Photoshop Omega: the Wizard

There was a knock at my door. It was impatient, arrogant, and disgusted just by being here. Like Chantel's, but more seasoned.

"The door's open, Sharon," I called.

The door yawned, and in stepped my wicked stepmother.

At one time, Sharon had been hot enough to be a walking boner magnet. I'd just recently searched through her old photos, so I say this with confidence. She was tall, long legged, fair skinned, full-lipped, and was at least at one time naturally blonde. What nature hadn't given her, she'd augmented a bit with silicon and surgery, and the result was a woman that had bagged two wealthy husbands.

But she'd fallen on hard times. Old Father Time was starting to catch up, despite her best efforts, and she'd only managed to snag an upper-middle class fool this time: my father.

Even now, she was far from ugly. It was more that she was just trying so hard. The layers of make up, botox, and denial marred what would have been a classic MILF package. That and the fact that she was a conniving bitch.

Sharon put her hands on her hips. She wore a black and white horizontal stripe blouse, which did a good job of emphasizing her bust, and a sleek black pencil skirt that hugged just above her knees. One of her pumps tapped impatiently at the floor. "Chantel insisted I come down here to talk to you," she said, lips frowning redly. "What do you want, Jake?"

I smiled politely in my seat, the light of the computer screens blaring behind me. I thought to myself, that's me-Jake Carr, refined individual, swave business person. "Straight to the point, I see," I said, pressing my palms together. "That's fine. I'll try to not take too much of your time."

She folded her arms. "You had better not. I'm busy preparing for dinner, you know."

I highly doubted this was true. What she was likely busy with was ordering some caterers around every second so that they jumped at the sound of her voice. Dinner prep to Sharon was largely supervisory in nature, even without paid help.

"I understand," I said smoothly. "What I have to say actually has somewhat to do with dinner. Or, more precisely, your after dinner plans."

At this, her eyes narrowed. They had a dangerous light gleaming in them. "Oh?" she said.

"Yes. I actually have a deal I'd like to offer you." Before she could reply, I made an appropriately mystic gesture in her direction, and snapped my fingers. At the same time, I behind my back, I pressed the "action" button on the phone app I'd designed.

The app itself wasn't all that impressive. All it did was connect silently to my computer, and running entirely in the background, set a select macro I'd prepared in motion. It was one of literally hundreds I'd made (I may have gotten a tad obsessive about this whole thing) to carry out a specific series of tasks in short order for me without doing more that pressing the trigger.

In this case, the task was always to interact with a program called Photoshop Omega.

Omega was like the usual 'shop, in a lot of ways. It let you edit photos. It had layers. It had tools. It had filters. These were all things I was a master of, and it was how I made my living, mostly for websites that wanted you to "Click here for more hot teens! You won't last 10 minutes!"

But the main difference was, whereas the Adobe product let you do some fine edits to spruce up a bit of acne, or adjust shine or skin tone, add effects, etc., Photoshop Omega did all that and quite a bit more.

"What the f-" Sharon started, recoiling and holding her face. She was probably feeling it now-the tingling, the rush like a dozen tiny crashing waves of hot water on a numb, cold face. But it doesn't last long. She stood there a moment, gasping, and then moved a hand just enough to glare balefully at me with one eye. It gave me Smaug flashbacks.

"What the fuck did you just do, you miserable little shit?" she snapped, voice slightly muffled by her palms.

I pointed at the large mirror that stood nearby my desk. It had gotten a lot of use lately. "Why don't you see for yourself?"

Her gaze shot daggers at me between her fingers, but she grudgingly looked over at the standing mirror. Her right hand twitched, hesitating, and then she pulled it away from her face. When she saw she wasn't covered in tree frog poison, or octopus ink, or whatever she had been thinking I had shot her with, she removed her other hand, and took a step closer to the mirror. Her eyes widened. She rushed to the mirror, nearly pressing her face into the glass. It fogged slightly with her breath.

"Oh my god," she said. Her voice was hushed. Her hands actually shook as they reached toward her face. "Oh. My. God." She turned her head left and right, looking at her chin, and her forehead. "I'm me again."

I resisted the urge to snort derisively. Yes, the puffiness, age lines, excess makeup, and bags under her eyes that came with aging had been swept away. But she wasn't just young-looking again-she was *better* than that. Tiny alterations, here and there-pours corrected, lines smoothed, eyes shaped, so much more-had turned her into the beauty she had always thought she was.

Because Photoshop Omega didn't just edit photos. It exported them to reality.

Sharon, now truly hot again, touched her face, her lips, ran her fingers over her skin. "It's not a trick," she said, eyes still bulging. "It's not a fake mirror."

She slowly turned toward me. "How?"

I spread my hands. "Well, that's a complicated answer. But to put it simply," and in a way you can understand, I didn't say, "I recently acquired certain... powers."

She stared at me, her face going a touch pale, and took a step back. "Like... you're a devil worshipper?"

I blinked. "What? No. No. Do you see any upside down crosses or strange symbols written in blood around here? I don't even like blood. Don't put labels on a guy just because he likes to wear black every once and awhile. No, think less Day of the Dead and more... I dunno, Harry Potter?"

Sharon took another step back. "So... it's witchcraft, then?"

I gaped at her a moment. "What? Really? Seriously, what decade are we living in? Can you possibly be this out of touch with pop culture?"

She gave me a haughty glance. "I have always been at the height of culture, thank you, and I don't need any Wiccan trickery to guide my perception of the world."

I put my face in my hands. "Oh my god, I did not think this part of the conversation would be so hard." I yanked my hands down. "Look, why don't you just think of it like... magic, okay? Like Merlin, or Gandalf, or maybe Harry Dresden, but without any buildings being burned." I paused. "You've heard of at least one of those guys, right?"

She sniffed. "Don't talk to my like I'm a moron. Everyone knows who Gandalf is. He was in that movie with Orlando Bloom."

I regarded her flatly for a moment. "Right. Yes. Anyway, let's set the *how* aside for a moment, okay? Take another look at yourself in the mirror, and consider my offer."

She looked down at me for a moment longer, nostrils flaring, but then her eyes were drawn back to the mirror. She touched her face, fingers tracing over it almost reverently. "What is it that you want?" she asked.

"Here's the deal, Sharon," I said, sitting up straight and folding my hands together. "I give you this face for another 20 years. In return, you abandon your plans to have Alaina sleep with my father to break your prenuptial agreement, and just get a normal divorce."

Sharon suddenly stiffened. The look she directed at me was glacial. The room temperature might have actually dropped. "What?" she snapped.

"You heard me," I said flatly. "I know what's going on. I know the real reason you're inviting your half-Colombian, ex-Playmate friend over for dinner. I know that she owes you big, and obviously you've convinced her it's big enough to go along with the scheme, not to mention do the nasty with dad, which-let's be honest-probably didn't make it easier."

That last bit wasn't entirely true. My father actually was pretty palatable for his age, despite his added gut. I had no idea how he was in the size department-because blech-but judging by that lewd gleam he got in his eye, he was full of vigor yet. But this was a calculated move intended to make it seem I was more on Sharon's side.

Nonetheless, Sharon folder her arms, expression dark. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I looked at her a moment, and then reformed my polite smile. "Let's just say for the sake of the argument that you don't. All you need to promise me is that if you divorce my father, you do it no-fault." I leaned forward. "With a face like that, surely you could snag some guy with a thick wallet and self-esteem issues. If would be child's play for you."

She continued to glare at me.

I met her eyes calmly. "What say you? Do we have an accord?"

She blinked at me, frown intensifying. "You know I drive a Lexus."

I opened my mouth, choking like a fish out of water. "I... you can't really be- what I mean is- that had Orlando Bloom in it, too, you know!"

Her expression said she was talking to someone with the intelligence and smell of a slug. It made me want to tear my hair out.

"Do we have a deal, okay? That's what I'm asking. Do we have a deal?"

She looked at me a long moment. Her gaze wandered back to the mirror. "Why only 20 years?" she asked.

Well, at least she was paying attention. "Because any longer than that, and it will be too suspicious. Incredible youthful longevity is one thing. Supernatural beauty into middle age is another. You should slowly start to age again after that, just like you had been before, so it's not like it will go poof and you'll instantly be a hag after 20 years."

I wasn't certain of this, but I was pretty confident. None of the changes I'd made so far showed signs of wearing off quickly. But I admit, my sample size was not large.

She folder her arms. "And that's all you're asking? That if I divorce your father, it will be no fault? Nothing else?"

I folded my arms right back. "That's it. Once done, being out of each other's lives would be mutually beneficial, don't you agree?"

Sharon gave me another long look. I was tempted to give her a longer nose to go with, something the length of a finger with warts. But I reminded myself that this positioning was on purpose. I was seated just for this reason. At the same time, we were in my lair instead of hers. All part of the psychological effects I was working toward.

"Fine," she said finally. "If this isn't some carnival trick, and you can really make me look like myself for the next 20 years, it's a deal. If for some reason your dad and I split-and I'm not saying we will-it will be a no fault divorce."

I smiled. "Excellent. I'm glad we could come to an agreement." I made another meaningless gesture, and snapped my fingers. She cried out, holding her face. Then she quickly looked into the mirror.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "I thought we had a deal! You changed me back!"

"Now, now, look closer," I said, pointing at the mirror. "I didn't actually change you back. All I did was blunt the changes a bit."

She glared at herself. Indeed, she wasn't back to her old self, but she wasn't the shining, perfect beauty of a few moments ago. She had a line here or there, and overall was much more natural. I thought of it as what should could actually be if she didn't force it so much, maybe just a touch nicer.

"This wasn't the deal," she growled.

"Think about it," I said patiently. "If you walk upstairs now and suddenly have a perfect face, that's going to draw suspicion, don't you agree? Instead, if I apply these changes to you gradually, over the course of a month or so, it will just seem like you've just gotten some amazing new treatment. You'd get to gloat over your friends who would be desperately trying to learn your secret."

Sharon plant her feet. "Fine, fine, but at least make it a *little* better than this."

I raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I want to have at least some of my old look TODAY. I insist."

I put one hand on my face, and leaned into it. I almost couldn't stifle my smile. Insist? I obviously had the power to make her look like anything I wanted, and she had the audacity to *insist*? Sharon was some piece of work.

But this was not outside the realm of my expectations. In fact, it was according to plan.

"Fine, fine, have it your way," I said. "Want to show off to your friend coming today, right? At least show her up a little?"

She at least had the decency to color just the tiniest bit. "I just want my part of the deal," she said evenly.

I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Very well. As you command."

I snapped my fingers, and pressed the spot on my phone I'd designated. She let out another gasp, a smaller one, and then quickly turned to the mirror. Her lines cleared up more again, her bags departed, but she still had just a hint of age, like a really well-maintained MILF with enough money for a great plastic surgeon.

She frowned. "Good enough for now, I suppose." She turned to me. "Don't be late for dinner." Then she swept out of the room, closing the door loudly behind her.

I stared after he a moment. "You know," I said to myself, "I should have just gone with the plan where I turn her into a frog. Fat, green skinned, a huge nose with warts all over. But noooo, I had to go with the carrot plan."

I heaved a sigh, and turned back to my computer. I was web browsing only a few minutes when my phone buzzed. I scooped it up, reading the text I'd received.

I shook my head. "Wow, that didn't take long. I figured she'd consider keeping the deal for an hour, at least."

I smiled grimly.

***

When I heard the doorbell, I figured it was time to make my appearance. I checked my phone, verifying it was charged, and my computer one last time. Then I stood, straightened my silky, black, slim-fit button shirt and dusted off my nicest pair of jeans one last time.

Okay, fine, Sharon wasn't the only person who wanted to show off a little.

The mirror confirmed I was in good shape, and I went over the plan again in my mind. I tried to anticipate what might go wrong, what I would do. That made my gut tighten just a little. But the possible payoff... I smiled, and put an imaginary pair of shades on.

Showtime.

"...so good to see you!" I heard Sharon's voice as I took the last few steps up.

"Hello, Shari," a smooth, luxurious voice replied. "You're looking well."

I made the turn around the banister, and there she was. She was turned mostly away from me, but it gave me a chance to admire her from the back. Her hair was what I noticed first-black, full, falling in waves to her shoulder blades, with just a hint of brown highlights at her temples.

Her black dress was backless to just below the bra line, showing off her sculpted, smooth shoulders, and where the dress started was just a series of crisscrossed straps that had plenty of gap in them, zipped together before they became solid right at the curve of her ass.

And what at ass it was. A full, latin pair of cheeks, barely hidden where the dress ended high and tight on her thighs. She had plenty of leg, and the black pumps made her look even taller-her official profile had listed her at 5'9".

"Actually," she was saying, "better than well. You look ten years younger. Do something new?"

My stepmother smiled. She had a disgusting look of triumph in her eyes. "Oh, you know. Just trying to stay ahead of the game." She paused just a breath, and her eyes went a little flatter. "You know, you're looking pretty well-preserved yourself, Alaina."

"Why, thank you," Alaina said, and then turned slightly. Her face came into my view. Full, pouty lips turned in a slight smile, sculpture like skin, eyebrows that were dark and even. Her dress was a high collar v neck in front, dipping down in an arrowhead-like curve to the bottom of her breastbone, showing of the inner curves of her 32Ds. (Again, on her profile.)

In short, she was the most fuckable woman I'd ever met in person in my life. Well, that I hadn't designed, anyway.

"Well, I just recently have gotten back to myself, you could say," Alaina shrugged, a movement that would be illegal in some countries. She noticed me approaching and turned. Her warm smile made my stomach backflip. "And who is this? Jake, how are you?"

She took a quick step toward me, and gave me a hug. She smelt of honey and strawberries, and the skin of her back felt amazing under my fingers.

"My god, I hardly recognize you," Alaina said, pulling away to look at me. "You're almost a different person since I saw you at the wedding."

Jake smiled. "I'm surprised you remember me at all."

Her mouth quirked a smile. "I'd say that toast you made was pretty memorable. You don't hear something that beautifully descriptive and yet that... direct very often."

I scratched my head, feeling my face heat a little. "What can I say? I was going through a Tolkien phase. And it was an open bar."

At this, Sharon heaved a sigh. "Oh god. And to think I'd just nearly managed to forget."

I spared her a brief glance that was all smiles, like watching someone who cut you off on the freeway about to be pulled over by the fuzz, and turned back to Alaina. "Well, I hope I have refined just a tiny bit since then. But no guarantees."

Sharon's mouth twitched. "I'll say." She turned to Alaina, her back clearly dismissing me. "Do come inside. We can chat a bit in the parlor while the last bit of dinner gets ready."

"Yeah, we should do some catching up," Alaina said. "Lead the way."

The two women filed out, with Alaina casting a quick smile at me over he shoulder. I replied with a tiny salute, and made my way to the dining room.

***

Dinner was extravagant. I pulled the last succulent bit of meat out of my fourth lobster, swirled it in a mix of butter and lemon, and took a long, slow bite. My plate still had a nice slab of steak left, and just a bit of kale (it was actually pretty good. It's amazing what can happen when a pro does it. It's how you massage it, right?).

The caviar I left alone, though. I wasn't feeling quite that adventurous.

Across from me, Chantel was happily munching down a big mound of augratin potatoes, in total defiance of her tiny waist. Her sleek, royal one-piece hugged her, an oval slit showing a nice scoop of cleavage, Power Girl style. Okay, maybe a little more subtle than that. She snagged another lobster, and took a long pull of wine from her glass. Which really isn't how it's supposed to be drunk.

And speaking of wine... my dad sat at the head of the table. His face was already red, which means he'd already downed quite a lot. And it was no wonder. Every time his glass emptied even a little, either Alaina or Sharon would fill it again.

"But it's so very nice to see you again, Alaina," he was saying, blinking owlishly and a steady smile on his face. "You do look very well this evening."

Alaina gave him a dazzling smile, the one that had blown the load of ten-thousand Playboy subscribers. "Why, thank you Carl. That's very kind of you."

He waved that aside, his hand just a little shaky. "It has been good to chat. Sharon sure can make an excellent spread when she puts her mind to it, can't she? And doesn't she look heavenly today?"

He turned to Sharon, and she gave him a careful smile. "It's just the wine goggles, dear."

Carl waved that down, too, and he barely missing knocking over his glass. "Certainly not. I haven't even had that much. You really do look stunning. In fact, I'd say you are lovelier tonight than on our wedding day. Isn't that amazing?"

Sharon's smile intensified, and she couldn't help but flash a glance in my direction. I had the good grace to not even look smug. But I may have eaten my next bit of steak with extra vindication.