“What are you saying?” Jacob asked.
“I don’t want you to fuck these women and not still want to fuck me, Jacob. They’re cute, and young, and hot...and I know that, like, I’m terrible about wanting to have sex, but I still really, really love it. And I love it with you. So I don’t want...I don’t want you out of my life.”
She couldn't be serious, though Jacob. Was she serious?
“Are you suggesting what I think you are?”
“What do you think I’m suggesting?”
“I mean...to make you...to change you. Like I changed them. To...I mean, if I decide to stay with my new form, then I should also...change you.” He licked his lips. “Breed you, even.”
“Do you want that?” Her voice was soft.
It was time to be brutally honest. “Yes. I do.”
She shrugged.“Then go ahead. If that makes you happy. I just can’t bear the thought of losing you, that’s all.” She put her hand on his thigh. “I can see which way the wind is blowing. You’re my husband. I know you. You already decided this.” She slipped down to her knees, tugging at his zipper. “I’m bad at having sex. Initiating. Feeling good about myself, feeling sexy enough to fuck. We both know that...but you could change that, couldn’t you? Could you change it right now?”
“Fuck,” muttered Jacob.
He loved his wife.
The tablet was not far away. In seconds, he had Vivian brought up on the screen. He immediately navigated to her emotional stats.
Levels of anxiety? From close to 80% down to 10% in a heartbeat.
Depressive tendencies? Totally removed.
Desire for sex? Increased past her normal 25% and up past 80% (any more than that and she’d never leave his cock alone enough for him to fuck other women).
“Mmmm....” Vivian moaned, eyes closing. She stretched her arms upward and leaned in to his body, giggling softly. “God, I feel...great...”
He gestured for her to continue to unzip his cock, and she obeyed immediately. Her hands were soft and sure, taking him out with a bit of wonder. She'd never had complaints about his size—and she certainly wouldn't now that it was even thicker and longer than before.
“Girls, come in here,” he called.
Phoebe and Gwen obediently came over. There was nothing stopping him, nothing at all, now that he had the explicit permission of Vivian. His wife's mouth gently slipped over the head of his cock and she sucked diligently.
Every flaw he had ever pointed out, everything that had ever made him wish he had a prettier wife, he changed.
Sexual desire was first up—escalated to 80%, but only for him. Other men were dropped into negative levels. Desire for women went up from 40% to 70%.
But that wasn't enough. Oh, no.
As he arranged for more changes, he ordered Gwen and Phoebe to get naked—they didn't need their clothes on anymore. He made a very quick alteration to their profiles, upping their obedience and their sexual attraction to him.
Their obeying echoes were tinged with heavy, lick-lipping lust as they dropped completely nude to their knees.
Then he worked on Vivian. Her babyfat evaporated in seconds. The line of her chin and jaw became clean, regal, and elegant. The muddy hazel color of her eyes became bright and cheery, while her lips were enhanced to be more full, more plush and ready for kissing.
Her body became toned and long, her torso tiny and tight while her legs stretched longer. Long legs, big tits, thick long hair, tiny waist, wide hips—this is what his women would all have from now on. He had a type, and there was no reason not to indulge himself.
Vivian moaned at the changes. There was an option to make each alteration fill her body with pleasure—and so, loving his wife, of course he turned that option on. And so her body was already brimming with orgasmic bliss as her lips curled around his thick cock, sucking harder and harder, her every portion transforming purely for his pleasure. She looked like a model, and this model belonged to him.
He needed to fuck her. For the first time in longer than he could remember, he needed not only just to fuck, but to fuck in particular his wife. Not just to use her as a receptacle or an aid while he filled his thoughts with other women—no. He wanted to fuck the shit out of his girl.
“Get on your back,” he ordered.
Right away, she obeyed. “Yes, Sir.”
she licked her lips, her face brimming with confidence. He liked this new her. Even so, she had to learn the ropes.
He slapped her cheek—lightly, only barely enough to leave a red mark.
“You call me Master, slave.”
Her smile only widened. “Of course, Master. Anything you say, Master.”
He ripped the clothes off her body. Gwen and Phoebe gathered in close to him. Phoebe pushed her enormous tits against his arm, cooing appreciatively as he lowered his cock down to Vivian's wet, pulsing cunt.
Gwen, meanwhile, slid her bare cunt over Vivian's mouth, encouraging her to lick her pussy while their Master watched.
“He'll like it...” said Gwen. “He'll fuck you harder...”
It was all Vivian had to hear before sliding her head forward with relish, licking at the hot honeypot of the young temptress.
Entering Vivian was like an entirely new experience. They had fucked thousands of times in their period of marriage, but this was something entirely new. There was a whole new feeling to fucking his wife, his gorgeous wife, unqualified in any of his estimations of her. No turning away to imagine something or someone else to get harder. All he had to look at was her beautified face licking out Gwen, her transformed body squirming and writhing, all of it totally belonging to him.
“Fuck her, Master.” Phoebe's fingers were well up in her cunt, her entire body shaking with desire. “God, you're fucking her so good, Master...you're so fucking good to her...”
They fucked like this for several minutes—Vivian eating out Gwen, Phoebe cooing and moaning and fingering her cunt as she urged her Master to fuck his wife harder. Vivian slid Gwen to one side, though, biting one lip with desire.
“Now, you.” Vivian urged him. “Show me what you really look like, husband. Show me your true self.”
He knew what she meant. The tablet was near, and in moments, he had the “Master template” activated. The changes were so quick as to be almost instantaneous—one moment, he was a well-muscled version of his former self.
The next moment—he was a tall, muscle-bound, incredibly hung uber-god. His cock grew inside of Vivian, to the point where he had to alter her profile too so that her body could take his enhanced length. And all the while, his addictive, mind-altering precum and scent filled the air, fucking their minds with his forceful obedience even more.
“O-oh,” Vivian moaned, looking. “Oohhh, shit. Oh god. Oh, god!”
Her face was wide, eyes totally open. For a moment he thought he was hurting her.
“You have to fucking put a baby in my body, holy fuck! Oh my fuck, Master, please!”
The volume of her voice reached near-hysterical levels. He could feel her orgasms thrashing around his pumping cock like lightning bolts smashing against water, with his cock the one ship bold enough to navigate the seas.
He needed to cum inside her. He needed to cum inside his wife.
“Yes!” Vivian moaned. “Put a baby in me, darling! Please do it! Please fucking breed me!”
“Do it, Master.” Phoebe pressed her huge tits against his arm, urging him on. “Put a baby in her, Sir, please? Fuck her, Master. We need to see you fuck her!”
“Yes, Master.” Gwen positioned herself over Vivian again, sliding her slippery wet cunt on top of his wife’s face to lick. “Do it, please. Fucking dump your cum in her fertile belly, please?”
Beneath him, Vivian bucked and gasped, her mouth automatically reaching up for Gwen's sweet cunt. Her new musculature made her much more active beneath him—but his favorite position was still pinning her down, fucking her helpless body as hard as he could.
Em
ptying into her was paradise. His mind felt lost as he came inside her, orgasming for what must have been straight minutes. All the while his cock pumped, his balls thrumming and throbbing, pouring more and more sticky seed into her fertile hot body.
Gwen and Phoebe began to kiss one another around his cock. He slid out from Vivian, guiding his cock up to their mouths and allowing them the privilege to clean him.
Vivian's body was filled. But Jacob had stamina for days. And so, as he watched his wife’s mind shutting on and off, her thoughts eviscerated by the pleasure of his cum filling her womb, he pulled Gwen close and began to start again.
“You ready for your turn to get pregnant, girl?”
Nothing would stop him now.
# # #
Ruling His Own Strip Club
The name of the establishment was The Cabin, and it was the best strip club in Bloomingdale Heights.
Jacob approached it with an easy, sure confidence. In his hand was his new tablet, humming with energy.
Not so long ago, the trip to a strip club would have left him with a great deal of trepidation. He enjoyed them, like any red-blooded male, but there was also a lot of uncertainty. The Cabin was in a bad part of town—would he be mugged? Would his car be broken into?
Once he got inside, would he look like some loser just being there by himself? Once he found a dancer he liked, would he be easily able to speak with her, or would he stumble over his words and seem like a fool? Would he come off as a creep, or worse, as some hapless sexless loser who didn't know what it was to talk up close to a beautiful woman?
And all of those times had been in the dead of night on the weekend, when a person was supposed to go to a strip club. This was in the middle of a day on a Tuesday. There was no way he was supposed to be here now—in fact, he was supposed to be at work, teaching a class.
Soon, he would quit that job. It was unnecessary for him now and far too public. He did not want to have to be out in front of people anymore. And if he taught a class, the temptation to alter the bodies of so many fine young females of the student body would be too great a temptation.
No, better this place, and for a litany of reasons. He had considered them carefully.
There was the ease of money, for one. He owed quite a lot in student loan debt. Soon, that debt would be obliterated, and he'd be able to start saving for his future in the most efficient ways possible. The tablet had let him know, after all, how to “solve” the stock market—all he needed was a little capital to get it done.
Then there was the matter of his unstoppable hard-on. He wanted it serviced, and he wanted it serviced by the sexiest women around. The ones who lived, breathed, and thought sex—the ones whose job it was to turn men on all the time.
The thought of loyalty his wife Vivian was something of a forgotten absolute, now. They had always had an open marriage—now, the marriage would simply be very open. If she couldn't be absolutely everything he wanted, then he deserved to find all the women who did, simple as that.
Vivian, naturally, agreed. The tablet made sure of that.
And besides all of those reasons—there was the matter of whoever it was who had been chasing the woman who gave him the tablet. Money—and lots of it, and very quickly—would come in handy against someone like that.
Who that was remained a mystery, but he was not so stupid as to believe that he would remain outside their reach forever. Whoever it was wanted the tablet, and he needed to keep it.
Because now that he’d had his taste of power, he’d be damned if he gave it up.
Inside the club, music thumped. There was no smoking in these sorts of establishments anymore, but it still felt smoky. Black lights and lasers streamed through the air, pulsing in time with the trendy pop beats pounding through the speakers.
There was a glass booth with a young black woman inside. Stickers plastered the glass, advertising happy hours and dancers on tour from New York and Honolulu. She looked bored, reading a fashion magazine.
“Twenty dollars is the cover,” she said, not looking up.
“You’ll let me get by without that, won’t you?”
Now she looked annoyed—still not looking at him—but before her head moved up, she inhaled slightly. That was all it took. His new scent, his pheromones, worked rather quickly.
If his scent hadn’t fucked up her head, the rest of him would have. He was tall, heavily built with thick, hard muscles, and had a disarmingly handsome bearded face. He wore a tight suit jacket and slacks. His button-up shirt was unbuttoned at the top end, revealing perfectly formed marble-hard pectorals that were the stuff of smutty romance novel covers.
“S-sure,” she said, flitting with her hair. It was curly and bouncy. It was cute that she thought she was hot enough to really fuck him—hotter than the three cock-slobbering slaves he already had at home. Maybe she would be after a little modification, but he doubted it. “I mean, I can’t...you just...” she gulped. A little bit of drool began to form at her lips. She breathed harder and harder—another effect of his scent, which only made her take in more of it, turning her brain to hotter and hotter mush.
“And bottle service, yes? Tell your girls I’m the biggest tipper you’ve ever met.”
A bouncer approached from inside the club, apparently overhearing some of their conversation. He was wide and bald, his countenance like that of a grizzled war dog.
“Is this asshole trying not to pay, Sugar?”
“He’s, um...” Sugar stumbled, smiling apologetically at Jacob for the interruption. “He’s fucking h-hot.”
Jacob smiled at her, and she giggled, coming close to fainting. Girls like her—working the front desk, working as waitresses—didn’t dress in the skimpy outfits of the strippers. She wore tight blue jean shorts and a black tee. But he could tell she wished she was dressed hotter for him just then.
“Hey pal,” said the bouncer. “You gotta pay, or else—”
Jacob turned his full attention to the man, glowering. It took about five seconds of this before the bouncer turned his head down, his eyes to one corner, and shuffled out of the way. Like a child hoping to avoid an angry older brother.
“S-sorry,” said the bouncer. Jacob didn’t know it, but the man had served three tours in Afghanistan. Now, in front of Jacob’s undeniable presence, he was more terrified than he’d been under the fire of machine guns. “I didn’t...I mean...I can just...”
The bouncer’s cock and balls had shriveled up, trying to hide up inside his body—like he was sitting on a glacier, and one that was supremely angry with him. Jacob smiled. If he wanted to now, he could disassemble even this sort of fighter with ease. He’d made himself a very dangerous person over the last couple of days of experimentation and thought, trying to foresee all possible ways in which his newfound power might get him into trouble.
But it was better, he knew, to not have to fight in the first place.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Just send a few girls my way. In fact...” he took a look past the curtain into the club, scoping out the place. “Kick everyone else out. Turn off that obnoxious music. Bring me the owner, and call all the other girls in. Every dancer and every waitress you have. You got that?”
The bodyguard nodded, fear in his eyes.
* * * * *
If Daniela knew one thing, it was that she deserved better in this life.
Look at her. Just fucking look at her.
Statuesque blonde. Twenty years-old. The kind of body that had, after six months of dancing at The Cabin, had already paid her way through her first two years of college with funds for the other two put away in a bank, and enough for grad school probably ready by the end of the year.
High cheekbones. Sensationally angelic face. Pout-perfect lips, bright blue eyes, and long blond hair that always behaved no matter how rough she slept. The kind of body other girls dreamed of. Heck, the kind of body even professional athletes dreamed of. Resistant to injury, capable of constant improvement, toned a
nd muscular and always ready for another rep.
Daniela worked for it nonstop, naturally—first as a gymnast from ages 6 to 18, and then in the gym, and then in the club.
Her friends often told her—the shallow friends, the kind who were around her because they thought she would be an Olympic prospect and wanted to stay close to that kind of glory—that they were surprised she hadn’t found some rich man to bankroll her life by now. But that wasn’t Daniela’s style.
She wouldn’t be in debt to anyone. She would be in charge of her life, forever, and nothing would change that. If she hadn’t busted her knee at 17, she probably would have gone to the Olympics, but that dream was dead now—and she danced at The Cabin, instead.
Why she was being asked to be there for some “emergency staff meeting” in the middle of a goddamn Tuesday was beyond her. She was a weekend dancer—good enough to start touring in a few weeks, where she could go to Vegas and maybe Los Angeles and make some absolutely phenomenal money—and even showing up to The Cabin in the middle of the week felt beneath her, no matter how emergent the meeting decided itself to be.
She was the best The Cabin had to offer, and you didn’t slap the best in the face by pulling her in during the middle of the week.
But—whatever. She was a team player. She thought of herself as a leader in the dressing room, and the best leaders led by example.
When drove up into the parking lot, she was surprised to see all the bouncers there on their way out of the club already and heading towards their cars. She stopped Myron, one of the bigger guys and one whom she had developed a friendly relationship with over the past few months. It behooved the dancers and the bouncers to get along; they relied on each other. A good bouncer made sure that dancers got paid; good dancers made sure that bouncers got a cut of their tips.
“What’s the deal?” she asked, stepping out of her car. “Where are you guys going?”
She wore skintight denim jeans, ripped around her thighs and ass, and a pink crop top. Her body, lithe and toned, looked phenomenal. Her competitive spirit had made her hope she would at least get a few appreciative looks from the gathered bouncers, but they all shuffled soullessly to their cars.
The Magic Tablet: The Complete Series Page 5