Nudes from a Dutch guy

William felt uncomfortable. He really had nothing against gays. But did his friends really have to take him to this fetish place? It wasn't that he disliked leather guys, skinheads and latex lovers. But he felt completely out of place in a suit, shirt and tie. And now his friends had disappeared into some darkroom and he stood alone at the bar, smiled at from all sides. He ordered a beer and was surprised to discover that his cufflinks had disappeared. He didn't notice that his right earlobe was pierced. Neither the ring through his left nipple. But somehow the back of his hand looked hairier than usual. It had to be the light.

William took a sip of the beer. Maybe he should at least loosen his tie. But there was no tie anymore. But there was a heavy chain hanging from his neck. Shit, was it because of that one sip of beer? Was he already drunk? He wanted to wipe his forehead with his handkerchief, but there was no handkerchief. Instead, both nipples were now pierced. And his shirt began to tighten over his chest. And his forehead was higher than usual. Where was his hair? William pushed his way to the bar to get a look in the mirror behind it. It was dark, he couldn't make out much, but obviously he was bald. Except for a short shorn strip on top of his head. And was the hair black? He was blond, after all. And how long had it been since he'd shaved. He reached for his chin and realized he had more than a three-day beard. Next to him stood a muscular young lad, naked except for his combat boots and camouflage pants. He toasted William and nodded at him appreciatively. Puzzled, Will lowered his gaze. Down at his undershirt. His shirt was gone. Instead, he wore a studded leather band on his right wrist. And in place of his wristwatch were two metal bracelets.

Meanwhile, the fella next to him had grabbed his left nipple and was playing with his piercing through the fabric of his T-shirt. "Respect," he let out. "Those are some massive rings." Will reached for his right nipple with his free hand. But instead of "What the hell is that?" a grunted "Everything on me is massive, kid" came out of his mouth. At that, his beard tickled him. Hell, yes, his beard was massive, too. And so were the two rings in his nose that had just been his collar stays. The hair on his chest was starting to grow through his t-shirt, which first turned black and then disappeared into thin air. Or rather, became some tribals barely visible under his fur. The fact that he looked totally ridiculous in his suit on bare skin didn't seem to occur to the man next to him. Just as little as Will noticed that his suit pants were tucked into high heavy leather boots.

Can't get enough of this beard and chest. Woooof!

Too Old for Games

The gym smells like iron and sweat and cheap citrus cleaner. Beau lived for the comforting gym smell.

He’s mid‑set on incline dumbbells, elbows flaring wide, chest pumped so tight it almost aches. White stringer clinging to him, black short shorts riding high on his quads. Backwards hat keeping his curls out of his eyes.

His phone buzzes on the bench between sets.

He doesn’t even look at it at first. One more rep. Controlled. Slow negative. Chest screaming.

Buzz. Buzz.

He exhales, racks the dumbbells, grabs the phone. I swear if its him...

Carlos

So… you still lifting with me tonight or you gonna ghost again? 😏💦

Beau snorts, thumbs already slick with sweat. He'd met this dude a few times at the gym. Gay guy, but super chill tho. Wanted to get a lift in.

Haha fuck 😅 I’m actually here rn Had to reschedule today...

Almost instantly, Carlos Replied,

Again?? 😒 Then when the hell we lifting together, man?

Beau glanced at his reflection. Pumped chest. Easy grin.

I’ll hit you back about it Been busy lately

Carlos hit him back,

You always “busy” when it’s me 🤨 Be honest—your girl not cool with it or something?

Beau rolls his shoulders, stretches his chest, feeling the skin tight and hot. Embarrassed.

Yeah… kinda 😬 She’s been weird about my gym schedule lately

There’s a pause. Longer this time.

Then—

Damn 😕 That sucks I just wish you’d be more grown about our plans man. Was looking forward to it bro!

The words more grown linger.

Beau’s throat tightens.

He blinks.

His posture shifts in the mirror ever so slightly, feeling slightly uneasy for a moment.

He shakes his head, chalk dust puffing off his hands. The hell...

Heat spreads low in his gut. His waistband feels tighter. His breathing deeper, slower.

Buzz. Carlos again.

You mad at me? 🥺 Didn’t mean to push

Beau smiles without realizing it.

His fingers feel thicker on the phone.

Beau: No. I’m not mad.

He pauses. That answer doesn’t feel complete.

Beau: I’m too old for that kinda drama anyway

Send.

His body shifts.

A slow stretch through his spine. His back pops—not painfully, but satisfyingly. His lats flare wider. Chest hair prickles as dark strands push through sweat‑slick skin, dusted with silver. His arms thicken, biceps hanging heavier at his sides.

His reflection ages quietly. Lines deepen at the eyes. Jaw roughens. Scruff blooms salt‑and‑pepper across his face. Beau stares at his phone, noticing nothing.

The thought of a girlfriend flickers...then dissolves. Replaced by memories of early mornings, steel‑toed boots, foreman meetings, steady paychecks, and years of Anadrol, Testosterone, and gym worship

He types again, without thinking.

And I could never be mad at a guy as cute as you 😏

That does it.

His shorts strain. His thighs press together, massive now. His curls shorten, tightening, dark strands giving way to a clean, practical cut shot through with silver.

His shoulders outgrew the frame of the mirror. The new 51 year old leaned back into the bench. Feeling the weight of the pecs and glutes he’d spent decades building.

BUZZ. Beau quickly thumbed open his phone then blushed.

Carlos:

Thought this might help 😈

Damn these kids were bold,

Another buzz before Beau can breathe.

You still want me to come over tonight or what? 🥵💦 I could leave now? 👀

Beau groans, low and slow.

His cock is thick now. His knows this game. Knows Carlos. Knows exactly how this ends.

Christ, pup… You’re gonna kill an old man acting like that 😌

He chuckles, scratching his hairy chest under his stringer.

Beau: You trying to make me leave the gym early?

Carlos replies with fire emojis and hearts.

Send me a pic 😏 I miss you

Beau frowns at his phone, squinting.

Hold on… how the hell does this camera flip again?

He could never get this damn thing to work.

He steps into the locker room for a moment, shuffling to the mirror.

He mutters, thumbs clumsy with tech, then finally manages it.

Click.

He sends it.

There you go. Behave yourself till I get there 😈 We get some good cardio in tonight, I’ll bump your allowance kid 😉

Carlos replied

Fuck 😍 That’s my silver fox Hurry up, daddy 🥵🔥

Beau locks his phone, smirking.

He stretches once more, muscles rolling under thick, weathered skin. God that kid made him horny. He slung his worn gym bag over his shoulder and started confidently for the door. Nodding at the old heads with a smile. He paused for only a moment, feeling like he had forgotten somthin', then shrugged it off.

Tonight was gonna be fun.

....

Markus stood outside of the gym. He had been trying to bulk up for the past 6 months at home doing basic workouts, but had no success. He was always skinny and could never put on any weight. He thought maybe he needed to go to a real gym with real workout equipment.

He had heard about this gym called “Bear Builder”. He overheard one large and beefy guy talking about it while on the bus. The guy was massive, so Markus thought he should check it out.

The logo of the gym was a humanoid bear with large muscles. He thought it was odd that the bear was smoking a cigar since gyms usually promote a healthy lifestyle. The building looked nice though, even if it was a little intimidating.

Markus walked inside. As soon as he did, he could smell something strong and heavy. The aroma reminded him of old leather left in a smoky room, mixed with ashes and burnt leaves. It wasn’t sharp like a cigarette, but it was dense and inescapable, coating the air with a smell he couldn’t ignore.

It caused him to cough and clear his throat. He looked around and saw the front desk worker smoking a cigar. The smoke was drifting his way.

“What type of gym is this?” he muttered to himself. Already deciding this wasn’t going to work out, he turned around.

“Can I help you?” the worker asked.

Markus was never one to be openly rude. Instead of ignoring the man, he turned around and walked over.

“Umm…yeah. I was thinking of trying out a gym. Maybe sign up for one,” Markus said to the man. The man had large muscles cover in hair. His big arms were on full display as he wore a dark tank top. The man also a neat thick black beard and short black hair. He had a name tag with the name “Bruce” on it.

With the cigar in his mouth, he excitedly said, “You’ve come to the right place at the right time! We are accepting new members. We have monthly, yearly or lifetime memberships!”

Markus looked around, not sold on whether this was the gym for him. “Is it possible to do a test run? Like a free trial?”

“Yes, of course we offer a free workout session. But I’ll tell you though, most of the guys here signed up right away after the free session. I have a feeling you’ll be no different,” Bruce said with a smirk, “Feel free to use any of the equipment and locker room. Please visit the cigar lounge if you are needing an extra push. First cigar is on the house,” Bruce motioned to the entirety of the gym.

The gym was very nice but also very unusual. There were a lot of weight lifting equipment, but barely anything for cardio. There was also a section with leather seating and a giant humidor which was full of cigars.

“Umm…sure. Okay,” Markus said as he walked toward the weight area.

Markus set his bag down and grabbed the two 10 pounds dumbbells. He realized one thing: there weren’t any mirrors in the place. He hadn’t been to many gyms in the past, but knew that there were usually mirrors.

There was one other guy working out. He had a brown mutton chop beard and short hair. He was also muscular and bulky. He was doing some bicep curls with dumbbells. The man had a large cigar burning in his jaw. With every curl, he puffed out some smoke.

Markus sat on a bench next to him, trying not to cough with the smoke. He started doing curls, mimicking the guy.

Markus felt ridiculous. He was struggling with these small weights and was getting tired way too fast. The cigar smoking guy was lifting his 50 proud weight with ease.

The man looked over at Markus and said, “We all gotta start somewhere.”

Markus didn’t know if this made him feel better or worse. He just knew he was feeling overall embarrassed and out of place.

The man set his dumbbell on the rack and walked over toward Markus. He held out his right hand, “I’m Sean.”

Markus awkwardly dropped his ten weights and stood up. He shook Sean’s hand, “I’m Markus.”

“Nice to meet ya, Markus,” Sean said with his cigar tightly in his jaw, “How long have ya been coming here? Never seen ya before.”

“Just trying out this gym today,” Markus answered.

“Ah, makes sense,” Sean replied as he looked Markus up and down, “I’ve been coming here for a few months now. I love it.”

“Seems like a nice place, but not sure if I fit in. Might not be the gym for me,” Markus confessed.

“It is definitely a unique gym,” Sean said after he took a puff of his cigar, “Only place ya can smoke cigars and workout.”

“Yeah, I don’t smoke so it isn’t really a selling point for me,” Markus said as he curled his nose at Sean’s smoke.

“Ever had one? It might just be the little push ya need,” Sean suggested.

“No,” Markus answered.

“Let’s get ya one. Might make ya feel a little more at home,” Sean said as headed to the large humidor across the gym.

Not one to be rude, Markus followed.

Sean looked through the glass of the humidor, carefully browsing for the perfect cigar for the newbie. “Ah, this is the one,” he said as he opened the door.

He took a large cigar out and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a cigar cutter and carefully cut the cigar. He handed it to Markus, who took it.

Markus held the large cigar between his fingers awkwardly. He held it away like it was going to bite him.

“Put it in yer mouth,” Sean ordered with his own cigar between his teeth.

Markus clenched it with his front teeth. The cigar wrapper had earthy tones with a slight hint of bourbon.

Sean then pulled out from his pocket a torch lighter. He flicked it open and a flame appeared. “Now start puffing,” Sean ordered as he held the flame to the end of Markus’ cigar.

Markus puffed and puffed. He was unsure whether he was doing it right.

“That’s it,” Sean confirmed as if he was reading his mind.

The smoke was rich, but it didn’t taste bad. Like the wrapper, there were hints of bourbon and oak.

Sean shut the lighter and placed it back in his shorts. “Now keep it in yer mouth. Anytime you need an extra push, take a puff. It’ll help,” Sean said as he headed back to the weights.

Markus didn’t get a chance to say thanks. The large cigar was already awkward in his mouth and he didn’t want to risk dropping it by talking. He just followed Sean and went back to the dumbbells.

He grabbed the 10 pound weights off the ground and started curling them. When he was feeling tired, he started puffing. With every puff, the weights felt lighter. Pretty soon, they weren’t heavy enough.

He set the light dumbbells on the rack. He scratched his face since it was a little itchy and grabbed the 20 pound weights. Markus could barely lift them up at first, but he started puffing the cigar. Pretty soon, he was curling them with no issues as all.

Markus then decided to work on his chest. He went to the bench with the barbell. He place 25 pound plates on each side. He laid on the bench and grabbed the bar.

He slowly lowered the bar to his chest and then slowly raised it. He did this a few times as he puffed away on his cigar. It was getting lighter and lighter. It now barely felt like it weighed nothing. He then decided to try 90 pounds on each side. This was probably stupid, but he thought he could do it with the help of his cigar. He added the weight and started the bench press again.

It was very heavy at first and he felt he was about to drop it on him. He started puffing aggressively on his cigar. There was a cloud of smoke forming around him. He didn’t know if it was the smoke that was causing his face and body to be warmer, but he did know it was helping him lift.

Markus was now bench pressing the added weight with ease.

When Markus was finished with the bench presses, he moved over to the mat to do some squats. He lifted up the barbell that had 45 pounds of weights on each side.

He puffed on his cigar and the weight was too easy as he squatted. He instantly added 90 pounds to each side. Again, this was probably stupid but he believed in the power of the cigar.

He lifted the barbell on his shoulders. It felt like he was about to collapse, so he started to puff fast and hard. Another cloud of smoke formed around him. The bar was getting lighter and his clothes were getting tighter.

He slowly lowered to the ground with complete control. He then shot up quickly. As he did, he puffed away. He was feeling strong, and warm. His face felt particularly warmer and his shorts’ waistband dug into him.

He ignored it though as he continued his squats.

Markus set the barbell back in the rack with no problem. He felt he had a great workout. He headed to the locker room to wash off the sweat.

As he walked to the locker room, he looked down and noticed his belly was larger. He then noticed his arms were hairier too. He picked up his pace as he walked into the locker room.

He took the cigar out of his mouth and pulled off his shirt, revealing a hairy belly and chest.

He then saw himself in the mirror. It was the only one in the entire gym. He had grown in size, both in height and width. He had a tight belly. He had body hair he had never had before. His face was also hairy. He had a long and thick beard. He quickly grew worried.

He, without thinking through his panic, naturally place the cigar his mouth and started puffing. It helped him calm down.

As he puffed, he started to like how he looked. He was always a skinny guy who couldn’t bulk up. That wasn’t the case anymore. He rested his hand on his belly and flexed his bicep.

“Yup, I fit in here,” he spoke for the first time with the cigar in his jaw.

After spending a few minutes in the locker room to admire himself as he smoked his cigar, he put his tight shirt back on and headed out.

He ran into Sean as he left the locker room.

“Hey man, looks like ya had a good workout,” Sean said with a cigar in his mouth as he felt Markus’ muscles, “And looking good.”

“Sure did,” Markus confirmed with the cigar clenched in his teeth, “and thanks.”

“Hope to see you again soon,” Sean added with a wink.

“You sure will,” Markus said as he winked back.

Markus went up to Bruce who was still smoking a cigar behind the counter.

“Sign me up for a lifelong membership,” Markus said. He puffed away at his cigar as Bruce looked at him.

Bruce gave him a smile and pulled out a piece of paper. It was the membership contract. “I told you I had a feeling you’d join us,” he said with a smirk.

Jared had everything he could want. The looks, the friends, girls drooling over him, the athletic ability... the list went on. The only thing he didn't have was a good grade in his stupid intro to English course. To Jared, school was just an obstacle to the things he would rather be focusing on. His time partying, working out, and practicing on the field were all higher priorities for him. The only thing grades were good for were maintaining his sports scholarship.

"C'mon man, you can't fail me." Jared insisted, "I'll write a stupid essay or something. Ever heard of extra credit?"

Dr. Peters sighed, "Jared, I know you have the potential. You're a bright young man and..."

"Enough with the bullshitting." The young jock continued, "I'm sure I could pass your class if I gave a fuck." His eyes narrowed.

"In all my years of teaching, I've never..." Dr. Peters paused and regained his composure, "Look, I'm sorry Jared, but I can't just change your grade." He put the papers he had been reading down as his phone buzzed, "I'm sorry, I have to take this."

Jared watched as his professor stepped away and the young man sighed. Did he lose his cool? Yeah. Did it hurt his case? Fuck yeah. But he wasn't about to let some washed out, gay English nerd fuck with his life. Jared looked down at the papers Dr. Peters was reading and smirked. Without a second thought, he grabbed it and left the room.

-------------

Was stealing a bunch of papers from his English professor the best revenge he could think of? No, not at all. But when Jared started reading them, he nearly died from laughter.

"Did he write this shit?" Jared smirked, taking in Dr. Peter's handwriting, "Oh my god, dude needs to learn to type. Probably can't even afford a laptop on his shitty salary."

As Jared started to read the pages he had stolen, his expression shifted. He couldn't believe what he was reading.

"What a pervert." Jared chuckled, "This is what you spend your time writing about?" The story was unlike anything he expected. It detailed an intimate encounter between two men - Dr. Peters and an assistant coach named Chris, "You dirty fucker," Jared whispered under his breath.

But he couldn't help but continue to read over each line. The story unfolded with vivid descriptions of a burly, handsome assistant football coach, Chris. The broad shoulders, thick gut, hirsute form- oozing masculinity.

"So that's the type of guy Peters gets off to." Jared mused, "What a…" He shifted uncomfortably as he felt his cock beginning to stiffen, tenting against his jeans, "The fuck…?" He smirked, "Guess its been a bit since I got off…" He whispered.

Jared kept reading, his curiosity piqued despite himself. The story described how the English professor ran a hand through the assistant coach's thick chest hair, tracing the lines of muscle beneath. As he read these words, Jared felt an odd itching sensation on his own chest. He absently scratched at it, not realizing that fine hairs were beginning to sprout across his smooth skin.

He continued to read, now fully engrossed in the erotic tale unfolding before him. The professor leaned in closer to the coach, breathing in the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat. Jared inhaled deeply- he could swear he smelled it too. It was rugged, musky, and deliciously masculine. And it was coming from him. His own musky pits… And it smelled so good…

"What the hell." Jared shook his head, "Alright… time to put this down…"

Jared tried to set the papers aside, but found himself unable to look away. The story had taken hold of him, drawing him deeper into its world. As he read on, the characters' encounter grew more heated. The professor pressed his lips to the coach's neck, feeling the coarse stubble against his face. Jared winced as hairs sprouted from his own jawline, growing thicker until he sported a scraggly, manly beard.

"Wh-what the fuck?"

He tried to lift a hand to confirm what he had felt. But his hands remained stuck in place, holding the story. He couldn't even move his head, forced to stare at the pages and read what was on them.

"I can't move…" He stuttered, "I can't…"

Jared couldn't help but continue to read. Read the description of professor grasping the coach's muscular arms, Jared could feel his own biceps swell and thicken. But he couldn't look. Couldn't see the changes that the story wrought on his lean muscles and athletic form.

"Ohhhh... fuck…" He moaned.

The story detailed how the professor trailed kisses down the coach's chest, circling his nipples with his tongue. Jared gasped, feeling his own nipples harden and tingle. He wanted to look down, to see if they had darkened and enlarged like the coach's, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from the pages. But he could feel his pecs swell, thickening with muscle, while also sagging and softening with age.

"Pl-please let me go…" Jared begged.

He read as the coach groaned, his hands roaming over the professor's body. Jared's fingers twitched, aching to do the same. To explore every inch of someone else's skin, to feel another man beneath him. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts. But they persisted, growing stronger with each passing moment. As the characters in the story began to undress each other, Jared felt his own clothes start to come undone and vanish, leaving him completely naked on his bed.

"Feels so good..." The cool air on his warm skin sent a shudder of pleasure through his increasingly larger form.

As Jared read on, he felt his scalp begin to tingle. He tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the vivid descriptions of the characters' bodies pressing together. But the sensation grew more intense, spreading across his entire head.

He gasped as he felt strands of hair loosen and fall away. More followed, clinging to his fingers as he reached up to feel the thinning locks. Panic surged through him, but he couldn't stop reading. The story described the professor running his hands through the coach's thinning hair, and Jared felt his own recede further, revealing more of his scalp.

"No… please no…" He whimpered, but the words came out slurred and weak. His voice was changing too, deepening into a gravelly rasp. He could hear the difference, but couldn't process what it meant.

Jared's eyes widened as he felt a sudden burst of heat across his skin. The story detailed the professor trailing kisses down the coach's chest, across his hairy belly and lower still. Jared gasped, feeling coarse hairs erupt across his own once-smooth torso. They sprang up everywhere - his chest, back, shoulders. He felt like a walking carpet, covered in a thick pelt of dark fur.

"I can't be becoming him... I can't be.... fuck..."

Despite the alarming changes, Jared found himself growing more aroused. The descriptions of the characters' bodies pressing together, their sweaty skin sliding against each other, filled him with a primal hunger. He craved that closeness, that intimacy. He wanted to feel another man's strong arms around him.

"Oh fuck that… I'm not gay…" The pace of his breathing had quickened, his mind was racing as he tried to process the changes, "I'm Jared. I'm not…"

The story described the professor reaching down to grasp the coach's throbbing cock, feeling it pulse in his hand. Jared moaned, his own member responding in kind. It lengthened and thickened. Pre-cum leaked from the tip, dripping down onto his furry thighs. He couldn't believe how sensitive he had become, how desperately he needed release.

"I need… I need…" He whimpered, but he couldn't find the words. Couldn't articulate the burning desire coursing through his veins. All he knew was that he craved another man's touch. Craved the feeling of being filled, of being used.

Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him.

Strong arms wrapped around Jared's waist, pulling him back against a solid, muscular frame. He gasped, his eyes snapping open as he realized he was no longer alone. Realized he wasn't even in his dorm room anymore. He was in a bedroom. Their bedroom. Their? No he was… he was… His eyes widened as the papers in his hands vanished, as the the story's words faded away, instead replaced by reality.

"W-what the fuck?" He stammered, trying to turn around. But the arms held him firmly in place.

A low, husky voice rumbled in his ear, "I love you, babe."

Jared froze, recognizing that voice instantly. It was Dr. Peters. But how?

Before he could process it further, he felt the older man's hand wrap around his throbbing cock. Fingers closed around the base, squeezing gently. Jared cried out, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"Yes, right there," Jared heard himself say, but the voice didn't belong to him. It was deeper, gruffer, and laced with lust. He tried to open his mouth to protest, but no sound came out. Instead, his lips formed a smile as he pushed back against Dr. Peters' hand.

Panic surged through Jared's mind as he realized he wasn't in control of his own body anymore. He was trapped, watching helplessly as the assistant coach persona took over. The one from the story.

"Please, don't stop," Coach moaned, his hips rocking in time with Dr. Peters' strokes. "I need you inside me."

As Dr. Peters guided him towards the bed, Jared's vision blurred. The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was a wedding band glinting on his own finger. Memories flooded his mind - memories of a life he hadn't lived. Of loving Dr. Peters, of being loved by him. Of countless nights spent entwined in each other's arms, of waking up to the older man's warm embrace.

-----------

"Babe? Babe?" Jared stirred awake, his eyelids fluttering open. He blinked groggily, trying to orient himself. The last thing he remembered was… what exactly? Something about a story... about Dr. Peters… No... Evan. His husband...

"Thank god, you passed out," Evan said, relief evident in his voice. He sat on the edge of the bed, a concerned look etched on his face. "I was worried sick about you."

Jared frowned, confusion clouding his mind. Passed out? Worried? What was going on? He glanced down at his hand, noticing the wedding band for the first time. It was gold, simple, but unmistakable. He lifted his hand to examine it, but Evan caught his wrist gently.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Evan murmured, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the back of Jared's hand.

Jared found himself nodding along, allowing Dr. Peters to guide him towards the bathroom. As they walked, Jared inspected his body. The thick chest hair, the broad shoulders, the paunch around his middle. None of it made sense. He was supposed to be a fit, muscular college athlete, not this… not this…

"Babe?"

As Jared looked at Evan, something clicked into place. The concern in his eyes, the gentle touch of his hands, the familiarity of his voice - it all fell together like pieces of a puzzle. This was his husband. His lover. The man he had built a life with. With a swift movement, Jared pushed Evan backwards onto the couch, pinning him beneath his weight. The older man yelped in surprise, but quickly melted into a pleased smile as he felt Jared's erection press against his thigh.

"We can't just leave it hanging like that, can we?"

Part 1 of the Orc Smoke Trilogy

The Kingdom of Sola in the land of Timera was celebrating a death. It was a great victory for King Cecil Faemor. His Kingdom was being ravaged by the Orcs, lead by the Orc King Gar’dom. His eldest son, Prince Cedric, had just slain the Orc King’s only son.

The Great Hall of the castle was in a festive state. All the royals were cheering for Prince Cedric, calling him Orc Slayer. Both the King and the Prince were drinking heavily, pre-celebrating the end of this war.

Prince Cameron, the King’s youngest son, sat amongst the crowd. After hearing the King make a third slurred speech about his orc slaying son and how he will be a great king one day, Prince Cameron wondered if his father had even remembered if he even existed.

Prince Cameron rarely ever stepped into battle. His father never though he was suited for battle. He was known as the “Pretty Prince” while his brother was the “Warrior Prince”.

Prince Cameron was handsome though. He had blonde, soft hair and bright blue eyes. He got those features from his late mother. He didn’t look like his father and brother, who had brown hair and brown eyes.

Prince Cameron, who was 25 years old, had always lived in the shadow of his older brother. It was Sola tradition for the King to pick which of his sons would inherit the throne based on merit and abilities. However, Prince Cameron knew since he was a child that his older brother would be picked. Cedric was his father’s favorite, and everyone in the Kingdom knew that. Prince Cameron was the second son that was not needed.

Prince Cameron got up amongst the cheers for the Orc Slayer and left the Great Hall.

“For once, I wish my father saw me,” he said aloud as he walked to his room, with no one to hear, “To consider me.”

That’s when he thought of his plan. What was better than killing the Orc Prince? The Orc King.

Prince Cameron changed paths and headed toward the armory.

Orcs were savages filled with hate and rage. They were forced to live in the Southern Savanah ordered by the 5 Old Kings of Timera over 200 years ago. The Orcs were rebelling and making their way up north. The Kingdom of Sola was their first obstacle in their conquest.

Prince Cameron only knew about the orcs through tales from his brother. They were beastly with giant tusks. They had thick green skin that couldn’t be pierced with arrows.

No one knew how orcs repopulated as there was no such thing as female orcs. His brother speculated that all the male orcs lustfully slept with each other, shit in the ground and a baby orc would emerge from the dirt. When his brother told his theory, the King thought it was hilarious.

The Orcs also smoked these large cigars made with Orc Weed. It was said that since they were so full of rage, they had to smoke Orc Weed to stop them from killing each other.

It was because of these reasons that the orcs had no place in the Land of Timera. They were savages, monsters and ungodly.

The more Cameron thought about what he knew of Orcs, the more he realized his plan was stupid.

But he had to try. He had to bring his father the Orc King’s head if he ever wanted his approval and recognition. He might even have a chance to be king.

The Prince grabbed a sword and then headed to the stables to get his horse, Great Mane.

Over the cheers and ruckus of the celebration, the sound of the horse’s gallop left the kingdom.

———

After a few hours traveling as fast as his horse could go, he approached the Orc camp. It glowed red from various fires.

He got off Great Mane and tied him to a tree. He realized he should have changed his clothes - he was still in his white royal attire. He quickly got down on the ground and shuffled his way close for a better look.

The camp was quiet, surely mourning the loss of their prince. This would be the perfect time to kill the Orc King as he was grieving; he would not expect it.

He was designing his plan when he heard a twig snap behind him. He quickly looked behind him.

A giant figure was standing above him in the darkness. A glow of a cigar grew brighter as the figure took a hard pull, revealing an orc.

“Lost, aren’t ya?” the orc asked in a deep voice as pungent smoke left his mouth.

Cameron reached for his sword, but he was not quick enough.

The orc kicked him in the head with his large metal boots, causing him to black out.

———

Cameron slowly woke up. He found himself hunched over in a chair. He looked around in a daze. He was in a smoky tent. There was a fire and lanterns lighting up the place. He noticed his royal robe was off of him, along with his boots. He just was in his pants.

He then noticed the large orc who kicked him was standing next to him. His arms were crossed as he puffed away at his cigar, angrily. In the light, he could see this orc had a black mohawk with a long goatee beard. Black tattoos of various patterns the ran down his arms and across his chest. He looked powerful, and mean.

“You good?” the orc asked, “I tried to kick you not very hard.”

Cameron’s head was pounding, “Umm…I’m alright. Just a headache.”

“Sorry,” the orc grunted.

Cameron realized he wasn’t tied to the chair and quickly thought about getting up to run out, but knew he wouldn’t get far.

Cameron was scared. He didn’t know what would happen to him. He figured it was death; he just hoped it would be a quick one.

Loud thuds approached the tent until a giant orc entered. This one was older; he had long hair that was streaked with silver which met with his long beard. For his age, he still looked strong. He wore a fur cape and had a pointy crown on top of his head.

Cameron knew this was King Gar’dom.

Cameron felt a forceful smack on the back of his head. “Stand for the King,” the tattooed orc demanded.

Out of fear, Cameron rose.

“Thank you, Sir Gol’muk. Take a seat,” the Orc King said.

Cameron sat back down and the orc known as Gol’muk grabbed a stool. As the orc sat, the wooden stool creaked.

“I take it you are Prince Cedric? Came here to finish the job after killing my son?” the King asked as he stood, looking down at Cameron.

“No, I’m Prince Cameron,” he nervously answered.

“Oh? The other one? The one who won’t be king?” King Gar’dom pried with a smirk, “Then, why are you here?”

Cameron stayed quiet.

“Thought you could out do your brother by coming here to kill me?”

“Yes,” Cameron confessed.

King Gar’dom nodded. “You know, my son was supposed to be King after I died. Now I don’t have an heir to pass the crown to. Your brother took that from me,” the Orc King said. Cameron was surprised at how calm Gar’dom was and how intelligent he spoke.

“You know, I was second in line to be King. Like yourself, my older brother was supposed to be King. So I know how you feel,” Gar’dom added.

“What happened? To your brother,” Cameron asked.

“I was a young orc when I wondered into the woods, away from our land. I wanted to see the world past the Southern Savanah. Once my brother found out, he went to retrieve me. I stumbled across human knights and they attacked me on the spot and my brother came just in time to save me. Those humans killed him as I ran back home,” the King said.

“I’m…sorry for your loss,” Cameron quietly spoke. As the King told his tale, Cameron wasn’t hearing the words of a savage. He was hearing the words of loss and grief.

“Despite everything you have heard about us orcs, I can tell you that we aren’t the monsters you think we are,” the King added.

There was silence in the tent. Cameron finally said, “What are you going to do to me?”

“Well, I lost a son. It is only fair to take a son,” the King spoke.

Cameron heart fell into his stomach, “My father won’t care if I’m dead. Just please make it quick,” he begged.

“We aren’t going to kill you. Like I said, we aren’t monsters,” the King assured the scared human prince. King Gar’dom gave a quick nod to Gol’muk before leaving the tent.

Cameron looked at Gol’muk, unsure what was about to happen. The orc took a deep drag off his cigar and leaned in toward Cameron.

To Cameron’s surprise, Gol’muk placed his mouth on his own. Gol’muk’s tusk dug into Cameron’s skin. Smoke poured from Gol’muk’s mouth and into Cameron’s. Cameron breathed in the smoke and his head felt fuzzy.

Gol’muk stepped back as Cameron had his eyes shut. He didn’t know why, but he was holding his breath. His lungs felt heavy with the smoke. Then suddenly and violently, Cameron started coughing. He opened his eyes and fell out of his seat. He was on his knees. He started to crawl away from Gol’muk. He continued coughing, with only smoke leaving his mouth.

His skin was starting to feel off. Like something wasn’t right. He was warm. He looked at his hands and noticed they were turning a shade of green. His ears were burning with pain. He lifted his hand to touch one of them and felt that the top of it came to a point. He couldn’t see, but his once blonde hair was getting darker.

“What…did…you do…to…me?” Cameron asked between painful coughs. He didn’t know how, but only smoke left his mouth.

“Changin’ you,” Gol’muk grunted.

“Into…what?” Cameron stuttered, but already knew the answer.

“Into one of us,” the smoking orc confirmed.

Cameron’s whole body was on fire. His muscles spasmed, slowly growing in size. He collapsed on the ground. He felt two sharp points growing in his mouth. His bottom canine teeth were growing larger and longer. His jaw and teeth ached as his tusks were forming, pushing his other teeth around. His eyes shut due to the pain as he drifted into a dizzying unconsciousness.

Gol’muk watched as the once human prince was transforming. He never seen an Orc Smoke curse happen in person before, but he pitied Cameron. He could see it was a painful process as Cameron moaned for help.

Cameron was growing thicker with muscle and a beard was forming on his chin, cheeks and jaw. Orcs couldn’t crow mustaches. Black chest and arm hair was growing.

Gol’muk admitted to himself that Cameron was going to be a handsome orc once the transformation was done.

Gol’muk lifted the half-conscious Cameron off the ground. “Let’s get you more comfortable,” the orc grunted with his cigar in his jaw.

Gol’muk dragged the changing Cameron to the cot bed. He gently laid him down. The once human was still moaning, but less intense than before. His body was continuing to grow and become more orc-like.

“Yeah, you’re going to be okay,” Gol’muk said softly, “You’re going to be a strong and handsome orc. That’s for sure.”

Gol’muk sat next to the bed as he smoked his cigar. He figured the curse would be set by sunlight, and he wanted to be there for Cameron once he was awake; to help him into his new life as an orc.

Part 2 of the Orc Smoke Trilogy

Bright light shined in the eyes of a sleeping Cameron. Cameron kept his eyes shut, feeling dizzy and hungover. It must have been a very festive celebration, but he couldn’t remember any of it. All he could remember was a crazy nightmare he had.

He slowly opened his tired eyes to find out that it wasn’t a nightmare.

He shot up instantly. He looked at his body. His skin was green and covered in black hair. His hands and feet were large. His chest and arms were massive. He touched his face and felt a thick beard. Giant tusks protruded from his lower jaw.

He got up from the cot and stood in the tent. His pants were ripped up from his thick calves and thighs.

He rubbed his heavy head; his brain was pounding.

Loud thuds entered the tent, followed by a “Oh, you’re up.” Gol’muk was standing in front of the newly formed orc. “You look good,” he sheepishly added. He was smoking a giant cigar, like usual.

“Is this permanent?” Cameron asked. His new gruff and deep voice startled him.

“I am not sure…this is the first time in a hundred years since a human changed,” Gol’muk answered.

Cameron didn’t know what to think. He was scared though. He then grew anxious and irritable. Gol’muk could tell Cameron was all of these things at once.

“Look, what done is done. Everything will be okay, trust me,” Gol’muk assured. For some reason, Cameron believed him. And trusted him.

“I’m just…I don’t know…something feels off. And it isn’t just being an orc. I can’t explain it,” Cameron muttered.

“Oh…I know,” Gol’muk said as he walked across the tent to a small wooden box sitting on a table. He pulled out a giant cigar. “You probably need one of these.”

“I don’t smoke,” Cameron said. He did admit to himself secretly that Gol’muk’s cigar did smell pleasant. Just last night, he could barely stand the smoke.

“Trust me, you do now,” Gol’muk said as he handed Cameron the cigar, “Orc Weed is very addictive. One puff and you’ll be smokin’ them to the grave. It’s actually good for you. The smoke affects us orcs differently. Slows everything down.”

Cameron place the cigar in his mouth and grabbed a lit torch that was shoved on the ground. He held the flame to the cigar and started puffing.

The smoke tasted better than anything he had ever tasted. He breathed in and the smoke filled his new orc lungs. It didn’t cause him to cough. Instead, it soothed everything. He felt less anxious. His headache went away. His muscles twitched and flexed; he felt even stronger.

“Better?” Gol’muk asked.

“Much better,” Cameron confirmed.

“Good. The King awaits for you. I’ll take you to him,” Gol’muk said as he headed out the tent.

Cameron followed. Outside, there were various orcs walked about. They were of all different shapes and sizes. Most of them had some tattoos or piercings. He even saw some younglings pretend playing with swords. He was always told orcs were savages, but he didn’t see any savages here.

“So, smoking Orc Weed will turn a human into an orc?” Cameron asked as he puffed away at his cigar.

“It is a little more complicated than that. Or so I’m told,” Gol’muk answered, “Indirect smoke will turn a human into one of us. Intelligent, functioning orcs. That’s why I kissed you to blow smoke into your lungs. Direct smoke will turn a human into what we call feral orcs. They are large, dumb and animal like. Even us orcs can’t stand them. Makes us look bad.”

“Oh,” Cameron said. He never knew there was such a thing as a feral orc.

“Orcs were once celebrated. We were here before the humans. The humans came and envied us, or so I’m told,” Gol’muk continued, “We had strength, power and grit, something many humans desired. Many tried to become orcs themselves by stealing our cigars, only to become feral ones instead.”

“Really?” Cameron asked, engaged in what he was learning.

“Oh yeah,” Gol’muk excitedly confirmed, “But eventually our ways were deemed barbaric and savage. The humans decided that their gods did not intend for orcs to exist. That we must have came from demons. So we were shunned. Exiled.”

Cameron remained quiet. He felt guilty that his father and his brother hunted and killed many orcs. They were just misunderstood.

“Just through that big tent,” Gol’muk pointed.

The two entered the royal tent and found King Gar’dom sitting on his throne.

“Morning,” the King spoke. The king look as regal as the night before. He spoke with a calmness, behind his cigar. “Look at you,” his attention went to Cameron, “You make a mighty orc, my son.”

“I’d have to agree, King” Gol’muk added.

“Umm…thank you, King,” Cameron said.

“Now before we reveal to the tribe their new prince, we must train him in our ways,” the King said to Gol’muk.

“Wait? Prince?” Cameron injected.

“Why yes. You are my new son, therefore you are the new Prince. My heir,” the King proudly spoke.

“I…don’t know…I…” Cameron stuttered.

“A son was taken from me, so one must replace him. That will be you,” the King continued.

“I…can’t,” Cameron said. Gol’muk looked worried at the new orc. “I don’t want to fight my family.”

“We are your family now, Son,” the King assured him, “You were never going to be king as a human. I have given you now that gift as an orc.”

This was true. He was now going to be a King one day.

The King continued, “I chose you in hopes of bringing peace between the humans and the orcs. To save many lives. Both orc and human.”

Cameron nodded. He understood now. “How can I be the Prince of the Orcs if I don’t know how to even be an orc?”

The King laughed, “That’s why Gol’muk is here. He is our head warrior. My most loyal advisor. He will train you our ways. Our culture. Our history.”

Cameron looked at Gol’muk, who gave him a friendly nod. “You’ll be okay,” Gol’muk added.

“Now, I must say though…Cameron isn’t much of an orc name. The surname Gar is our family name. Now…Gar….guk? Gar…lic? No, that’s ridiculous,” the King mumbled.

“How about Gar’ron?” Gol’muk suggested.

“I like it,” King Gar’dom said enthusiastically as he looked at Cameron.

“Me too,” the new prince agreed.

“Prince Gar’ron! My son! My heir!” King Gar’dom shouted with joy as he stood with his arms in the air.

The King told the two of them to be quiet about the new prince. He wanted to protect his new son and prepare him to lead the orcs.

Both Gol’muk and the orc now known as Gar’ron left the tent to begin training.

———

The first thing the two of them did was get Gar’ron fitted for his orc armor. They visited the orc who made the armor to get measurement. Until his armor was done, Gar’ron was stuck wearing his tattered pants.

The second thing was for Gar’ron to pick a weapon. In his human life, he mainly used swords. The two of them stood in the armory as Gar’ron looked at his choices.

“We don’t use sword,” Gol’muk stated, “We prefer axes or hammers. Sometimes maces.”

“Okay, what do you use?”

“Hammer,” Gol’muk answered.

“Okay,” Gar’ron said as he lifted a large hammer from the armory rack.

“Good choice,” Gol’muk smiled.

The two of them went outside. Gar’ron practiced swinging the hammer with precision. His muscles made the swinging easy, but he was still getting tired fast.

Gol’muk stood closely behind him, helping him with his form.

“You’re doing good,” Gol’muk complimented the prince.

“You’re a good teacher,” Gar’ron complimented back, causing his teacher to smile.

———

Days passed as Gol’muk taught him how orcs fought. Between fighting lessons, Gol’muk shared orc history and culture. Gar’ron was learning a lot and felt overwhelmed at times, but Gol’muk made things better.

The two of them were taking a smoke break. Gar’ron was smoking between 5 and 8 cigars a day now. He loved them. It only felt right when he had a large cigar between his tusks.

He noticed two orcs digging in the ground a few yards away. There was a fence encasing the land that was being dug.

“What are they doing?” Gar’ron asked.

“Digging up babies,” Gol’muk flatly said.

“Babies? Umm…how are they…?”

“Made?” Gol’muk grinned.

“Yeah.”

“When two orcs love each other, they both make a blood sacrifice. The combine their blood and bury it in the ground. A few month later, a baby emerges.”

“Oh…”

The two of them watched as the couple pulled a crying baby orc from the ground.

“You want to have kids?” Gar’ron asked.

“Yeah, someday,” Gol’muk answered.

———

A few weeks passed and Gar’ron was feeling at home.

“I have to ask,” Gar’ron said as he was putting away his practice hammer in the armory, “What’s up with the skulls? I see them around a lot.”

“A reminder of death,” Gol’muk said, “We don’t fear death. We respect it. We celebrate it. Death is just life transforming.”

This explanation made sense to Gar’ron. He wondered why the King wasn’t filled with grief. This outlook on death answered it.

“Full moon tonight,” Gol’muk stated as they walked through the camp at dawn, “That means free drinks at the bar tent. Care to join me?”

“Lead the way,” Gar’ron said with a smile.

The two orcs sat at the bar. It was full of orcs celebrating the full moon.

Gar’ron never had orc ale before, but it was dark and strong. He was feeling a strong buzz after just one.

The two orc chain smoked cigars and drank. Gar’ron even put his arm around Gol’muk, causing both of them to grin.

“So, find any orcs you fancy?” Gol’muk asked in a flirty way.

Gar’ron didn’t really think much of it before this night. He was focused on learning as much as he could about orc life.

He looked at Gol’muk in a different light. He suppressed it, but allowed himself to feel the butterflies in this moment. Prior to his transformation, he liked only women. He couldn’t imagine back then being attracted to an orc.

But now, he thought Gol’muk was the most beautiful creature in the world.

Gar’ron took a deep drag from his cigar and then chugged his beer. He finally exhaled the smoke with a “Maybe.”

Gol’muk grinned as he puffed away at his own cigar.

———

The next day was rough. Gar’ron had been drunk off of human ale in the past, but orc ale was completely different. As soon as he woke up, he lit up a cigar which made him feel better.

Gar’ron made his way to the training field and saw Gol’muk standing there. They both awkwardly waved at each other.

The two continued to train, but it a slow day. Both of them felt a bit hungover and barely spoke. Gar’ron couldn’t stop thinking about Gol’muk. Not as his trainer, but as someone he was attracted to. He was finally letting his natural orc emotions and sexuality take hold.

At the end of the day, the two of them walked to their tents quietly. They both puffed on their cigars.

“You know,” Gar’ron broke the silence, “I can’t stop thinking about the night I transformed.”

“What about it?” Gol’muk asked.

“The part when you kissed me,” Gar’ron confessed.

“You mean when I did this?” Gol’muk took a puff off his cigar and then kissed Gar’ron.

It was like their first kiss, except Gar’ron was kissing back. Smoke poured from their mouths.

From that night on, they slept together in the same tent.

———

Gol’muk and Gar’ron were a couple. They lived together and slept together for about a month.

The two of them where laying in bed as Gar’ron traced his finger along Gol’muk’s tattoos. “When did you get your tattoos?”

“About 10 years ago,” Gol’muk answered as he reached for a couple of cigars sitting on the nightstand.

“Who did them?” Gar’ron asked as he took one of the cigars from his partner.

“I did,” Gol’muk said proudly as he lit up his cigar using a candle.

Gar’ron did the same. “Really? Would you tattoo me?”

“Would love to,” his partner smiled.

Later that day, Gol’muk used his personal needle to ink up his partner.

The pain wasn’t too bad, Gar’ron thought as he puffed away at his cigar. He watched his partner give him a tribal like pattern on his arm, resembling the one Gol’muk had.

“Can you do piercings too?” Gar’ron asked with a grin.

———

It was time for Prince Gar’ron to be revealed to the tribe. Most of the other orcs just knew him as “the new one.” They had no idea his given orc name or title.

The Prince stood in the royal tent in his new armor. He looked in the mirror. He barely could remember his old life. He could barely remember what he looked like prior to his transformation.

All he saw was a strong orc with tattoos across his body. He also had Gol’muk pierce his nose. He now sported a septum ring.

The King, his father, walked in as he was adjusting his armor.

“I’m so proud of you, Son. You embraced our orc ways,” the King said.

“Thanks, Father,” Gar’ron said with a smile. His biological father had never told him that he was proud of him. King Gar’dom was his father now, and his father was proud of him.

“The tribe has gathered. I’ll head out and make the announcement, son,” the King said. Prince Gar’ron nodded as his father left.

He could hear the King on the other side, speaking to the crowd.

“My Orcs, as you know our Prince exchanged this life for death. Taken from us by the human King and his eldest son. However, we gained a new Prince. The second son of the human King. I chose him to join our Orc brotherhood. Over the past few months, he learned our ways and embraced them. He is human no more. He is destined to bring peace. Please welcome my son, my heir, Prince Gar’ron.”

Gar’ron took a deep breath, grabbed his cigar from the ashtray, placed it in his mouth, lifted up his war hammer and walked out.

He expected boos, being revealed that he was once human. However, he was meet with nothing more than cheers. He looked out at the crowd. Cameron would have been terrified seeing a bunch of orcs yelling at him, but Gar’ron saw family. Something that started as a curse was actually a gift.

Gar’ron rose his hammer up in the air. He was where he belonged. He was the Prince of the Orcs.

Part 3 of the Orc Smoke Trilogy

Horns bellowed through the orc camp one early morning. Gar’ron had been Prince for several months and the orcs had kept their distance from humans. They had peace for a short stretch of time.

Gar’ron ran to the front gates and asked the orc keeping guard, “What is it?”

“Two human riders, Prince. They are holding white flags,” the orc answered.

“Open the gates,” the Prince ordered with a cigar in his mouth.

The gates slowly opened. The Orc Prince tossed his cigar in the mud and walked out to greet the human visitors. One of them was old man Fredrick, the human King’s advisor. He wore majestic robes, round glasses and had a whimsical mustache. The other was the human King himself, his father from his past life. His father had brown hair and a circle beard goatee.

“We come in peace,” the human King Cecil spoke to his once human son, not knowing who the orc actual was. “We wish to speak to the Orc King.”

“Drop your weapons at the gate and follow me,” Prince Gar’ron ordered.

The human King and his advisor did as they were told and followed the Orc Prince into the camp.

Prince Gar’ron didn’t think much about his past life, but seeing his father made him. He hadn’t missed his family, but he also felt a sense of relief seeing them maybe for one last time.

The two men and orc entered the royal tent. King Gar’dom sat at his throne.

“Father, the human king and advisor are here,” Prince Gar’ron informed the Orc King. He pulled out another cigar from under his armor. He struck a match against his armor and lit up the cigar.

“Thank you, Son.”

“Your majesty, we have come to ask a few questions. And potentially negotiate,” Fredrick said.

King Cecil looked at the Orc Prince and then to the King.

“Son? We thought you only had one son,” the human King interjected.

“I did, but I was blessed with another. He came to us,” the Orc King said, proudly.

“That’s what I came to talk about. I have two sons, but my youngest has been gone for many months. We searched all through the lands,” King Cecil said worriedly, “Have you taken him?”

“No,” King Gar’dom replied.

“Have you killed him?” the human King asked.

“No,” the Orc King answered.

“Then our search continues. We’ll leave in peace,” Fredrick piped in.

“Oh, you mustn’t search no more,” Gar’dom added and looked at his Orc Prince.

“Hello, human father,” Gar’ron said.

“Cameron?” the advisor asked. The human King was speechless.

“Yes, that was me. I’m now known as Gar’ron, Prince of the Orcs.” Gar’ron stepped closer to his human father.

“What have they done to you?” King Cecil finally spoke.

“They changed me and I am glad they did. I feel like I belong here,” Gar’ron spoke directly to his former father, “I’m happy here.”

“Surely there is a way to change him back,” King Cecil asked his advisor quickly.

“I believe there is a potion, but the mages will need to make it,” Fredrick replied.

“No. Don’t bother. I wouldn’t take it anyways. I have family here now. I will be King one day,” Gar’ron snapped.

King Cecil walked towards Gar’ron, who was now larger and taller than him. He held out his arms and gave his former human son a hug, something he had never done before.

“As long as you are safe,” the human King spoke softly. Gar’ron hugged him back. King Cecil look up at his son’s face, “You use to have your mother’s eyes, but you still have her spirit.”

After a long embrace, King Cecil stepped toward King Gar’dom, “Thank you for taking care of my son. Our son. The Orcs will find peace in this land. We will not attack you anymore, as long as you do the same.”

“We’ll call it the Gar’ron Treaty,” King Gar’dom spoke. The two Kings shook hands while the human advisor took note of the truce.

“Please, come visit us, Gar’ron. You are still family,” the human King said before heading out of the tent with his advisor.

———

A week had passed since King Cecil visited. Gol’muk was sitting by the campfire early in the evening, cooking a pork sausages as he puffed away on a cigar. Gar’ron sat down next to him to roast his own sausage.

“Think you’ll ever visit them? See your brother?” Gol’muk asked his partner.

“Don’t know, maybe,” Gar’ron answered after taking a drag off his cigar. He never cared for his brother.

“Well I’d go with you,” Gol’muk said.

“Love you,” Gar’ron told his partner with a smile.

Before Gol’muk could say it back, the camp horn sounded.

Gar’ron stood and headed towards the front gate while his partner followed.

Fredrick rode in on his horse and to Gar’ron.

“Prince Cam-I mean, Gar’ron. It is your father, your human father. Prince Cedric killed him. Poisoned in his sleep,” the old advisor quickly informed.

“What? Why?” Gar’ron heart sunk to his stomach. Gol’muk put his hand on his partner’s back.

“He disagreed with the treaty. He wanted to kill all the orcs. He wanted you dead for being a blood traitor,” Fredrick confessed.

The Orc King emerged from the crowd of orcs that had formed.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Son,” the King told the Prince. “The humans have not broken the treaty yet,” he added.

“But they will, King,” Fredrick said flatly, “They are planning to attack at the end of tomorrow. They are holding a war feast as we speak. Already celebrating their persumed victory.”

“Then we must stop them,” Prince Gar’ron said, “We must march toward the castle.”

“I will not break the treaty,” the King spoke.

“But father, they will come here and attack,” Prince Gar’ron protested.

“Then we will defend ourselves,” King Gar’dom stated. “Make preparations!” he called to the crowd of orcs.

The orcs hurried away, preparing for battle, including the King.

“Your majesty,” Fredrick spoke to Gar’ron, “The humans outnumber you. You will lose.”

“I know. I must go and stop my brother,” Gar’ron said. Gar’ron looked over at the plot of land where baby orcs were born. A month ago, both Gol’muk and Gar’ron made a blood sacrifice to have a son of their own. He had to protect their unborn son and the rest of the orcs.

“I’ll go with you,” Gol’muk said, “It is the only way to protect what’s ours.”

Gar’ron nodded.

“I’ll also do what I can,” Fredrick added.

———

The three of them traveled through the dark night. It was early in the morning by the time they had arrived. They kept their distance in the dark as the looked over the castle. The festive was over and the Kingdom was quiet.

“Think we can sneak on through?” Gol’muk asked quietly.

“Perhaps,” Fredrick replied.

“Only one way to find out,” Gar’ron stated as he lifted up his hammer and walked toward the front gate. Fredrick and Gol’muk followed.

The Kingdom was eerily quiet. There was no one in sight.

“This feels off,” Fredrick whispered.

“I agree,” Gar’ron said.

The three of them entered the castle and headed to the throne room.

“He might be in there,” Fredrick said.

“I’ll walk in alone. You two keep guard,” Gar’ron ordered.

“I’m not leaving you,” Gol’muk protested.

“Keep watch in case it is a trap,” Gar’ron replied.

Gol’muk nodded and Gar’ron opened the giant throne room doors. He marched in, war hammer in hand and cigar in his mouth.

“Brother!” Cedric shouted from the throne, “I have been expecting you! I knew Fredrick would go behind my back.” Cedric looks a lot like their father. Gar’ron thought for a second that it was the former King.

The large doors slammed shut behind him, “I’ve come to discuss the attack. You must not go through with it. Father promised peace,” Gar’ron shouted back.

“Father? He was not your father. You betrayed us. You are a blood traitor!” Cedric yelled angrily as he stood, “I am King now and the treaty will be broken.”

“Then I will stop you,” Gar’ron said as he lifted his war hammer.

“You will try, but I’m going to level out the playing field,” King Cedric gave a devilish grin. He pulled out a short blade and quickly threw it at his orc brother.

Gar’ron dodged it, but barely with the blade slicing his arm. He dropped his cigar during this maneuver.

Suddenly, the war hammer felt heavy in his arm and he dropped it. His armor appeared to be growing larger, until he realized he was shrinking. His skin was becoming pale and white.

He was turning back into a human. He still had his tribal tattoos and nose ring. His beard and hair was back to blonde. He still had some of his muscle, but it was slowly disappearing. He knew he was no match for his sword master brother.

The armor fell off Gar’ron, almost crushing him. His feet slipped out of his boots. All that still fit him was his leather loin cloth.

He still managed to pick up his hammer, but it was too heavy to properly swing.

“The blade was dipped in a special potion. Welcome back, brother. It will be easier to kill you now,” King Cedric slyly said.

King Cedric pulled out his sword and rushed toward his brother. The King swung.

Gar’ron was barely able to block it with his hammer. Gar’ron knew how to fight as an orc, but couldn’t as a human.

King Cedric quickly swung again, hitting Gar’ron in the side. He was not fast enough with the heavy hammer.

Gar’ron collapsed, bleeding from the gash on his side.

“Pathetic, brother,” King Cedric said as he walked away.

The doors busted open. Gol’muk charged in. He saw his lover as a human dying on the marble floor, and rushed towards him. He knelt down beside him and brushed his hair.

“Is that your boyfriend? Disgusting,” the King said as he paced back and forth. He picked up the smoldering cigar that Gar’ron had dropped.

“Guess I should have a victory smoke? Huh?” King Cedric said as he place the large cigar in his mouth.

Gol’muk ignored him as he tended to his partner, telling him he would be okay. The King started puffing, then coughing. He dropped the cigar and it rolled toward them.

“What the…?” the King said as he exhaled just smoke.

His skin was turning a dark shade of green. His jaw was breaking and bending into an oversized underbite. His coughing turned violent.

His hair turned dark. His clothes were being ripped apart with his new mass. He was growing in size, both muscle at fat. Tusks we coming out of his mouth.

His beard and hair grew long and messy. He grew in size, but disproportionately. His arms were long and legs were short. All his clothes fell off, except for his pants. He had turned into a feral orc. A real monster.

“Gurr-rar-ogo,” the beastly king growled.

The feral orc charged at Gol’muk and his dying lover. Gol’muk got up and quickly picked up Gar’ron’s hammer with ease. He swung it right at the beast’s head, crushing his skull. The King was dead.

“Gol’muk,” the human Gar’ron weakly said, “You really are the most beautiful thing. Take care of our son. I love you.”

Gol’muk quickly crouched next to his lover, “No. I’m not letting you go.”

Gol’muk took the smoldering cigar and took a drag. He gave his partner a smokey kiss.

The transformation was much quicker and less painful than last time. Gar’ron’s skin turned back to green. His hair became black as night. His body and muscle grew. The gash on his side healed.

This second transformation had an even greater effect. He was more muscular than prior. His beard grew more, along with his hair.

He looked like he was fit to rule.

———

It was several months after the deaths of his human brother and father.

The Orcs moved farther north and into the Kingdom. At first, the humans were hesitant living amongst the orcs. However, both humans and orcs adapted. A few human men decided to join ranks with the orcs, becoming one of them through a Orc Smoke kiss. They could not resist the temptation of strength, power, grit and smoke.

Being heir to both the Orc and Human throne, King Gar’dom was giving his crow to Gar’ron as King over both the humans and orcs.

“You have brought peace to both human- and orc-kind, my Son,” Gar’dom told Gar’ron during the ceremony of the passing of the crowns in the throne room.

Gar’dom placed the crown on his orc son’s head. The crowd of humans and orc cheered in unity.

Gar’ron lit a cigar and raised his fist. He looked over at his husband who was holding their son, Gar’son. Gol‘muk smiled at him.

“The age of war between the humans and orcs is over. Together, we will find peace. We are one!” King Gar’ron yelled to the crowd.

The King Gar’ron lived in the castle with his husband and son, amongst both orcs and humans. The other human Kingdoms in the land of Timera followed suit, allowing all outcasts to live amongst them.

It was an age of peace, all because of the power of Orc Smoke.

It's not long until they find themselves at libraries, taking as many men in their mouth as possible. Anything to become more masculine. They become used to the flavor of cock, letting cum constantly shoot onto their face and body left to dribble over them. They need it more than ever, letting it dry and soak in their skin. It isn't long before they start to see the changes from their efforts as all the extra testosterone sets in.

Hair begins to wrap around their bodies like a wool coating, every inch of skin hit by ejaculate adapting to the constant white fluid. Their new covering holds the cum even better, closer to their surface, causing the hair to grow thicker until a forest covers them. A dense beard wraps their face, following the path the lines of cum take down their jaws to their chin, the curls holding the scent in.

Soon the men are more hirsute than their peers, bodies dressed in visible masculine features. Anyone can see the tufts of fur popping out of their shirts, hinting at the state of their shoulders above the waterfall washing their chest. By this time the men have learned their place however, growing so used to the feeling of having a dick in their mouth. They can't have it any other way, unable to stop themselves from serving men for the rest of their lives.

He remembered being unable to stay away from the backrooms of bars, somehow finding himself in them each night. He’d end up on the floor under other men’s boots with the rest of the filth. Spit on, cum on, pissed on. It felt right. He couldn’t get enough, his mind drinking in the moments with twisted pleasure. He loved being degraded, feeling the sharp heels digging into his back as his body picked up the filth and grime from the floor. He couldn’t stop himself from craving it, imagining it as punishment for indulging in it.

It wasn’t long until his body began to adapt, thick hair sprouting across his back and shoulders to further soak in the fluids that covered him. He was no longer just a body on the floor but a rug meant to be used and stained, stepped over. To drink in the filth around him like a carpet, soaking up all the sweat and cum dripping from the men above him. It was only appropriate.

Now he no longer needed to seek those places, instead seen by multiple men a night at his place. He’d send out messages on the apps to get them to come, several already visiting him routinely. It wouldn’t take long for them to finish, paying no thought to him other than they would a doormat. That’s all Nick needed from them to be made to feel useful, unable to prevent himself from feeling bliss.

The world seemed so much simpler as he continued, not realizing the affect of the ring on him as he grew dumber. He felt lost in the crowd, just looking around in awe and not really paying attention to anything. He didn’t realize his skin was filling in coarse dense hair, slowly wrapping around him and adding to his bovine appearance. It took him longer to get home than usual as he struggled to remember his directions, losing his focus and getting lost.

He lay down on his bed once he finally arrived, relaxing shirtless when he remembered the piercing. He took out his phone to take a picture, shocked when he finally saw himself on the screen. Dark tufts of hair had conquered his body, his skin a dense field of the strands. His eyes dragged down the rest of his figure, each inch just as forested as the rest. Now he realized why everything felt so itchy and warm. He began questioning why he hadn’t noticed it when his simple mind was distracted again, seeing the piercing in his nose.

He smiled seeing the way it made him look more animalistic, having forgotten the other reason entirely. He tried to take it out again to get another look at it, surprised to find it difficult. It had gone in so easily before.

He wouldn’t have been able to take it out if he could. It had grown into a solid ring through his septum, permanently attached to his body. His simple mind gave up after a few minutes, forgetting about the situation entirely. He never questioned his appearance again.

Each month was the same, increasing the gauge on your nips and septum slightly, the sight reinforcing your addiction to wanting them to be more massive. You began to take little care of the rest of your body, only focusing on the rings, playing with them waiting for the point you could go up another size.

You didn't realize that the more presence they had on your body, the more animalistic you became. The more they tugged on your nips the less you could think, the nerves sending your mind into a state of constant arousal barely able to focus on anything else. You didn't pay attention to the hair beginning to spread all over your body from how much you sweat now in heat, your mind too obsessed with the glinting metal on your skin.

You hadn't realized your body odor had changed, the hair trapping in your new musk and only allowing more of it to soak into your head. It's all your nose could inhale, the beard wrapping your face saturated in the pheromones that your body couldn't stop producing. You spent the nights shirtless, holding your head in bliss just enjoying the sensation of being a beast, just a dumb animal in heat.

He never learned that they kept their bodies waxed to keep the hair at bay. Exposed to the elements, beaten by the sun, their bodies reacted to the environment, quickly covering itself in fur to protect it. George never considered this, spending his workouts shirtless, never paying attention to the thick curls that began to cover his chest and shoulders. He only ever saw his muscles grow, unaware of the animal he was slowly turning himself into.

In no time he looked like an ape, veined mass bulging from his body, a thick chest and abs on constant display. He couldn't care about the carpet covering it all, too proud of his progress. It only acted like a second shirt, trapping in the sweat of his hard work, his body a temple to his accomplishment.

Jack had been dying to put on size since he'd started at the gym. Tall with little mass, he had to put in extra work for the slightest bit of muscle to show. He was definitely toned, but almost none of it showed in his wardrobe.

"Simply eat, simply grow," The tagline read. Jack thought nothing of it, opening the bar to eat on his way home.

The flavor exploded in Jack's mouth from the first taste. He didn't know how to put it- it was definitely protein-based, but something else he couldn't comprehend. Something his mind couldn't identify, something he wanted more of. He didn't realize it was the feeling of his mind dimming, softening at the edges, simplifying. It was euphoric.

The bar was all Jack could think about until the next time he went to the gym. His partner seemed happy to supply several boxes, Jack already opening one in the middle of their session.

The changes came fast. Jack was definitely bulking up, his shirt hem quickly growing higher while his shorts squeezed around thickening thighs. Jack had never been super hairy, but waves of curls began spreading from his barrel of a chest, wrapping around the pecs like a cover. A beard quickly followed as dusting made its way down his arms and legs.

Jack couldn't see his other growth, however. He couldn't see his stomach widening, his chest softening and hanging to the sides. His arms grew heavy with weight, almost as if burdened with the same slowness his mind now carried. He couldn't comprehend the fur wrapping his shoulders, couldn't see the way people looked at him in disgust when he walked around the locker room shirtless, body shaking with each step.

Then came the summer he was sent home with a packet and mass gainer his coach had provided. The packet had two sections: A workout schedule and calorie tracker. Each day was specific, exactly what exercises to do and what to eat. It went all the way to the next season, including the days when school had already started.

Jeff didn't give it a second thought. The packet wasn't meant to let him think- it gave him exactly how much milk he should drink, how much protein powder he was to consume, how much lifting he expected to do.

Jeff didn't notice how it was all primarily lower body focused- squats, lunges, core. It had arm work too, but other than that it had little for his upper body. He didn't see how he was meant to be having 7,000 calories a day by the end of the summer, almost all of it in dairy. He didn't understand how all of it was meant to increase his estrogen level, make him the perfect obedient player that would follow coach's orders.

Jeff didn't think about how his balls seemed to rise high, keeping close to his body. He didn't notice how his cock shrunk in his hand, the head not even reaching his thumb. He didn't care how he grew several pants sizes, his ass wide and fat while his shirts stayed the same. It wasn't until a pool party that his friends noticed, pointing out his tits.

"They're pecs," Jeff tried correcting, only for them to laugh.

"Have you looked?"

The moment Tim could, he started working on the body he wanted. Soon after spending a significant time in the gym, the extra testosterone flooding through his system quickly changed him. His muscles formed curves in his skin, his shoulders widened, his face changed as hair began spreading across his cheeks. It wa fine that his head had trouble growing hair, there was enough spreading on his body anyway.

What no one had warned him about, however, was the smell. The first time he caught a whiff of it was headed home from the gym, his shirt drenched in sweat. It didn’t smell bad- it was as if his hard work had been given an aura. It was his pits that emanated it the most, and whenever Tim smelled it, everything relaxed. His mind simplified, his body felt right. It was the best relief he could have asked for, hormones flooding his head and shutting off his thoughts.