Forward
While the term "dystopian future" in fiction is quite common, few pause to realize that a modicum of inductive reasoning readily reveals a discernible dystopian present.
The successful "political party" today is charismatic. It represents tribal "belonging". It fulfills base human impulses by rewarding the individual so well and completely that serving the party becomes the end, not the means.
Admittedly, the following insight is a work of fiction. The characters, backgrounds, and incidents depicted are the products of the author's observation and imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or resemblance to actual events or behavior is purely coincidental.
"Now is the time for all good women to cum to the aid of their party".
Party Girls
Chapter 1
Mistress S's face was known by everyone in the U.S. The definitive MILF, her chestnut hair worn up or down when paired with her "wild librarian" good looks, and the fifty-ish body she had been careful to treat right (with some expert enhancement) she was unmistakable in any setting.
Derided by some for her simplistic speech making and impertinent comments immortalized in a recurring impression by a popular TV comedienne, her rise to fame and infamy had followed the trajectory of a hastily-aimed skyrocket. Her celebrity, developed and nurtured from concept to fruition, was known in the party hierarchy as it's first "successful failure"
"The party", knowing it's candidate had a zero chance of winning, had taken an election year shot in the dark, hoping that the old man could ride her raucous and sexy coattails into office. They managed to leverage her rudimentary assets, but failed at constraining her ego.
She had attained cult status, and while her apparent accomplishments were, at best, minimal, upon reaching middle age, she was, for many, a superstar. She was a regular "guest of honor" at partisan dinners and an "A" lister" almost everywhere else. But the vast majority of her idolizing faithful were unaware to what extent she was worshiped by true devotees and how capable she was at influencing the influential.
She remained "connected" at the highest, secretive levels of the jaded wealthy and powerful. They needn't be party-members. In fact, they didn't even need to be American. All they needed was money. Lots of money.
Chapter 2
Each recruitment started with discovery, praise and flattery - a well-refined formula now in its second decade as the modus operandi of the organization. Converting acolytes to assets was its most critical inner working. It wasn't so much a "political party" as it was a casting couch. Entities domestic and foreign had blurred and smudged the party into a hazy camouflage.
In fact, the true force was the purchase of loyalty and influence by the world's billionaires to achieve very obvious and simple aims: Continue to amass and secure wealth, put an end to wealth redistribution, and use that wealth to best personal advantage.
It was an exclusive club to whom investing millions for purpose of electing puppets to office was just another hedge. But in a transactional world, they also saw nothing wrong with sweetening their pot with a little instant gratification.
The time-tested business model was successful in every corner of the world. The easiest money was in gambling, drugs, and this particular arm of the fundraising structure - girls.
Both of the new recruits had been on the radar of the special fundraising arm for a long time.
One, a tight thirty-something brunette gun activist. Still girlish, she had the kind of smile that a real estate agent slaps on to meet a client. Growing up, the mousy girl was easy pickings for the care and locker room attention of her High School tennis coach, from whom she discovered warmth and orgasm, but little advice about men.
Being bred by her Junior Prom date and marrying the boy thinking she'd finally have someone to carry her through life, she followed him into an investment in a bar and grill where beer flowed freely to her husband's high school buddies, who served themselves "on a tab" that was never paid.
Facing bankruptcy, "victim rage" became the center of her being. Persecuted by every form of authority, from the health inspector to the damned state Attorney General to the God-damned President, she discovered security in the only thing that had ever given her power... a Glock strapped open-carry style to her narrow hips. Her chosen media constantly reinforced her hatred-driven paranoia.
In public, she flaunted her "take back America" talking points. In private, she advocated vigilante justice for God-damned liberal politicians, guilty beyond question of secret unspeakable acts of evil against children.
She absolutely loved her new obsession, and loved the intoxicating support of classy, generous and unseen mentors - who flattered her with cash and ambition. Like a flight of fine whiskey shots, she took that poison straight-up.
The other recruit was a natural blonde about ten years the brunette's senior, athletically built with a wide mouth that was well-known for expressing loud opinions that might as well have emanated from the Flat Earth Society itself. She attained her M.R.S. degree with the first available man, an Atlanta car dealer, then spent a good deal of effort as a Cross-Fit instructor, mostly trying to keep his interest with little success.
She tried filling her needs by turning the heads of male clients, flaunting her tanned, toned and muscular body which she often used after-hours to provide "special private sessions" for extra pocket money and attention.
But at some point entertaining stray men lost its luster. When one particularly well-endowed lesbian wife of a local politician requested her female charms, "Extras for Ladies" was born to service fine, wealthy Georgia "peaches".
What changed her trajectory was a surprise offer to write, based on an unsolicited letter of recommendation written by a staunchly conservative University president (whom she'd never met) and soon after, without so much as an audition, a packet of cash to ply her "substantial creative writing talents". Basically to re-write and magnify conspiracy theories from far right blogs in social media. Being assigned a gorgeous Lithuanian-born editor, she was mentored into a "deeper" appreciation of pleasures with women.
