Trumpian Bikini

The marketplace is a long aisle of MAGA and QAnon merchandise. Nicole feels her stomach twist in a knot reading all of the messages emblazoned on t-shirts, bumper stickers, flags, buttons, and more. She wonders if this is where Huck got all of those awful stickers on his truck. This weird carnival wasn't a place she'd normally go, but somehow being in this aisle made it 100 times worse. She wasn't a very political person, but all of these slogans were extremely the opposite of her belief system.

Huck leads her over to a booth with a middle-aged woman behind a table. She's surrounded by clothing featuring quotes from the previous President of the United States. "Hey there, looking for the finest homemade fashions featuring the finest President?"

Nicole raises an eyebrow. In spite of what the clothing represented she was a little impressed that the woman could make her own clothes. "You made these?"

"Heck, yes I did. All of these other pretenders are selling Chinese merchandise. Everything in this booth is made in my house, in this state. The purist USA goods you'll find." She nods at Nicole's shirt. "Although you won't find anything with ol' Hussein Obama's mug on it."

"That's why we're here," Huck butts in, "my old lady's looking for a wardrobe upgrade. Tell her what you're looking for, baby."

Nicole looked at the items hanging throughout the white-tented booth. Everything was branded in some way with Trump. Even the selection of bikinis she had hanging featured Trump slogans or, most disturbingly for one set, his face. She'd hoped to find something as normal as possible. Maybe simple American flags, but the closest she saw was one thin blue line flag bikini, but she could tell it was much too big for her cup size. "I'm looking for a bikini," she mumbles, "for the...stripping contest. Do you have anything, like, um, anything that's a solid color?"

Huck steps in. "That one is perfect," he said and Nicole felt her soul start to die a little more. It seemed innocuous enough. A blue bikini with writing on it, but it was the words that were the problem. On the left breast, it said "when you're a star" and on the right, it said "they let you do anything." She didn't need to look at the crotch fabric to guess what it said. Those words were repeated throughout the campaign, but she looked anyway. "Grab 'em by the pussy."

"I'm not wearing that," Nicole said.

"Why?" Huck asks as the woman watches their interaction. "Hitting a bit too close to home? Because your desires prove him right, don't they?"

This was like a slap in the face for Nicole. She'd argued this point with him multiple times over the course of the last week. Consensual free use was not the same as what Huck's President was saying in that video. Nicole looks to the woman for some support, but instead, the woman has turned away from the conversation and is digging through a bin of bikinis. "I make lots of those. They're super popular at Florida events. Ah, here we go. This looks about your size?"

The woman holds the bikini out to Nicole. Nicole very softy whimpers as she takes the bikini. She knows she isn't going to find any allies here. Once again, she realizes she's responsible for her own actions. She wanted to be free use. She's been agreeing with everything Huck has asked. She can feel her body betraying her and start to hum with excitement. She hates it but she loves it. It's fine, she thinks. No one here knows her. It is what it is. "Where can I change?"

"I made a small changing room behind the curtains of my booth," the woman says parting the canvas back of the booth.

"You go ahead and get changed, darling. I'm going to do a bit more shopping," Huck heads off down the row as Nicole steps into the makeshift changing room.

The changing room is basically what one would expect to be behind a vendor booth. Some tarps strung up for privacy, a little bench, and a full-length mirror propped against a rope. Nicole looks at the bikini. She decides it could be worse. He could have chosen the one with the twice-impeached President's face on the breasts. Nicole shudders at the thought.

The bikini is actually quite modest. It covers most of her breasts, but is tight enough to squish them together. Her crotch and butt cheeks are partially covered. Any other way wouldn't have been able to fit all of the words. What she notices for the first time is the material on the back of the bikini is emblazoned with "Trump 24." She shakes her head and vows to burn the bikini when she gets home.

"Looking good," Huck says as he bursts through the curtains without knocking. Nicole jumps and instinctively covers herself with her arms and hands. He laughs and reaches out. In his hand, he holds a silver butt plug. "Put this in. I think it'll clench the victory for you."

Nicole takes the plug and stares it. "What?" is all she manages. The plug is a little unusual. A bulb at the end goes in her ass, followed by about one inch of a skinny steel rod, and it terminates at a flat circular plate roughly the size of a soda can. What's on the plate shocks her almost as much as the request itself. It features a full-color portrait of Donald Trump's grinning face. She's seen a lot of butt plugs in her life, but nothing quite like this. "I can't. I'm sorry, but that's too far."

Huck's face turns dark as he stares down at Nicole. He steps forward and places his big mitt of a hand on the back of her neck. Bending forward he possessively kisses her. As that gross beard swallows her cheeks and chin, she instinctively opens her lips to accept him. His other hand goes down and grabs her between the legs. Two fingers squished against the words "Grab 'em by the pussy." She moans into his mouth as their tongues dance. Her crotch pushed down on his fingers.