The Candidate—Part 1 of 3
Senator Wilson knocked twice on the door of the motel room. It was answered by a tall man with a bushy moustache. It wasn’t whom he was expecting.
“Come in, Senator, come in!” said the stranger. “I know you wouldn’t want to be seen with me, even though anyone would be hard pressed to prove that it was me.”
“Dr. Cosgrave?” asked the senator, incredulous. Cosgrave had been a short, fat, balding man in all of the photos during the scandal four years ago.
“Yes, Senator, it’s me. And as you can see, my scientific genius continues to produce wonders, despite my current unemployment. But please, come in. We have much to discuss.”
The senator followed the notorious scientist into the motel room. There on the bed, in a green negligee that barely contained her, was a red-headed woman with the largest breasts he had ever seen. She was squeezing a protruding nipple with one hand and stroking her crotch with another, a vacuous, contented smile on her face. Senator Wilson stared at her, astounded, aroused, and suspicious.
“Don’t mind Dean Dawson” said the self-avowed genius, “I just brought her along as a visual aid.”
“Dean Dawson?” asked the senator. Patricia Dawson had retired suddenly from her position as Dean of Research at MIT about a year after she had been in the news so much when she exposed Dr. Cosgrave’s human experimentation and the web of corruption at the Institute that had allowed it to go unchecked. Now that Senator Wilson thought about it, the woman on the bed did resemble Dawson somewhat, except for the monstrous tits, the wild red hair, the whorish make-up, and the look of vapid arousal.
“Yes, DeeDee here was once quite a thorn in my side,” explained the scientist. “But now she’s just another slut in my harem, aren’t you DeeDee.”
The red head giggled. “I’m a slut!” she declared happily.
The senator was dumbfounded. If his story was true, what had the madman done to this poor woman? And of much greater concern, what did he want with him? He had come here secretly because he had received a note promising that Cosgrave had something to tell him that could guarantee his reelection. He had expected the notorious scientist to reveal some role which his opponent had played in the MIT scandal when her late husband was mayor of Boston, but could Donna Travers really be mixed up in something like this? It seemed unlikely.
“I believe,” continued Cosgrave, “That a certain woman is making your life rather difficult, Senator. Latest pole that I saw had you trailing by 18 percentage points. And the election is only three weeks away.”
“We’ve had some snags in the campaign,” defended the Senator “but I still think we can rally the support of the people of Massachusetts.”
“Oh come now, Senator,” chided Cosgrave. “Face reality. I saw the last debate. She made you look like a buffoon. And your little incident with the young campaign workers six years ago still hasn’t faded from the public memory. Even if you were able to tamper with the paternity tests—yes, I know about that—there are still a lot of doubt left in people’s minds. Some of the bolder newspapers have gone so far as to compare your moral fiber to mine! I don’t think there are two women in this entire state that would admit to supporting you. The only reason your doing as well as you are is that some people out there still can’t imagine having a female Senator. This final debate next week will be the final nail in your coffin. Unless....”
The Senator was angry and embarrassed, but he knew what Cosgrave had said to be true. What did he have to loose?
“Unless what?” he asked.
“Well, Senator,” smiled the oily scientist, “Don’t you think you’d have better luck running against someone more like DeeDee here?”
The red-head giggled at her name being mentioned.
The senator finally realized just what he was being offered. He had a sudden vision of his no-nonsense, highly-respected opponent with a massive set of hooters giggling and fondling herself. He found that his pants no longer fit him very well.
“I...I don’t think anyone but a pervert would vote for...someone like DeeDee.”
“And as many perverts as there are in Massachusetts, most of us don’t vote.” chuckled Cosgrave.
“What’s the catch?” asked Wilson.
“It’s quite a simple exchange, Senator. You are the head of the subcommittee which oversees the Department of Defense. The DOD has quite a substantial research budget which, unlike the NIH or NSF, can fund research deemed ‘top secret’, and thus not subject to inquiry from the general public or even most congressmen. I have acquired a small private research institute in Tahiti, but it has exhausted all of my funds. Since my fall from academic grace, I have had to obtain money by dealing with people even slimier than US senators, if you can believe such people exist, and it is quite frankly more dangerous than it’s worth. I miss my old days at MIT and my old federal grants. So, the deal is as follows: One week from now, you will debate an over-sexed bimbo who has been abandoned both by the feminists and the religious right. Two weeks later, the good people of Massachusetts will give you six more years to abuse your office. After the Christmas holiday, the DOD will receive a grant application for $10,000,000, renewable annually, from the Tahitian Institute for Transformation Science. You will ensure that it is fully funded without peer review and given the highest possible security rating. You will then ensure its renewal for as long as you hold office.”
The senator bit his lip. Ten million was nothing compared to the DOD’s budget. He had diverted more than that in the past successfully. And if the madman could really pull it off...
“How...how would you do it?” asked the Senator.
Cosgrave smiled, knowing that his quarry was hooked.
“I have developed a device which can have remarkable transformative effects on the human mind and body.” explained Dr. Cosgrave. “DeeDee, having stripped me of my research subjects, has acted as a my primary guinea pig.”
“The machine is yummy,” affirmed the former Dean. “It gave me big boobies!”
“I’ve always been a bit of a breast man, despite the rumor that we geniuses are supposed to prefer legs.” explained the scientist. “I’ve recently developed a hand-held version of my machine. All I have to do is give Ms. Travers three treatments and the transformation will be complete.”
“How will you get close to her?” inquired the senator. “She’s had a constant body guard ever since her husband was assassinated.”
The scientist grinned, cat-like.
“I see you’ve already considered messier options,” he teased. “But I won’t have a problem getting close to her.”
He pulled out a large microphone and an authentic-looking press pass.
“You just tend to your campaign, and I will tend to your opponent.”
DeeDee giggled. The senator grinned.
“You have yourself a deal,” he said.
“Splendid,” replied Cosgrave. “And to sweeten it, I’ll let you borrow DeeDee for half an hour.”
The red-head squealed with pleasure.
Donna Travers was in the small town of South Carver, 4/5ths of the way through her avowed goal to visit every county in Massachusetts. She had spent a somewhat productive evening talking to the chamber of commerce about her proposed small business legislation. Now she had only to face the small contingent of reporters that had been following her, then she could get a well-deserved night’s sleep. Her campaign was really coming to a head and she was quite happy and enthusiastic. It would be so great to have kicked that bastard Wilson out on his keester.
She stepped out of the chamber of commerce building and was swarmed by the reporters, all jockeying for position to get their microphone closest to her face. It was so silly—why couldn’t they all agree to just use one mic and share the audio? They inevitably all ended up using the same quotes anyway. There was a new one today—a tall man with a bushy moustache. His microphone read ‘What’sNew.Com’. Oh well, she supposed she should be grateful for the coverage.
The reporters shouted out their usual barrage of questions, a few about her proposed legislation, most about her opponents long list of scandals and rumors of impropriety. The former she answered at length, the later she quelled with a smug ‘No Comment’. The ‘Honorable’ Mr. Wilson could easily hang himself without her having to get her hands dirty.
The new guy didn’t have any questions. No doubt one of those many little internet news sites that touted speed more than content. He’d probably have a ten second quote online ten minutes after the press conference was over. As lackadaisical as he was about asking questions though, he certainly was competing for microphone space—his oversized mic was constantly in her face, all the more so since he never brought it back to ask a question. It was getting annoying, especially combined with the way he kept grinning at her with that cheesy moustache. Maybe it was that distraction which was making her feel so disoriented. Her head felt fuzzy and her normally crisp answers were coming out somewhat muddled. It seemed very warm all of a sudden. Thankfully, Susan, her campaign manager, saw that she was in trouble and called off the press, whisking her away to the hotel where they would spend the night.
“Thanks, Susan” she said as they drove off. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought I was.”
“Well, a good night sleep will do you good,” consoled Susan. “Just three more weeks and then you can relax until January, when you’ll be sworn in as the junior senator from Massachusetts!”
“That’ll be good,” said Donna, more about the relaxing than about her new job.
She still felt very warm and a little dizzy when she was at last alone in her hotel room. So warm, in fact, that once she had her clothing off, she decided to forgo her nightgown and sleep in the buff. She smiled at her naked self in the mirror. She still looked pretty good for forty three. She had a coif of blonde hair which she kept short and business-like, piercing blue eyes, a firm chin that was strong without being mannish. It was a face that told everyone that she was born to lead. Who knows, a couple of terms in the senate and she might aim for the oval office.
Her body had held up pretty well also. She was as lithe and slim as she had been when her late husband first ran for mayor.
A little giggle escaped her lips as the thought occurred to her that she was seeing the future president of the United States stark naked.
“You look awfully sexy tonight, Madam President” she said.
She didn’t usually spend much time looking at herself, but tonight she couldn’t help thinking how pretty she was. She kept herself fit and trim, swimming a mile each morning. Her small breasts were still perky. Tonight, they seemed perkier than normal, her nipples rigged despite how warm she felt. Come to think of it, they looked as firm as they’d been when she was 18. And they seemed fuller somehow. She reached up and gave them a tentative squeeze. Sparks shot through her body and she gasped. She couldn’t remember ever being this sensitive. Something odd was definitely happening to her. But she felt so warm and sleepy that she didn’t want to worry about it right now. There would be time to figure it out in the morning.
She stripped the blankets off the bed and slipped between the satin sheets. The soft fabric felt glorious against her skin. The slight dizziness she had felt since the press conference, while annoyingly distracting when she had to speak, now felt delicious. She imagined that she was floating in a warm tropical lagoon, being gently rocked by soft waves. Soon she was asleep.
She dreamed. In the dream, she was a cave girl with long tousled hair and large jutting breasts, barely covered by an animal skin, like something out of a really bad movie. She felt hot and bestial, like a wild cat in heat. Two big hairy cave men were fighting for the right to take her and fuck her brains out. She was so horny and she wanted them to hurry up and do her. Suddenly, she knew what to do. She ripped off her animal skins and strode boldly between the two men They turned to her in surprise and with an earthy grunt, she grabbed hold of both of their sweaty cocks and began to fondle and stroke them. Both became instantly hard and she fell to her knees, turning to one meaty cock which she began to lick and suck while she raised her hips and indicated to the other man to start fucking her. Happily, he obliged. He slammed into her and pounded and ground while she did her best to swallow the huge member in front of her.
She half awoke and her skin was on fire. She felt so deliciously slutty. Her hair felt soft and sensual against her face, the soft sheets were rubbing against her hard nipples, her strong thighs pressed together, her snatch hot and wet between them, aching to be touched. Her hand snaked down her body, down her stomach, and gently probed her burning pussy. She let loose a little moan. It felt so good! She began to rub harder and harder. Soon a finger slipped into her soft, wet hole, followed by another, and she began to rhythmically push them in and out, her hips eagerly rising to meet them. Meanwhile, her other hand roamed across her body, finally coming to rest on her right breast. It felt huge in her small hand, but squeezing it felt so good that she gave little thought to its size. She gasped and moaned as she pulled roughly at the nipple, her other hand working furiously at her snatch. She imagined her self being fondled and fucked by dozens of big, sweaty men, there mouths, hands and cocks all over her. At last she climaxed with the most massive orgasm she had ever had and she screamed out in ecstasy, then collapsed on the bed in a thought-free warm fog. She was reluctantly pulled out of it by frantic knocking at the door. She stumbled out of bed, wrapping the sheet around her as an afterthought. She opened the door. It was Susan.
“Donna, are you all right? Jeff heard you scream.”
The look of panic and concern on her friends face finally brought her fully awake and, realizing what she had just done, she blushed furiously. She was even more embarrassed that her bodyguard had heard her—but she couldn’t help wondering, just for a moment, if it had turned him on. An image of the big nordic-looking man naked and hard flashed through her mind and she wanted nothing so much as to go back to bed for an encore.
“I...I’m fine Susan. Uhhh...Bad dream. Sorry. G’nite.”
“Donna, it’s 9 a.m. You have to meat with the league of women Voters in Bridgewater in two hours. We have to go!”
Her campaign manager suddenly got a perplexed look on her face.
“Donna, what happened to your hair?”
Donna then realized that the hair that kept falling into her face shouldn’t be there. She kept it cut quite short. She rushed to the mirror. Her hair had grown at least six inches over night. In her shock, she dropped the sheet and was met with another surprise. Her breasts jutted out proudly from her chest, at least three times the size they had been when she went to bed last night. She reached up to touch them and once again found herself kneading them, blood rushing to her head and pussy. It was an effort to let go.
“My God, Susan!” she exclaimed. “What’s happening to me?”
“I don’t know, Donna.” her campaign manager said with more than a little fear in her voice. “I...I’ll cancel your appointments for today. You should see a doctor.”
Donna thought about that. The press always made such a big deal about health problems during election time. and she had to meet with the teamsters this afternoon. They still hadn’t endorsed either candidate. Not that she really needed to garner more votes, but she wanted the satisfaction of burying Senator Wilson by as large a margin as possible. And she didn’t feel ill—she actually felt better than she had in a while.
“No, Susan,” she said. “I’ve got to meet with the teamsters. Labor is one of my key issues. Rosa can fix my hair on the way to Bridgewater and we can find something to hide...these. If it gets any worse, I’ll see a doctor tomorrow.”
Susan conceded and helped pick out one of Donna’s bulkiest jackets to go over her loosest blouse, which now stretched tightly across her swollen bosom. If the swelling didn’t go down, she was going to need a whole new wardrobe. Oh well, the senate gig paid pretty well.
They packed up and piled into the RV that served as their mobile headquarters. Rosa, Donna Travers hairdresser cum image consultant, was absolutely astounded at her hair growth and was quick to notice her growth elsewhere. As they drove, the stylist pulled out the tools of her trade and soon had Travers’ hairdo returned to its short business-style. She did her make-up and even offered one of her bras. Donna gratefully accepted, drew the curtains closed, and stripped to the waist. Her nipples were still protruding and it was tempting to pull on them, but she resisted and tried on Rosa’s pale pink bra. It was a 36C and, to Donna’s amazement, it fit her perfectly. She’d worn a 34A yesterday. She had no idea what was happening to her body, but at least this should help hide her...problem for now.
They got to the town of Bridgewater and Susan went in to the meeting hall to make sure that everything was set up for Donna’s speech. Donna waited in the alcove, going over her notes one last time. She still found it hard to concentrate, but she was feeling very confident. She saw that Susan was arguing with the man from ‘What’sNew.com’ over by the podium..
Susan stormed back to where Donna waited.
“Asshole” muttered Susan. “What’s up?” asked the candidate. “Oh, Mr. Internet over there says he has a special mike that makes for a clearer broadcast over the net and he wants to set it up at the podium. Probably just wants his logo on any photographs, but I don’t have the time to argue with him. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s o.k.” said Donna. “Boys must have their toys.”
Donna went before the crowded auditorium of the League of Women Voters and they broke into applause. Everyone knew that Wilson was a misogynistic asshole and the women of Massachusetts saw Donna Travers as their champion, facing off against the ‘good ol’ boys club’ on her own terms. She basked in the applause, then went into her speech about how it was both a woman’s right and her duty to take charge of her own destiny and the destiny of her community and country. It was a speech she had given many times and she was able to go through it with her usual aplomb, despite the fact that she was feeling so warm and that the dizziness had started again. Rosa’s bra felt so tight under her blouse and jacket. She couldn’t wait to take it off once the speech was done.
The words of her speech were getting harder and harder to remember now. She stumbled at several points and had to consult her notes, which seemed blurry. This shouldn’t be so difficult.
She was getting to the point that was designed to remind the audience of Wilson’s philandering without mentioning him by name.
“We must show the men of our communities that we are equal partners with them in government, in business, and in life. You all know that there are men out there who see us only as sex objects...”
What came next? She drew a blank. She couldn’t find her place in her notes. Time to improvise.
“They see us only as sex objects, to be fondled and groped and licked.”
God she was hot!
“They want to squeeze our breasts and rub our asses. They want to make us their whores and do all sorts of nasty things to us. My God, just think about what they want to do to our bodies! They’re all around us with their long, hard dicks, just waiting to fuck us!”
Then Susan was there arm and Jeff. Her body guard took her arm and led her off the stage, while Susan told the crowd that Donna was ill and had to go.
“But..but I wasn’t finished!” complained Donna.
By the time they got her back to the RV, Susan had convinced Donna that maybe it wasn’t the best thing to say during her speech. But she didn’t see why she was making such a big deal about it. After all, everyone loved her. A small laps in judgment wouldn’t make a difference. And besides, she told herself, what she said was true, even if Susan and the others didn’t want to hear it. Men did want to fuck her. They all did. She just knew it. And she wasn’t sick, she was just horny. That and her bra was too tight. She stripped off her jacket and blouse, followed by the tight, uncomfortable bra. Jeff turned away, but not to quickly Donna noted with a smile.
Susan really thought she should call off the meeting with the teamsters but Donna argued until at last she relented. No speeches, but she could sit down with the leadership. Susan got on the phone to make the appropriate change of plans and to arrange for a doctor’s appointment tomorrow in Boston. Meanwhile, Donna decided to take a nap. She was feeling sleepy and very, very warm.
She made her way to the bed in the back of the RV, drew the curtain and was soon fast asleep. She began to dream again. Again in her dream she had gigantic breasts and wild long hair, but this time she was wearing a sparkley sequined outfit like something she’d seen once at a show in Las Vegas. Susan was there and was frantic as always.
“Hurry,” she said “Get in! They’re waiting for you!”
Susan pointed her to a huge hollow cake and Donna climbed into it and pulled the lid down. The next thing she knew, she heard ‘Hail To The Chief’ being played and she knew what she had to do. She sprang out from the top of the cake an yelled ‘Surprise!’
She was surrounded by men in suits. The President was there, as was Senator Wilson, several other congressmen, and her 10th grade math teacher, for some reason. She stepped down to the second layer of the five layer cake and started to dance, stripping off her costume as she did so. The men cheered and shouted out to her. She felt so proud—they really liked her! They all gathered around the cake. Once she was nude, she shook her big boobies at them, driving them wild. Then she had an idea. She scooped up handfuls of frosting and smeared it all over her breasts, her stomach, her ass, her pussy, then she bounced down two layers and spread herself out on her back. The men descended on her, drooling heavily, and started licking her vigorously, everywhere. She felt so good! But then one of the men stated shaking her. Why was he doing that?
She woke to find that it was Susan shaking her. She stared at her friend through a haze of blonde hair, uncomprehending. God she was horny.
“Donna, it’s getting worse!” Susan was saying. “Look at yourself! We’ve got to get you to a doctor!”
Donna sat up and felt an unaccustomed weight from her chest. She pushed the hair out of her face with both hands and gaped at herself in the full length mirror on the door of the commode. Rosa’s morning work was completely erased and then some—her hair hung in loose curls down to her shoulders. And it looked as if she had stolen her breasts from a Playboy Bunny. In fact, her entire body looked like a centerfold’s. The sag of 43 years of gravity was gone. Even the hint of crows feet at her eyes had disappeared. She looked like a teenager’s wet dream and she could have passed for twenty five. Not what she was used to—but she kind of liked it. And she knew a group of truck drivers would. Might as well play whatever was happening to her to full advantage.
“Come on, Susan. If I suddenly break off the meeting, the press is going to want to know why. Do you want to try and explain these?” she asked, cupping the melons hanging from her chest and hefting them. God that felt good.
Susan had to admit it would be difficult to hide her condition from the press. They certainly didn’t want them asking questions before a doctor could figure out what was wrong with her. Wild speculations about health problems were never a good thing at election time. “Well, we’d best have Rosa cut your hair again.” said Susan, resigned. “I’ll have someone run out and get you some clothing that will fit.”
“I don’t know,” said Donna. “I think I kind of like the hair.”
“Donna, you look like a bimbo!” exclaimed Susan.
Somehow, being called a bimbo gave her a very urgent need.
“Um...Gotta go use the little girls’ room,” she excused herself, then rushed to the tiny water closet and frigged herself to a raging orgasm. She bit into a roll of toilet paper to keep from screaming, hoping it would be enough to conceal her actions. From the embarrassed way no one would look at her when she came out, she knew it hadn’t.
They got her three new minimizing bras in progressively larger sizes, just in case, and a large blouse and heavy jacket. It couldn’t hide the fact that she had grown, but at least it concealed somewhat the enormity of her transformation. Over Susan’s protests, Donna tied her hair back loosely with a scrunchie. It had continued to grow and reached between her shoulder blades by the time that they reached Brookline where she was scheduled to meet the teamsters.
The men she met with were large and tough-looking. You didn’t become a leader of truckers without being all man, she thought. God she was horny. The look on their faces when she entered the room was priceless. Clearly, she wasn’t what they expected. She felt their eyes roam up and down her body, lingering on her chest. If only they knew, she thought with a smile.
She sat down along with Susan and made niceties with the teamsters. At Susan’s request, the press had been barred. Donna didn’t feel at all flustered like she had with the ladies this morning. She felt more confident than she ever had before. These men really, really liked her. She just knew it. And she liked them too. She wondered if she could get some time alone with the big African-American one. She wished Susan wasn’t there.
They spent some time asking her about transportation issues and OPEC. She told them what she could remember about her proposed policy changes and they seemed satisfied on the whole. They had a few objections, but Donna quickly conceded that they probably new best.
“Of course,” she confided with a smile, “I imagine you boys could talk me into just about anything.”
The teamsters chuckled—some even giggled. Susan looked mortified. Why did she have to be so jealous? These guys really liked her. And they were all so cute!
“My it’s warm in here,” exclaimed Donna, then she took off her jacket to Susan’s horror and the teamster’s delight. She was telling the truth—she did feel awfully warm. But she also thought that the teamsters would really like to see her new big boobies. She was right—they did. Her swollen breasts were straining against the new bra and her hard nipples were clearly visible. A few of the men were glancing at them nervously, the rester were staring in out and out wonder. Donna giggled.
“Um, we should be going now,” said Susan. “Mrs. Travers hasn’t been feeling well.”
“Oh Susan, I feel fine!” exclaimed Donna. “I feel absolutely great! You boys don’t mind hanging around with me for a little longer, do you? I want to really get to know my future constituents.”
The teamsters enthusiastically agreed. They had beer and snacks brought in and Donna cheerfully continued to flirt with them for two more hours. She drank much more beer than she was accustomed to and the happy bubbles washed away that nagging feeling that something wasn’t right. It also helped to wash away her nagging campaign manager who, after whispering that they should leave every five minutes for half an hour, finally sulked over to the beer and proceeded to drink and scowl at her. What a tight ass, thought Donna.
When at last the party wound down, Donna let Susan call Jeff to meet them with a car in the back.
“The press does not need to see you drunk and half naked with a bunch of truckers,” declared her campaign manager emphatically. (Donna had undone several buttons over the course of the evening and untied her hair as well.)
Donna blew her new friends kisses as they made their exit and the men all bid her a fond farewell.
“You don’t meet with anyone until you see a doctor, Donna,” muttered Susan on the way to the car.
“O.K., O.K.” said Donna, “First thing tomorrow.”
Donna wondered what she was so upset about. She had wowed them in there.