Political Upset

By the time that Mercedes Restrepo had returned to her hotel room, she was thoroughly exhausted and utterly frustrated.

It was the third week of her campaign, and it felt as though she was spending most of that time jumping stupid hurdles and running through a thorny maze of controversies. First there was her family history of being guerillas (as far as she knew, they'd only ever fought against Noriega, and hadn't gone rogue like most of their compatriots, but few people believed her take on it). Then there was her own experience as a student protestor, then rumours that she'd worked her way through college as a stripper. She'd been forced by her campaign advisors to deny the rumours, but she insisted on explaining that 'feminist' didn't equal 'prude'. When it came to rumours of her having had affairs with one man or another, she had furiously denied them all, even as the blatant hypocrisy of her political opponents was on full display. She was sick of dealing with the same three or four bad faith arguments on a daily basis.

But that aside, it finally seemed as though she was going to make a difference in the polling numbers. She had spent every day of her campaign being active. She'd pounded the pavement, she'd made impromptu speeches, she'd done interviews, and she'd insisted on being photographed at charities. Anything which might sway the public which had proved so utterly reluctant to vote for her.

It was good that things were finally looking up for her, because she knew full well that this was her last shot at political office. She had spent a good twenty years in politics, and her failures were beginning to far outweigh her successes. She'd spent a good few years on her home city's council, before people had decided that she was just a bit too confrontational for their liking. She'd thrown her hat into the race for mayor a couple years later, and she'd come close enough that she was strongly considered for the governorship instead. When that had failed, she was hired onto the council again, as a deputy mayor. She'd been hoping that that would be her ticket to the spot, but when her colleague was caught having an affair with one of his interns, it had been a scandal which the right had gleefully exploited for all it was worth. Given the fact that the old mayor was secretly the biological father of her middle child, Mercedes had quickly resigned to avoid any scrutiny on herself. Now, despite all those skeletons in her closet, she had seen a chance to undertake a second gubernational campaign. The incumbent governor had benefited from having no term limits, and also a population which had happily re-elected him for almost as many years as Mercedes had been in office. Now he had finally stepped down, and Mercedes was convinced that she could seize the momentum, capitalise on the changing trends in urban areas, to defy the odds and get herself elected.

She was ruminating on all of that as she slumped onto her hotel bed. It was not a five star establishment; her campaign advisors had urged her to go cheap on her accommodations in order to save money in their mostly grassroots campaign.

It was certainly a relief to lie down on her bed; her feet were sore, she was hot from being outdoors in the summer, and she was still glowering over some of the comments that trolls had shouted to her on the street. She thought of how humiliated and triggered they would be come election night, and that helped take the sting out of it.

A knock broke her thoughts. She sat up, staring at the front door of her suite. She had wanted somewhere private, and so she hadn't told anyone where she was staying, especially not her husband. Their marriage was so strained lately that she didn't even want to risk him being able to talk to her. Only her strategist and the other senior members of her team knew where to find her, and she'd made it clear that she was taking the evening off. 'This better be important,' Mercedes thought angrily as she got up from the bed, readjusted her blouse and skirt to look professional, and crossed the small room to open the door.

*-*-*-*-

He'd first seen Mercedes Restrepo when he was in high school, running a pointless campaign against his dad ten years before. She'd already begun trying to sell herself off as a family woman who balanced her job with raising her three kids, but he knew better. He'd heard the rumours about how she'd begun (and maintained) her career, and he'd happily spread those rumours further. He liked to think he'd played a big role in keeping her from winning.

Duff Matheson had always known that he'd follow his dad into politics; it was practically the family business by this point. At least eight of his family members, including his father, had served either as governors or senators over just four generations. He was determined to be the ninth.

He'd first gone into the military, serving overseas for two terms and winning a couple of medals to his name. Then he'd gone back to college and joined the same fraternity of which his father and uncles were alumni. From there, it hadn't taken much to persuade people that he was his father's son, and would represent a continuation of proper American values.

The only problem was Mercedes Restrepo.

She was running a much better campaign this second time around, delivering a fierce performance at the last two debates and going the distance to drum up support. Much to Duff's irritation, it had gone from a walk in the park to a horse race. But he wasn't worried, not anymore.

He'd ordered a private detective to follow Mrs. Restrepo and find out where she was staying. He was due to meet his father for a big barbecue get-together at the family home outside the city; all of his father's major backers would be in attendance. They were men who had helped his father for thirty years, and Duff was determined that they'd support him just the same.

But before he was going back there, he'd ordered his private chauffeur, Gavin, to drive him to the small hotel which was quietly wedged off in an obscure part of the downtown area. You could be forgiven for forgetting that it existed, which was what Mrs. Restrepo had doubtless hoped when she'd booked it. 'No hiding from me,' Duff thought smugly.

"Stand by," he told Gavin as he got out of the car. He also took a sports bag out of the car and slung it over his shoulder.

"Sure thing, sir," Gavin answered with a smile. Duff had first met him when he'd been his platoon commander, and he wasn't sure if Gavin still called him 'sir' ironically, for old times' sake, or out of respect. Or maybe it was a bit of all three. Either way, Duff could rely on Gavin in a clutch, and he would need someone trustworthy for this stunt.

Duff quickly made his way through the modest hotel lobby, going up the stairs to the second floor, until he stood in front of Mrs. Restrepo's suite. Ignoring the "Do not disturb!" sign, he knocked three times, quivering with excitement as he took out his phone. 'You're never gonna see this coming, bitch,' he thought to himself.

He'd never dreamed that a hypnosis video could actually work, but he'd collected this one off the dark web thanks to one of his frat brothers. They'd found the video and tested it on a few stuck-up feminazis back in the day, and it had managed to overpower their wills with ease. When Duff found out about the video, he'd always known who he'd most like to use it on.

Mercedes was both infuriating, and also arousing. She spewed all the same tired 'progressive' ideas and yammered on and on with that ridiculous Nicaraguan accent. It was like listening to Sofia Vergara if she thought she was AOC. The problem was that she looked the part too; she was taller than most women, around 5'10, with dark olive skin, brown hair that hadn't gone grey (or maybe she just dyed it really well), and a curvy body which she denied had ever been augmented or enhanced.

The door opened after a moment, and there she was. He always felt a bit intimidated when he was in a room with her. It galled him that she could have that effect on him, even if it was mostly how attractive he thought she was. She was in her late 40s, but she looked ten years younger. She was old enough to be his mom, truth be told, but that wasn't new for Duff.

Her reflexes were sharp; even before she'd finished opening the door, her eyes widened in recognition. A scowl was forming on her face, and her big pouty lips were apart. But whether she was going to yell at him or gasp, he didn't know. He was too busy lifting up his phone, pressing 'play' on the video.

The effect began almost instantaneously. Her eyes were drawn to the screen, and her frown intensified. 'She's strong,' he thought as she struggled against the effect of the video. Duff had never seen it himself, of course, but he was aware that it played a kaleidoscope of colour sequences and flashing lights which invaded a person's mind through their retinas. A loud noise emanated from his phone, sounding like some experimental arthouse music that the weirdos would listen to in college.

Mercedes stood just behind the door frame, still holding the door open, staring at his phone. It was really exciting to see the effect on her; the intimidating gaze turned slack and glassy, her mouth slowly opened to form an O shape. She looked like a sorority girl getting stoned for the first time.

"Aren't you gonna let me in?" he asked. Even though he could see that it was working, he wanted to be sure. Best to start with something small just in case.

For the first time since he'd begun playing the video, Mercedes looked up at him, "Of course, master, please come in." Her voice still had that annoying, foreign grate, but now, her tone was robotic. She stood to the side for him, holding the door open.

Duff couldn't help but laugh as he walked into the hotel room. This was going to be the best night of his life, and the worst of hers. He'd make sure of it.

"Close the door and lock it, slut."

God, how often he'd wanted to talk to her like this, and watch her obey without question or hesitation. When she turned to lock the door, he slapped her round ass, hard as he could. She did not even react, simply locking the door and turning back around to face him.

Duff dropped the sports bag on the floor and turned off the hypnosis video. According to the instructions, he had total control over her. Even when she was no longer hypnotised, her subconscious would remember his commands. All the same, it was helpful to implant trigger words so that he could snap her in and out of hypnosis whenever he pleased. It didn't matter if anyone else said those same words, it would be attuned to his voice.

"From now on, if I say the word 'cupcake', you'll be snapped out of this hypnotised state," he ordered as she stood to attention, slack-jawed and vacant, "and any time I say 'brat', you'll be hypnotised again. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master," Mercedes answered tonelessly, in her thick Nicaraguan accent.

"Alright, first off, enough of that robot voice. From now on, you talk like you're a half-brained bimbo. And when a white man is talking to you, unless I say otherwise, you keep a big smile on your face with your tongue hanging out."

Immediately, a goofy smile stretched across her face. She hadn't ever looked this happy before, as far as Duff could tell. Her long pink tongue slipped out of her mouth over her bottom lip, almost dangling.

"Yeth, mathter." She sounded so pathetic, so stupid, talking over her outstretched tongue and staring lustily at him. Duff burst out laughing. "Don't forget to breathe through your mouth when you stand by with that tongue out, spic! You're just a mouth-breathing puta now! Cross those eyes too!"

He began taking pictures of her, smiling so idiotically, looking at nothing. He ordered her to hold her hands out like meerkat, which she did. He ordered her to put her hair in two big pigtails, and she obeyed without question. They formed two large handlebars on either side of her head.

"Good god, you are such a pathetic slut, aren't you?" he gloated, "tell us and show us what you are, bitch!" He switched his camera to video and clicked 'record'.

"I am thuth a thlutty bitth!" Her eyes shone as her head twitched from side to side, her shoulders shaking too, which caused her heavy bust to swing back and forth, straining her blouse.

After he sent that video to his dad (boy will he get a kick out of this, he thought), he focused the camera back to her and gave her new instructions for a new video.

Once he started recording, she got down on all fours and crawled up to him, gazing lustily up at him, panting like a bitch in heat as he slapped her face with his cock over and over again.

"You ever had latino dick as good as mine?" he asked.

"Ah-ah!" she shook her head, even as she tried to lick his unwashed cock as if it was a lollipop that was being dangled in front of her.

"Clean my shaft, spic, I haven't washed it for three days!"

Those big pouty lips wrapped themselves around his cock and she began to slurp and slobber from the effect of taking him into her mouth.

Duff was already filming shorts for his private sharing group; these videos would spread fast in his circles online. In no time at all, he posted short videos of her blowjob online, naming and shaming her to the delight of her new audience.

Eventually, he couldn't hold back anymore, and he felt himself orgasming down her throat. He wasn't worried; he'd made sure to take some pills with him just in case he couldn't recover fast enough. In the meantime, she swallowed every rope of cum with a grunt.

Slowly, breathing heavily, Duff told her to stop, and stepped back so his cock slid out of her mouth, even as she resumed her open-tongued smile, gazing girlishly at him. The way she looked with those pigtails... well, the joke was obvious, and Duff grinned as he gave her his balls to suck as well, laughing at how foul her mouth must taste by now.

Eventually, he bade her stop again. "We've got other things to do." He ordered her to take out her pigtails and sit in a chair, as if he was about to interview her. Then he ordered her to stop looking and talking like a bimbo, and told her to unlock her phone.

"It's time for you to read this speech." He put a piece of paper in front of her, "Deliver it like it's coming from a heartfelt place, we gotta make your base believe it. They won't trust my word alone, you know. It's gotta come from your puta mouth."

"Of course, master," she agreed, speaking as if she was her old self, being advised by her staff. It was almost as comical as when she'd been speaking with her tongue out.

"Alright, now film yourself with your phone, and don't forget to confess some of those secrets you've been keeping from us, puta. The world deserves to know."

True to his instructions, Mercedes held up her phone and delivered the speech with all the gravitas that it deserved. She spoke like a woman in shame, penitent and desiring redemption. But what Duff liked best of all was that the rumours he'd heard were true all along.

"Good evening, my friends and supporters. I am grateful for all your help, but I apologise for wasting your time. For I have come to realise that it is time to resign from political life. The truth is that I am not fit to hold elected office. I lied about my relationship with Mayor Briggs. In fact, he and I maintained a sexual relationship when I first began as an intern with his office. We maintained that affair when I worked on the city council, and I betrayed my husband many times. He is, in fact, the father of my second child, and he will deny it, but I know it is true thanks to a blood test that I took without his knowledge. I also began affairs with men in order to get the nomination for my last three political office campaigns. I look back on my life with shame, at the many things I did to get elected, and also for my own enjoyment. They make me unfit to hold public trust. Therefore, I yield the governor seat to Duff Matheson, unopposed. He is the kind of moral young man that should lead our state. I hope you all can forgive me."

Duff watched gleefully as the video went viral on her campaign's Twitter page. The shock and outrage of her supporters was near-universal, and his own fans lost no time ridiculing them as they erupted into a triggered mess. 'Now this is how you win an election,' Duff thought smugly. When he took her phone away, it was already blowing up with texts and phone call attempts.

"Congratulations, bitch," Duff remarked, looking at Mercedes again, "I don't think I've ever seen so many bridges burning at once. You can stop pretending now, go back to my bimbo order. And put those pigtails back on your head."

In no time, she was once again grinning widely, mouth-breathing over her tongue resting on her chin, but he didn't stop there. He ordered her to get changed, pulling a costume out of his sports bag.

It was like someone took Zorro's costume, and designed it for a woman to wear during a Zorro porn parody. The cape stopped just above her ass, and the skirt stopped just below it. Her top was readjusted so that her breasts were bare, hanging freely for anyone to see and grope if they wished. A hat and eye mask were also put on her head, with her pigtails providing the perfect touch to make her look as ludicrous as possible.

Mercedes didn't even hesitate to strip out of her work clothes and pull on her new outfit. As she was adjusting her skirt, Duff grabbed the hem of it and pulled it up so he could stare at her ass.

"By the way," Duff added, "Whenever a man spanks you, you squeal like a dumb bimbo should, and give a slutty reaction whenever someone so much as touches you." He emphasized these orders with a loud slap on her left buttock.

Mercedes gave a high pitched squeal, even as she licked her lips suggestively at Duff and winked. He slapped her right buttock, prompting another squeal, followed by a low, throaty giggle. 'Good, she'll be creative', he thought, even as he watched her yank her top in place.

'My god!' His throat went dry as he stared at her large breasts. They were saggy, to be sure, but still round enough. 'What a stripper she must have been.'

The reminder of her stripper days gave him another idea. "Hey slut," he asked her, even as he groped both her breasts while she gave a low moan and bit her lip, "Tell me about when you were a stripper."

"I thtarted doing it in Nicaraguan," Mercedes explained, once again making Duff snort with laughter at how ridiculous she sounded between talking with her tongue open and still having that thick accent.

"I lived clothe to an army bathe," she continued, "and there were a lot of American tholdierth coming in and out of there. I learned Englith that way, and I altho thaved up a lot of money."

"I'll bet you did," Duff smirked, giving her fake tits several hard slaps to make her squeal again, "But you didn't speak English back then, so how about you start talking to me like you're back in that club, hm? Give me a lapdance, you saggy spic." He sat down on a chair in front of her and played an electronic song on his iPod.

Immediately, Mercedes began moving to the music, swaggering over to stand in front of him. Even her tongue was swaying as her smile widened.

"¿Cuánto me pagarás por jugar con mis tetas?" She asked, winking as she grabbed her breasts and pointed her nipples at Duff as if she was shooting bullets from them.

She bounced on her feet, shimmying her shoulders while she leaned over Duff. Her massive bust battered his face; the smell of sweat filled his nostrils as he put his hands on her hips to keep her where she was. This was what he had always wanted; a stripper who didn't tell him hands off.

Mercedes spent the song grinding against him, sitting on his lap while he groped her, rammed fingers into her sloppy puss beneath her skirt. After another command, her body quivered and orgasmed at a rate which he doubted she'd ever experienced in her life. 'This woman has been a politician since before I was out of grade school,' he thought to himself, almost as a reminder. 'She's got three kids.'