and not soda. You just need to project that. Senator Dominic said…”
“Yes, I know,” Tara said. She crossed her arms viciously. “You sound like you’re quoting scripture when you say it like that.”
She pushed her glasses up and gave him a sidelong glance. There were… tingles there, when she looked him in the eye. Getting increasingly familiar. Was it the allure of a taken man? Because otherwise Jimmy was hardly memorable—dark black hair, drawn, pallid features. A few lines around the eyes.
“Hey,” Jimmy said, nudging her. More tingles. “There’s the competition.”
“Ally,” Tara spit.
She was on the opposite side of the street, shimmering blonde, wrapped in a bouncy tan jacket that was only halfway zipped. Underneath she wore a white t-shirt that displayed both “Vote Mailer!” and a healthy pair of boobs. The blonde had on a pair of dangly white earrings.
“She’s going to wave at us,” Tara warned. “Don’t wave back.”
Ally waved at them, and flashed pearly white teeth.
Jimmy gave a half-wave back. Tara kept up her glare.
“She’s nice, once you get to know here,” Jimmy said. Ally watched the blonde roll her well-toned rear up to the next house.
“You talked to her? To the enemy?” Tara said. She watched the blonde shake hands with another housewife.
“Know thy enemy?” Jimmy suggested, and playfully nudged her again. More tingles. “She’s a very nice person. You should talk to her. This isn’t war.”
“It’s more important then war,” Tara said, and stepped up her pace. Ally giggled, and as Tara watched, was invited inside. “It’s a presidential election.”
Someone had put up a large office building in the middle of Camden, next to the town hall, without checking to make sure anyone was interested in tenant space.
When she had first been assigned to the town, Tara had rented an entire floor for pennies, and congratulated herself on the purchase. Of course, it looked silly when there were just two folding desks and a couple of metal chairs, surrounded by acres of unused space. The wan “Dominic for President” signs on the walls just highlighted the emptiness.
Tara waited for Jimmy to sit down—and turn his flashing eyes to the TV—before laying into him.
“I think you’re undercutting my authority here,” she said. “I’m the Manager for the entire Camden region. I don’t want any drama.”
Jimmy innocently turned his black eyes towards her. Tara struggled to meet his deep-pool gaze. “Have I done anything to subvert this campaign?” he asked.
With those calm, dark eyes on you, it was so hard to think of anything Jimmy could have possibly done wrong. He was so… confident… and…
Tara wrenched her eyes away. She struggled to put it into words. “It’s just… I am the person in charge of how we conduct this campaign,” she managed. There. That sounded good. “I should be the one introducing Senator Dominic, and when you jump in on every house-knock, it…”
Jimmy put his hands behind his head. “Tara, honey, you told that woman her baby was going to be shot to death.”
Honey? “I was getting her attention!”
“Attention is the easy part. Smack someone in the mouth, you have their attention,” Jimmy said.
Tara tried to meet his eyes again, and failed.
“You need to connect with them,” Jimmy said, gently.
Tara flushed. Here he went, talking down to her again, but there was something…
“And what would you suggest?” she said. “You’re the guy that wears pinstriped pants on the trail. Maybe I should wear a cowboy hat and line dance in the doorway?”
Jimmy picked up the remote control. They had a cheap TV propped on a third chair, and Tara had found a forgotten cable outlet with somebody’s service. Her fellow volunteer flicked over to the low channels and gave her a pointed look.
“Soap operas?” Tara said, and snorted. “You think I should be watching soap operas?”
On screen, painted-up women with big hair and perfect complexions cast meaningful glances at each other. Someone was pouring a glass of wine.
“Tara, who do we talk to all day? Housewives. Many with kids. What do they do all day?”
“Drink?”
“Well, yes,” Jimmy conceded, and smiled. “But they also watch TV. You need to have something to talk about with these women. Connect with them. Strident denunciations aren’t going to cut it.”
Tara bristled. It wasn’t the first time she had been the target of his “lecture” tone. “Jimmy, follow orders, okay?” she said.
“Happy to, chief. Very happy to. I’m just going to make some phone calls, okay?”
“Any comments about the way I look, while you’re at it?” Tara said, and walked out the front door.
Jimmy didn’t say anything back.
“Who gave these people electoral votes, anyways?” Tara muttered, dropping her bag on a rickety table.
Her apartment was a handy two blocks from the only decent bar in town. She had originally stayed in a hotel, hoping against hope that she would be reassigned to a real town in a state that mattered.
Bed was a blow-up mattress, right above an unwashed and unvacuumed carpet. Tara plunked down on it, turned to the TV, and turned on the news.
Nothing was on. Larry King was interviewing some rock star about his tattoos, and both of them stared at each other with mutual incomprehension. The Fox News anchor looked too much like Ally to stand.
Tara hesitated, hand hovering over the remote, and clicked over to daytime television.
“Maybe just one show,” she told herself.
If only to shut Jimmy up.
Something to “gab” about to these empty-headed baby makers whose votes she so desperately needed. A little bit of Soap, supplemented by Wikipedia background, a few Oprah Book Club books, and she should be able to convincingly fake it. Then back to the benefits of an Ivy League political science degree.
The commercials faded…
…And forty-five minutes later, Tara rose, blinking, from the bed.
“That… wasn’t so bad,” she told herself, frowning.
Actually, it had been pretty good.
Really good, even.
She had expected alcoholic women backstabbing each other. Instead, the way Corso had waited by Andrea and Sarah’s bedside, agonizing over which twin to donate his kidney to… there was a lot of talent there. And it was… nice to just sit and sympathize with such raw emotion.
To let all your worries float free.
Tara picked herself up and walked, unsteadily, to the bathroom. Her reflection was the same as always, a girl with mediocre cheekbones and a habitual half-pout to her lips. On the plus side, something about the prairie air had cleared up a long-marked complexion.
Now she had smooth, creamy skin.
It was not, Tara had to admit, unattractive. She gave the mirror a sultry look. It didn’t work with the boring t-shirt on, of course, but there had been something hidden underneath those now-vanished pimples.
The opening intro of the next show started up, and Tara made her way, slightly dazed, back to her perch on the bed.
Two hours later she finally managed to turn the TV off. Tara had absorbed a cooking show, Oprah, and another vacuous soap, this one featuring a surgeon with two broken hands somehow making his way in a hostile world. General Lives, it was called.
The doctor’s name was Dr. Steinman, and he had looked great in a white doctor’s coat.
Tara made her way back to the bathroom. She had barely noticed the apartment turning from warm to hot in the afternoon sun. Her jeans were sticky with sweat. The girl pulled them off, and then, impulsively, tossed her t-shirt off as well.
Her dun grey underwear seemed out of place after an hour with glamorous heart-and-brain doctors. Her bra had originally come with her, long-ago, to college.
It didn’t have much to do. Tara had waited in vain for her boobs to grow up and out. They could hide behind a ripped-apart Kleenex.
Tara glanced around the empty bathroom, then eased a finger down inside her panties. There was more then a little wetness there, coating the outside of her neglected slit.
Apparently it had been so long that even a square-jawed fake doctor could get her engine going.
It felt very good to stroke. Very, very good.
Tara closed the door, locked it, and sat down on the toilet. At first she just lightly brushed the outside of her panty-covered lips.
But that only intensified an unbidden fantasy, out of nowhere, where she was a brand new nurse at the hospital. The back storage room wasn’t a safe place to do it, but the Doctor was so insistent… so hard…
A part of Tara noticed that she was pistoning a finger in and out, now. It glistened, wet, under the overhead lighting. She bent over, panting, and shivered as a quiet orgasm blasted through her.
For a few minutes the campaign volunteer just dribbled on the seat, breathing hard. The room smelled like sex.
“That was… a change in pace,” she told herself, weakly pulling up a stained-wet pair of underwear. Not that she didn’t masturbate on occasion. But that had reached a new level of intensity.
No wonder those bored housewives were so into soaps. They were probably jilling off on a daily basis.
Tara felt somewhat more normal once back in t-shirt and jeans. Although they were the same sticky, now slightly wet jeans as before, and her underwear was still damp and sex-scented. She scrubbed her fingers clean, threw open windows.
She tried to read some position papers, to browse through an Economist. After a half-hour she gave up. They just weren’t doing it.
Tara tried not to think about the occasional pleasureful pulse that still ran through her.
There were only two bars in town. Smokey’s Sports, and The Bull. As far as Tara could tell, everyone in town went to Smokey’s until they reached 37, at which point they were given flannel shirts and stampeded over to The Bull.
Tara liked to sit in the farthest corner of the long brushed aluminum bar, in the only spot she could find where the TV screens didn’t blare sports. She pushed a second empty glass of whiskey and coke in front of her. The lights were starting to wobble.
Images of the big boys on TV still waltzed through her sodden head.
The bartender made the long walk down to her corner.
“More of the same,” Tara said. She didn’t look up. Michael, the bartender, had the same square-jaw look she had just gotten hot and bothered over. No need to get her engine strumming, again. The last thing she needed was some useless fling.
“Anytime, Tara,” Michael said. He had a dark, rich voice.
“You going to vote for Dominic?” She tried, half-heartedly.
“Still thinking it over, Tara, same as yesterday. Oh. Someone bought you a beer.”
Tara frowned. The bar regulars mostly ignored her. “A guy? I thought they just went for cows and goats, out here.”
Michael smirked. “No. A girl. The blonde with the friends.”
He pointed. Lost in her cups, Tara hadn’t noticed Ally in a far booth. The blonde still had her campaign t-shirt on, but had changed into a knee-length jean skirt and a low pair of heels. The Mailer volunteer was surrounded by jostling boys with baseball caps on. She laughed at something one of them said.
“Is there a good place to smash this?” Tara said, picking the bottle up.
A hand snagged it out of the air. A moment later Jimmy sank into the chair next to hers. A haze of cigar smoke clung to her fellow campaign worker, coupled with a dash of whiskey. But his appearance was as neat as ever.
“Tara, you’re magic,” Jimmy said, in that warm voice. “You knew I needed that.”
“It’s from Blondy McBoobs over there,” Tara said, nodding. One of the Frat Boys had dared to put his arm around Ally. The other three boys eyed the first with barely disguised hostility.
“Is it. Hey, Michael?” Jimmy said. Michael hustled down to the end.
Everyone moved faster around Jimmy, Tara thought.
“A round for the party of five. Straight gin. And a triple for the lady.”
“Campaign isn’t paying for that,” Tara said, stirring her third whiskey and coke. “And I don’t see why we’re buying alcohol for a bunch of Mailer voters.”
“Tara, I know I’m not the expert, but I do know something about boys,” Jimmy said. “You think those are likely voters out there? The only one voting Mailer is the lucky boy that she takes home tonight. The three she rejects are going to vote Dominic, I guarantee. Especially if you make a nice gesture or two.”
Tara swallowed a stiff one. Michael had been steadily upping the alcohol content, the dear man. “Unless Ally can sleep with sleep with every guy in town before the election. Which I wouldn’t put past her.”
“Wait for it,” Jimmy said. He raised his beer. “There. Ally is a lot smarter then you give her credit for.”
With a single, deft movement, the blonde had shifted her way out of the first boy’s grasp. Just in time for the first of Jimmy’s shots to arrive. The five turned to look at them, and Jimmy responded with a tip of his bottle and a wink.
Ally looked distinctly uncomfortable. Especially when the four boys started pushing her to down the three shots of gin in front of her.
“We’ll see how sharp she is with three shots of booze in her,” Jimmy said, satisfied.
Tara, midway through her own third glass, put it back on the table.
“Where have you been?” she said. Jimmy smelled like an expensive tobacco shop.
“The Bull,” Jimmy said.
“The Old Guy Bar?” Tara said, impressed despite herself. “Doing what?”
“Getting votes, of course.”
“From the old farts?” The entire campaign strategy in Camden was to win enough women and young voters to let Dominic survive until the University towns voted. “They’d never vote for Dominic. Never.”
“They’re men of integrity,” Jimmy said. To his left, Ally was tippling her second shot of neat gin with a grimace. She was already flushed. “And if they lose a game of pool, they’ll honor their wager. I looked them in the eyes,” He turned his flashing dark eyes towards her. “What have you been up to?”
She looked into his eyes.
Tara felt distinctly vague, all of a sudden. That booze hit fast.
The whisky and coke was gone. Had she drunk it? Tara couldn’t quite remember. “I was, um, wat-watching Soaps, like you suggested” she said. She slurred an “s” or two on the way. “They’re kind of cool.”
“Great!” Jimmy said, beaming. Tara smiled too, basking in the warm weight of his approval.
“Honestly,” Jimmy said, finishing his glass off. “I wouldn’t stop there. I think we need to start blending in a little better.”
“What.. what do you mean?” Tara said. Now she was really spinning, stuck in Jimmy’s iron gaze. Funny how booze could slam you so suddenly.
“I mean I’m going to stop with the suits. We need to start dressing like we’re comfortable here.”
“What, like, aprons?” Tara said.
Jimmy’s eyes left Tara just long enough to slide over to Ally. This time the boy had slid his arm over her shoulders. She was having no luck getting rid of it, and seemed to be just giggling helplessly.
The two boys on the other side of the booth had noticed that her legs had slid open after shot number three.
“Like that little number?” Tara said. Resistance flooded back. She defiantly downed her fourth whisky and coke.
Wait—where had that one come from?
“No, no,” Jimmy said. “Just.. .friendly. Open. Warm. Think warm.”
“Warm,” Tara repeated. His eyes were back on hers, again. Ally leaned forward, and her tits nearly popped out of her bra.
She WAS feeling very warm.
“I’ll think about it,” Tara said. “No promises.”
“A great political operator never makes a promise,” Jimmy said, and finished his glass.
The alarm popped off at 6:15 A.M. Tara had placed it all the way across the room to make sure that she managed to pull herself out of bed. A ray of sun from between dusty blinds shone another beautiful Camden day on her face.
Her mouth tasted like sour regret. A blasting headache slammed all the way through to her nose. Tara groaned, heartfelt, and turned her head over. It was at least ten minutes before she managed to walk-crawl over to the beeping alarm.
Her friend Cara was riding the Campaign Bus with Senator Dominic. There they rose at 5 A.M. and went till 2 in the morning. But there everything was exciting, the heat and the heart of the action. And Tara doubted they made time for four… or five? Six? … mixed drinks.
She groaned. If there had been any mix in that last drink, it had been hiding underneath a half-pint of alcohol.
A shower helped. Tara let the warm flow pass over her. Eventually she managed to open her eyes and look down.
And frown.
Were her boobs normally that… puffy?
Not only was there a distinct hang to them, but her nipples were achingly erect, even this early in the morning. With an aching hangover, to boot.
“Weird,” Tara said.
Probably the first sign of weight gain. She was living on diner food and hamburgers.
They were large enough that her bra wasn’t quite comfortable. If it wasn’t so old and stretched out, she would’ve been in real pain.
Hadn’t Jimmy said something about the way she dressed, last night?
Anger flooded through her, re-igniting the fading hangover. “That’s right,” Tara thought. He had told her to dress up, show a little leg, be hot for the voters. What an ass! If he wasn’t so good with people…
Her “Deadset on Dominic” t-shirt had a big brown stain on the fringe, so she replaced it with a “Demand Dominic!” tee. Tara was about to pull on the same jeans from yesterday when she sniffed the air.
Definite lingering signs of her embarrassing surge of… juiciness, yesterday. Time for her other pair.
Even so, her boobs poked out the fabric of the t-shirt. Tara turned sideways.
Did she ordinarily look this… curvy? Her rear looked unusually well-toned, perking up in the faded bathroom light. A pair of heels.. maybe some lipstick…
Tara shook her head. “This is Jimmy’s fault,” she growled, and blinked back the headache.
But before she left, she made sure to set the TV to tape her Soaps.
“How do I look?” Jimmy said, twirling.
“Like a preppie trying to look like a cowboy,” Tara said. She fidgeted. Her nipples had stayed half-erect the entire morning. They pushed against the inside of her bra. It felt… kind of good.
“That good? Great!” Jimmy enthused. He wore a flannel shirt with tight jeans. Without the suit it was impossible not to notice a surprisingly built physique. It was pretty distracting. The boys back at Campaign HQ were mostly doughy.
Tara had waited, bristling, for Jimmy to mention her own casual attire.
She kept glancing down at her outfit. The t-shirt looked baggy and boring, and she couldn’t help but notice a stain on the front of her jeans. Ketchup, from five states away and three years ago. Funny how she never noticed it until now.
This neighborhood, although on the other side of town, was more or less identical to yesterday’s. They had already canvassed here, and a few lawn Dominic signs slightly improved Tara’s mood.
Jimmy had picked the route.
“Haven’t we been to this house before?” Tara said. It was blue with white stripes, and a foreboding picket fence roped it off.
“Yeah. This is Mrs. Roberts’ house. You told her about Senator Dominic’s plan to stop mining on federal land. Turned out that was her husband’s job.”
“Oh,” Tara said. It wasn’t really ringing any bells. She felt slow, this morning. Too much booze. “So why are we going back?”
“She baked a pie. I was—we were invited over to try it,” Jimmy said. His tone was careful and neutral.
He let Tara ring the doorbell.
Mrs. Roberts had dressed up—or down—for her house guest. She was another young wife, maybe twenty-five, and answered the door in three inch heels. A pair of dark black stockings disappeared under a well-fitting brown dress, with a generous v-neck.
She saw Jimmy, smiled, and licked dark red lips.
“Hi, Mrs. Roberts,” Jimmy said. “You remember Tara?”
Her smile froze over. Both eyes examined her stained jeans, her loosely brushed back hair. “I think I do,” Mrs. Roberts said. “My husband sends his best.”
The inside of the house smelled like strawberry pie, and had a long series of upholstered armchairs.
“Jimmy, you sit next to me, right here, and Tara… you sit… over there.”
Tara’s chair was on the far end. It was covered in plastic. “Please make sure to wipe your shoes,” Mrs. Roberts added, for good measure. Tara examined her sneakers. They were bright green on the bottom, from tromping across too many lawns.
“We’re excited about some country pie,” Jimmy said, settling next to Mrs. Roberts. She gave him an eyeful of inviting cleavage.
“Isn’t that right, Tara?” Jimmy prodded. Tara sat up straight. “Don’t slouch!” she warned herself.
“Yes! Yes… and… Senator Dominic is also… pro… pie,” Tara finished. She smiled, wanly. Why was she so dull today?
Even with her legs crossed, there was a hint of milky white skin between the top of the dress and Mrs. Robert’s stockings.
“Do you think you could get the tea, Sara?” Mrs. Roberts said. She didn’t bother to look Tara’s way.
Tara rose automatically. It wasn’t until she has halfway out of the chair that “of course they send the Chinese girl to get the tea” popped, half-heartedly, into her head.
There was a decorative mirror on the wall on the way to the kitchen.
Tara stopped, suddenly embarrassed. Her jeans were baggy and gross, with two more stains that she hadn’t even noticed. Her t-shirt had faint outlines of sweat. Plus, with her nipples poking, there was a small but noticeable tent in the fabric.
Tara tried to get outraged. She was being deliberately snubbed, treated like a visitor’s dirty pet.
But Jimmy was right. She did look like a slob. This wasn’t going to win any votes. She wouldn’t even vote for herself.
She tucked in her shirt. At least that highlighted her rear-end.
When she returned, Mrs. Roberts was practically on Jimmy’s lap. She had her hand on his knee—his far knee—and intently watched him swallow a slice of pie. Tara’s own insultingly small piece was on a tiny tray with no fork.
“Although I do need to watch my figure,” Tara thought, and shook her head. Where had that thought come from?
“Oh yes. Ryan is gone pretty much ALL the time,” Mrs. Roberts said, to Jimmy. “It does get a little lonely. Just me and the cat and my aerobics.”
“Aerobics?” Jimmy said.
“Oh yes!” Mrs. Roberts said. “I’m VERY flexible. In fact—“ and here she cast a nervous glance at Tara “I can be flexible about a lot of things.”
“Ew,” Tara thought. Her? With Jimmy? Even if he was chiseled—
“Excuse me, bathroom break,” Jimmy said, rising. He gave Tara a meaningful glance on the way up, mouthing “close the deal!”
Mrs. Roberts analyzed his ass as the boy walked to the bathroom.
Tara opened her mouth, looked for a practiced opener, and nothing came out. All of her policy positions and memorized phrases were lumped in a congealed mass on the bottom of her head. Not a good day to be a dumbo.
“So… do you bake?” she eventually managed. Mrs. Roberts, waiting impatiently for Jimmy’s return, rolled her eyes.
“Of course. You’re eating my pie. We all bake, out here. Don’t you?”
“No…. well, a little bit,” Tara said. She had never even considered cooking. Her Mom had always told her that ignoring the kitchen meant that she would never get a man. Now it was costing her votes.
“And what do you bake, honey?”
“Ummm.. cookies.”
“Tollhouse?”
“Yes,” Tara said, in her smallest possible voice.
Mrs. Roberts nodded, sharply. Jimmy was taking a very long time, Tara thought. She sank farther into her plastic chair.
“How about… daytime? Do you watch daytime?” Tara said. She crossed her own legs, mimicked Mrs. Roberts posture.
“Y….yes,” Mrs. Roberts said, guardedly.
“General Lives?” Tara said, brightening. Maybe this was—
“No. With the Doctors? That’s a show for girls who need eye candy to get through the day. I’d rather have a glass of wine and watch the lawn grow.
Tara sunk back down.
Jimmy, blessedly, returned.
“Time for us to go,” he announced. “Mrs. Roberts, it’s been a definite pleasure.”
“Oh!” Mrs. Roberts said, rising up. She uncrossed her legs, carelessly, and Tara had a perfect shot of a pair of lacy black panties, with the middle bit missing. “I thought the two of us—the three of us—we could get together and…. I have twister!”
But Jimmy was already making his way to the door. Tara followed, limp and defeated. Mrs. Roberts mewed, thick with disappointment, as the door closed.
“How many houses have we done today?” Tara said. The usual angry cloud of thoughts about ridiculous, narrow-minded, silly housewives beat against her head. But the steady refrain of “tollhouse,” tossed it all away.
“Um… one,” Jimmy said. “I thought it went well, didn’t you? Free pie.”
“I have… I have to go,” Tara said, stumbling away. She had to get out of these—of these stinky, stained, useless jeans. She looked like a flood victim, picking clothes out of the donation bin. “Is there a mall nearby? Or something?”
“The Hills Mall, but it’s an hour…”
“I’ll be back soon,” Tara promised. She pulled away…
Jimmy caught her wrist. Tara opened her mouth to complain—and then shut it again.
“He’s so strong,” was her first thought. And then, helplessly, she met his eyes.
“If you’re getting something, make sure to use the campaign credit card,” he suggested, with this big black eyes. “And remember… something nice.”
“Nicer jeans, that’s all,” she told herself, deep inside the department store. There was barely anyone around. Not surprising on a weekday. “And a blouse or two.”
Her chest itched. “And a new bra.”
And, in fact, the first outfit she put together did look nice. A dark blue pair of jeans, fashionable ones, that she had to tug over her hips. They sheathed her ass in denim, and showcased a long pair of legs. Tara paired that with a white tanktop made out of something flashy.
And underneath that, the first bit of pink she had worn, probably since her Mom had let her make her own fashion decision. It looked… right.
This time, the girl in the mirror was starting to look… not so bad. Tara teased her hair out. The weird chest puffiness didn’t hurt her figure, accentuating her curves and giving the boys something to look at. She pulled her hair back in a ponytail and winked at the glass.
There. Professional.
She left her old clothes in the waiting room, and had the clerk scan the tags.
She was almost at her car when Tara realized that she had completely forgotten to get a new bra.
Well… Jimmy could manage without her for another little bit.
Plus, if she hurried, she could still catch her soaps.
A half-hour later, Tara was arguing with a frustrated shopgirl.
“That’s not my size,” she insisted, still clutching a trio of tiny bras. In her now-former size.
The girl sighed and held out her tape ruler. “Not many customers are bothered by a bigger bust size,” she said, pointedly.
“The ruler must be wrong.”
“It’s a RULER,” the girl said, and sniffed.
Tara cradled her chest, hefting the expanding lumps. Were they even larger then this morning?
The clock was ticking. Was she SURE that she had set up the tape recorder correctly? Corso was going under the knife even now on Days of Days!
“Fine,” she finally said, throwing her hands up. She would have two useless bras—one black, one white—when this swelling went down, but at least she would have decent support until then.
This time, Tara made it to the car, key in the ignition, before glancing down at herself.
“Warm and professional,” Jimmy had said.
For all her shopping, she was still wearing a shirt and jeans. Ally’s put-together ensemble glanced through her head. Hard to be warm in this day and age if you weren’t showing ANY skin, giving the guys something to smile about… something to get excited over.
Something that got them just a little hard…
Tara disappeared back inside the mall.
“Jimmy, I’m back!” Tara announced, prancing into the Campaign HQ. She pushed her glasses back up, self-conscious, and let her hips sway as she stepped into the hall. Brand new, completely cute flip-flops sounded behind her.
The sundress was perfect. It was a light baby blue, with a pattern of yellow flowers that wrapped around her midsection. It was long, around knee-length, but curved around her rear. And the front was cut daringly low.
“If I’m going to have a bust,” Tara had figured, “I might as well take advantage of it.”
Ally certainly would’ve.
Her new bra pushed and uplifted. If there wasn’t actual cleavage, Jimmy would have to appreciate the upswell on her flawless skin.
Tara stopped cold.
There were three new desks in the empty expanse of tile. Two of them had girls lounging alongside. Jimmy was on the phone again. He didn’t even seem to notice her entry.
“Hi! Welcome to Dominic Campaign Headquarters!” one of the new girls said. She wore a tight blue tanktop in the exact same shade as Tara’s. Except hers showed off a pert pair of boobs. Down beneath, and despite the cool, air-conditioned air, she wore tight white shorts.
“Yes… I know that…” Tara said, stunned. “I’m Tara? Who are you?”
Both girls giggled. The other had long blonde hair, tumbling down the back of a skimpy green tennis dress. “Oh, god! That’s so embarrassing! Jimmy told us all about you!”
“Great,” Tara said. She plunked into her chair. “But who are you?”
“This is April, and I’m Heather,” the first girl said. She twirled a lock of hair. “We’re your new volunteers! Jimmy hired us.”
“Did he?” Tara said. She tried to keep the frost out of her voice. They DID need volunteers. Dominic was supposed to be a grassroots movement, after all. But these two giggly pneumatic pinups were not what she had in mind.
Jimmy finally hung up. He was bright enough to immediately follow her and her new outfit out the door, to the duct-covered back of the HQ.
“THIS,” Tara hissed, “Is coming very close to…” words failed her “treason!”
Jimmy put both hands out, placating. Tara stared, determined, at the ground. Those eyes were too inviting. “Tara, baby, I’m just—“
“Baby?” Tara steamed, looking up.
That was a mistake. Those eyes were there. They just begged to be looked into. There didn’t seem to be any point to looking away.
“Sorry, I was just talking to my wife. It carried over.”
Well… that made sense. Jimmy barely talked about his wife. Chloe. Only that she was back east and taking care of the kids. “Yeah, well, I want to be consulted…”
“They came here, honey. I couldn’t turn them away. You know how kids are. Flighty. They’re eighteen and need something to do.”
“Yeah, but…” how could she say “but they look like hormonal little sexpots” without sounding, well, bigoted?
“They know you’re in charge. I thought you could, you know, show them the ropes!”
“This isn’t about…” Tara tried. Jimmy’s eyes had dipped down just a bit. To where the dress met the top of her breasts. It was distracting.
“You like the dress?” Tara said. She had meant it to sound stern. It came out with sugar dripping off it.
“VERY politically astute,” Jimmy announced. He reopened the door for her. Tara smiled, timidly, and slipped through. This time she made sure to sway.
“You really think so?”
“Oh, definitely!” Jimmy said. Even with him behind her, she could still feel his eyes. Warm. Approving. “Fashionable. Feminine without being coy. Inviting. Perfect. Why don’t you go get acquainted with it while I get April and Heather settled?”
“Okay,” Tara agreed, amiably. She really did need to get home and watch her soaps.
The Campaign Manager was halfway home and floating on air before she realized that Jimmy had done it again. But by then it was too late to turn around.
This time, Tara didn’t even make it to the bathroom before slipping her fingers underneath her new dress.
She sat on her half-deflated bed, the pretty new dress hiked up around her. Fifteen minutes of her new favorite show had quickly lubricated her newly-hot snatch. The way the men stalked around the screen… in control… issuing orders to nurses and their women alike…
She had meant to only fall into her shows after an hour studying political news. But the grey, lifeless world of politics was just so, so boring today.
One of the languid, pouting girls on screen wore a dress much like her own. Except she sported towering black heels, and perfect makeup, and superbly coiffed hair.
At first Tara sat on both knees, one hand keeping her beautiful dress hiked up, the other rubbing up and down the sensitive exterior of her lips. When that wasn’t enough, she pushed down her panties with one hand. They ripped and tore over her hips, the strained and ancient elastic cracking.
Whatever.
She was already back at work, slipping two wet fingers inside her pulsating pussy. It had started to glow while still trying on dresses at the mall. Pushing her fingers inside unleashed a steady stream of slick lubrication, running down her thighs.
Even pushing hard against the tiny bulge of her clit wasn’t enough. She needed more. More hot, sticky stimulation.
Tara slowly fell forwards, eyes fixed on the screen, both elbows on the ground. Her ass was levered into the air, vulnerable and wet, ready for any man who happened by. To save her from this two-horse, idiot town.
He could start by pushing his dick deep inside her…
Abruptly, her thoughts shifted over to Jimmy.
It was pretty obvious that Mrs. Roberts had wanted to fuck him. To let him stain her pretty furniture with her own slick juices, bent over the sides of the chair.
He was probably getting sucked off by those teenaged honeys right now.
Tara gasped, shuddered, and nearly fell onto her face. She only masked the scream by burrowing her face in the cool plastic of her blowup bed.
Later, basked in the dim glow of a cooking show on baking, Tara sniffed quietly at her sex-stained fingers.
“This,” she decided, “is getting a little out of hand.”
Jimmy rang her cell some time later. Tara let it go to voicemail. The message, once she checked it, suggested a mutual trip to the local diner to get the new volunteers settled in.
Tara hefted her expanding chest with two small hands. There was no doubt they were bigger. “Trying to keep me growing, Jimmy?” she thought. Those big greasy burgers at the diner had to be responsible for her more buxom figure.
Instead, Tara struggled into a new pair of underwear. The old pair she tossed into the dumpster downstairs. She trudged to the supermarket, occasionally licking at her sticky fingers, absent-mindedly. The sun ahead faded to dark red, coasting across distant fields.
She needed a plan.
This wasn’t about the election, anymore. This was about reasserting her control of the campaign. Taking control of HERSELF.
Maybe she could send Jimmy away for a week, off to the mining pit, to canvas with the workers.
She could get away from those lovely, distracting eyes.
That sounded like a good idea.
Then she could recruit a few—no, hundreds!—of volunteers.
All loyal to her.
And some cute guys, too.
It was just past five, and the supermarket was densely populated with the same bored housewives she had embarrassed herself in front of, so many times. Most didn’t even seem to recognize her, concentrating on little boys and girls in the cart, or pushing around a large baby bulge.
It was a very fashionable supermarket. Camden’s women had adopted a uniform preference for flippy dresses and tight, pert jeans. The stockboys looked excited, and kept dropping things.
Tara grabbed a day-old carton of supermarket sushi and made for the exits. She had to get out of here… to think… to plan…
Dr. Steinman, her soap opera lead, was on the front page of a magazine in the checkout line. His expression was quiet agony, and the headline beneath read “Steinman: The Coming Turmoil. Will he keep his license?”
“The Board is going to take his license?” Tara thought, horrified.
Just because he had saved Daphne’s life after that airplane crash with an unsterilized knife? Fuck that! Tara snatched the magazine and flipped through with trembling hands.
“Tara, you watch General Lives too? That’s so cool!”
The voice was pitch-perfect and musical. Tara recognized it instantly. Right behind her, holding a Lean Cuisine and bearing a hopeful smile, was Ally. Even at the supermarket she wore thick black heels, along with a tight jean skirt. The boys around admired her legs.
“It’s… it’s research,” Tara lied. “Jimmy suggested I get into housewife-y stuff.”
“Oh, I’ve been watching since I was fifteen,” Ally gushed. She pushed a blond strand of hair back into place. “Can you believe about Dr. Steinman? He’s the best, isn’t he?”
“MY Dr. Steinman!” Tara thought, wildly. As if the worldly, cosmopolitan doctor would fall for basic blonde ass. She heard herself answering “You don’t really think they’ll take his license, do you?”
“Oh, no no, they do this kind of thing all the time. They actually killed him off, once, but it turned out to be his twin. Or something like that.
“Uh-huh,” Ally said. No, Dr. Steinman had a thing for the exotic. Big black eyes… pouting lips…
“Hey, do you want to go to dinner?” Ally said.
“Dinner?” Tara said. Her lips formed “no.”
But Jimmy had said…
“Uh, where?”
“The Diner? That’s like the only place in town. Here, Senator Mailer will pay. I’ve got my campaign credit card. I promise!” Ally said. There was an odd pleading note in her voice. Tara glanced down at her own sad dinner plans.
“Okay,” she said.
Ally beamed. It was like staring into a flashlight.
At least she could pump her rival for information.
“Great!” Ally enthused. “Hey, want to go halvsies on a People?”
“So… you… Jimmy..” Ally said, bent over the table. “What do you think?”
Tara blushed. “He’s married,” she said, curtly. “With kids.”
“I know that! I just meant… he’s cute, right?” Ally said. When the blonde blushed her cheeks flooded red. She kept flipping her hair back. “I mean, he’s…” she struggled for the word. “He’s Jimmy! You know he walked me home last night?”
“What, from the bar?”
“Yeah, I had gotten… a little overly tipsy. And those guys were starting to get really friendly. It was lucky he showed up, I was just sitting there giggling while they argued over who got to take me home.”
Tara had learned a lot about Ally in the past forty-five minutes. The blonde was a strange mixture of energy and touching naivete.
The diner was a grease trap, where big vats of oil flowed in, and bloated, oily people walked out. It had harsh fluorescent lights. At least it was half-empty.
“Why did you get into politics?” Tara asked.
“Oh, my family is all big for the Senator,” Ally said. “They’re big donors. I even got to shake his hand, once. He’s a really big guy. He…”
“What?” Tara prodded. Ally was blushing again. She didn’t know how to keep secrets.
“He was kind of checking me out, I think,” Ally admitted. “You know how it is, when a guy shakes your hand, and he gives it one extra shake, just so he can get a good look down your shirt.”
Tara had no idea. She took another massive bite of her burger. “I hope you enjoy it, boobs,” she thought, downing it.
Why was she here, again? It was hard to think strategically with three-quarters of a strawberry milkshake in her. “How’s the Campaign going?” she tried.
Ally was suddenly cautious. “Oh… fine. It’s not like I thought it would be. It’s so exposing, to put yourself out there day after day. So much arguing! You’re lucky you have Jimmy with you to back you up.”
Jimmy again. “It’s not all good news. He keeps pushing me to.. do things.”
“Like what?”
“Dress like you, for one,” Tara said, and instantly regretted it. Ally was dim, but not so slow as to pick out an insult.
“What’s wrong with the way I look?”
“You know,” Tara said, backpeddling and lying. “I wouldn’t look good in what you wear. Different… coloration.. that sort of thing.”
Ally looked down. “Are you saying I show too much skin? Is that it?”
Yes. “No! I think we’re just different.”
“I’m just trying to look warm and friendly for voters,” Ally said, hurt, looking down at her cleavage. It was practically a third customer. They were pearl white and dramatic.
“Did Jimmy tell you to do that?” Tara asked. Warm and friendly sounded familiar.
Ally looked uncertain. “Did he? We… talked while I was walking home. He’s got these… his eyes.”
Tara nodded. She knew about the eyes.
The blonde looked both ways. “Tara, can I ask you something? You’ve seen me around for a few weeks, right?”
She pushed up on a tight yellow tanktop. Her picture-perfect boobs, already prominent, pushed up and nearly out. “Do my boobs like any bigger to you? Like, in the past few days?”
Tara just stared at them. Was she being made fun of? Ally had the makeup, the look, the perfect all-American girl ensemble. Was this a dig at her own tiny proportions?
“It’s hard to tell,” she said, draining the last of her milkshake. Hopefully that would help with her own chest. Suddenly Tara wanted them to be huge, massive, the size of elephants or aircraft carriers.
“Like when you see a whale next to a bigger whale,” Tara said. “Mostly you just think “those are some big ones.””
Ally twirled her hair. Suddenly her eyes seemed to be a long ways away. “Plus I keep having these thoughts, you know? Like I’ll see a boy in the street, and I’ll think about things we could do, and I know I’m saving myself for marriage, but…”
This was getting weird, Tara decided. At least this strange rendezvous had revealed that her much-feared opponent was actually an insecure, repressed virgin with the intelligence of a hat.
Ally shook herself back to reality. Tara couldn’t help noticing that the girl’s nipples were large, and poked straight out. You could balance a two-by-four on them.
Jimmy entered the Diner.
He was book ended by both of the new volunteers. Even in heels they were shorter then he was, and looked up, adoringly, into his face. He gave Tara his usual small smile when he saw her sitting with Ally. After a half-day he already looked completely comfortable in his new, western apparel.
“Well!” he said, both of the teenagers squirming up against him, pressing naked skin when they could. “This is a nice surprise. Tara. Ally. Good to see you two working together. Be nice if the rest of the country followed your example, eh?”
Tara smiled at him, inadvertently. Then she caught Ally’s wide grin, the adoring gazes of the new volunteers, and frowned. Jimmy seemed to bask in the center of a personal halo.
“That reminds me,” he said. “Ally, weren’t you saying something to me last night about lending Tara all that makeup you didn’t need? I thought that was a nice gesture.”
“Did I?” Ally said. Her lips pursed with confused concentration. Jimmy kept up his intense look. She withered. “I… guess I said something like that. I was pretty drunk last night.”
“Me too,” Jimmy agreed. “But it’s still a good idea. You were saying something about making her look more Midwestern? Anyway, I won’t bother you two any more. I can see you’re talking politics. Girls, these are Camden’s political masterminds in action, pay attention.”
The two volunteers didn’t even turn to look.
Jimmy looked Tara right in the eyes, before she could turn away.
Something deep inside her told her that those black holes were a bad idea, but… “Tara, I’m looking forward to seeing you in the office tomorrow. We’re going to start canvassing the men.”
Those eyes…
“Oh. Okay.” Tara said, and slurped down the rest of her milkshake.
“We’ll do the men.”
“Oh my god,” Tara murmured, the next morning. “I have tits.”
She kept turning this way and that, stunned, looking in profile. From the front or the side, they both looked the same size. Large.
Overnight—was that even legal? Or medically possible?—her swelled chest had ballooned into noticeable breasts. Thick, swollen nipples capped a pair of impossibly tight boobs. Her skin was flushed and taut with the pressure of holding them up and back.
On her slender frame they looked even bigger.
“All this from a milkshake?” She whispered, cupping them.
That was another thing. They felt great. Her nipples peaked with pulses of fun pleasure when she tweaked them, and she had woken up with them erect.
Tara had also woken up with her hand half-enmeshed in a sopping wet pussy.
“What happened last night?” she asked herself.
It was all kind of vague after Jimmy had shown up at the Diner.
First, in a half-daze, she had followed Ally to her similarly-unfurnished and depressing apartment. The blonde had heaped cosmetics into a bag, while the two had laughed, and—she shuddered to think—talked girl stuff. Something about having dinner together had just… loosened Tara up about her erstwhile opponent.
Then, at Ally’s excited suggestion, they had watched an old tape of Ally’s favorite soap. Tara dimly remembered sitting on Ally’s tattered, patched couch, watching Dr. Steinman performing two simultaneous heart transplants, and feeling herself grow soppy and wet. Ally’s hand had kept straying to her chest, stroking her own apparently aching nipples. It had taken all Tara’s willpower to keep her hands at her side.
She had apparently made it home.
But without her underwear.
Where had that gone? Had she taken it off at Ally’s place, to keep from staining her couch with Steinman-inspired lubrication?
Tara shook herself. The important thing, at the moment, was her boobs. They were huge. She would have to make a doctor’s appointment.
That wasn’t the only change, either. Her hair seemed a bit longer—maybe that was just normal growth—but it wasn’t this full and thick, especially after many long nights in a smoky bar. Her skin had completed its transformation from oily and pocked to a smooth, endless field of shiny tan.
Even her lashes looked longer.
Tara sat down to make a To-Do list, just to try and order her scattered thoughts. But a pounding headache, back from yesterday, kept interrupting.
The table was littered with tabloids, soap magazines, and the People she and Ally had both purchased together. When had she picked those up? The policy papers had something spilled on them. When had that happened?
After considerable effort, keeping her writing hand from straying over to her excited chest, she managed to put a list together. It read:
- Boobs. Why?
- Jimmy—stop/slow down
- Votes for Senator
Tara put the pencil down, satisfied.
And then, just to reward herself, the pert Campaign Manager treated herself to a yummy boob grope and finger-fuck in the warm privacy of the bathroom.
She didn’t make it to the office until 10. Putting on makeup had taken a really long time. Plus there was the now-inevitable distraction of her chest.
The jean/shirt combination she had picked up yesterday now barely fit. It squeezed her in all the wrong—(or was it the right? So confusing)—places. The dark blue jeans struggled to contain her hips along with an upthrust butt. Her boobs, contained only in a now-painful bra, overwhelmed the short, thin fabric of her shirt.
What had been a standard outfit was now a Barbie doll parody of sensuality.
She had to walk slow to keep the jeans from splitting. When she reached the office, all Tara wanted to do was sit at her desk and think. To push some thoughts through the cotton-candy fog that had invaded her head.
She groaned as soon as she walked inside. The office had changed, once again.
Ten more desks—were they breeding? Where were they coming from?—had colonized the dark interior. The room hummed with activity, and new phones rang at different pitches and tones throughout the dingy room.
The two girls from yesterday were energetically hanging “Dominic!” posters on the walls. Their toppling heels helped with the height, but the matching miniskirts the pair wore threatened to reveal their panties with every straining inch.
At the desks were more eager new girls, along with a few desultory and happy-looking guys. A few of the girls wore glasses and relatively sensible t-shirts. More sported low scoop-tops with the usual cleavage. A certain level of electricity crackled between the sexes.
One of the new volunteers was Mrs. Roberts. The housewife had both of her perfect legs crossed and was teasing a pencil between her lips.
And it was all centered around Jimmy.
The dark-haired man had placed his desk in the exact center of the chaos. The girls buzzed around him, leaning on the side of his paper-covered tabletop, while he chatted on his cell. Jimmy smiled when he noticed her, and hung up the phone.
Tara, hesitant, strode through the hall. None of the girls seemed to even notice that she was there. It was like a scene from a movie, some sort of early 50s science-fiction, where she was the unwitting victim at the start of the film.
A part of her noted, smugly, that at least her new breasts could compete with the corn-fed Midwesterners.
Tara stood in front of Jimmy’s desk, her mouth open, unable to think of anything to say.
“Tara! You look amazing!” Jimmy burst out, between his clouds of female admirers. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
Tara smiled, her lip trembling. “Do you really think?” she said, quietly.
“Yeah. Twirl around for a second.”
Tara twirled. She couldn’t think, all of a sudden, of a good reason not to.
“Perfect. I love the makeup.”
“Do you?” Tara craned her neck to look into the propped up mirror that had appeared on one of the walls. “It’s not too much?”
At first she had honestly tried for the “Midwestern girl” look that Ally had suggested. Plain red lipstick. A little bit of blush on the cheeks. But the girl in the bathroom mirror had looked like a near-sighted enthusiast in the makeup aisle.
“Really true to your natural looks,” Jimmy said, nodding. “And right for your body, you know?”
Instead, Tara had gone in for dark blue mascara over her eyes, plucked her eyebrows until her eyes teared over, and outlined her lips with a dark brown lipstick. The part of her that said “You look like a teenybopper from Japan” she banished by teasing out long, black eyelashes.
The girl in the mirror was now a flawless, perfectly coifed doll with big bright eyes.
“Nice work,” Jimmy concluded. He winked at her.
Her eyes met his. A sudden surge of arousal blew apart her defensive masturbation session of the early morning. Tara could feel wetness spreading in her slit. She closed her eyes, tightly.
Control. She was in control.
“So, today we’re…” she prompted.
“Making phone calls in the morning, then canvassing the men in the late afternoon,” Jimmy said. “Just like you wanted.”
Was that what she wanted? It was so hard to think… Her thoughts oozed around in a mess of hormones and flashes from her tits…
“In that case I’ll be…” Tara started.
“Making phone calls. Exactly,” Jimmy said. “I put your desk next to mine, so you could be an example to all the new volunteers.”
“Who are these people, anyway?” she shook her hand, vaguely, and nearly smacked a petite brunette on the head.
“April and Heather’s friends,” Jimmy said. “You do approve of them, right? They seemed so eager to work here.”
One was so eager that her tits were nearly falling out of a blue lycra blouse. She leaned over Jimmy’s desk. “Jimmy,” the girl pleaded. “Am I doing this right? It’s Senator Mailer, right?”
“Dominic,” Jimmy corrected, gently, and turned his eyes in the overendowed girl’s direction. She smiled, contented to simply bask in his eyes.
Freed from his gaze, Tara managed to breath again. Phone calls. That was something she could hold onto. Make some phone calls. And then she could do something about these heavily inflated flirts. And about Jimmy.
But first she had to refresh her makeup.
Tara was near tears by the fifth phone call of the morning.
It had been an easy one. An old lady with a soothing voice, and honest questions about Senator Dominic’s approach to Social Security and Medicare.
She played back the answers in her head.
Tara: “Oh, yeah, like, Social Security! He’s… so in favor of being secure, and if you’re old, he wants you to be secure!”
Tara: “Medicare is great because it’s medical care for the older people, like you. He’s for Medicare.”
She had sounded like some dazed, ditzy teenager.
The other four callers hadn’t gone any better. Caller two had been a guy, and Tara had shocked herself by dropping her voice an octave, purring into the phone incomprehensible answers about foreign policy. At least the guy had assured her of his vote.
Why was this so hard?
She shifted position, legs tightly crossed. Part of the problem had to be the persistent and embarrassing level of arousal that had congealed in her head. Her desk was now situated to get a side view of Jimmy. Was it the way he was always surrounded by dripping, cooing girls? The occasional glimpse of those beautiful eyes?
Either way, it both distracted and attracted. And the few men in the office were big, solid types with straining muscles beneath tight “Dominic Does It!” t-shirts. Put a white labcoat on a few of them, and they could be Dr. Steinman’s muscular sons.
“I used to be so good at this,” Tara moaned, to herself. Okay, Jimmy had the charisma, and the organizing talents, and the enthusiasm. But she once had an encyclopedic knowledge of policy positions locked away.
Now it had apparently drained away, or had been repurposed to inflate her tits. It was even hard to look past the mounds on her chest to see the scripted position papers on the desk.
Tara stood up, abruptly, and shuffled over to Jimmy.
“Is there maybe anything… else I can do?” Tara said, trying to hide the note of desperation. She had to be useful, somehow.
His gaze flickered, just for an instant, to an empty coffee cup on his desk.
“No!” part of Tara screamed. She would not fill coffee cups. She was not some secretary floozy. She was the Campaign Manager for Camden, she was…
She was, Tara realized, already picking up the cup and walking over to the full pot.
“Thanks, babe!” Jimmy called after her, and Tara’s pussy pulsed with the compliment.
And she had to admit, after a cheerful half-hour of filling coffee cups and replacing water bottles, it was work that needed to get done. Any office needed coffee. And all the girls would have real trouble doing it, in those towering heels.
Tara was carefully pouring a cup out for one of the cuter boys when Ally happened to walk by.
The north side of the office was a long panel of darkened glass. A hush drew over the office as the Competition stepped past, toting a large campaign sign and clutching a pink purse at her side.
One of the boys whistled, low and long. Tara glanced up, and poured coffee all over the desk.
“That bitch!” she thought.
Ally wore a plaid miniskirt, with only enough room for a few pieces of plaid. Everything below was leg, lots of it, shiny even behind the darkened glass. Up top she wore a bustier in silver, which really only acted as a minor restraint to her chest.
She made good time down the sidewalk despite stiletto club heels. Her hair was teased up and back, with curls.
A few male pedestrians stopped and turned, jaws dropped. Cars slowed down.
“Unbelievable,” Tara thought, still pouring coffee onto the floor. The virgin act. The confused, “Lets be friends” story. The sharing of confidences over videos of Daytime.
All just a ploy to get Tara to lower her defenses, to get her over-confident.
Then the.. the BLONDE had stolen a march on her. She was going to ooze her way into the hearts and laps of every man in Camden.
Tara placed the coffee down.
Well.
Maybe she wasn’t the best Campaign Manager. Maybe she didn’t have tits to here, or was very good at smart stuff.
But she could try, damn it.
Tara grabbed her purse and stomped out the door. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” she called behind her. “And then we’re hitting the god damn streets!”
“Try putting one foot in front of the other, and taking smaller steps,” Jimmy suggested. Tara gritted her teeth. The worst part about Jimmy’s suggestions was that he was so invariably right.
She concentrated on one foot in front of the other, on an invisible line on the sidewalk. It shifted her weight back and forth, setting her hips swaying, but it worked. She could walk.
Heels were so hard to walk in.
And they kind of hurt. But one look in the mirror at the way her ass pinwheeled in the air, on display like a cheap souvenir, had made them a must-buy. They were bright white, and with each mincing step her pussy lips rubbed against each other.
She had new panties on, too.
“Just go ahead and ring the doorbell,” she told Jimmy. “I’ll catch up.”
He nodded, and smiled. “Whatever you say, chief.”
It was a relief when he walked ahead. The tight blue dress hugged both her rear and her super-sensitive breasts, and when coupled with the subtle scent of a guy like Jimmy…
It was increasingly hard to keep from dripping all over the place.
Tara tugged down the hem of her dress. It went only as south as just beneath the skim of her rear. Bending over would be definitely illegal. The material was half-plastic, and clung tightly to her tits. It shone in the sun. In all, it was a lot to deal with from a simple blue sheath.
But she was turning heads. Plenty of them. Tara exulted in the feel of their eyes on her ass, on her tits. Each one was a vote for Senator what-is-name, Dominic. With Jimmy turning out the girl vote, and her doing the men, they were unstoppable!
By the time she reached the front door, Jimmy was already locked in conversation with a young man, blonde hair and a full, blonde beard, wearing old jeans. His eyes nearly bulged out as Tara shimmied and shone up the walkway.
“Hi!” she chimed in, and stuck her hand out. Tara bowed slightly to give him a good vantage point on her boobs. They were starting to grow on her. “I’m Tara!”
“Tara is our Campaign Manager,” Jimmy said, proudly. “She’s in charge of our entire region.”
“Yep,” Tara agreed, smiling. Funny how she had thought yapping at people was the way to change their minds. Just smile nicely and relax, and they responded perfectly well. “We realllly want your vote,” she purred.
The man led them inside and sat the two campaign workers on a dirty couch. Jimmy segued easily into a discussion of the relative merits of the two candidates’ taxation plans. For her part, Tara idly admired the man’s physique. A little slender for her increasingly developed tastes, but with a nice butt. Although the beard would have to go.
“Yeah, but that Ally person said…” the man interjected. Tara snapped awake.
“Ally was here?” she said, intently. The man’s faintly fond smile confirmed it.
“She was very persuasive,” the man said, shrugging. His eyes strayed to Tara’s bountiful chest. “Very.”
No doubt. Still, even if Ally had been willing to give the man long eyefuls of chest, that could be overcome.
Tara kept up her smile, and uncrossed her legs.
The man’s eyes quickly zeroed in on her smooth thighs. She had shaved them immediately after returning home… after getting through her Soaps. Now they were rich and perfect, without a trace of flaw.
And with her dress all ridden up, the man couldn’t fail to see her coup-de-grace. A matching light blue satin pair of panties. The heat of the man’s look caused Tara’s arousal to surge. Oh well. A few drops of obvious wetness wouldn’t hurt the Senator.
Ten minutes later, vote secured, Tara staggered out the front door on the man’s proffered arm. He smelled very manly. Sweaty. A bulging hardon was easily visible underneath the faded jeans. “Come again soon!” he called after her.
“I just might!” Tara called back, and giggled.
“All in all,” Tara thought, through a pink cloud of serious arousal, “that was a very successful afternoon.”
They had hit up twenty houses. The ones that were the most fun were where it was just a single guy, lonely and horny. With just a few glances of T and A, plus a little P, they were putty in Jimmy’s capable hands.
Very capable hands.
The buxom girl had varied her approach. Sometimes she had just preened and favored them with a few batted eyelashes. Crossing her arms and pushing up her chest was popular, and as a bonus, felt amazing. If all else failed, letting her legs slip open like a greased door had yet to fail.
Tara had been nervous the first time they went to a married couple’s house. But it had worked like a charm. The women preened under Jimmy’s confident gaze. Meanwhile, their husbands, even with their arm around their wives, admired Tara’s confident outfit. After the first few duos she had even risked the panty-strategy, and been rewarded with obvious erections and renewed interest.
Erections for her.
The bestest part of all had been passing Ally, on the other side of the sidewalk. The dim slut was clearly dragging. Her clothes were askew and she had ditched the sign. Meanwhile, pairs of Jimmy’s volunteers were bounding up and down the streets with youthful enthusiasm.
And she had a potent new idea to get Jimmy under her control.
She would fuck him.
Simple as that. Her pussy drooled at the thought. So what if he was a married man? His wife would understand. He was just too fuckable.
It was already 6 p.m. They had the Campaign HQ to themselves. The new volunteers—were there even more then at the start of the day?—had trickled out, casting longing looks back at Jimmy. A few had already attached themselves, hip to hip, to the few lucky boys, their hands on the girl’s pert rears.
The air was still except for a few revolving fans. It was warm and musty in the late afternoon. Her dress felt warm, painted on with dried sweat, tugging on her still-expanding chest.
“Jimmy?” she said, slipping a pinky into her mouth. “I wanted to thank you for all your… hard work today.”
He had worn a simple secondhand t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and was tidying up his desk. A few of the girls had left their phone numbers on the top.
“We’re a team, Tara,” Jimmy said, glancing at her. She quickly hopped onto the top of a desk, to give him a better view of her long legs. The heels dangled off her feet.
“Yeah, but a team is only as good as its strongest member, right?” she cooed. Was that how that saying went?
“You’re the Campaign Manager,” Jimmy said, shrugging. “You make it happen.
Tara tilted forward, to give him a better view of her rack. Jimmy casually gazed at her awe-inspiring mammaries, then turned back to his work.
Tara cursed. He had spent all day with her. Was the man made of lead?
“Anything I can do for you… tonight?” she said. Now her voice positively oozed. She batted lashes and let her skirt ride up a little higher. Even with her legs shut tight a glimpse of bright blue panties had to be visible.
“I was gonna call the wife,” he said, putting a slight emphasis on it, “and turn in early. Big day tomorrow.”
“Jimmmmy,” Tara said, just short of whining. This time she let her legs slide open, and put her arms on each knee. Did she need to write an invitation on her clit? All he had to do was drop trousers, push her sodden underwear aside, and slip that thing inside her…
“Yeah, Tara?” Jimmy said, looking at her for the first time. “Is there something up?”
Those eyes…
They slammed through Tara’s head, lighting up pleasure zones and hormone centers, flooding her already over-heated body with a cocktail of arousal. This time she did moan, long and loud, and let both hands go up to her chest.
Who cared if someone could walk in? She had blistering new nipples, like little clits on her chest, and they felt amazing when she touched them.
“C’monnnnnn,” she pleaded, kneading and pulling on her chest. “You and me. Lets fuckkkkk. Just once. We’ve got to. I’m your Campaign Manager.”
“Sex? An affair?” Jimmy said. He stood up, drew closer. Tara’s hips bucked towards him, and her fingers were like a drum on her nipples. Finally she pulled them free of the dress, let her tan boobs roll around in her hands. She knew she was panting.
Jimmy put his hands on top of hers, over her knees. He was between her legs, now. Just where she wanted him. All he had to do was reach out and touch her, anywhere, and she would come all over him.
“I’m your boss,” she pouted, struggling with the words. And he was her man. The eyes and the smell of him filled and consumed her, until nothing was left but a budding clit and a hole to fill.
Jimmy laughed.
“I won’t say I’m not tempted,” the man said, openly eyeing her pussy. Tara quickly shifted down to it, pressing one delicate finger up against her slit. “But I’m married, Tara. And I don’t want this to lessen my respect for you. You understand.”
Tara couldn’t think of anything to say.
“Anyway, see you tomorrow, baby. Bright and early. Do you think you could clean up before you go? Thanks!”
Then he was gone. Tara looked down at her rolling-around tits, her plastic-wrapped form, and had to stifle a heartfelt scream.
First, still sitting on the desk, she finished an unsatisfying, unrewarding orgasm.
Only then did the dress-wearing girl get back into her heels, pick up a trash bag, and start picking up the rest of the office. She didn’t think to take the heels off.
“Two more,” Tara ordered, from the far end of the bar. This time, Michael was fast with the drink orders.
“You look down, Tara,” the barman said.
“That’s what you notice about me?” Tara said, bitterly. She was still wearing her blue-latex campaigning dress, along with the silver-polished bra underneath. s
Michael was openly ogling her tits. Ordinarily that would help her mood, but Tara was too depressed to do more then half-heartedly let him graze.
“If it helps, you’ve definitely got my vote,” Michael said. “Although, you know, I’m Canadian.”
“Does that matter?” Tara said, frowning. It did help, a little. She might be throwing herself at a married man, out of control of her own office, but at least she had won the Barman’s vote.
Drinking had helped, too. Now she floated in a pleasant, alcoholic haze, excepting only a needy ache in her pussy that her fingers hadn’t been able to fill.
Blonde filled the left corner of her eye. Tara sighed.
“Tara?” Ally squeaked. “You’ve got to help me. To help both of us,” She was sounding even more like a blonde then normal. Her voice came out, impossibly, as a kind of sultry sexy squeak.
“Go away, Ally,” Tara said. She tugged her dress down, viciously. It didn’t help. “You’re the reason I have to dress like this, you and your schoolgirl tease outfits.”
“That’s just it,” the bimbo said, sounding close to tears. Tara finally turned. Ally was a mass of sparkling blonde hair, supplemented by thick red makeup.
And huge tits.
They rode impossibly high on her chest, with pencil-sized nipples. She looked like a chesty girl with an ill-advised boob job.
“Jesus, Ally, your boobs!” Tara managed.
“I know!” Ally wailed. She had a Long Island Iced Tea in her hand. “They’re soooo big. I don’t know why they keep getting bigger and bigger, but they keep it up, and they feel so good. And my nipples are like…” Ally’s meager vocabulary failed her.
The blonde nestled one with her free hand. Her mouth shaped into an O, and Tara recognized the haze of pleasure that shook her face. Finally the rival Manager sighed and shook her hand free. “That’s sooo nice,” she said.
“Yours are bigger too, right? It’s both of us. We need to, I don’t know, think about being smart! Call like some Doctors or something!” Ally pleaded. Her free hand kept trying to sneak back to her nipples.
Tara stared at Ally’s proffered boobs. Charged thoughts tried to break through her booze-induced fog. Her own tits had grown, undeniably. And if they weren’t the sweater-bursting cow-boobs that Ally had produced, they were certainly attention-getting. Maybe…
“And that’s not all!” Ally whispered. “I keep seeing guys, and I keep thinking, wouldn’t it feel good if they touched my chest, or I let them grope my ass, or finger me in the…” she shuddered, and her left hand finally made it back to her chest. “All guys! Even guys in like the supermarket! I keep bending over even when I don’t have to!”
“Look, Ally,” Tara said, placating. There was something in that, too… wasn’t she pretty juicy herself, these days? Like, all of a sudden. s
“See those guys?” Ally said. She nodded at the four ballcap-wearing twenty-somethings in the corner. Same as yesterday. All four kept stealing long, lingering glances at the clubwear-sporting hotties at the bar. “I keep looking at their dicks, and thinking that waiting for marriage, what a waste, I could have any of them tonight!”
She tried to whisper, which only made her voice carry through the entire bar. “I could have them fuck my ass!”
“That’s great,” Tara said.
“Look,” Ally said, struggling for the words. “I think… do you think Jimmy might be up to something? He’s such a… great guy and all.. but I… he’s got those eyes…”
And then Tara saw it. Like it had fallen into her lap.
“This is all you, isn’t it?” she said, softly.
Ally’s dim blue eyes looked puzzled. But it was suddenly all so clear.
“All of this. It’s you. I’m all dressed up like a needy slut because of you. I’m showing off my boobs because of you. I’m letting guys admire my ass because of you. It’s been you since the beginning!”
“No… no!” Ally said, half-heartedly.
“You probably even slipped something in my milkshake to make my boobs grow. And now you’re trying to split me off from Jimmy! Oh, very smart, Ally. Very int-ell-i-gent.” The last word came slowly, but Tara finished it off. And smiled, triumphantly.
Tara rose up, decisively, and spun Ally’s bar stool around. Then she reached around and put her hands on Ally’s heaving boobs, and put her mouth right next to the blonde’s ear.
“So you know what I want you to do? I want you to go over to the corner, and fuck that guy with the big scratchy beard. All night long. Then I want you to leave me alone, because I am going to win this town for Senator Mailer!”
“Dominic,” Ally said, in a small voice.
“Whatever!”
“Oh… okay Tara,” Ally said. Her skirt had ridden all the way up, and all four boys, plus the bartender, were drooling at the blonde’s exposed panties. She stood up, picked up her long island iced tea, and made her way over to the boy’s table, like a sleepwalker.
But she never managed to pull her skirt back down.
Ally was out of the bar within five minutes.
She had plopped down next to Tara’s chosen boy, given him a face full of tit, and smiled at him. The lucky boy escorted her out minutes later, one hand protectively on the blonde’s ass. Tara doubted they’d make it out of the parking lot before Ally dropped to her knees.
Michael slid another drink down to her.
“From the three guys,” he said. It was a Long Island Iced Tea, just like Ally’s. Tara stared at it.
No guy had ever bought her a drink before.
“What do I do now?” she whispered back, at Michael. The barkeep considered the hopeful faces of the three boys.
“I’d run for it,” he said.
But that wasn’t what Campaign Managers did, was it? They were… available. Tara picked up the new drink and walked, teetering, towards the threesome. They quickly shifted to let her in the booth. Somehow, before she quite knew what was going on, Tara was flanked on both sides by boys, with another facing her.
“Thanks for the drink, guys!” she said.
They all grinned.
The clouds of drink-induced fog parted, just a bit. Just enough for Tara to take stock of her situation.
She was in her apartment, which was good. There were three boys in the apartment with her, which was… good? Two were crouched on either side of her, next to the blow-up bed. The third had his arms crossed and sat at the table.
Memory glowed, dimly. Right, she had invited them up to… talk politics with her.
The trio had turned out to be keenly interested in what she had to say about political science. It had been her major, after all. She had told them about how JFK won because women thought he was so fuckable. Then a long discussion about oral sex, after Clinton came up. In fact, sex had been pretty much the entire topic of discussion.
Hopefully that didn’t give them the wrong idea. Although they were pretty cute.
Tara’s eyes shifted to the TV. General Lives was playing. Oh, right. One of the guys—Steven?—had suggested the four of them watch TV. It was nice of the guys to play along when she had gotten all excited and juicy about her favorite show.
Even now, Dr. Steinman was pleading his case before the Medical Review Board. His tie had come undone, just from the force of his argument. Wow.
But there was something else…
Right, both of the guys, on either side of her, were lightly stroking the tanned inside of her thighs.
Was that good? It definitely felt good. In fact, it felt fantastic. Her legs gave a little quiver every time they stroked. It was funny how such big, strong guys, with callused hands, could touch her so… very… gently..
Tara stirred. “Is there… anything else you guys wanted to know about politics and Senators and stuff?”
The guy in the chair—Eric?—chuckled. “I think we’re getting the hang of it, Tara,” he said. Then he stood up, knelt behind her, and reached in front to her poorly-encased jugs. Two more hands grasped her sensitive tits through her dress.
Tara blinked. Wow. Electric pulses grinded inside her head, turning her thoughts pulpy and wet. “Hey, guys, I don’t know about this,” she said. Her legs betrayed her, kneading together. “I’m not like some sort of.. easy lay or anything.”
“But we can touch your tits, right?” Eric prodded.
That seemed like a good compromise. Politics was all about compromise.
“Tell you what,” the last boy said. They all seemed to share the same, enticing, dark voice. Tara never had caught that one’s name. She dubbed him Third. “Why don’t you touch yourself instead?”
That was a good idea. And honestly, Tara’s hands were already halfway there. Her dress had already ridden up enough to show the boys whatever they wanted to see, so it wasn’t as if she was acting like Ally.
“You can go under your panties,” Steven said. “We’re okay with that.”
“If you’re sure…” Tara said. She slipped her fingers underneath. That made five hands caressing her shivering body. She moaned, closed her eyes, and leaned back against Eric’s chest. One finger, then two, started their busy journey inside her sopping pussy.
The three guys waited, silently, while the moist “shlick shlick” sound echoed through the apartment.
“So… guys…” Third said, in a studiously neutral tone. “How are we going to do this, exactly? Flip a coin?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Eric said. He was the confident one. Tara liked confidence. “I’ve done this before. Tara, you want to make us all happy, right? For our votes.”
“But I’m Canadi—“ Third started.
“Shut up!”
The two fingers inside of her felt sticky and oily. Tara couldn’t remember feeling so relaxed, so happy. “Sure, anything for votes,” she said, eyes still closed. “That’s my job, silly.”
“Why don’t you get on your hands and knees, then?” Eric suggested.
“Okay,” Tara agreed. A thought struck her. “Wait, are you going to… fuck me or something?”
Eric was already dropping his pants. A hard, insistent cock sprang out from his boxer shorts. “Something like that, Tara Honey,” he said.
Tara Honey. That was what Jimmy called her. Tara was already rising onto her hands and knees, one hand still buried firmly in her cunt. She looked back at Eric’s dick, as he started to position it between her rear end. It looked decidedly tasty. And she did need some release. And it was for a vote.
Her panties were already coming down, resting, wet and exhausted, near her knees.
“Maybe just a litt—“
Eric eased his way to the outside of her pulsing lips. The tip of his dick pushed slowly up and down the edge of her well-oiled folds, smacking her with heat. Tara cried out, then pushed back. But there was something in the way….
“Tara, you’re going to need to take your hand out of your pussy,” Eric suggested.
Oh… right.
Moments later the boy’s steady cock had rippled down to the hilt. A few pubic hairs rested up against the curve of her ass. Eric put both hands against the smooth expanse of her rear, and pushed in all the way.
She felt the outline of his cock through every inch of her body. It felt incredibly natural to push back against the hard, insistent weight of his penis. It grinded, oh-so-slowly, up against the hard bud of her clit. An orgasm approached with impressive speed.
“What about us?” Third insisted.
Behind her, Eric shrugged. “I don’t really care. I just wanted the first fuck.”
“No, that isn’t okay,” Tara thought. What was it Jimmy had said? Something about how the unsatisfied boys voted for the other party? For the blonde whore and her mammoth tits? And the two others had equally yummy cocks, she was sure of it.
Well… she could do something about that.
“But wouldn’t that be… slutty?” Part of argued. The Political Science part of her, the college graduate.
Still, she already had a dick in her cunt. Besides, in her own mind, she was a brand new nurse at General Lives. They worked her hard, but a long fuck at the end of the day, bent over by one of the Doctors, that made it all worthwhile.
“I’m not a slut,” she made clear, to Steven. “But why don’t you take your penis out, Doctor?”
“Doctor?” But Steven didn’t have to be asked twice. His dick was even bigger then Erics’, which had settled into a relaxed pump down back towards her ass. Tara approached Steven cautiously.
She inhaled. A quart of charged, male scent overwhelmed her. In the next breath she was tonguing and licking his cock, assaulting the hot skin with her entire mouth.
“Wow,” Steven said, pushing his hips forward. Tara welcomed it, letting the big rod slip between her lips, rubbing off her carefully applied lipstick. She made it comfortable between her lips, licked the underside, and then bobbed her mouth up and down the entire length.
“This isn’t so bad,” Tara thought. And it was so very filling to be caught between two cocks, the hardness catching her from both sides.
It took so much concentration that her own orgasm surprised her. Tara fought it, to keep Steven’s dick firmly positioned within her mouth. Even as the hard shocks of fun slammed her, she recaught her rhythm. Eric helped by positioning her ass with his hands, and Stevens moved closer, until she was nearly nosing the base of his cock.
That left… Third…
She had hands, didn’t she? And with so much male support she could let the boys carry her weight. The last guy already had his dick out. And her right hand was still slick and lubricated from her own snatch. She grabbed the underside, teasing out the base of his dick, and rubbed a filmy hand up and down the entire thing.
Salty drops of cum dripped onto her tongue. “Not bad,” Tara thought, surprised at the taste.
Back behind her, Eric quickened his pace. “This is fucking amazing,” he said. “Tightest I’ve ever had. Ever.”
The compliment felt nice. Tara squeezed twice, to reward him.
That did it. Eric groaned, and ropes of sticky, hot semen erupted inside the hot confines of her pussy. She could feel the wetness overwhelm her full cunt, start to drip down the sides of her thighs.
Tara had to have more of it. Plus, Campaign Managers probably swallowed.
She doubled her pace on Steven. He was roughly fucking her face, now. Thrusting back and forth with abandon, only a shred of civilization holding him back from just grabbing her hair. She was in love with it, with the total abandon, with the feeling of perfect contentment.
When he came, she sucked, extra hard, to make sure he left nothing behind. Salty-sweet jism filled her entire mouth, and she swooned, started to feel another orgasm pulse through her. Stevens fell back. Eric, behind her, was still pushing, thrusting out the last spasms of his own orgasm.
Then Third, nearly forgotten, started to spasm. He moved a little closer.
“Where do you want me to come?” he gasped. Such a gentleman.
Tara opened her mouth and walked on hands and knees towards him…
It was early the next morning…
Ally was right. Tara could see that, now. Jimmy was up to something.
Part of her could still feel the hot spurt of cum dribbling down the inside of her thighs.
She had woken up the morning still sticky and wet, covered in shards of dried cum. Still wrapped in her nearly-destroyed blue dress, the plasticky stuff wrapped in a single band around her waist.
First she had checked her boobs. They had, thank god, stopped growing. Although they had only stopped at cantaloupe-size, dominating the entire upper half of her chest.
“This is wrong, wrong, wrong,” she had told herself, looking in the mirror. After a long shower, full of industrious scrubbing. Her voice sounded wrong, smoky and slick, with way too much promise in it.
It wasn’t the fucking that was wrong. It was the fact that she was still glowing from it, still excited and wet even the morning after. Still running her tongue over her lips to catch the bits of cum she hadn’t received the night before. Still swooning whenever she recalled the beautiful hot feeling of a guy cumming in her snatch.
That was what was weird.
She looked even better, today. Old bits of fat had vanished overnight. Her ass looked like a runner’s dream, bouncy and pert, even without the added help of heels. Her skin glowed like a skilled Photoshop expert had been at her overnight. Even her hair was longer, falling in black waves across her face.
Even her face looked… younger. Innocent and virtuous. But also only a short journey from a mouthwatering array of chest.
The boys had apparently left during the night. They had scrawled a Thank-You note on a napkin, with three happy faces drawn in with pen.
Tara was back to jeans and a t-shirt, now. Sensible shoes. And, well, yes, perfectly adorned makeup, with heavy lipstick, because a girl liked to look her best. But that was it. She had even struggled her way through a few pages of the Economist, sounding out the difficult words.
“Jimmy, you’re fired,” she practiced. There! That was easy. Fire Jimmy, take over the volunteers, see the beknighted campaign through. Then off to the doctor for a chest reduction.
But first, she deleted all her taped General Lives.
This was serious business, after all.
Jimmy had apparently depopulated Camden of nubile young women. They all swarmed, like a leggy tornado, over the office. Desks had filled the floor from wall to wall, and the sound of ringing phones was constant, like an anthem.
In jeans and a t-shirt Tara was completely out of place. Those girls not wearing short skirts and tight shirts were wrapped in painted-on shorts. Acres of makeup had been used up to ornament perfectly smooth, smiling faces. The chesty girls showed everything off but nipples. The leggy girls teetered around in skyscraper heels.
Everyone was smiling.
And there were boys, too. Tara saw a duo sitting next to each other, pouring over a map of Camden. Except the boy had one hand up the girl’s useless skirt, and the girl was sweating and panting.
It was hard to find a female without a hand on her ass, or inviting one with a sultry sway to her hips. Against one wall, a couple was simply making out, the girl’s leg wrapped carelessly around her boyfriend’s ass. He rocked against her.
Tara felt like whimpering. The air even smelled like sex, hot and smoky.
There was, suddenly, a hand on her ass. Tara turned, slightly. It was a big man, with brown hair, and a friendly grin.
She smiled back at him. “Have you seen Jimmy?” she asked.
He laughed, and moved his hand back and forth. Tara felt like moving along with it.. just slightly… to the right…
“Tara!”
There was that hearty, happy voice. Tara quickly put her eyes down. Ally was right. Something about his eyes…
With her gaze downcast, all she could see were his shoes, and another pair of dress pants. He had given up on the Midwestern approach, apparently. The hand was still on her ass. Why not, right?
“Jimmy, we need to talk, okay?” she said, severely.
No! It wasn’t supposed to be a question. It was supposed to be a demand!
“Completely right,” Jimmy agreed. “I need your help with something, Tara. I can’t do this without you.”
Without her? Really?
Tara peeked upwards. There were those friendly, dark eyes. Maybe just a little peek… wouldn’t hurt…
“It’s about the new Campaigning Outfit,” Jimmy explained. “Here, take a look.”
He handed her two flimsy pieces of fabric.
“What… what are these?”
“For the girls. I thought they’d appreciate something comfortable to wear in the heat,” Jimmy explained.
These were definitely that. Tara held each piece out. The skirt was bright pink, satin, and had “DOMINIC!” written in block letters across the butt. It wasn’t much longer then a child-size handkerchief.
The top was just a halter. There wasn’t enough room even for the Senator’s name. Instead, the left bra cup had “D” written on it, and the right cup had “!”
“Dee, exclamation mark?” Tara said, puzzled.
“Here’s the thing,” Jimmy said. He gestured. Three girls lingered by his desk. Tara recognized them as the more sedate girls from yesterday. They retained a few shreds of modesty, but the slow slide into bare skin had been apparently hard to fight. Two wore jean shorts, paired with long-sleeved shirts. The third had on a bountiful tanktop, but had retained still-comfortable jeans.
None of the three had been able to resist towering heels and red lipstick.
“These three let me know that they’ve never… you know… shaved. Down there,” Jimmy sounded uncomfortable with the subject. “Since the outfit doesn’t come with underwear…”
“What?” Tara said. No, this wasn’t right. “It doesn’t?”
“Underwear chafes,” Jimmy explained. “Anyway, as the Campaign Manager, I thought you could show them how to get nice and smooth.”
This was obscene. Another excuse to get her touching herself… to get her hot and wet…
“Please?” Jimmy said, gently. “Then we’ll talk. This is something I just can’t handle.” He sounded genuinely bewildered.
Tara cursed herself.
“Fine! And this is it!” she snapped.
And then, she promised herself, she was going to fire his ass.
There was, as Jimmy promised, plenty of shaving cream and razors in the bathroom. First Tara had to roust a boy, a girl, another girl, and a third girl, from the bathroom stall. Two left their underwear behind.
“Come on, come on,” Tara said, ushering the three girls inside. They all shared worried expressions, along with a shaky command of walking in heels. “Lets get this over with, I’ve got things to do.”
“Is this a good idea?” one asked, in a trembling voice. She had dark black glasses, just like Tara’s. Although she probably didn’t have to wash off a spurt of boy-cum that morning, Tara thought.
‘Yeah, I just wanted to get some extracurricular credit towards my degree,” the blonde chimed in. “This is… getting strange.” She had short, pageboy hair. The other girl, the one with the jeans on, nodded vigorously.
“Jimmy needs you to do it,” Tara said.
That shut them all up.
“Pants off.”
The girls hesitated. “Fine, I’ll go first,” Tara said, and slid down her comfortable pair of jeans, panties included. She glanced down at her own bushy patch. She hadn’t touched it when she had shaved her legs, yesterday. It was pretty unkempt. Probably a good time for a shave anyway.
The three girls followed suit. Soon they were standing nervously in a pile of skirts and underwear. Not a single pair of panties was basic white. Their thatches were of all colors.
Jeans giggled. It was obvious why. Pageboy had a line of lubricant coursing down her thighs, snaking back and forth down a pair of curvy thighs. The girl blushed to the core of her being.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tara said, peevishly. She sighed. Jimmy wouldn’t be snapping at them. It was her job to put the girls at ease. “These things happen.”
And, in fact, Glasses was also clearly welling up with moisture.
Tara gathered up a palm full of lather and rubbed it over her snatch indiscriminately. “Don’t worry about shaping it,” she explained. “Just get it all off.”
“We’re really going out there without underwear?” Jeans asked, horrified. But she also had a bush full of shaving cream, and approached it with a carefully held razor.
“Believe me,” Tara said, “it’s magic for votes. That’s just the way these things work.” Pleasant memories of yesterday bubbled through her. “We’re doing it for Senator Jimmy,” she reminded them.
“Dominic,” Pageboy said.
“That’s what I said.”
Soon, four pairs of legs were spread obscenely wide, and the girls worked at gaping wide lips marked with white cream. All four glistened under the overhead lighting. Even Jeans was obviously moist, now.
Tara concentrated on her own work. It wasn’t difficult. A few swipes with a razor and she was already halfway there, looking down at a slightly-stubbled pair of pink lips. Some close work with a blade later, and she was fully clean-shaven.
Just staring at it was getting her lubricated again. Tara gritted her teeth. She had to finish this up…
“I can’t do it,” Glasses said, her voice shaking. “This is crazy… insane… I’ve got…”
She got up to go, and hesitated.
“Here,” Pageboy said, eagerly. “I’ll help.”
She had done her own work with confidence. A perfectly smooth pink pair of lips shone between the blonde’s legs. She had kept them spread wide, feeling gently at her tits, while the other three worked.
Pageboy knelt between Glasses out-spread legs and approached with her razor.
“Yeah, help each other out,” Tara mumbled. It was so hot in the room. Lord…
“Ohhhh,” Glasses said. Pageboy had put one hand on top of Glasses’ pussy, to… steady herself? And then a finger had sunk right in. Her face was right up against the remaining shaving cream…
“Oopsie,” Pageboy said, and laughed softly. Glasses sank backwards, and Pageboy started to push in and out, energetically, shaving forgotten.
That left Jeans staring at Pageboy’s own snatch. Without a word, the final girl sank to the floor, slid her face up to the recently-shaven blonde, and pressed her tongue to the her slit.
Pageboy cried out. Then she resumed her finger-led assault on the panting Glasses. Who was caressing her outstretched nipples.
Tara looked down at herself. She was stroking, too. There was a spot for her, if she wanted it, between Jeans outstretched thighs. But Jeans was taking care of herself, pushing almost an entire palm up and down between her legs. Her entire hand was dripping wet.
The three naked girls all had their eyes closed. Little lapping sounds filled the room.
“Okay… I think… you’ve got it…” Tara said, breathing hard. She stood up, drew up her jeans and panties protectively. The three girls didn’t seem to notice her abrupt departure.
Jimmy. She had to find Jimmy.
“This has got to stop,” Tara said. She had a coffee mug clenched in her right hand. If Jimmy got any closer she would… smack him! See how those eyes worked when he was unconscious!
“What, the Campaign?” Jimmy said. He had his hands in his pockets. She had dragged him into the storage room.
“No! No more of the innocent act!” Tara said, wildly. “You’re.. you’re doing something. I’m wet all the time, my boobs are huge, I look like a fuck doll with an obsession with plastic clothes…”
“Tara, relax. Look at me,” Jimmy said.
“No! I should’ve listened to Ally. Now I’m some kind of… bimbo mascot!” Tara said. She looked down at herself. The bulging tits. The ever-moist cunt, and the boy-crazy attitude… “I can’t even think of, you know, smart stuff anymore! Plus I fucked three guys last night!”
“Tara. Look. I’ll prove to you everything is fine.”
“How?” Tara pouted. Her clothes itched. She longed to be out of them, into something shiny and tight…
“Hit me with that coffee mug. Hard as you can.”
“What?”
“Go on, smack me,” Jimmy encouraged. “If you can hit me, I’m pretty sure you’re not some pretty little sex toy.”
The words hit her like a truck. Pretty little sex toy.
She swung her arm, as hard as she could. The mug tapped Jimmy on the upper arm, like a soft nudge. She looked at him.
He had never lost that smile.
“See?” he said, encouraging. “Ow.”
“No.. that’s not..” Tara said. But now she was lost in those eyes again.. and she HAD hit him.
“Now, lets see that shaving job,” he said.
“You’re… you’re fired, Jimmy,” she said.
“That’s fine, Tara,” Jimmy said. His voice was so soothing. “Now turn around, and let me see your pussy. I’ll bet it’s really cute.”
“Well, yeah, it is,” she said, unsteady. And that would mean she could get those horrible jeans off of her. They were so icky.
Tara turned and let her panties and jeans fall to the ground. The warm air assaulted her newly-bald snatch.
“Wonderful job,” Jimmy enthused. “Manager-level quality. You’re a wonder, Tara.”
She put her hands on a rack of flyers. What did they say? Something about some… sort of Senator… or something. But Jimmy’s hands were tracing the outlines of her sex, teasing the outside of her snatch.
“It’s too bad you fired me. I was thinking I’d take you up on that offer yesterday.”
“Offer?” Tara said. His fingers were exquisitely skilled. She was extra juicy, after the shave job.
“You know. To fuck you. But since I’m now unemployed…”
“Maybe… you could fuck me first?” Tara said, her eyes glazed with lust.
“You sure, slut?” Jimmy said, playfully. The fingers were poking inside of her, now. Touching and kneading. Everything felt so good.
“Yeah, sure, pleasssee.” Tara said. Slut. It felt right. Campaign Slut. No. Manager Slut.
Jimmy responded with a zipper noise. Tara stuck her ass eagerly into the warm, closed-in air. Two firm hands gripped her ass, and moments later, the delicious sensation of a cockhead invaded her entire world.
Jimmy had real skill. At first he pushed upwards, stretching and pushing to the limits of her folds. It was a good thing she was such a moist little bimbo, Tara thought. It helped.
Then her employee reached all the way up to grasp her tits.
“You like your boobs, right? They feel good? You like the size?”
“Yes, yes!” Tara said. God, did she ever. She had huge knockers now, big titties with sexy, hard nipples. She couldn’t wait to show them off.
One thing did nag at her, five minutes in and two orgasms later. The leak of lubricant had nearly reached her knees, and she was rooting for it to reach her feet. They felt naked without heels.
“What… about… your wife?” Tara asked.
“Chloe? I don’t know, lets ask her.” Jimmy said. One hand left her boobs, and she could hear him pushing speed-dial buttons.
“Wait… no…” she pleaded. Don’t call your wife!
“Hey, Chloe? Tara wanted to talk to you. Right, Tara. Yeah, exactly.”
He put the phone to Tara’s ear. “She wants to talk to you.”
“I’m talking to my lover’s wife,” Tara thought. “Why is that making me even hotter?”
“Uh… hi… I’m Tara,” she said. Between short gasps.
Chloe’s voice was bright, bubbly, and amused. “Tara, are you fucking my husband?”
“Ummm… yeah… it feels good…” Tara explained.
The girl on the other end chuckled. “Yeah, sounds like my Jimmy. You enjoy yourself, honey. Have Jimmy do that thing he does with his hips. And tell him I’ve got it stretched to five inches for when he gets back.”
“Oh-kay..” Five inches?
The girl hung up. Tara, trembling, passed the phone back up.
“She said… to do the thing… with your hips…” Tara said. There was something written on some paper in front of her, but reading didn’t seem like it would be fun.
Jimmy did that thing with his hips.
When she woke up, heart still thumping, Jimmy was leaning over her with that usual, kind expression. “Back with us?” he said.
Tara looked down at herself. All she had on was a gross, old t-shirt. She pulled it off, and the bra underneath. It seemed like the right thing to do. “Yep,” she agreed.
“Great, because I’ve got your Campaign Manager outfit!” Jimmy said. He pulled a few pieces of fabric out of somewhere. They weren’t big enough to contain a sneeze. The skirt was, if anything, even shorter then the joke the other girls were wearing.
But the halter, a single silver band, had “CAMPAIGN GIRL” written across it in pink lettering. It was adorable.
“Come on and get dressed, and then we’re hitting the trail,” Jimmy said.
Tara nodded, eagerly, and reached for the clothes. They looked great on her. Her tits bounded underneath the halter, CAMPAIGN GIRL stretched tightly across, and with a big line of cleavage. The skirt showed off her shaven, dripping snatch with every step.
“I’m not fired, right?” Jimmy asked, with a worried smile.
Tara giggled.
“Tara, I’m going to need a minute or two,” Jimmy said. He held up a hand in mock-surrender.
“Awww, Jimmy! Come on!” Tara said. She felt soooo comfortable on heels, now. They were second nature, easy to prance around in. One leg in front of the other. And a good thing, too, or a long day’s worth of fucking would dribble down her thighs.
Actually, that sounded kind of hot.
Jimmy had lost his tie at Mrs. Roberts’ house.
The housewife had gotten her placid husband good and drunk before Tara and Jimmy had shown up. He just sat there, dumbly, while Tara crawled towards him on hands and knees. Then he had watched her ruby red fingernails pull out his cock, and her pretty mouth descend on his cock.
Meanwhile, Jimmy had escorted a giggling Mrs. Roberts to a back room for a well-earned fucking. Tara had taken her time with Mr. Roberts in order to give them a long break. She bobbed in slow, lazy strokes, down to the base, then back up again. When he had shown unexpected signs of protest, she had just climbed aboard, riding his dick to a nice orgasm.
Which made how many, nineteen? Twenty? Counting was hard.
The best one—the best non-Jimmy one—had to be that older guy’s house. She hadn’t been too sure about him, a tall, older man with a frown fixed and a silver mustache. But he had proven himself to be an enthusiastic and downright acrobatic lover. The two of them had ended up against the wall, pounding away against the wallpaper, while Jimmy sipped tea at the table.
The girls had been fun too, Tara decided. For the first three girl-only houses she had just quietly watched Jimmy pound them senseless, and taken the opportunity to rehydrate and wipe herself off. But at the fourth house he had let her join in, and Tara had quickly gotten into the sweet acid taste of pussy juice.
Three times, the slender asian girl had protested to Jimmy. Stamped her feet, crossed her arms, and declared that she wasn’t going to be his little bimbo slut. Acted like a fool, really.
Jimmy had been patient with her. The first time, he had taken her into someone’s backyard, placed her on the patio furniture, and bent her legs back for a solid twenty minutes of beautiful humping. The second time, he had just placed her on top of the gas meter, ass cold on the metal, and finger-fucked her until she was giggling and useless.
The third time, she had really just wanted to get fucked again. Jimmy had been stern, that time, until she earned forgiveness with a deep-throat blowjob.
Tara refreshed her lipstick. It kept wearing off. Probably ten or eleven lucky guys had deep brown rings around the bases of their cocks. The only problem was that all that cum made Tara thirsty. Or maybe that was from all the lubrication.
Her fellow volunteers covered the neighborhoods. All of them. Whenever a breeze went by, shaved pussies came out, and giggling filled the air.
Glasses, Jeans, and Pageboy walked by, wearing the matching uniforms. They had their hands on each other’s butts, and stepped with matched strides.
Ally was nowhere to be seen.
Now the sun was setting.
“Did you have to make me a slutty girl?” Tara pouted, as she waited patiently for Jimmy. “With big titties?”
“I keep telling you that’s nonsense,” Jimmy said. He shook himself, and grimaced as he redid his belt. “We’ve got one more door to do, babe.”
They had ended up at an apartment complex, just outside of town hall. Tara recognized it instantly.
“Jimmy, baby, can I do this one by myself?” she asked, politely.
Jimmy smiled.
“Sure you can, honey. Absolutely.”
Tara rang the bell.
Ally didn’t answer until the second ring.
“Tara!” she burst out. The blonde was dressed down, in slacks and a t-shirt. But that failed to hide the mounds on her chest. They looked enormously fake, too big and riding too high to be anything but calculated boobies.
“Oh my god, come in!” Her rival said. Tara stepped inside, comfortable in her heels. “I’m so glad you’re here. I tried the police, but they wouldn’t believe me, and I could hear some girl panting in the background. I tried to drive but it’s all so confusing…”
“Ally, relax,” Tara instructed. She walked around. A musk of sex and fun times came with her, along with Jimmy’s own overpowering scent. She could see it have the expected effect on Ally. Her pert nose flared, and her eyes started to glass over.
“I can’t relax,” the blonde said. She sank into a chair. She wore perfect makeup, of course, with dark red lipstick. “If I don’t pay attention, I just start fingering myself. I saw this guy at the store this morning, and it was all I could do not to fall to my knees. I let a guy come in me last night, Tara! In my mouth and my ass and my pussy!”
“Look, Ally, it’s ok. It’s alright. You were right about Jimmy,” Tara said. She examined Ally’s boobs. They had to be the biggest in town. Her mouth watered just looking at them. “He’s definitely doing stuff to us. Making us hot and dumb and slutty.”
“You believe me?” Ally said. She looked on the verge of tears. “Really?”
“We’re definitely going to do something about it,” Tara assured her. “He’s going to pay for giving us huge boobs and lickable pussies.”
“Lickable…. Tara, are you okay?” Ally asked, anxiously. “You smell… good…”
Tara bobbed her head. “Never been better,” she said. “We can do this. We’re partners, now.”
Ally rose up from her chair. “Yes!” she exclaimed.
“But first,” Tara suggested, “I think we should watch a little General Lives, together. Dr. Steinman gets his license back today.”
Tara squeezed her purse. There wasn’t much in it. Just her ID, and a black little vibrator Jimmy had got for her. She had made sure it had full batteries.
“Just a little TV to help us relax,” Tara said, and smiled.
EPILOGUE: Three weeks later
Ally arched her back and screamed. Tara loved it when she screamed. She had such a perfect, baby-girl voice when the blonde came, it was just adorable. Plus her co-Campaign Manager always reciprocated with a thorough tongue-lashing.
After Jimmy had reminded them that it was Election Day, the two girls had picked out matching blue and red shorts, shiny and tight.
After some minor bickering, Jimmy had hit on a solution to the whole “Bigger Boobies, Better Butt” problem. Ally got to wear the smaller top, but Tara got to wear the taller heels.
In a corner, Michael, their official Joint Campaign Drink Dispenser, groaned quietly to himself. He had been mostly able to keep them satisfied when Jimmy was out of town. But ever since Ally, then Tara, had discovered a fondness for ass-play, there were simply too many holes for one man to satisfy.
Outside, in the Banquet Hall, a loud roar went up over the sound of the television.
“Oh right,” Tara thought. She was supposed to have voted today. Oh well. Ally didn’t either. They cancelled each other out or something.
The door opened. Jimmy walked in. His suits were even more dapper, these days, after his elevation to Campaign Chair for the entire state. The Senator had recognized real talent. He had visited Campaign HQ just a few weeks ago.
Tara wrinkled her nose. It was funny, but for all her former adoration of the man, his cum had tasted just like everyone else’s.
Jimmy had explained the whole “boobs” thing just afterwards, during a private session with her, and Ally, and six or seven other girls. “It’s funny,” he had said, chuckling. “Everyone worries about the growth thing. That part is easy. Just hormones and basic chemistry. But mess around with delicate mental latticework and no one even seems to notice.”
Tara loved her boobies.
“Hey Tara,” Jimmy called out. “How’s things?”
“Who won?” Tara asked.
“Huh? Oh,” Jimmy shrugged. “I didn’t notice. I wasn’t really interested.”
He wasn’t…? “Then why did you, um, volunteer and stuff?” she asked. Ally was starting to feebly come back to life.
“Test out my capabilities,” Jimmy explained. He sat on a table. For the first time, the man looked tired, rubbing his eyes with both hands. “My abilities are so personal, and politics is mass-movement stuff. It’s been… a strain…”
“But it went okay, right?” Tara asked, anxiously. It certainly seemed to have. The room beyond was increasingly getting quiet, full of little happy sighs. And not a single girl in town had anything less then a well-sized pair of tits.
“I like to think so,” Jimmy said, and the fatigue disappeared beyond that confident smile. “Thanks to you.”
Ally was back awake, now. She started thumbing the outside of Tara’s pussy. Both girls made sure to keep them well-shaved, for easy access.
Jimmy got down from the table. “In fact, it’s been so successful, I’m thinking it’s time for the next phase. What do you girls say to coming back with me? I’ll need some political directors for my first serious campaign. I’m thinking we start big. Governor. You can put my platform together. What do you say?”
“Whatever you want, Jimmy,” Tara squeaked. Ally’s gentle tongue had started up.
The man smiled, tired once again, and left the room quietly.
Tara closed her eyes and let Ally’s tonguing wash over her.
“What was Jimmy saying?” the blonde said, between licks. “About a platform?”
“He’s going to fuck us on a table tonight,” Tara said, and let her next orgasm wash over her.
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