You're a trembling mess, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. She's got you pinned to the bed, your hips lifted in the air while you press your body weight down onto your bent legs, which are beginning to cramp.
Barely thirty minutes in, and she has you completely folded.
Her face is buried between your legs, her nose pressed to your entrance, her tongue moving fluidly along your folds as you fight not to scream.
"Kamala," you gasp, arching your back as your hips pull away from her.
"Yes, baby?" she answers, following your movement, her mouth latching onto exactly where you need her.
You moan, attempting to pull away, but she holds you steady. Her fingers dig into your hips, palms pressing just enough to drag you back, making it impossible to escape.
You can almost picture her familiar smile as a wave of sensation spreads through you.
"It's been too long," you manage to say, your breath finally catching up with you as you lift off the bed.
"Right there! God..." you moan, pushing yourself back against her.
You half-expected her to pull away, to slow down, but your boldness only fuels her determination.
She buries her face deeper, her mouth moving effortlessly as her tongue circles your clit, sending jolts through you.
She's eating you from behind now, her arms wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you wide enough to make room for her. Her nose drags slowly through your slit each time, teasing you.
You bite your lip hard, a thought crossing your mind: does she know how to work a strap like this?
Breathing heavily, you shift, lifting yourself onto your hands and knees, your body trembling.
She remains quiet, lapping at you like a fountain as your head hangs down, your fingers clutching the sheets, face burning hot with mounting pressure.
"You like this, don't you?" she asks, her voice muffled but dripping with amusement.
"You like it when I eat you like this?"
Her eyes are closed as she asks, and so are yours, trying desperately not to fall apart.
Between her relentless tongue and the way she talks to you, you're on the edge, craving more. Shyness and hesitation are long gone.
Now, you're desperate.
Hell, you have every right to be.
You haven't touched your girlfriend in months... You both almost died... Everything changed, and not once did you get the chance to feel her.
This wasn't what you imagined, but it's better than anything you expected.
"Tell me how badly you want it," she says, pulling you back into the moment.
Oh, god... Are you really going to beg?
"Please... God, please, I need this so bad," you admit, as a wave of sensation grips your body, pushing you closer to the edge.
Suddenly, she pulls away.
You moan, not out of pleasure but in protest. You don't want to open your eyes or figure out why. You just close your legs and grind side to side in slow, desperate motions.
She chuckles softly as you whine, your body still aching for her touch.
For a moment, there's nothing but silence, the sound of the sheets rustling as you try to calm the tingling.
Then her hand moves, gripping your wrist, rocking you forward and back. Two fingers slip inside you effortlessly, and you take her in fully, savoring the feeling.
You're too scared to move, waiting for her to guide you.
"You want to cum, don't you, baby?" she asks as she begins to move, her strokes slow and deliberate.
"You have no idea..."
"Oh, I think I do," she responds, and you feel your entire body tense.
Your legs clench around her hand, trapping her inside as your back arches, hips jerking away from her.
Her free hand smooths down your back until you relax.
"I'm going to make you cum. I want you to do it on my hand, understand?"
You try to speak, but your lips part without sound.
You open your eyes, inhaling sharply, craning your head to look at her. Her expression is filled with lust. You quickly turn back, burying your face in the sheets.
Her fingers move inside you, and your back arches, a yelp escaping your lips.
She isn't asking.
"Answer me, Jessica. You know it feels good."
She's setting the pace now.
"It's a courtesy I ask," she says, this time grabbing a fistful of your hair and jerking your head back. You rise onto your knees just to relieve the pressure.
You're in a vulnerable position now, her fingers inside you and her grip tight in your hair.
"You know better than to ignore me. The president doesn't like to repeat herself, does she?"
You're already close, and she knows it. Your whole body trembles as she begins moving again, pulling your legs apart.
She releases your hair, her hand finding a firm hold around your neck. Her fingers press against your entrance with more insistence now. You reach out, grabbing her wrist as she thrusts into you.
You relax into her touch, each thrust pressing her palm against your clit. It's uncomfortable, but you don't care. You love it.
"You like making those sweet sounds for your president, don't you?" she teases, your head nuzzled into her neck.
Your whimpers grow louder, your body shaking with the need to release.
"Say it for me, Jessica. Tell your commander-in-chief you love it."
You're close, your body tightening around her fingers, wetness spilling down your thighs.
"Yes, yes... I love you so much, Madam President," you cry, breathless.
She pulls you into a kiss, hot and demanding, her fingers relentless inside you. You moan into her mouth, breaking away only for sharp breaths.
"Are you going to campaign for the president?" she asks, her tone playful as you grind down on her hand.
You can't answer; your body responds to you.
"Are you going to cum for me?" she urges, her pace quickening.
"Come on, baby. Be a good girl and do it for me."
You fall over the edge, your body jerking against her, releasing just as she commanded.
Collapsing forward, you curl into a tight ball, her arms still wrapped around you as she slowly pulls her fingers free.
She rests against your back, her skin warms against yours, her hand stroking gently as you struggle to catch your breath.
"Again," you hear her say, and you lift yourself slightly to free her trapped arm.
Again? What did she mean by that? You barely survived the first time.
"Kamala... I love you, but—"
"But what? Nobody can stop us from being together. I won, Jessica. They tried to kill us, and we're both alive. Don't tell me you don't want me. Three months, three times, how does that sound?"
Her teasing tone and the intoxicating scent of her perfume keep you from saying no.
You feel her hand trail down your back, sending chills through you.
"Just two more for me, hmm? Two more rounds with the president?"
She knows you can't resist, and honestly, neither can your body.
You sit up, dazed, she's squeezing your ass lazily as she watches, cheeks flushed.
"You like when an older woman takes control, don't you?" she says, her hold on you growing more possessive.
You furrow your brows at her question, a smile creeping across your face despite the embarrassment you're trying to hide. Her hand leaves you, and you sit back on your legs, leaning forward onto the once-neatly made bed as you struggle to catch your breath.
You're still so sensitive.
Smack.
Her hand slaps your ass, and you know it's going to leave a mark. The sting shoots through every nerve in your lower body, making you cry out as you collapse forward again. You bite your lip, rocking side to side, trying to dull the sharp pain. You want to ask why she did that, but the way the sensation lingers on your skin... you crave more.
"Did that hurt? Be honest," she asks, now gently rubbing the spot she struck.
"N-No," you manage to gasp.
"You've made such a mess, sweetheart. I thought guests would have better manners—especially for the president."
"I do, you just—"
"Did I ask for an answer, young lady?" she cuts you off, punctuating her words with another sharp slap that silences you.
"Such a pretty pussy," she murmurs, praising you again.
You can't help but wonder where she's taking things.
She leans in close, her breath tickling your ear as your body clenches tight in anticipation, aching for her touch.
"When we were planning the inauguration, we didn't have time for this. Then, after everything that happened, I couldn't see you, and I was so worried. I just couldn't get you out of my mind," she says, her hands firm on your waist as you instinctively rock back toward her.
There's no pressure against you yet, just her teasing control, making you want it even more.
"You want me to fuck you so badly, don't you?" she whispers.
"Yeah?" you answer, her voice growing deeper, more commanding by the second.
Your thighs tremble as her hands guide you into position. You bite your lip hard, surrendering to her with ease. One hand slides down your stomach. She has you bent over the bed, knees slightly bent, your upper body sprawled out. Her fingers expertly tease your clit with quick, skillful flicks.
You shudder and groan, but then she pulls away.
"Answer me, Jessica. I want a response, or you won't get what you want," she demands, giving your hip a light tap before fully stepping back.
You inhale, trying to gather your thoughts, but your mind is clouded with need. You hear a drawer open and close behind you. Pressing your face into the cool sheets, you try to calm yourself. The sound of a buckle clicking reaches your ears, followed by another.
A slick sound comes from behind, and you're tempted to look.
"Don't peek—it's a surprise, darling. And you don't get what you want until you answer me like a good girl. Only girls who obey the president get rewarded," she teases, the floor creaking slightly as she approaches.
You feel the tip of something pressing against your thigh as she leans over you.
"I'll answer for you," she whispers, her voice sending a thrill down your spine.
"You're going to come two more times for the president, and you're going to let me know you like it, n'kay?" She says as she begins to stand on her toes as she rubs the silicone mass between you
Your mouth falls agape, unsure how to react, you haven't done anything like that before.
"One for every month I've spent thinking about you" she grows as the feeling is short-lived, she leaves you and positions herself behind you, her hand resting on your hip as she presses at your entrance
She pushes in without warning as you fall forwards as she persists forwards.
You let out a breathless moan escape your lips as you can feel yourself close around her.
She's already pressing right where you need her to.
She lifts your head from the bed and guides you until your hips are sandwiched between her and the bed, your pinned held up by her strong hand.
"Fuck me, shit-" You mummer, letting your head fall forwards as you manage to lift yourself just enough for her to somewhat move inside you. Your peace is short-lived as she turns your head to face hers and traps your mouth in a heated kiss, her tongue pushing past your lips. Her eyes look down at your mouth, watching carefully as you lean closer into her, you tremble.
"There we go," She says slowly as her hand moves to your lower stomach, hoisting you higher and back down just enough to start a bobbing motion between your legs.
"So greedy for me."
Greedy? Oh, she hasn't been greedy yet.
"Oh, fuck,"
You say, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you continue to ride her.
It's a beautiful thing to watch as she fucking you through it, murmuring little words of praise, while every limb in your body tries to not go limp for her.
It goes on for a few more seconds, slow fulfilling strokes pushing her closer and closer but never past a certain point, a point that you were craving.
You never thought of yourself as just liking vanilla sex, the usual sensual stuff. But you never expected your first time exploring this would be with the President of the United States, but it made it even better than it was.
Kamala's pace quickens, she takes hold of your chin and forces you to look into her eyes, her grip firm yet still sensual.
She can feel you shaking around her with every touch, your hips grinding down on her strap as you try to satisfy her own desires. Your eyes flutter for a moment as a half-hearted whimper escapes your lips and your eyes dare to roll to the back of your head. Kamala's hand finds your clit, and begins to rub it with deliberate precision, you're still sensitive from the first time and pull away.
She hooks inside of you and her fingers curl over your clit, giving you an odd sensation between pressure and pleasure.
She's doing something to you that's drawing out moans you barely knew you had the breath to let out.
"Not answering me, isn't going to be an option anymore, you think you can learn that for me?"
Your eyes widen, and you nod vigorously, your breath coming in slow ragged gasps. Kamala smiles, eyes glinting with mischief.
"Good girl," she says, and then she returns to her task, her hips pumping harder and faster as she fucks you.
You cry out for a moment but are cut off when Kamala takes hold of your chin and forces you to focus on her, her grip firm yet sensual.
She's still going, and your gasps for breath are quickly becoming shorter and shorter. Almost to the point, you're holding your breath. Your eyes get low, and your head tilts forwards and back, trying to keep yourself upright.
God, she was thirty years our senior as she still was managing to last longer than you.
"I'm going to need you to listen as best you can, n'kay? What are you supposed to call me?" She asks you as she barely is able to form the words, sweat dripping down her forehead as she fucks you.
Her pace never slows, just steady as she holds you, she shakes you a little to make sure you aren't too lost in your haze.
"Kamala," you moan out,
"no" she says, squeezing harder on your jaw,
"madam president" Kamala corrects, making you shake her head as your eyes finally fall shut.
She's about to cum.
"And what are you supposed to do for your president?" Kamala asks with a smile
"Obey..." Jessica screams as she cums, her body arching and shaking under the force of her orgasm.
Kamala gives you one last, hard thrust, making you cum she rolls her hips as you feel it move inside yourself, you can hear yourself squelching on her.
"I'm not done with you yet," you hear her say as her lips start kissing along your neck, soothing you, distracting you
She gives her three more hard strokes, all the way in and all the way out, counting into her ear.
"1" you respond with a moan
"2" she kisses your neck, any sound dying before escaping your lips
"And 3, good, that's my good girl, who's a good girl are you?" She asks almost in a childish tone as you try to bring yourself to answer
"You learned your lesson, didn't you?" Kamala asks, her voice soft and sultry.
You nod.
"Good," she whispers, "Now answer me?" she persists
As Kamala stills, her hands move to your breasts, massaging them gently as she praises you for being hers
You nod, your eyes still closed, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. Kamala leans in close, her lips brushing against Jessica's ear.
"We just talked about this... you are to obey me" she warned as her hold on your breast tightened slightly
She began to rock her hips a little more, you moan again as she smiles, and her eyes threaten to stare all over again.
"Answer me"
" Yours Madam president" you spit out as she stops moving
With a swift motion she pulls out from you, your legs nearly give out, thighs closing to dampen the sensation. You brace yourself against the bed, hands holding tightly to the comforter.
"Let me help you" she says with a softened voice
It's amazing how easily she sways between her voices, so commanding and confident, now reassuring and reverent.
"Thank you" You say as you say in the bed, body too tired to move as you slide in beside you. Her hand reached out to pull you closer, gentle and patient as she found her spot.
"Jessica, I love you so much, and I want you to know that I can give you anything you need, anything you want. You just have to ask me, anything, just-" she stops herself
"I know Kamala" You say as you close your eyes, your body satisfied and wrapped in the warmth of Kamala's arms.
"Jessica, please don't ever leave me?" she says, her voice low almost a bag as she holds you closer
"I won't, Kamala"
"I can't lose you? You're the only reason I'm still here, I owe you so much, I put you in danger?! I push-"
What was going on in her head right now?
"K-Kamala?" You ask as you gather enough strength to turn yourself over and look at her
" They'll ask questions? Th-they'll?" She began, her lip beginning to tremble as she saw you look at her
"Kamal calm down please, I'm not going to leave you, nothing happening, you're fine...we're fine" You said slowly as you nodded to her, watching as she mimicked you
— — —
She paced the narrow confines of the dimly lit dressing room, her pulse hammering in her ears like a war drum. Her palms were clammy, and no amount of dabbing at her brow could stop the anxious sweat from forming. The interview was moments away, and every fiber of her being bristled with unease. This wasn't just another appearance on some news channel.
Today, she was being led out onto a stage to answer for herself—her most private moments splashed across the screens of a nation, and the truth of her entangled personal life laid bare for all to see.
A truth she didn't want to acknowledge.
The air felt thin, and Kamala's breaths came too quickly, too shallow
. She stared into the mirror, desperately trying to summon her familiar, practiced composure. But the reflection that met her eyes seemed haggard, the mask of confidence faltering around the edges.
Her trained smile was still there, stretched into place, but it was as fragile as the moment—one wrong word and it would shatter entirely.
The sound of footsteps outside her door pulled her back to the present, and she straightened instinctively. A member of the stage crew appeared in the doorway, signaling that it was time. Kamala's legs felt leaden as she stood up, and it took everything in her to keep from stumbling as she walked down the hall toward the glaring lights and growing hum of the studio.
The countdown began, the numbers flashing in large, red letters on the monitor: 5... 4... 3... 2... 1...
The stage lit up around her as Kamala took her seat, and the sudden brightness momentarily blinded her. Her vision swam, and she blinked rapidly, trying to orient herself. There were cameras pointed in every direction, lenses zeroed in on her, capturing her from angles she could not escape. Her eyes swept over the live audience—a mass of faceless people, silent and expectant.
The first question came, cutting through the silence like a knife.
"President Harris, who is the woman in the videos and photos?"
The words hit her like a cold slap, and for a split second, she could do nothing but stare. Her throat tightened, and she struggled to find air, let alone a response.
Every head in the audience seemed to tilt forward, straining to hear her next breath, her next word, her excuse.
The world around her sharpened—the buzz of the lights above, the shuffling of paper from the interviewer's hand, the distant clicks of cameras adjusting focus.
Kamala felt an overwhelming paranoia seep into her bones, an invasive feeling that stretched deep inside her and took root. It was as though the room had grown teeth, closing in on her with a vicious, unspoken judgment. Her gaze flitted nervously from the interviewer to the audience, to the stage crew, whose eyes flickered from monitor to camera to her. Every gesture from the crew felt like a silent conversation—a coded message she wasn't in on.
Did they know?
Were they part of this joke?
She swallowed, but the tightness in her throat didn't ease.
They moved on, questioning looks growing more enriched.
The next questions followed without mercy.
"Who had possession of these videos and photos?"
"I wasn't awa-" Her voice cracked, and she stopped, her hand shooting to her collar to pull at it
"Did you know they existed?" they persisted
"N- no I-"
"Why does the Trump team have access to such intimate materials?"
"Vanessa... S-she"
Kamala's mind was a whirl of panic, her thoughts racing, crashing into one another in a desperate attempt to form coherent answers.
She knew she should speak, should say something—anything—but her lips felt numb.
Her hands gripped the edges of her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
The weight of their stares felt unbearable, like a thousand fingers poking at her, testing her, waiting for her to crumble. A sickening wave of dizziness washed over her, and she felt the room start to spin. She tried to anchor herself, her eyes landing on a camera straight ahead. Its red recording light stared back like a baleful eye,
Unblinking,
Merciless.
And then, cutting through the suffocating silence, came a voice she recognized well enough.
"It's always been Trump vs. the tramp," the voice jeered, taunting.
Kamala's head whipped toward the sound, her pulse racing with new dread. The studio lights shifted, and there she was—Vanessa, standing in the middle of the audience, her laughter echoing off the walls.
Around Vanessa, the crowd began to laugh, the sound swelling like a dark wave.
The stage crew, the cameras, the interviewers—every face seemed to be joining in, their amusement at Kamala's expense growing louder.
The laughter grew and grew until it felt like it was vibrating through her entire body, rattling her bones...
Her vision was blaring with tears or the inability to focus.
Kamala jolted awake, the sound of laughter still ringing in her ears.
She blinked, disoriented, her heart pounding as though she'd just run a marathon. She was alone, sitting in a dressing room—the same one she had been pacing in earlier. The lights were dim, the mirror reflected her wide-eyed stare, and there was no audience, no cameras, no Vanessa.
It had all been a nightmare.
Kamala's hands were trembling as she ran them through her hair, struggling to shake off the vividness of the dream. Her breaths came in uneven gasps, and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the rhythm of her breathing.
In and out.
Slow and steady.
But even as the silence of the empty dressing room began to settle around her, the unease lingered.
The fear, the humiliation, the relentless pressure—all of it had felt so real.
The door creaked open.
Kamala sat on the edge of the dressing room chair, wringing her hands together as she looked up at Jessica.
Your expression was impassive as you approached. You weren't nervous, you were worried about Kamala. On the way here, she'd stared into oblivion distracted by whatever it was she was thinking about, and again she was staring into nothing, again scaring herself with whatever it was now she's decided to fixate on.
Last night it was you leaving her.
Earlier this morning, it was about her next appearance.
Now it was something else that had her frazzled.
"Jess, I just... I don't know if I'm ready for this," Kamala confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I mean, I can barely think about this without feeling sick, let alone answer their questions in front of the entire country. What if I mess up? What if they don't believe me?" Kamala suggests leaning into you as you come to stand beside her
Your hand wraps around her head, smoothing slowly over her curl, you look at you two in the mirror, her gaze was steady, fixed on you, she was looking to know how to feel.
"You won't mess up," you say firmly.
Kamala's brow furrowed, doubt still clouding her thoughts.
"But it's different this time," she murmured.
"It's not about policy or politics. It's about me. About us. The pictures, the videos—people are going to see things that I've only seen once after years of not knowing they even existed!? They'll rip me to pieces, Jessica, they; get out?! "
"They won't, I don't think fox will play about this especially if they don't want to have their company shuddered for violating a federal NDA, I made sure to include that within the airing clause" you reply, squeezing Kamala's shoulders before pulling away with a smile.
"But besides, as long as you stick to the truth, this will blow over. You just need to be honest and let them see who you really are. The evidence will back up your story—it always does when you're on the right side of things." Your tone softened, as you fixed her collar and straightened a piece of loose hair.
"Trust me, Kamala. The people will hear the truth, and the rest... it's just noise."
Kamala took a shaky breath, her nerves still rattled, but there was a small spark of hope reigniting in her chest.
She reached out to brush her fingers over your cheek, feeling the warmth of your skin. "I wish I had your confidence," she said quietly, managing a faint smile.
"Who do you think I got it from?" You leaned closer, her voice dropping to a gentle murmur.
She closed the gap between you two, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, brief but grounding, filling Kamala with a sense of calm she hadn't felt all day.
"I said two more times last night, I was nice, don't get me too confident now" She pulled back for a moment before a knock on the door signaled that it was time.
Kamala stood up, her legs still a little unsteady, and Jessica walked with her to the edge of the sound stage. The bustle of the crew grew louder as they approached, and Kamala's pulse quickened again, but she felt Jessica's hand slip into hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
A technician approached, carefully fitting the small mic to the collar of Kamala's jacket. The countdown began to blare in her earpiece, the numbers ticking down like a drumbeat in her head: 5... 4... 3...
Jessica turned to face her, cupping Kamala's face in her hands.
"You've got this," she whispered, her voice steady and filled with conviction.
She leaned in and kissed Kamala one last time, her lips warm and soft against Kamala's.
It was a promise, a reassurance, and a reminder of what was real.
Kamala nodded, exhaling slowly.
She turned and walked out onto the stage, her back straight, a smile spreading across her face as she waved to the audience. The lights glared down, the cameras pointed directly at her, but she held her ground.
This time it was real.
The Fox News studio was abuzz with energy, the anticipation thick in the air.
The anchor, Mark Daniels, sat at the news desk, a crisp blue suit and white tie complementing his broad smile as he looked into the camera. He cleared his throat, the bright lights reflecting off his neatly styled hair, and leaned in, ready to deliver the news.
"And we are live, everyone, right here on Fox, at 9:30 on a good ol' Monday morning," Mark announced, his voice smooth and practiced.
"But today, folks, isn't just any regular morning broadcast. We've got a surprise, breaking interview that's set to shake up your day. Joining us live from Fox Studios in Washington, D.C., is none other than the first female President of the United States, Kamala Harris." He paused for emphasis, letting the words sink in, as the studio audience's murmurs grew louder.
"That's right—this special interview will be broadcast across all our platforms: on television, our podcasts, and any other media you can find Fox News on. So stay tuned because this one is going to be big."
The cameras panned to the stage entrance, where a silhouette appeared against the glaring studio lights. The audience, now quiet with anticipation, watched as Kamala Harris walked out, her steps slow and deliberate. She wore a navy-blue pantsuit, her hair pulled back in a neat chignon. Despite her composed exterior, she tensed as she approached the stage set.
Kamala reached the chair set out for her—a modern, white leather seat beside the news anchor's desk. She hesitated briefly before lowering herself into it, crossing her legs at the knee and folding her hands together on her lap. Her fingers interlocked tightly, her knuckles pale, and she forced a tight smile onto her face. The smile never quite reached her eyes, and she looked around the studio, taking in the cameras aimed at her from all directions. The audience was seated in a semicircle behind the camera crew, a setting that felt less like a conversation and more like a public questioning.
Mark turned to face her with a genial smile.
"Madam President, it's a pleasure to have you here this morning," he said, his tone bright but probing.
"How are you feeling today?"
The question hung in the air, met with a weighty silence. Kamala could hear the faint rustle of papers on the anchor's desk and the hum of the overhead lights, an unwelcome reminder of how every moment was being captured. She brought her hand up, almost unconsciously, and scratched at her lower lip with her thumb as she considered her response. The pause stretched out, noticeable enough to raise an eyebrow or two, and the tension seemed to vibrate through the studio.
Finally, she spoke, her voice steady but carrying a hint of detachment.
"I am glad to be alive," she began, her eyes scanning the faces before her, "and thankful to have another day as President to serve and protect the American people."
The words were delivered with a measured calm, but there was a slight withdrawal in her tone, a wariness that suggested she was fully aware of the subtle traps that might have been set for her with every question.
She didn't know for sure if they'd been set, but she didn't want to miss one.
The seating arrangement—angled just enough to catch every flicker of her expression—and the audience, strategically placed to observe every movement, seemed designed to make her slip up, to push her off balance.
She could feel the anchor's eyes on her, dissecting each word for cracks in the façade, and she shifted in her seat, uncrossing and then recrossing her legs, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap. The forced smile never left her lips, though the strain behind it was becoming more apparent with each second that passed.
Mark nodded, as if satisfied with her response, though the glint in his eye suggested there were far more pointed questions ahead.
"Well, Madam President, we certainly have a lot to discuss," he said, his voice adopting a tone of anticipation.
"We'll be getting into some difficult topics today, including the recent claims of intimate photos and videos that have been circulating in the news made by Trump's campaign, correct?"
The mention of the videos made Kamala's heart pound in her chest, her stomach turn into a knot. She sat a little straighter, willing herself to entertain, through her eyes flickered momentarily toward the exit, a reminder she could excuse herself.
The interview had only just begun, though.
"Yes" she said, narrowing her eyes,
Mark's expression turned serious, the genial tone replaced with one of formality as he prepared to broach the subject that had drawn the nation's attention.
"Let us begin, President Harris," he started, his voice steady and firm. "Recent revelations regarding the attacks against you and your 'lover', Miss Rose, have uncovered evidence suggesting a coordinated attempt on your life. These disclosures indicate that two of your staff members were colluding with former President Trump, which ultimately led to the kidnapping and brutal assault of Miss Rose. This is information shared through unsealed federal court documents given by your team, under your permission, but the people would like to hear right here right now can you confirm the extent of these allegations?"
As Mark spoke, he glanced pointedly at the large screen behind him, where images and videos flashed into view.
Though Kamala kept her gaze fixed on him, she could sense the shift in the room.
The faint glow of the screencast an uneasy light across the studio as watermarked images and censored footage played. She could hear the distorted sound in the video, unmistakable Vanessa's voice, unmistakable her words.
She knew they're all too well, she'd answered for them in court, and she'd do it again here.
A collective gasp swept through the audience, followed by a wave of murmured conversation. The sound of whispers grew louder, with phrases like "unbelievable" and "how could this happen?" rippling through the air.
Kamala remained seated, her body tense and rigid.
She resisted the impulse to turn her head, knowing all too well what awaited her on the screen.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, and she took a moment to process the weight of the question, every word seeping into her thoughts. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she allowed herself to look.
Her eyes widened as the images came into focus. On the screen, she saw photos of Jessica, bruised and beaten, then her and Jessica's medical documents from everything.
Word blurred out, some even blacked out.
The video, her disheveled appearance, the distorted bags and pleas.
Kamala's breath hitched, and she gripped the arm of her chair, her knuckles turning white.
She quickly shifted her gaze back to Mark, hoping the camera wouldn't linger too long on her reaction.
But everyone seem fixed on the images, being zoomed in, blown up, put on display.
"President Harris, would you care to shine some light on these items?" He said, holding his hand out to Kamala as a gesture to look again.
Tears burned at her eyes, she knew the slight glint of the light would give it away on TV, she didn't care.
He knew what he was doing, They knew what they were doing, she signed up for it...