Photoshop Omega: Tsundere

"Now," I muttered as her head bobbed, "to find the greatest increment of acceptable alteration..."

My symphony of clicks and clacks played across the photo, foreground to the steady sucking sound of my step sister's lips on my cock.

I lasted barely two tiny edit attempts before I grabbed her head and blew my load down her throat. Damn, even going slow, she'd gotten good.

***

My eyes burned. I rubbed them, took a swig of a Rockstar, and squinted at the clock on the screen. It was almost 4 AM.

But I smiled. "I think I'm getting the hang of this. Finally."

I wouldn't say there was an exact increment for changes in Omega. It depended on where, and collectively what at the same time. If I changed one part too much without other alterations, it wouldn't take. On the other end, changing too much everywhere was a ticket straight to the error screen. But passed a certain breaking point, I could make larger and larger changes without issue, as long as they followed the theme closely.

Even so, by now I had a damn library of tiny alterations from one to the next of that photo. I'd tested little waves of changes, and only had been stopped once. And I'd figured what was wrong with that one with a glance.

Now, it was time for the big one.

I pulled out my phone, and fired up my remote access app. After watching the Wheel of Wait for a few seconds, it connected to my computer. The image of my left screen, slightly zoomed, clicked into focus. I zoomed out and brought the window of my macros app to the fore. I'd had to make the commands painstakingly specific, but my plan hinged on making a ton of exports through Omega in rapid succession.

I drew a deep breath, and stood. I double checked the macro for a quick reverse was ready to go.

"Well," I muttered, "here goes nothing. Here's hoping I don't fuck myself up."

I held up the phone dramatically, and eyes closing on reflex, pressed activate.

"Holy FUUU--"

It was... Well, if making one change, or a small number of changes, was like warm water on a leg asleep, this was more like being naked out in winter, only to suddenly be hit by a goddamn waterfall. A hot one.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle the sounds of my consternation, shaking like a leaf in the frozen wind. And then, it was over. I collapse into my seat. My breathing was hard, and I had to grab my knees for support. Sweat dripped from my face to my hands and lap.

My hands slid a little, tugging on my pants. They were much looser than they had been just a moment before. I froze, and then shifted a little. I moved just my upper body. I felt an unfamiliar weight hanging on my chest.

I took a deep breath. I turned to the mirror. I stared.

Knowing what to expect logically was one thing. Seeing it reflected in the mirror was another.

My once plain, short-cut hair was now much longer, a luxurious midnight brown with glowing highlights that framed my face closely in gentle waves. There was only the tiniest memory of my old face: my eyes were basically the same color, and having naturally long eyelashes, I didn't see a need to alter them much. But the lines had all been smoothed, the angles softened, the cheekbones raised and the skin porcelain. My chin was pointier, and my neck much more gentle than thick.

My nose was totally different--I had inherited a bit of my dad's honky schnoz, so I replaced it with photos of my mom from college for reference. I touched my face, feeling it, running my fingertips over the smoothness of the skin. I looked down at my curvier, smaller hand. I made a fist. It was cute.

"I feel like I'd break if I punched someone with this," I said, and stopped. My voice definitely sounded different. Not night and day, but higher, less rough.

"I sing the song of six pence," I tried. "Rubber baby buggy bumpers. Fuck. Fucking ass tits pussy cum bitch."

Damn, I sounded sexy.

But my voice wasn't a big deal. I stood up, and faced the mirror. Now was time for the main event.

I grabbed the collar of my shirt that hung around me in baggy waves--well, everywhere except one place) and hauled it off. My longer hair caught a bit in the collar. I felt the bounce at my chest level. My pants quickly followed, hitting the floor without even needing to unbuckle.

My sculpted, firm DD titties stood out proudly from my chest. I couldn't resist hefting them, feeling them spring back as I let gravity take them. The areola were small and perfect (maybe Chantell was rubbing off on me a little?) and my body was definitely more curvy than thin. My arms were toned and powerful, with thighs to match (I'd taken the look from pro tennis players) and there wasn't a pore amiss on my perfect skin. I turned to admire my ass, and had the oddest surge of libido.

Can you desire to fuck yourself? Do lesbians ever look at themselves in the mirror and think, 'Damn, I would so tap that'?

Questions for another time.

I was a hot fucking girl in every aspect... except one. Between my smooth, powerful thighs, instead of the usual equipment, stood my large, erect cock.

I'm not sure exactly why I kept just that bit. Maybe it was the only aspect of my manhood I was unwilling to give up. Maybe I just couldn't overwrite the masterpiece of man meat I'd created. Maybe I just had a deeply-buried fantasy of being a tranny.

I dunno. I actually hadn't thought about it before.

In any case, I had just one last thing to test, and I guess I needed to be there, anyway.

I stared at myself a bit longer. I turned, cupping my right boob. Curious, I pulled it up to my mouth (they were big enough, after all) and ran my tongue over my nipple. My eyes shot wide. It was like an electric shock went through me. I moaned before I could stop myself, and it sounded damn sexy. I looked down, and without even realizing it, my other hand had started to jerk off my massive member.

I sucked my nipple into my mouth, my feminine hands in the mirror looking almost like I was giving myself hand job rather than jerking myself off. I had enough precum that I didn't even need to spit on it, despite emptying my load into Chantell's mouth five or six hours ago. My hand pumped faster, eyes locked on the mirror, sucking my other tit and swirling it with my tongue. My hand drifted down to my ass, cupped it, shoved a finger up it.

But I really had to do that last test. Uh, in a bit.

My balls tightened.

***

Grinning, I examined myself again.

"Perfect," I said, my higher voice still sounding odd in my ears. "Perfect! I'm a genius!"

Well, that was it. The theory was sound. Now I just had a fuck-ton of legwork to do. I was going to need every bit of time Chantell could buy me--there was no way she was going to be able to convince her mother to give it up, I knew that much. She wouldn't try that hard, anyway.

And when she failed, I'd have the appropriate punishment for her. She was nearly as implicit in all this as her mother, after all. And knowing her, she'd pretend I was the lowest kind of bastard, and love every minute of it.

But now, I had to make sure of one more thing: that going back worked. I fired up my second marco on my phone, one that would export all those hundreds of images in reverse. Bracing myself, I fired it off.

The cold-to-hot feeling roared over me. Now that I had a second chance to experience it, and I knew what I was in for, it wasn't as bad. I could almost feel the tiny gaps between changes, like I was being hammered by a hundred tiny waves in rapid succession.

Then it was done again. I checked myself out in the mirror, which was not nearly as interesting this time. Everything seemed to be in its normal place.

I heaved a sigh of relief. I definitely felt more comfortable as myself. Well, at least as a thinned-down, buffed-up, big-cocked version of myself. Hopefully I'd never have to do that again.

Unless I felt like it.

***

Two weeks went by. Long days and nights, thousands of photos, tens of thousands of changes. Eyes burning, caffeine supplies in constant danger, aching wrists.

But as I went along, I got better. Faster. I had the feel of what changes I could do photo to photo almost down to the pixel. My skill and efficiency were worlds above where I'd started.

It was two days before the dinner party. I leaned back in my chair, hands over my eyes. I grinned fiercely, and pumped my fist. All was now in readiness.

I looked over a cross section of all the personal folders in Omega. "I have you now," I said.

I looked down at my pants, which were tented by my massive boner. Now that I thought about it, I'd been so focused, I hadn't even jacked off once during this time, had I? And this from a usually one-a-day guy. I frowned, and looked at my browser icon. Well, maybe I could just--

Just then, there was a knock at my door. I knew that knock.

I smiled. With a lot of teeth.

"Come in, Chantell," I said.

Chantell popped in. She wore a stretchy green top that looked molded onto her skin, and a pair of daisy dukes cut so short you could see an inch or so of ass. Her hair was loose, that windblown look.

God, she was getting obvious.

"Hello, step sister," I said, eyes focusing back on hers. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

She closed the door, firmly, and heaved a sigh. "Don't be a prick. You know there's only one reason why I would come down here."

"A status report on how you've managed to put your mom off again?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on, I did the best I could. She's not going to budge beyond this weekend, so stop nagging me. If I get any more pushy, she's going to start thinking I'm against her. I know she's not in the right here, but I don't want to get on her bad side. Tuition, remember?" She paused. "Seriously, you aren't going to do anything terrible, are you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "I hope to reach a solution that will be equitable to all parties. The rest is up to her."

She frowned at that. "Well, okay. Just... just as long as you don't overdo it." She took a breath. "Anyway, I just came for a little tweak."

I stared at her calmly. "Oh?"

"Yeah. I just wanted a little, well, tightening. I want my pussy firmed up a bit." She glared at me. "Thanks to *someone* stretching me all the time, I'm getting a little loose. I want it more pristine."

I stared at her a long moment. I looked her up and down. She didn't flinch in the slightest.

"What?" she snapped.

I let it hang another breath, and then beckoned her with a finger. "Come over here a sec."

Chantell's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Just do it."

She frowned, but then took a few steps closer to me.

"Closer."

She took another step or two, so she was standing right next to my chair. Then, before she could react, my hand shot out, went down her dukes, behind her g-string, and buried two my my fingers right into her pussy. She was already soaking wet.

"What the fuck--!" she started, trying to pull away a little, but my finger up inside her gave her pause. Her hips jerked, and her mouth opened wide, and she let out a moan before her hand could stifle it.

"Let's stop playing games, shall we?" I said, working her dripping clit so she bucked again, making muffled moaning sounds. "You've been playing like I'm the evil blackmailing bastard just a little too long. It's time for the fresh air of truth, and these are the lips that never lie."

"W-what are you--" She cut off again in another gasp.

"You've stopped needing modification a while ago," I continued, still working her. "The only reason you come down here is you want to be ridden hard and put away wet. You *want* your pussy stretched by this cock. Why else would you be this dripping wet before anything happens? Does the thought of me working on your pussy, both digitally and physically, turn you on that much?"

"Oh, fuck," was all she managed to get out.

"You like the thought of me using you, dominating you," I told her, shoving my middle and ring finger up inside while I continued to circle her clit with my thumb. "You wear the pants when it comes to your boyfriends, because you're so hot now the'd cut off fingers just to fuck you. But you come here when you want to be put in your place, to be filled up as tight as you go, am I right?"

She was breathing hard, hips jerking fast against my hand.

"Well, am I right? What's your answer?" I pressed hard on her clit, and her eyes bulged.

"FUCK YES YES YES YES FUCK! Oooohhhh..." Her body vibrated, and her tits thrust out at me as her back arched, nipples plainly visible through her vacuum-tight shirt. She quaked there for a few moments, and then fell forward on me, hands supporting most of her weight on the chair arms, and her heaving tits resting on my chest.

"That's what I thought," I said, moving my fingers a little so she jerked sharply. "Well, tell you what: I'll do exactly that. I'll plug your hole with my oversized cock. Hell, I'll even firm you up after, just like you asked. But first, you're going to do something for me."

She looked up at me, still huffing. "W-what?"

"You're going to let me change you into whatever I like, just for while we fuck," I said. "I'm going to have complete control over your body, and do you however I like. Deal?"

She panted a bit faster, face reddening, trying to glare but not selling it well at all. "B-but just for tonight? Nothing... permanent?"

"Yup. I change whatever I want. Then I give you all the mega-sausage-powered orgasms you can handle, and change you back when we're done."

She hesitated, or pretended to. "Fine. As long as change me back."

"Good," I said, pulling my hand out of her hot box. She shivered, hips rocking again. "Now, you're going to go to my drawer over there, pull out some of my underwear, and pull it over your head like a blindfold. Then sit on my bed, fingering yourself, until I've got everything ready."

Her mouth twitched, eyes narrowing, but she turned and opened my dresser (it was a little disturbing that she didn't have to look for my underwear drawer, but went right to it without hesitation) pulled out a silky pair of boxers, and sat herself on my bed with the waistband drifting over her nose. After a minute, her hand snaked into her snatch, and I could tell from the faint wet sounds she was working it.

I nodded. "Now, this will take me just a few minutes. I'll warn you before I make the changes, but only just."

I turned to the computer, and brought up her latest photo. I tapped my finger for a moment, and then pulled up a couple photos I'd done for work. There was a nice spread of a particular girl that was... quite different from Chantell. I smiled.

I got to work. I was so good now that this transition would be a cinch. It would only take, what, 20 photos, tops?

My hands blurred across the keyboard, swam over the drawing tablet. Maybe 10 minutes went by. The whole time I could hear the sound of Chantell fingering herself, moans getting more and more pronounced, with my boxers over her eyes.

I was ready. "Alright," I told her, my dick already hard enough to chip diamonds. "Here it comes. This will be a lot of changes at once, so brace yourself."

Chantell nodded, hand slowly sliding out of her pussy, and hunching just a little. I activated the macro.

She gasped. I got to watch the changes sweep over her, at least as much as I could with her clothes on and my boxers over her head. She got smaller--in height, in shoulder width, in almost every body proportion... well, but her boobs, of course. Those stayed about the same, maybe just a bit bigger. Her skin darkened to a beige, her hair to a blue-black, and her shape became less curvy and more lean. Then it stopped.

"Oh my fucking god," she said. Her voice was not the same--a little higher, but richer, less nasal than her normal one. In fact, it sounded a lot more like the person I'd mostly modeled her after. "That was way more intense than... wow, my voice. What did you do to me?" Her hand went to my underwear on her face.

"Don't take the boxers off yet," I told her firmly. "Stand up and take off your dukes and panties, and then pull off your shirt and boxers together. Look in the mirror as soon as it's off."

Chantell swallowed, and nodded. She got to her feet, cautiously navigating to the mirror with the bit of the floor she could see around her silky, unconventional blindfold. She reached down and pulled off the daisy dukes. They came easily. Her ass still had a nice shape, but her hips weren't nearly as defined as before. Her normal pussy was clean and bear: now she had a narrow, black stripe pointing to her lower lips, like a landing strip.

Chantell, or perhaps the girl who was normally Chantell, reached down to grab the hem of her shirt at the waist, and pulled it and the boxers off over her head. Her golden-skinned tits bounced out, and and she stared at the mirror.

"Holy shit," she said, open-mouthed at her reflection. "You turned me into that Asian porn star!"

"Well, almost." I was standing behind her. "More like, an ideal version of her. Your boobs are oh-so-much more real, for one." I reached around and grabbed one, tweaking the nipple. She let a gasp, jerking back into me. "And almost certainly more sensitive. And the real Aina Honey is a seasoned pro that has had dicks of a power level over 9000 stretching her little twat over and over. But you... "

I dropped my pants, my engorged beauty tamer springing out, and one hand on her hip, I forced Chantell bend over so her ass thrust toward me and her face and tits went into the mirror. I lined up with her still-dripping lips. I had to shift my legs out a little bit because of the new height difference. Her breathing picked up, fogging against the glass.

"Well, just as you requested, I made you in mint condition."

With that, I thrust my cock inside. Or at least, I tried to. I only managed a few inches before it got so tight, I stalled.

"Oh, shit!" Chantell said, hips jerking as her hands pressed hard to the glass. "Oh shit shit shit shit shit! You... oh fuck! You made this pussy way too small!"

I pulled out a little, frowining, and then moved back inside, slower this time. I sunk in an extra inch over before. Damn, she was *tight*.

"Fuck!" she snarled. "Oh, god, it's almost like being a virgin again. Can't you at least shrink yours a bit?"

"And diminish my masterpiece?" I protested, pulling out again and giving steady pressure. I sunk in just a bit further.

"Oh!" she said, head jerking back. "Shit. Fine. J-just... just take it fucking slow, okay?"

I frowned at that. "I don't think you asked that the right way." I gave her another thrust, harder.

"Oh, fuckfuck FUCK!" she squeaked, face getting red. "S-sorry! Just--slowly! Please!"

I grunted. "Fine, fine. But you better be thrusting back at me, too." She nodded quickly. I pulled out again, and then as slowly as I could stand, pushed it back inside. Chantell gritted her teeth, her face a mask concentration, like she was passing a brick. Her muscles tensed, and she tried to press back against me, but her smaller body wasn't exactly a powerhouse.

Then, after a few more slow thrusts, something happened that I'd never experienced before. I bottomed out. With still almost an inch of my shaft still sticking out.

"Oooooooh gaaaaaaaawwwd," Chantel moaned, eyes shut and mouth hanging. "It's so... I'm so..."

I moved my hips a little, just wiggling inside her, and she came like a short-fused firework.

"Fuck fuck YES FUCK OH OH Ooooohhh!" Her body rocked with waves, and despite her size, I had to grab her to keep her from bucking me out. I had one hand on her ass, and the other tight on one of her tits.

After a few moments, she settled, face pressed against the mirror as she slumped for support. I bent over her so my mouth was next to her ear.

"That good, bitch?" I said. "You getting what you came for?"