Applause
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Trumpeters Applause free porn video
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Trumpeters Applause
by Mushrambo
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January 12th, 2016
The election had ended exactly as everyone expected it to, hoped that it
would, in their heart of hearts. There had been no ticker tape parade
for the man who had lost, no more cheering crowds. A couple conspiracy
theorists had taken to the interwebs, blasting out vitriol that their man
had won, that the opposition had cheated somehow, but they were for the
most part ignored.
The Lady President-elect smirked. She'd give those conspiracy nuts
something to chew on, and it was just far enough away from the election
that no one would suspect a thing.
---
The man himself awoke in a dark room as someone lurking behind him pulled
off the bag that had been over his head. His toady face looked left to
right, panic and puzzlement covering it. He wasn't a young man anymore,
and anyone could be spooked by a kidnapping in the middle of the night
from one of his luxury hotels.
A laptop was placed before the former presidential candidate by a man
dressed all in black. He opened the screen, and a familiar face appeared
on the screen. "Come to gloat, hag?" he spat.
The Lady President-Elect smiled a smile that had never been seen on a
campaign poster, although viewers were familiar with it from the parody
of her from SNL. "Why yes, and I am glad to see you are in such fine
form today, neanderthal. It makes me feel much less guilty about this."
She then switched to a mode of speaking much like a teacher in a
classroom. "You see, you hurt American society with your campaign. You
sowed mistrust, xenophobia, and many other terrible strikes at the heart
of the democracy. Even when losing by a landslide, it took weeks for you
to concede."
"You're just mad that I showed everyone how Crooked you are." said the
pouty man, whose whispy hair was blowing about as he gesticulated.
A chuckle came from the throat of the president-elect. "Quite." She
sighed dramatically. "And I did consider using the auspices of the
president to ruin you financially. But that would be a gross violation
of those powers." As opposed to kidnapping your rival after the race had
been run. "So instead, I simply decided to facilitate others in their
own revenge plots." And with that, the screen went blank and lights
appeared in the room behind the mirror on the wall.
It was then that the man who had once bragged about his sexual prowess
while running for office knew he was well and truly screwed.
It was his ex-wives, both of them, and his current wife, who was looking
less the perfect housewife and more like the harpy the other two had
turned out to be. They weren't alone. A latina woman in a wheelchair, a
muslim woman in full niqab whose dark skin shown through her garb's
eyeslits, holding hands. Two former contestants on his show, both of
whom he'd blackmailed for sex. More. It was a small room, and it was
standing room only. And all of them were staring at him, with some
variation of cool anger or sweet anticipation on their minds.
The president-elect's voice spilled from the speakers. "I want you to
look, fascist, because this is the smallest possible group. I stuck to
just the women you wronged personally, and I doubt I even covered half of
a percent." Her voice had become much more authoritarian. "They put
their heads together, and thought up a suitable punishment. And as the
heir to office of presidency, I had the resources to make it happen."
At this point, there was a buzzing noise in the businessman's ear, not
unlike tennitus. He put his hand up to his ear to check what was wrong,
not noticing how much softer his hand was. It didn't really change size,
but the proportions were moving away from his sausage fingers.
"As it turns out, CroftAd, a fine American company, had made some quite
startling advances in the field of body modification. The White House
was made aware of it in case any ne'er-do-wells attempted to weaponize
the formula."
At this point, a tickling at the man's scalp began, as his fine wig was
gradually pushed off of his head by real hair growing for the first time
in decades. He began to notice that something was off as wrinkles began
to fade from his face.
"What are you doing to me?!" he half begged, half demanded.
The sound over the intercom was a villainous laugh. "Think of this way.
You were always the 'Change' candidate, now you get to prove it. In
depth."
The change was accelerating. Fat from a lifetime of excess and sloth
simply began dissolving into smoke. Small hands reached down his rapidly
enlarging pants, only to discover that the big dog was getting smaller.
Soon, his hands were grabbing something familiar, but just not on
himself.
"If you haven't figured it out yet, each of these women decided to
volunteer a part of themselves to be copied over to you. This is a
second chance to you." She gave a conspiratorial chuckle. "Honestly,
I'm mildly jealous. Not very many seventy two year olds get to wind the
clock back they way you are."
At this point, the face of the campaign poster was almost entirely gone.
In the place of the toad was a beautiful princess.
She appeared to be twenty, just old enough not to be considered a child.
Her skin was gradually fading from pale to place just between brown and
black. Curly dark hair with blonde highlights poured down to a hawkish
nose, even as what had once been a wig transformed into a fashionable
looking two piece veil known as an Al-Amira. The suit, meanwhile,
transformed into a sunny cardigan over a white tunic. Mens leather shoes
gave way to wedged sandals in the same, a fashionable and yet sensible
choice. Underneath the clothes was a body that he could tell belonged
The voice on the speaker continued, even as her subject began to examine
herself in horror. "YOU will remember who you are of course, although I
don't think you'll be able to tell anyone. As far as everyone who did
not witness this is concerned, your name is Fajr Rodriguez." At this
point, the computer that had been humming along the whole time came to
life once again, showing the young woman pictures of herself, one with an
older and yet still handsome dark skinned man with a Taqiyah kissing one
ear and a beautiful latina woman of similar age kissing the other.
Memories began flooding Fajr's brain. Her father had taken mother's
surname, partially out of practicality in a time where Al-Mifsud was
either a threat or a sneeze, partially out of his deep respect for her.
They were modestly well off, immigrants who by the grace of God and Allah
had landed on their feet, but...
"NO!" HE was rich. He had worked hard at being rich his whole life,
ever since his father had given him a multimillion dollar loan to start
his company. None of this was right.
"Even right now, the old you is getting boxed away into cold storage.
It'll be aware, even as Fajr goes out and learns about life away from a
life of privelege. Who knows, maybe the lessons will stick? Maybe that
famous charisma of yours can be channeled for good when it not in the
hands of a perpetually pubescent political cartoon come to life?"
The battle was rapidly being lost. Every time the man pushed, the new
woman pushed back harder. Fajr was on the cusp of existing, of being the
real person while her doppelganger faded into a forgotten memory. He
struggled and roared, but it was much like a toddler struggling against
their parent, fruitless.
Fajr opened her eyes.
She was in her one bedroom apartment, fallen asleep at her writing desk.
It was weird, living alone after years living with her parents. Still,
they supported her, even if it had meant she needed a second job to cover
the rent and college.
Looking down at the essay she had been writing, the young muslim american
squinted. What had she been thinking, writing at three o'clock in the
morning? This was total nonsense, run on sentences that read like
something a fifth grader would write. She would grab some coffee, eat a
banana, and rewrite this until it showed the true measure of her ability
as an orator.
----
Epilogue
----
It was weird being back in the White House but not being in charge. The
former president had awoken this morning with a teasing greeting from his
wife, asking to visit a secret room in the basement of the Residence.
"Darlin' must have really enjoyed those meetings, she hasn't been this
frisky since '79." he muttered to himself. Nonetheless, never let it be
said that he was a man who didn't enjoy a good frolic in the hay. He
immediately popped a blue pill and set off.
He wasn't disappointed. The floor of the small room was pillow, there
were mirrors all over the ceiling and walls, and with her back to him was
the President of the United States in something very black and very
leather. He whistled. Even at seventy, that outfit was stunning on her.
She turned and gave her polite smile. "Why, Willie, I do have something
to say to you."
"Anything you want, darlin"
"You know how I am actually gay, right?"
The First Man (darn, they were going to have to think of a better name
then that) deflated. Ah well, may as well see where this train will go.
"It was part of the reason we got married." That and both of their
political ambitions. She had been the brains, he had been the
mouthpiece.
"Well, I think I've found something that might remedy that, just for a
little while."
He looked in shock at his partner as she fully turned around. She looked
forty years younger. The riding crop in her hand comfortably smacked
against her other palm. The leather domino mask framed crimson lipstick
that had been artfully applied in a manner that would make anyone blush.
She spoke to the air. "Computer, save snapshot of new subject."
"Snapshot Saved Under FMOTUS," a mechanical voice responded curtly.
"Excellent." The president's husband didn't like the look she was giving
him. "Activate Lewinsky File."
And all of a sudden, SHE found herself in a familiar body not her own.
Before the president's spouse could react, she found herself under
martial law as a hand as soft as velvet took a grip on her firm breasts,
sending waves of pleasure down her spine.
The president looked her dead in the eye. "Let's work out some jealousy
issues, darling. I'm on top."
AUTHORS NOTES:
Gee, I wonder where my sympathies lie in this election.
I kinda realised by the end that the whole premise kind of was one big
tease, mostly because my own beliefs mean I can't really condone the kind
of "Create New Personality -> Surprise It's A Bimbo Hooker" endings that
a lot of revenge porns do. So I settled for saving it all for the
epilogue, featuring presidential BDSM night.
Yay for 4am story sessions brought on by restlessness!
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