Photoshop Omega: Chantell

I stared at it a moment longer, feeling the awe, feeling the power.

I turned back to Photoshop Omega. I saw it had populated those same three files for myself, attached to my name. I straightened, cracked my knuckles, and squared myself to it.

Now it was time to stop being an amature and learn to be a pro. So I did the next logical thing: I started that damn tutorial.

I want to say it took over an hour. It didn't cover everything--certain things were definitely glossed over. But when it was done, I understood a whole lot more. A few basic things come to mind.

First, it is NOT Master PC. No mind control, no tampering with emotions or IQ, nothing like that. I can affect the body, and the body only. And it had to "sync" with reality properly. So putting a lion's head a person's body wasn't going to work--not unless I somehow was able to blend them together so perfectly that it looked like it was SUPPOSED to be there. Also, I couldn't do clothing, either--it had to be only things within the skin, or the hair. But that also included (you guessed it) piercings.

That said... I could do a whole lot.

I could do several photos, or a collage, to get results. I could made huge changes to someone just by adding photos gradually, so that the "sync" base of what they were in reality shifted.

Also, using Layer 𝛀, I could actually PEEL BACK layers of what should be there. You know, like clothing. This led to at least an hour of of me jerking off my massive manhood while checking out what certain celebs really looked like buck-ass naked. They were mostly a bit disappointing. Spoilers, Taylor Swift is just average, but has nice skin, and Scarlett Johannsen is *fine*, if just a little underwhelming in the size department.

So I didn't need the topless pics of Chantell after all. Not that I felt bad about taking them. That was hot shit. And I have to admit, I got off a little on seeing her squirm.

I checked the clock. I wasn't sure when she'd be back---Chantell shopping with friends on a Saturday would take all day even if she had a Time-Turner---but I guess I could get to work on her boob job etc.

Not that was exactly complaining, but I started to think... what was I getting in return for this? Staring at her naked boobs while I worked notwithstanding, I had a lot of other work where I did the same thing, but with better material, and getting paid.

Whatever. I guess I could buy a little goodwill from the Priss Queen.

***

It was elegant. It was subtle. Another small masterpiece in graphic production. I hovered on the edge of exporting Chantell's final look. I may or may not have just done the tiniest of improvements on her eyes and lips, too. What can I say, they were bugging me. Hopefully the change was too small for her to notice, and she'll just assume she always looked that good.

It was almost evening now, though, and no word from the shopping wonder. I glared at the door for the fifth time, and then sighed. I didn't think I actually had her cell phone number, and she hadn't replied to my email. I guess I'd try and see if she was up there.

Emerging like the groundhog out of his den, I blinked at the brightly lit upper area, peering around for her. I didn't want to just yell---it might draw unwanted attention. Then I heard a couple voices in the distance, and headed in that direction, toward the master bedroom.

The big door was just a crack open. Like a good sneak, I peered through to see my step-mother, Sharon, was inside, phone pressed to her face.

Sharon was... well, she was a second-hand trophy wife.

She was 10 years younger than my dad, and had traces of the beauty that had once gotten her a fat cat husband with whose assets she'd made out like a bandit after the divorce.

Sharon had a lot of height, 5' 10" or so, but unlike her daughter, big hips and butt, and boobs that she'd paid good money for sometime down the line. She favored high heels because she liked to tower over guys, pencil skirts, and tight, animal-print blouses. It shouted that desperate 'hey, I've still got it' vibe.

She still had the long, glossy blond hair of someone in their 20s because she loved being mistaken for a younger woman from behind. But despite her plumping and diligent application of product, they would be a little disappointed when she turned. A few wrinkles stubbornly evaded her cleanup efforts. Even then, she really wouldn't be that bad, maybe even MILF status, if she didn't try so hard with heavy makeup to cover them.

"--didn't even bother to send fresh ones, the lazy slob!" she was saying, tone clipped. "He claimed he was too busy at work, and all the new flowers were gone, but I know that's damn lie. I've seen the 'work' he does: sitting there like a lump in front of a computer all day, watching Youtube---when he isn't chatting it up with the office sluts."

I froze in place at the door.

"I know," the voice on the phone said. It was a little tinny, but Sharon had it turned up so loud I could hear it clearly. It sounded an awful lot like Chantell. "Like father like son. They'd be perfectly content to vegetate in front of a computer for their whole lives."

Hidden by the door, I flipped the pair of them off.

"I mean, this isn't even the first time," Sharon said, pacing. "He forgets about me all the time. I just know it's because he gets off elsewhere. Bastard can't keep his cock in pants, for sure.

She let out a sharp sigh. "And he's too careful. He knows the answer to every question, never misses a beat. If he were really not cheating, he'd at least have to think. He's got his alibi's down to the fucking minute. I'm so tired of his bullshit."

"Then why don't you just divorce him, Mom?" Chantell asked. "I mean, he doesn't even have that much money. If you know he's cheating on you, what's the holdup?"

Sharon heaved an even bigger sigh. "You know I've told you how much of our assets I've got tied up in the market right now. I don't have enough cash for us to live comfortably on our own. If I just do a no-fault divorce, I'll get next to nothing. If I could get some kind of proof he's cheating, that's a whole 'nother story."

Sharon tapped her plumped lip with a finger. "Maybe... maybe if I don't have proof, I can make some."

I tensed. My eyes widened. I patted my pocket for my phone, to start recording this, but damn me, I left it down in my room. I'm sure if I tried to get it quickly, I'd smash my shin into something and lose my chance. So I just stayed glued to the door.

"What?" Chantell was saying. "What do you mean, make some?

"Well, you know how he always ogles up my friend Elaine?"

"Well, yeah..."

I knew Elaine. There isn't a real man on earth who wouldn't ogle her at least a little. She was a goddamn retired Playboy model, not quite 5 years out of service, half-Colombian with a smile that makes penises stand to attention.

"She owes me a big time favor," Sharon was saying. "And I've got some dirt on her, to boot. I just pull that string, invite her over for a late dinner. Then I fix one of those mixed drinks he likes, just double the proof. He downs it like a fish, I get a sudden call from my stock broker and need to head out. They are alone together, and nature takes it's course. Add a hidden camera, and..."

Sharon snapped her fingers. "Boom, proof of a breach of our prenuptial."

Wow. I had on more than one occasion thought of Sharon as manipulative and a bit fake, but I saw now I would have to upgrade that to conniving and two-faced. I found my hands were in fists, and had to loosen them so they wouldn't pop my knuckles and give me away.

"That could work," Chantell said slowly, carefully. "But you know, that's a scheme that has been used before. He might catch on."

Sharon frowned. "Really? Him? He barely pays attention to what I do."

"Maybe, but you said he's careful," Chantell. "Besides, there's a better, more anonymous way you can handle it."

Sharon stopped pacing. "Really? What?"

"Well," Chantell said, "I saw on the new a while ago where someone was accused of discrimination at work. Someone sent in a letter anonymously, for their own safety. Even though they could never prove it, he was an old white guy, and it was a big deal in the media, so the company ended up having to let him go."

Sharon eyes were wide. "And then, even if he gets a severance, I could claim he's not providing for the family. There's no way he's getting another job quickly, not at his age."

"Exactly. And as long as you're careful, no one would suspect you."

Sharon's mouth spread into a slow smile. "Well. That has possibilities, also. Less money available than an affair, probably, but..."

Well, I had heard about enough. At any moment, I was sure she was going come flying out of that room like leopard-print harpy, so I chose that time to slip as carefully as I could back down to my lair. I sat heavily into my chair, and stared into the middle distance. My stomach hurt. It felt like someone had dropped a brick into it.

And then I turned back to my computer. Back to Photoshop Omega. As I stared at it, I began to smile.

***

"Holy fuck!" Chantell said again. Her eyes were locked on my supersized hole-plugger. She took a half step back, shaking her head. Her perfect mane of platinum swayed. "There's no way that would fit in me."

I tisked at her. "Not that I haven't wanted to hear those words my entire life, but you should know that's an old wives tale. It *always* fits."

Finally, she managed to tear her gaze away from it. Her carefully sculpted face glared hate up at me. "You are such an asshole. This is extortion, you know. A crime."

I shrugged, sitting back down in my chair. "Technically, I think this is blackmail. But fine, you can go. Have fun at school on Monday." I started to turn my chair back to my monitors.

"No, no, no, no!" Chantell said quickly, rushing to me. She leaned over me, giving me my closest look at those perfect curves. If you didn't look closely at her face, you really wouldn't have been able to tell she was the same person.

I had left it that way on purpose. As fun as it would be to fuck her with the face of Brittney Spears or Jessica Alba, there was something more viscerally satisfying about keeping (an improved version) of her own face.

"How about just a blow job?" she asked. Her eyes strayed just a little down to my cock.

"How about some some steaming hot butt sex?" I countered.

Her eyes bulged. "That? In my ass? No way. I would die. You would skewer me." She hesitated. "How about... a boob job! You gave me these enormous tits, don't you want to put your cock inside them?"

She grabbed them, rubbing them against each other tantalizingly. Her nipples studded her nightgown.

I frowned at them, nodding. "They do look amazing, I'll give you that. But why stop with an appetizer?" I tilted my head. "Tell ya what, how about instead of in your ass, I pound your pussy while I film the whole thing?"

"Film it?" she exploded. "What, so you can just have more blackmail material later? Hell no!" She snarled at me again. "Fine, we'll fuck, but you have to wear a rubber, and I get to pick positions."

"No condom," I said firmly. "Bareback only. This is my first pussy in ages, probably the best, and I want to feel it, not almost feel it. And I pick positions."

"No way," she snapped. "No way are doing this without protection. You want to get me pregnant or something?"

"I'll pull out," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I've heard that one before."

"...you have, have you?"

She froze for a moment, face reddening a bit. That was perhaps a bit more than she had wanted to reveal. And then she flipped me off again.

"No condom," I repeated, returning the gesture. "I choose... fine, I'll let you choose one position. And I will pull out. Final offer, there's my door."

She huffed for a second, staring at me. Then she threw her hand in the air. "Fine, asshole! Let's get this over with."

"Excellent," I said, leaning back. "How about we start with that blow job? No, wait. First things first: I think you might be a little overdressed."

Chantell glared at me a moment more, rolled her eyes. Then with one quick pull from her waist, remove her nightgown. I knew what I was going to see. I had designed to the finest detail. But there was something magical about seeing that body in real life.

She had nothing on but a pair of white panties underneath. Those perfect, pierced-nipple tits and toned belly might have actually made me just a bit harder, if it was possible. The piercing on her belly button was just a sparkly dot, and her arm tatoo revealed to go all the way up to her collar bone. The dirty girl image all this gave her was so far from what Chantell tried to portray herself as, I thought I might be experiencing some sort of cathartic sex moment.

Wrinkling her nose with distaste, Chantell bent, and tentatively touched her tongue to the tip of the mushroom head. When it didn't taste like the sewage water I guess she was expecting, she spat a big wad onto it, working with her hand, and stuffed it into her mouth.

Her head bobbed, sucking furiously as she kept jerking me with a hand. Her tongue swirled a couple times, working me hard, trying to get me to go as soon as possible. I have to admit, she wasn't bad. But she had obviously never dealt with anything quite my current size: she had trouble fitting much of the length in. After a minute of bobbing, she had to pull off for air.

"Fuck, this thing is huge," she growled, still jerking me while she rubbed her jaw. "Couldn't you have done something more realistic? You didn't have to copy some Japanese CG shit. "

"I modeled it after an actual one," I told her. "And there were bigger out there. And it's funny how knowledgeable you seem about a very specific kind of porn."

She flipped me off again, still working my dick with the other hand.

"You know what?" I said, smiling with a lot of teeth. "I think it's time we moved on, what do you say?" I pushed her hand away, and then leaned backward so my hard member pointed skyward. I pointed at it. "Ride it, bitch."

She gritted her teeth. "You're not even going to push it in me. You're going to make me do it myself."

I spread my hands. "God, are you never happy? Wouldn't you rather push it in slowly at your own pace? If you prefer, I can can ram it in you as hard as I can."

"Fuck you, you shitbag!"

"Again, kind of the point."

She glared, and then looked back at my engorged schlong. Then she bent, and started to remove her panties. They were tight and straining, because they were made for a much smaller ass than she was currently in possession of, but finally she managed to pull them off. Her bush was carefully trimmed into an arrow, also blonde. She gave it a disgusted look, and then back at me. She drew a deep breath.

Then she stepped around my chair, which I had lowered for convenience, and straddled me, lining up her pussy lips with my cock. They were plenty wet--dripping, actually.

Chantell drew another breath, and then lowered herself a little. Her weight pressed the tip and a couple of inches into her snatch. Her back arched, and she let out a sharp, "Oh, fuck!" through gritted teeth. She was very, very tight. Or maybe I was just huge. I guessed it didn't make a difference.

She drew another breath, and then sank another few inches. Her pussy felt very warm, quivered around me. Then she drew another breath, and then sank a bit more, all but the last inch or so.

"Oh, fuck, fuck fuck fuck," she said, breathing quickly. "I've never been so-- why does it feel so--"

I reached up and grabbed her right boob. I squeezed it, and it felt amazing--natural and yet firm and huge. I squeezed down to her nipple, tugging on it, and she let out another loud gasp. Her hips jerked, and she sank down just a fraction more.

Chantell moaned, half muffled, as if she was trying to stifle it. I reached up and pinched her other tit, and jerked again, eyes wide with a loud "Fuck! Oh, FUCK!"

She jerked a few seconds more, twitching uncontrollably. Apparently, that "sensitivity" brush was pretty effective. I was pretty sure she had just cum from mounting me and getting her tits played with.

"Damn," I said," still squeezing her boobs. "That was fast. Been a while?"

"Shut your hole," she growled, breathily. Then she pulled off, going to the tip, and then sank back down again, slowly. Her mouth was open, and her eyes closed. I bent forward and took her right nipple in my mouth, and sucked hard, swirling with my tongue.

"Holy shit!" she said. Her eyes flew open as her hips jerked. I kept sucking, but thrust up inside her, too, pushing in as far as it would go. It was tight, hot, pulsing.

"Oh, fuck!" she half yelled, vibrating slightly. She stared down at me, still open mouthed. "You must have done something else to me," she said. "I've never been this... oooohhhh..."

I switched to her other tit, pulling and sucking, flicking it with my tongue, as I ground my cock inside her in a slow circle. Her back arched again, and if her boobs weren't so huge I might have had trouble keeping them with my mouth. As it was, I took them in both hands, mashing and sucking, grinding up into her.

Chantell looked down at me. She had a strange expression on--I couldn't quite read it. And then abruptly, she put her hands on my shoulders, pushed herself off of me to the tip, and then rammed her pussy back down.

She began to ride me in earnest, working her hips and legs so that her wet snatch pounded against me with a steady, ever-faster slapping sound. And she was powerful--I guess those tone abs and legs and that big, firm ass weren't just surface level. Faster and faster she rode me, until my little room was filled with the sound her pants and moans and the wet, squelching sound her juices being slapped between us.

It was amazing. I didn't think I'd ever felt something so good. In fact, it was too good. I started to feel the telltale tightening in my balls, and I knew if this kept up, it was going to end much earlier than I had planned. So I quickly reached down, and still sucking her left tit, pinched her clit hard.

She drew a deep breath, and I thought she might scream or curse, but she stiffened up so quickly that nothing came out. Her face went dark, her body flexed, like she was lifting a sedan over her head. Her hips twerked like crazy, and her pussy stopped moving, but clamped own on me.

She stayed flexed for another five seconds, and then the tension went out like a deflating balloon. She sagged own onto me, barely holding herself up with her arms while her tits pressed against my chest. I could smell her sweat, and her sex, and feel her heart pounding.

"Well, that was a good start, I think," I said, my voice casual. "So I guess it's your turn. What position was it that you wanted?"

Chantell didn't answer for a long moment, but just kept huffing with her head down. Then she look up, her expression a mix of emotion that I wasn't even close to untangling. One of them was definitely lust, though, I'll tell you that.

"Doggy," she muttered, barely audible.

"I'm sorry, what was that?"

"Doggy," she said, louder. "On the bed. You asshole."

"Your fetish is my command," I said. She sneered at me, and pulled herself off of my cock. It flopped out, still large and in charge, and she paused just a moment to look it up and down. Maybe she couldn't help it .Then she turned, and pointing her ass at me, settled on the edge of my bed.

It was the first time I'd gotten to see that side of her--she hadn't turned yet to give me a proper view. I bet she hadn't even gotten a look at it herself. The width and firmness of her ass was nothing short of perfect (well, to my taste, anyway). It had just the right curve. On her lower back, I had put a neat little tramp stamp--three words in black, fancy writing, like they'd been done by a calligrapher.