Realignment (Patreon)

By Pappy Wolf

Kenneth Weems slept fitfully the first time he used his invisible night braces. He recalled his dreams only in feverish flashes. He remembered wielding a huge, blunt weapon of some kind and bashing it into the skulls of his enemies. It was laughable, of course. He was only 5’9” tall and his thoroughly average physique was hardly conducive to hand-to-hand combat. He drifted into wakefulness slowly. For a while, he lay in the dark and wondered how his mind had conjured such a strange scenario. He never watched fantasy movies or war movies or anything with violence, really. His heart thumped in his chest. Pent-up energy from his dream, no doubt. It wasn’t a bad sensation, he mused. He felt energized. Grunting, he stretched an arm to grab his phone. There were four minutes left until his alarm rang.

At thirty-nine, he had always lived alone. As a result, he held conversations with himself regularly and thought nothing of the practice. To himself, he argued, “Might as well get up.” His voice sounded thick, and his teeth ached. Bleary-eyed, he shambled to the bathroom and flicked on the light. The sight of his reflection jolted him fully awake.

He had tusks.

They were short, perhaps only an inch long or so, but they were tusks, jutting from the place where his lower canines had been. They were three times as wide as his incisors, too, and his other teeth had shifted to make room for them, corrupting his uneven smile into a snaggled wreck. He performed a frantic examination of his other teeth. The incisors, molars and upper canines looked the same, although they had moved about in his mouth.

The invisible braces…! Kenneth plucked them from his mouth and was about to dash them into the wastebasket before he thought better of it. The clear material of the lower braces had warped, conforming to the tusks. But the braces hadn’t looked that way last night anymore than his teeth had. He sifted through the plastic bin under the sink and found the box the braces had come in. There were foreign characters on the bottom side. He didn’t recognize the language and he hadn’t bothered to find out where the online site he used had sourced them from. After scrutinizing the odd, runic shapes for a minute, he had to avert his eyes. The characters made him feel dizzy. In his confusion, he didn’t notice that he was already brushing and flossing his teeth, tusks included. It was only when he’d stepped into the shower that he realized what he had done.

He ran through his everyday grooming ritual as though everything was normal. Like the tusks, his muffled response to them was unnerving. He knew he should panic. But he couldn’t shake the sense that he could go to work like always and nobody would look twice at him. He supposed that would be simpler than having to call in sick and locate an orthodontist… or an exorcist. As he shaved, he appraised his look. He wasn’t terribly fat or thin and his beard was nothing to brag about – all he could grow was a mediocre chinstrap and a modest chevron mustache that didn’t connect to the rest of his whiskers. His auburn hair’s bland style was clearly the work of a bargain salon chain. But he had strong eyebrows and a distinctive nose with a broad bridge and a full lower lip. He made the best of what he had been given. His libido was no more impressive than his body, but he managed the occasional quiet date with a few women here and there. Sometimes they ended in a brisk, efficient screw. The women never stayed after he fucked them, and he never saw them again. Still, it was enough, and he didn’t blame himself. He wasn’t anything special, but he wasn’t a jerk or a doormat, either. The plainness of his personality granted him the complacent calm of a Zen master. People seemed to find him agreeable and left it at that. In a way, the tusks were an improvement; they added some zest to his noncommittal looks and character.

On the streetcar to his office, he idly fingered the tusks. Had they gotten longer? Maybe. Not that it mattered. A few people stared at him. That never happened. A few people drew their children closer. A woman with an ass like a shelf looked over her bare shoulder at him and licked her lips. Nearer, a petite young man in booty shorts stared, enraptured.

Kenneth braced himself for invasive questions and wiseass comments as he pushed through the glass doors to his work. Nobody said a thing. Only the new intern, Peter, seemed to react to his new look. He smiled sappily at him by the coffee bar and looked away.

He settled in at his cubicle and went through his emails. He downed the coffee in under a minute. As he sorted through his messages, he bounced in his chair and thumped his palms on the desktop. He felt revved up, and he knew it couldn’t be the coffee. It was just some kind of positive energy surging through his bones. A pleasant ache tingled in his muscles. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d felt this good. More coffee was in order, he decided. More water, too. Digging through his desk, he located his 64-ounce travel mug. After fortifying his coffee supply, he deposited the mug on his desk and then headed for the break room so he could purchase some bottles of water from the vending kiosk.

In the hallway, his attention was drawn to a framed motivational poster. It was new, although he’d seen ones like it a hundred times before. A stock photo and some greeting card drivel about “teamwork” or “persistence” or whatever. The difference here was in the photo. It showed three office workers sharing a laugh. But one of the men had tusks. He was a handsome specimen, Kenneth had to admit. He was tall and broad shouldered, with close-cropped auburn hair and a boxy chinstrap beard, no mustache. He stroked his own mustache as he gazed at the image. His tusks did make his mustache difficult to groom. It was silly to grow the thing in the first place, he supposed.

No, he reminded himself. The tusks were new. He’d only had them since… since…

His pal Agustin sauntered past with a box of toner cartridges under his arm. Elbowing Kenneth, he quipped, “See something you like, Bob?” A quote from Halloween, a movie they both loved.

Usually, he could take ribbing with some good humor, but today the teasing irritated him. It felt like a challenge. “Fuck off,” he snarled.

“You first,” Agustin shot back. “Christ, what’s your problem, anyway?”

The burst of indignation faded, leaving Kenneth feeling out of sorts. “I don’t know,” he confessed. “It’s these… can I tell you a secret? It’s these damned tusks…!”

Agustin glanced at the impossible choppers, nonplussed. He shrugged, “They look like regular Orc tusks to me. What, so they have cavities or something?”

Kenneth felt a chill at the word. “Orc.” It was crazy. They were fantasy monsters, big green Hulk-looking things. “I’m… I’m not an Orc,” he replied, feeling somehow foolish as he said it. He chuckled a bit, in case he was wrong.

“Well…! Half, anyway. Be proud! Orcs are boss as hell!”

Stunned, Kenneth mumbled, “I guess.”

Agustin moved in closer and looked around the empty hallway for a minute before saying in a softer voice, “Listen, we’ve been buddies for years, right? I’ve been wondering something, and I think because we’re friends, I can ask it and you won’t get HR involved. It’s like a… sexual thing.”

Kenneth, still grappling with the notion that half his genetics were from a fantasy novel, nodded dully.

Softer still, his friend said, “You never see any female Orcs. Where are they? Or if there aren’t any, how in the name of God do you guys reproduce…? Sorry if that’s too personal. It’s just been bugging me.”

A wave of heat swept over Kenneth’s body just then. A twinge of pain sliced through his gums, and he gripped his tusks reflexively. One of them pierced his thumb. Swearing in a suddenly hoarse voice, he sucked at the blood.

Agustin was still rambling in his annoying human way. “Oh, man…! That’s gotta sting. Anyway, thanks for being real with me. And don’t worry, buddy. Even though your tusks aren’t as big as the ones on the poster, they’re more than large enough.” Patting Kenneth’s shoulder, he went on his way.

The throbbing pain in his thumb, the warmth radiating through his flesh, the studly model on the poster with his prominent tusks… they alchemized in his addled mind into something new. He moved closer to the printed half-Orc’s image, sizing him up. He was taller and younger but not as muscular as himself, something he confirmed by squeezing his own bulging biceps and flexing his pillowy pecs. And there was something soft in the model’s expression. He could take him if it came down to it. He'd overpower the stripling in combat, and then he’d claim his prize: the boy’s pert, moist hole. As he imagined the ways he would force the lad to pleasure him, his hand moved down to his crotch and gave it a tug.

Voices echoing from around the corner startled him back into reality. Eyeing his injured thumb, he saw that it was still bleeding, with no sign of letting up. He’d have to clean it and get a bandage. It took him a minute to recall where the men’s room was. As he searched for it, he felt weirdly bloated, especially in his groin. The suit constricted his movements, and he was forced into a hunched, loping gait. At last, he burst through the restroom door. A pair of human men were washing their hands and chatting. They smiled and nodded at him, and then went back to gabbing. Still, Kenneth felt like he should hole up in a stall until they were gone. He sucked at the bleeding thumb again. He wondered why he had worn such a small suit today. He couldn’t remember buying it. But then, he had trouble remembering a lot of things before today. Looking down, he saw that a small but growing stain had appeared on his crotch, where his pre was oozing through the tweed. Hurriedly, he unbuckled his pants and tried to clean up the mess with some toilet paper. The jizz had an unhealthy tint. It was a pastel green, like crème de menthe. The head of his cock looked greenish as well. This was a grayish green, like verdigris on a copper roof. It seemed to spread down the shaft as he watched. His hand lingered on his shaft. A mighty urge to jack off taunted his brain, but that would be… what? It was taboo, he knew, because… it was a waste. He had to save it. For some reason.

He heard the men’s footsteps on the tile floor as they exited the restroom. Part of him wanted to leave the stall cautiously, but a more powerful notion took hold, and he pulled the door open with enough force to rattle the partitions. As he’d guessed, he was alone. Seeing his reflection, he laughed, heartily. His voice had dropped an octave and the grit he’d heard in it a few minutes before had increased. He had to laugh, because his dick was still hanging out of his pants. It was fully green now, and much beefier than it should be. Not that he could complain!

He still had to hunch over because of the suit. That damnable human suit. “Fuck it,” he growled. Dress code be damned. If he had to wear a suit, he would wear it Orc-style. Grunting and snarling, he ripped the sleeves off his jacket and dress shirt and left them in tatters on the floor. With their newfound freedom, his delts, biceps and triceps inflated, getting as big as any human power lifter’s. His forearms grew as well, and sprouted a coat of coarse hair so dense that it could pass for fur. Eagerly, he loosened his tie and tore his dress shirt open, causing pearl buttons to rebound off the mirror. His chest expanded, becoming barrel-like, and his flat tummy ballooned into a firm muscle gut. The improvements traveled up past his collarbone. His lats and traps bulked up swiftly, gifting him with a neck like a linebacker’s. His tusks were over two inches long now and curved handsomely. His skull lost its soft human proportions, with his jaw growing large and thick with a lantern jaw, and his browbone beetling forward, his eyebrows becoming wildly overgrown, casting deep shadows over his acid yellow eyes. His ears had grown slightly pointed, but he knew he could help them along. With hands adorned by nails that were black, long, and splintered at the tips, he seized his ears and pulled. They stretched to nearly eight inches under his ministrations, providing a pleasing visual balance to his tusks. He rubbed his upper lip, feeling the sad little human mustache retreat into his skin. In response, his beard grew prodigiously, becoming a burly thing hanging down to his chest. His conservative haircut had devolved into a mass of cowlicks on top while fading to bare skin on the side of his head. Even the color was strange. Both his beard and his hair should have been auburn, but the color had flared into a neon orange, darkening to crimson near the roots. Turning his head back and forth, he felt something soft brushing his neck. Reaching behind his head, he discovered that his hair had grown halfway down his back in that region, producing a sort of mullet-mohawk hybrid.

And he was still bleeding. He didn’t mind the pain now. Hell, it only made him hornier. He observed the steady drip of blood approvingly as the ruby tint abruptly shifted to emerald. Orc blood, he thought, the way it should be. Green Orc blood for one hell of an Orc. The wave of heat crashed over his flesh again, burning away the pink hue and leaving him a proud, manly moss green. His Orc shaft was over a foot long and as thick as a human baseball bat, and it thirsted for release. But he was its master, and he forced it to bend to his will.

He kicked off the puny dress shoes that had bound his feet for too long. They bulged outward, tearing through his thin black dress socks. His feet were one of his best features. They had thick black nails, like talons, and the tops bore a fiery pelt to match his hair and beard. All that was left was to rid himself of the constricting trousers. Smirking, he tore his belt into sections and then ripped the despised garment from his legs in one violent motion. His leg muscles grew massive, while his glutes resembled basketballs in their curvature and firmness. Like his forearms and feet, his calves and ass cheeks were covered in a dense orange pelt.

He wasn’t naked below the waist, though. Beneath the absurd human suit, he had thought to wear his customary loincloth, made of dire wolf fur. He tucked his rampant Orc cock beneath it and regarded himself in the mirror. He was the perfect blend of business formality and sensual Orc strength, with the remains of the jacket and shirt, the loose tie nestling between his pecs, and the knee-length loincloth pulled upward as it draped over his erection.

“Half-Orc my ass,” he snorted. And his name wasn’t Kenneth, either. That was just what the little humans here decided to call him, since “Keft” was too exotic for them to pronounce.

His sausage fingers worked nimbly, separating his beard into a series of braids that he tied off with bits of fabric from the ruined shirt sleeves. He teased the hair on his scalp into spikes and then arranged the longer section in the back into another braid. “There,” Keft rasped to himself. “You look more than good enough to go courting.”

His human coworkers gave him a wide berth as he strolled the office with his huge cock only barely hidden by his loincloth. Let them, he thought. He only had one man on his mind.

He could tell Agustin was nervous when he pulled him away from a conference call for what he termed a “private meeting.” But they were friends from way back, and that relationship gave him an advantage. As he guided his human pal to the men’s room, Agustin’s eyes grew wide, and he tried to slip from beneath the tree trunk arm Keft had laid over his shoulders. “None of that, now,” he scolded his charge. “You just need to relax.” With a sudden motion, he grabbed the back of Agustin’s head and forced his face into his furry Orc pit. He heard the human cough for a moment as he tried to dispel the musk from his lungs. But then his form grew limp.

Keft hustled him through the door and locked it. Agustin’s eyes were half-closed, and a dumb grin had settled on his face. “Good boy,” the Orc cooed, stroking the human’s hair like he was a dog. “You wanted to know how Orcs reproduce. I’m going to show you. Because I’m your friend.”

“Best friend,” Agustin slurred. His wobbly gaze explored Keft’s massive form… hungrily. The orc rewarded him with a taste of his pre. The human’s eyes rolled back in their sockets, but not before their deep brown tint flashed into acid yellow.

Keft bent the object of his lust over the sink counter and ripped a hole in the back of his trousers with his claws before plunging his jizz-soaked cock into his tight hole. Agustin grunted feebly, but his cries were drowned out by Keft’s thunderous gurgles and groans. He took his time, not wanting to get too rough with his partner until his body was ready to take it. Twenty minutes in, someone knocked on the door. The janitor, asking if the room was occupied. “HELL YEAH, IT IS,” Keft bellowed. From the other side of the door came a polite apology and the sound of a cart being wheeled away. As Keft shot his first load into Agustin, he took a moment to admire how nicely his coworker’s new tusks were coming in. He’d be quite the looker by the time they were done.

He pulled the dazed half-Orc into a tight embrace and forced his tongue down his throat while he fondled the slight points of his ears. “Your name is Guz now,” the Orc explained.

“Whatever you say,” Guz answered, plaintively. “Can you fuck me again? I need it, SO bad…!”

Keft couldn’t help laughing at the plea. “Oh, that’s a personal guarantee. Old Keft is gonna fuck the human all the way out of you and you’ll love every minute.”

Tears were running down Guz’s sleepy, blubbering face. Whether from joy or fear, Keft couldn’t tell, and he didn’t really care. He shoved Guz down onto his knees and had him service his cock for his second round of Orc spunk. As he face-fucked his buddy, he heard something small and hard clatter to the floor in one of the stalls. Keft’s superhuman hearing focused on the location and detected shallow, rapid breaths. “Hey, asshole,” he shouted. “You’re caught. Just come on out of there so I can decide what to do with you.”

A stall door opened, and then the intern, Peter, timidly approached them, carrying his phone.

Keft’s broad mouth curled in disdain. “What’re you looking at, Petey? On your phone, I mean.”

The kid’s face was pale, and his eyes kept darting to the altered Agustin dutifully sucking Orc cock. In a tremulous voice, Peter said, “Um, DraftKings…?”

But Keft could smell the pre in the youngster’s briefs. “Bullshit,” he laughed. “Just hand the stupid thing over. And don’t lock it first.” He had to practically break Peter’s hand to get the phone away from him, but he succeeded. A multitude of green dick was arrayed on the screen, on a website called “Mature Orc Daddies.” He sighed. “Room for more than one Orc love slave in my life, I guess. Get behind me and start eating out my ass, newbie.”

Keft didn’t sleep alone that night, or ever again.