The Magic Tablet: The Complete Series

by Nadia Nightside

  “I just...goddamn.”

  That came out harsher than he wanted. He was cold now, his boner quickly being forgotten in his frustration. They hadn’t fucked in a while. Usually they relied on “feeling it.” Scheduling sex felt unromantic, even if all the studies said it was more effective. But “feeling it” hadn’t happened in too long, and now that he had...the moment had passed.

  “I’m sorry,” said Vivian.

  She looked embarrassed now. She was always embarrassed.

  In his marriage with her, he’d found a lot of women often were for all kinds of nebulous, abstract reasons—the shape of their necks when they laughed, the speed of their apologies, the frequency of their apologies, the delay between their understanding and their laughter at a joke, the list was endless. Vivian just wasn’t as great at hiding it as most others were.

  This revelation had stunned him; he’d never seen a reason for a woman to feel embarrassed. If anything, he wanted to apologize more after realizing this.

  It didn’t help that embarrassment followed Vivian around like a pet dog always ready to run off the leash. This embarrass-dog was joined, of course, by a depression-cat and an anxiety-llama. All three floated in and out of Vivian’s mental state—genetics had not done her many favors in that regard, despite her razor sharp intelligence and wide, spectral abilities for analysis.

  She’d done wonders in the years since he’d known her to rein these issues in and put them to work for her; therapy and medication worked. But still, they peaked out from time to time, and Jacob frequently worried he’d say the wrong thing and set her emotions against herself.

  “It’s fine,” he said, teeth gritted.

  He didn’t want to yell at her. She was his partner. There was no reason to be mad, even though he was.

  He just wanted to fuck the shit out of something, that was all. His balls felt as blue as the ocean floor.

  “I just can’t...turn it on like that,” she said. “We've talked about this. I need some build-up, you know. I need...”

  “I can lick you, if you want. Damn. I’ll do that right now.”

  She squirmed again, her hands wrapping tighter around her waist. “You know it’s not that simple. I need like, a good thirty minute cuddle before sexing is possible.”

  He sighed. He did know that. It was one reason their sex life had become so difficult. Sitting still for that long was difficult for him. There were always a thousand projects to attend to around the house.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just...I really wanted to, you know?”

  “We can try tonight?”

  He nodded. “Sure,” he said.

  But already he knew that he’d probably jerk off in the bathroom later—his need was too great to ignore. And that would mean he wouldn’t have enough to run on until at least nine, and by that point, they’d be close to going to bed, and too tired to really try, or care enough to try.

  So they both nodded, insincerely, and promised to try that night though they knew they wouldn’t. And they sat down and ate their sandwiches and talked about their latest crop of students.

  Jacob did not mention the tablet, though it weighed on his mind, pulling down every thought, tugging at every response he gave to his wife.

  * * * * *

  Two minutes after Vivian left, Jacob looked at the tablet again. The position of the screen had not changed.

  Save changes?

  The screen prompt still blinked that pleasant green.

  Green for go. Green for go right-the-fuck-ahead, my man.

  “What the hell,” he said. “It’s just a game anyway.”

  He clicked the yes.

  Moments later, his clothes began to rip and tear. He did not wear them tight—knowing that dressing in larger sizes helped to disguise how out-of-shape he had become over the years. He stood up, stumbling wildly and crashing through a chair, snapping it half from his extra weight. He was close to three hundred pounds now, and all of it solid muscle.

  “Christ,” he said, eyes wild. “Jesus...Jesus Christ...”

  His body had just...just changed just like that. This...this tablet was...

  Well, shit. It was magic, wasn’t it? What else explained it? From the turning from a stone into the tablet, from the changes, from the disappearance of that blond beauty...it all led to magic.

  He gulped. Jacob was a naturally skeptical man, but he wasn’t an idiot. This wasn’t the sort of evidence someone just ignored. There was no explanation, metaphysical, quantum, or otherwise, that explained this.

  And there was something else, too.

  His cock was as hard as a rock.

  This excited him. Changing like this. The power that this promised.

  He sat down, trying to focus. Clearly there was something going on, here.

  Somehow he had managed to be caught up in Events, capitalized and italicized, real fucking Happenings, and that was no joke. Those six bruisers did not look like they wanted to track down that woman for tea. What had she said to him?

  “You're a good man. Stay that way.”

  That was going to be damned hard to do. What else could this tablet do?

  Very quickly he began to explore. First thing—he made himself smaller. It wouldn’t do to walk around like a giant, even if it made him feel powerful as fuck. Instead he was now a clean, easy two hundred-twenty pounds—and only two inches taller than he had been before, now six foot one. Twenty pounds heavier than he was before the tablet, but all of it muscle now.

  Strong thighs, strong torso, strong everything. The bulk was comparable to what he used to have, though, so with clothes on, it looked only like he had been enjoying a few weeks of healthy eating.

  There was a spare hoodie in his office and he slipped it on over his ripped shirt, putting his tattered jacket into his bag. His pants were still split around the waist, but he improvised a belt from long piece of cord from the windows and kept them together.

  He stood over the tablet, watching the little blinking buttons on the screen, the floating words, the insanely detailed simulation of his body.

  Distantly it occurred to him that it was possible now for him to stop. He could walk away, and that would be that—no more tablet, no more changes.

  Maybe he could get rid of the tablet—clearly, it was at the center of some kind of struggle, and Jacob didn’t think he wanted to be dragged into it. But at the same time...

  At the same time, it had been so easy to change himself. No dieting, no working out, just a few clicks of the buttons and he had a body now that would make him the envy of anyone at the gym. Thick biceps, hardcore dense abs and pecs, thick deltoids, a rippling back that was layered with heavy cords of muscle tissue.

  And his cock was so painfully hard. His hard ran up and down the bulge in his pants, fantasies striking him.

  There was, no doubt, a whole lot about what Phoebe wore that morning running through his mind. Maybe if he’d fucked Vivian, this would be different. Maybe if he’d jerked off already, he could think clearer. But his cock was in control now—and his cock, like any other, was scintillated by power.

  When he fucked Vivian, it was the power of it that got him off—the ability to change how she felt, how she breathed, how she moved, simply by fucking her harder. It was the power to assert himself over her and let her know that despite all their outward equality, he was the one who really mattered. His cum, his getting off, was what their sexual relationship was built on—just like it should be.

  Those kinds of dirty, sexist thoughts only really surfaced when he was getting off. He indulged them because they made him hot, they made the sex hotter.

  But maybe they spoke to a truer part of himself that was just now being revealed—having that kind of power was intoxicating, and now he held something in his hands—the tablet was in his hands again—that could give him depths of power he’d never even thought of before.

  “Couldn’t hurt to just...explore a little...” he said, tapping and swiping away.
>
  First things first, he fixed his hairline. No more recession, the dark locks of it thicker and more effortlessly suave than ever. A few adjustments here and there to his complexion, clearing away acne marks, an appendectomy scar, a birthmark around his hip that had always made him feel weirdly embarrassed.

  A part of him had said he would stop there—but of course, he couldn’t. There were so many options available—so many options beyond physical appearance to alter: job skills, trade skills, physical abilities, endurances, sexual skills, libido, chemical make-up...

  Was there a limit here?

  He was desperate to find out.

  All manner of physical, mental, and emotional aspects could be altered at his will. There were sliders and input tabs for everything. The user-interface was intuitive and friendly, every option clearly marked. Anything that a body was capable of doing or knowing, he could alter.

  There was a slider, for example, for financial know-how—sub-divided into accounting, market research, market analysis, banking, mortgages, financial theory, and so on.

  But he couldn’t—and he certainly did check—change the amount of money in his bank account.

  Even so, push a few of those sliders forward...and he suddenly had a very good notion of how to increase his portfolio by three-hundred fold in a matter of months once he had some money to invest.

  It didn’t stop with the mental understandings or the external physical appearances. Jacob could alter the internal physicality of his body as well—which only made sense, as he’d certainly altered his skeleton already when he grew taller.

  He’d had a pain in his neck for years—a squashed disc from too many years of bad posture. In moments, it was gone. Or rather, it was improved, fully restored to its original state and reinforced so that it would need immense amounts of trauma to ever be injured again.

  All those hours of physical therapy that never worked, all that yoga, all those little guaranteed-to-work pillows, and massage balls to work out the kinks in strained muscles, and so on and on...unneeded now.

  He didn’t stop there. There were sliders for his...well, his everything.

  Flexibility? Why not place himself at the level of an Olympic gymnast? Only noticeable if he suddenly burst into a aerobic routine, but it sounded fun. He could wrap his heavily muscled calf around his totally pain-free neck, now.

  Agility? Sure. He could use the strength in his legs to hold himself in the top corner of the small office, essentially hugging the ceiling like some kind of damned ninja. He did this for about two minutes, in awe of the power in his limbs, before rushing back to tablet, cock pushing against the table through his pants.

  Illnesses? Immune. Just like that.

  Fuck off, disease.

  No sickness, for as long as he decided. The cold he’d been nursing for nearly a month evaporated into thin air. The latent arthritis building up in his hands from years of grading papers disappeared like a bad odor in the wilderness.

  And speaking of writing, why not increase his typing speed? Or just his level of ability? His amount of creativity and drive? Sliders there. He played with them for a while, the way he used to cheat at video games. For a moment, he considered only making himself slightly better than he was...after all, it was no fun in games to just beat everything effortlessly. But then...

  Then, his cock felt so fucking hard at the thought of giving himself more...more...

  Somewhere in the process he freed his cock from its restraints inside his pants. He stroked his bare dick furiously as he toyed with each setting, altering himself to his liking. Adding on to his abilities and knowledge.

  He became proficient in mechanics, in electronics, in aeronautics—and all in less than two minutes, and only because he had a passing interest in them. So much made sense to him now, and he looked at the world with brand new admiration for all the massive complexities it took to make everything run so smoothly.

  And then there was his cock itself. He could alter that too. Larger, of course—and why not? He’d always been satisfied with his cock’s size, but there was something...intense...about altering it now. Making it thicker—like a flashlight—and longer, eight inches. Nine. Ten. His precum became a heavy, thick addictive intoxicant, raising the dopamine levels of women who were in range of his musk—which he altered as well, to make women more attracted to him.

  Everything about his body, his chemistry, turned on the animal instincts of every sort of woman—flooding their thoughts with notions of breeding with him, mating with him, needing to fuck him furiously—or at the very least, to fantasize about it later.

  In a big crowd, he’d draw a lot of appreciative looks, even from happily-in-love married women. In a small enclosed space, like this office for instance, he’d need about five minutes before the girl’s wet cunt overtook all of her senses and she was begging to be filled with his babymaking sperm.

  Vivian didn’t want a baby, not for a while. She was too scared about their finances, about how it would change her. Her mother and all her aunts had suffered from postpartum depression, and Vivian—suffering her own bouts with anxiety and depression—already had a prophecy in her mind about the horrible post-pregnancy phase she would go through.

  She would put it off as long as possible.

  Another woman might not. Another, younger, more fertile woman. A prettier woman.

  His cock surged forward, a hot stream of precum spurting out and spilling on his seat.

  It touched him only then, after altering his cock and his scent like that, what this was all about.

  Phoebe.

  He wanted to fuck Phoebe.

  He wanted to fuck Phoebe; he wanted to fuck her life, wanted to fuck her entire being until she was so fucking warped around the idea of his cock that the notion of her being a lesbian was as foreign to her as Arabic was to him.

  Hold on, he could fix that.

  Ah, there. Seven languages added to his repertoire—Arabic, French, German, Hindi, Mandarin Chinese, Russian, and Spanish. He could now hold a reasonable conversation with most of the known world.

  Power flowed through him like a sieve. He felt like he was sitting on a lightning bolt. He wished there were some way he could simply summon Phoebe to him. She was in the middle of her second class, though, and it would look strange if he butted in...

  Besides, there were other women in the classroom, and he wanted to have a test case before he tried out this new scent—and everything else on top of it—on an entire room full of young women. What if they all started stripping spontaneously? The thought made his very hard cock jump, but it was also dangerous.

  This was dangerous—all this power. Certainly, whoever was coming after that beauty would be coming after him if he made himself obvious enough.

  Spinning on the tablet was Phoebe. He hadn’t made the tablet do that. It had simply...intuited. She appeared to be sitting in a chair, looking bored. Probably having the class write a journal.

  Jacob frowned. The class had started forty minutes ago, and she was supposed to only do journals in the beginning. Probably she was mucking the job on purpose to spit him. Typical teenager.

  Actually...no, she was twenty-two. He had forgotten. Her appearance and attitude was so youthful. She was a grad student, after all; couldn’t be a teaching assistant at Bloomingdale Heights without a degree.

  But...the thought of her being eighteen, physically eighteen, made his cock spurt a hot stream of liquid hot precum down his massive shaft. Could he...?

  After already having spent nearly an hour with the tablet, he found the slider easily.

  No way. No fucking way.

  With ease, he slid her age down to eighteen. A set of sub-sliders appeared—alter appearance to match age? Alter intelligence?

  He chose no. She was sexy enough as is—dead goddamn sexy, actually. He just wanted to fuck an eighteen year old.

  Now he just needed to get her into the office.

  It didn’t take him long to figure it out. So intuiti
ve, this iMagic program. At the bottom of the screen was a little smiley icon with a bubble next to its head. He tapped it.

  Command?

  Oh, yes. Cum slid down his cock, making a puddle on the floor. It was thick and he wasn’t stopping—he could cum as long and as hard as he liked now.

  Riding this orgasmic wave, he delivered the message:

  Phoebe will end class. She will promise a quiz on Chapter 10 next week. She will then enter Professor Lawton’s office, believing she forgot her sweater there.

  And then he waited.

  * * * * *

  Celeste sat upon her throne—a vast pile of marvelously soft furs layered on top of a golden chair in the large court room of her personal palace.

  Beneath her, splayed out and forced down on the elegant marble tiles by two large male slaves, was her beautiful older stepsister, Anastasia. They had been together for so long—and their parents gone and buried for so many hundreds of years—that Celeste often thought of her more always as simply her sister.

  Blond, beautiful, and always with a holier-than-thou attitude, Anastasia had ever been a pain in Celeste’s side. But it was only as of late that this annoyance had become a full-on threat...and Celeste dealt with threats harshly.

  “You’ve disappointed me, sister,” said Celeste. “I thought you would be harder to catch.”

  Anastasia stared up at her with hate. The two large slaves holding her stared up at Celeste with open devotion in their eyes. They had both started to cum, slowly, from gazing upon and hearing their Mistress at the same time.

  For a time, she had worked with eunuchs. But they always died sooner—so little vitality. Celeste needed slaves with some gusto. So now she simply had full-fledged studs working for her—studs that of course never touched her body.

  Males could never touch Celeste. She didn't allow such depravity.

  “Forgive me if I don’t care about your disappointments, sister.” Anastasia’s voice was laced with poison. “Surely this ludicrous estate is big enough to house a little let-down.”

  It was an enormous estate, built into the wall of a marvelous cliff with a vista of the nearby ocean. Should she want to, Celeste could look out one side of her house and see the surrounding mountainside and all its majesty—self-assured in the fact that her own physical majesty was that much more impressive. Or she could step out onto her terrace and enjoy the ocean, knowing that for all its vastness, all its depths, all the life teeming there, it still failed to approach the vastness, the depth, and the vivacity of her own beauty.