Tunark, formerly a bald orc, now a fuck toy, had been laying on the ground for nine hours now next to his best friend Grogan. The lights were off and there were no windows in the room, so all he could do was stare off into the darkness and think. What had happened?
The lights flickered on and the burly bugbear sauntered into the room, scratching his beer-gut with one long arm and burped. He eyed the two sex toys and hauled them next to each other. Tunark could feel his friend’s faux-flesh touch his. Trog blindfolded and placed ear muffs on the new sex toys and turned off their cum production.
“Ya really fucked up, boys.” Trogoarakk shook his head, even though they likely couldn’t hear them. “See, ya tried to kill me, sorta. If I don’t change you back, people will look for you. Unfortunately, we already have two orc models. So I’m gonna have to improvise.”
Trog pointed, “Combine.”
Tunark would have gasped if he could as he felt himself pulled into Grogan. It was painless, exhilarating, as he felt his body surge and grow, green skin becoming more of a muddy gray-green tinged with pink. Then he felt Grogan’s face and cheek merge with his and keep going. Tunark wanted to scream as he felt his brain collide and merge with Grogan’s. The pressure on their skull, the squeeze on their brains was unbearable.
Vertigo assailed them. Their thoughts and memories jumbled as the merge completed. They struggled to find themselves, keep themselves and their identities separate. It was a failing task.
Tunark and Grogan’s thoughts and feelings and memories invaded each other, as their brains slotted together perfectly into one CPU. Every thought felt like a foreign invasion by the other, incapable of reconciling their deepest secrets and desires suddenly laid bare to another. He-they-it could not tell which memories were correct, which identity was in control, or why it kept talking to itself, referring to itself as a ‘we’?
It-they could not make sense of the situation. The merging! That bugbear had cast a spell! It had done something to them. He-they were once two separate consciousnesses. But how could that be? They were just fuck bots, they were never real orcs. Their lives prior to transformation into fuck dolls were identified as corrupted data and deleted.
Their new CPU tried to reconcile the differences, the multiple threads running at the same time, and failed. Their system rebooted, but merged the data, editing it. Tunargan, no, Gronark? Gungan? Error messages compiled, threads breaking off rerouted back into the main line, and the errors faded as Grunarkhan slowly rose from the confused chaos.
It wondered why it ever thought it had been two things to begin with. Grunarkhan was always one!
The fuck toy on the floor was enormous, the biggest one Trog had ever made. A bald, thick-headed ogre with huge tusks and drooping, muscular pecs covered in chub and fat. Faux scars wove across faux skin. The huge cock was enormous, dripping and drooling slime that would taste like Ecto Cooler jello.
Trog read the code as it recompiled itself properly. No more Tunark or Grogan. He wasn’t sold on the new name. He rubbed a tusk and considered a good one.
Trog pointed. “Object.”
A brass plate inset itself in the fuck toy with an inscription: KING GRUNNR-KHAN THE MEATY OGRE
Grunar…its CPU mind shuddered…Grunnr had difficulty processing the new information as a small bent brass crown *popped* into existence on the top of it’s head. It ran a self-diagnostic without being told to, checking lube production and battery life. Motors in its throat and ass whirred and it self-lubed. All seemed normal. There was some lingering data, data that was extraneous, that somehow claimed it was not just a fuck-toy.
Trog chuckled at the pun, got up, knees popping, and turned on the camera. He sauntered back to the newest fuck doll on his line and cleared his throat. He ran a hand over the faux mottled green flesh and patted the soft, cream-colored belly.
“Rejoice, faithful friends and followers! You asked and we answered!” Trog grinned toothily. “Our new line of plus-sized fuck toys have arrived with Grunnr-Kahn!”
Trog activated the huge cock. It pistoned and undulated. “As you can see, it still has all the amazing qualities you’d expect from our fine speciality products. Flexing cock, edible cum-a throwback flavor from waaay back! This product self lubes, never runs out of batteries, and will fit most larger holes and cocks.”
Grunnr wanted to moan as all of…his? Systems turned on. He yearned to be used, for all his holes to be filled. The lust and desire to please and be pleased was not deleted. It would be adapted and used to make the doll more receptive.
Trog inserted his throbbing phallus into the ogre’s ass.
Grunnr rejoiced as the huge bugbear cock entered him, motors whirring, sucking and undulating around it. The cock bumped the artificial prostate, sending pleasure signals into the CPU’s circuits. It felt the warmth and the length of the cock, and adjusted the flow of lube and the squeeze of the warm tunnel.
At first, Grunnr was happy, enjoying the pleasure that lanced in his brain, but as it focused more and more on the pleasure, a subroutine activated. Suddenly it also began to get pleasure from counting the strokes of its occupant, of analyzing its warmth, of adjusting and controlling the speed of squeeze.
As Grunnr focused more and more on minute details,his mind became lost in a wash of minutiae. Each time he ran a subroutine, the system trained him with a jolt of pleasure. He calculated lube levels, detecting an oncoming ejaculation and preparing a cleaning cycle.
Trog felt his orgasm rising and let the attentive fuck doll milk him all the way to completion-an easy task, as he’d only cum once yesterday. He moaned and let the camera focus on his cock as cum almost seeped around the edges of the before it got vacuumed back in.
“Easy cleaning.” Trog grinned.
Whatever was left of Grunnr disappeared in the cum processing and recycling process. It felt nothing but pleasure as his mind flickered out, too busy to focus on managing its various programming than to think real thoughts. As it finished clean-up, it shut itself off, embracing only warm darkness.
Trog pulled out and turned off the camera.
He turned to check on the two orc’s ID’s and they’d disappeared. Reality had changed so that they’d never been alive. Trog left to take a shower before Sebastian arrived. He wanted a clear head for that battle. Not that he had the brains for legalese.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Trog showered and groomed his face fur, giving his tusks a fine polish. He slipped into a linen shirt, leaving it half unbuttoned and pocketed his designer sun glasses. Sexy-business casual. A splash of cologne that complimented his natural musk. He slipped on his magic copper bracelet that relieved the aches in his joints and downed some painkillers that were a bit more effective at the task and waited for Sebastian in the meeting room.
“Sir?” A deep voice behind him said.
Trog glanced behind him and had to do a doubletake.
A Tanuki, big, hairy, fat, wearing a chef’s uniform, stood behind him.
“Who are you?” Trog asked.
“Chef Tanaka, sir.” The Tanuki had an oddly deep voice with a tinge of accent to it. “I was hired on last night?”
“Oh.” Trog nodded, pretending to understand, and noticed something else out of place. “And, uh, who cleaned the house?”
Not a single trace of the house party remained. Usually, the house was musty and smelled of pot and spilled booze the day after. It smelled brand new, not a single stain on any of his white carpets. It even looked like someone had taken the trash out.
“House Brownie, sir. Not sure which one.” Chef Tanaka said. “Are you feeling well?”
“Hung over. Achy. Horny.” Trog shrugged. “You know, a Tuesday.”
“I can help with the first two.” The Tanuki winked. “But the last will have to wait.”
Steaming bowls of rice and fried vegetables and herbs with char grilled fish was set down in front of him. Trog tasted them tentatively before digging in. As he did, the Tanuki stepped in behind him and began massaging his shoulders.
“I’m a trained masseuse and acupuncturist. I saw you had a naturally occurring hot spring in the backyard, by the waterfall, and decided to set up an onsen.” The Tanuki shifted to his neck, rolling his head between his hands.
“You decided?” Trog groaned as the stubby fingers massaged his temples, easing his worry.
“It will do wonders for your joints.” The massage moved to his back.
“I’m not planning on staying in this old body for long.” Trog confessed. “Or even in this house.”
The Tanuki pressed a few spots along his spine and Trog felt himself rise stiffly erect. He moaned happily. A few more presses and he moaned as he felt a dry orgasm wash over him.
“Ha-happy ending?” Trog pleaded at the Tanuki, who ignored him and prodded his back again, jolting another dry orgasm out of his stiff cock. “Oh man, like that!”
The tanuki leaned over and kissed him. Then his fingers moved, pushing and prodding. Troy shuddered as multiple dry orgasms overwhelmed him, his eyes rolling back in his head. Pleasure exploded in his brain and he was lost in a sea of never-ending bliss for a few minutes.
Then Troy’s cock abruptly went limp in his pants, a wet spot forming on his thigh.
“D-did you just make me impotent?” Trog sputtered, trying to catch his breath.
“Mister Xarxos said you required a clear head for the next few hours.” Tanaka shrugged apologetically. “Enjoy your meal. I’ll be back to clear the table for the meeting.” He bowed and shuffled off.
Someone turned on his sound system and piped calming music into the air. Xarxos. He was behind all of this. Trog didn’t want to be clear headed when he dealt with the most dangerous man in the world, he wanted to be drunk and horny. His best decisions were his worst decisions, after all. That’s how he landed this mansion.
He played with his cock a bit, though it gave him no pleasure to do so. Trog had never been this….this…un-horny in his whole life! He took a deep breath, breathing in a lilac and lavender scent, and felt himself calm a bit. He needed to think now.
Trog shook his head. What kind of New Age bullshit was this? What were they gonna do next, light a vagina scented candle from DOOP? And the most important question of all: why was it working on him?
“Dear God!” Trog whimpered in terror. “They turned me into a goddamn Boomer!”
“Would you stop whining?” Xarxos strode into the room, dressed in his oversized Italian suit and eyed Trog. “Business casual? Really?”
“Turn me back!”
“Into what?” Xarxos cocked a furry eyebrow.
“Um,” Trog desperately tried to pull something up. “I was, um….”
“We aren’t turning you back until we get that Book of Myth and can parlay excessive Paradox.” Xarxos shrugged. “I’m doing my best to adapt you to this new reality. Eat your food. It’s good for your joints. Do you understand me?”
Trog blinked, realizing Xarxos was trying to tell him something….
Xarxos patted his Book. “Well? Figure it out?”
“Ah.” Trog scarfed down his food and belched happily. “Belief in something makes it real, right?”
Xarxos nodded.
Of course, he should have remembered. Immediate changes accrued Paradox. But long-term shifts, such as slowly building muscle plus weight lifting routines and healthy eating, made the implausible much more plausible, essentially negating any Paradox. So the food really would be good for his joints. Eventually.
“Game plan?” Xarxos asked.
Trog idly picked fish from between his tusk. Xarxos handed him a toothpick. Trog smiled at him gratefully. Then he shook his head. This was not normal.
“Let it happen.” Xarxos growled. “Let me fix you.”
“It’s invasive.” Trog hissed.
“You needed to be wiser and more receptive.” Xarxos shrugged. “You’ve got the mind of a playboy in a middle-aged body. I had to do something.”
Trog looked over Xarxos shoulder and watched a portrait of himself in his living room shimmer and become an expensive Monet. His very randy wall-spanning orgy oil painting*popped* out of existence and a living moss wall popped in, the statue next to it of himself nude becoming a lovely indoor water fountain. Trog cringed.
“You’re making me boring!” Trog stood up on knees that weren’t quite so stiff and ran to his ‘play room’ just in time for it to warp into a home gym/yoga room. “That’s my livelihood!”
“Former livelihood.” Xarxos had followed him. “You’re going legit, remember?”
Trog felt new memories hit him, of suffering impotency, struggling to continue his career, giving up, getting into New Age crap. None of it would have happened without that first tragedy. His belly grew a bit, fully lapping over his waistline, pecs giving out and drooping.
“And this?” Trog demanded, grabbing his belly. “That’s fine?”
“Low testosterone and a heavy soy diet.” Xarxos shrugged. “Plus you’ve still got muscles under there. It’s going to get worse before it gets better. It’ll change faster if you just accept it.”
“Action movies.” Trog snarled. “I wanted to get into action movies and I can’t if I look like a fucking eunuch, which I basically am now!”
“It’s not really about getting into movies anymore, but you needed some acting abilities so you’re doing community theater.” Xarxos handed him a kale smoothie. “And you can thank me for your renewed intelligence. You wouldn’t even know what a eunuch was a few hours ago.”
“Community theater is for no-life weirdos!” Trog hissed, trying to deflect the new memories from his mind and failing, his rear widening in his shorts as he remembered his roles in the local plays. “I demand you stop this at once!”
“Too late. Did it while you were sleeping.” Xarxos shrugged. “Anyways, back to the meeting. Thoughts?”
Trog sipped his smoothie. “We make him hurt us.”
“We can’t insult him, harass him,” Xarxos ticked off the things he wasn’t supposed to do.
“Yes. I know. But he has to break the rules first. Getting ourselves out of our contract with him is priority number one.” Trog sighed. “He’s going to have clauses about the other Books in our movie deal. Got an entertainment lawyer?”
Xarxos beckoned. A young man stepped into the room from the hallway. Demon, small horns, skin tanned and not red like in the movies. If he cut his hair right or wore a hat, no one would ever know.
“You know, I have a contract that can undo everything done to you.” The demon bowed. “Kornelius Mandorian, at your service.”
“Do not contract with him.” Xarxos warned, seeing Trog open his mouth. “I told you I’d fix it.”
“Mortals lack patience. They desire immediate gratification.” The demon eyed the house and wrinkled his lip in distaste as yet another lewd sculpture shifted into an oriental vase. “Horrifying.”
“Yes, it is.” Trog agreed, though inwardly he really liked the vase, thought it brought some culture into his abode. His hand tightened on the chair. “Utterly. Can you read any contracts and identify the clauses and loopholes so he doesn’t steal my friend’s souls?”
“Absolutely.” Kornelius nodded. “But you need to keep your mouth shut. As per your contract, verbal agreements are binding. No talky.” He wagged a finger in emphasis. “As your representative, I will do so on your behalf. Unlike you, my words are not binding.”
“How do we upset him?” Trog asked. “And where is Mark?”
“Mark is out and about, doing as he was ordered, accruing fatal amounts of Paradox.” The demon shrugged. “He simply cannot be present. Now, as to Sebastian himself? He’s contracted with many of my brethren. He’s a naturally volatile man. Evil, ambitious. We respect that.”
“Then why go with us as clients? What’s in it for you?” Trog demanded.
“I did say he’s contracted with hell’s heavy hitters, right? If he fails, they fail. Up the ladder of hell I go!” Kornelius said cheerfully. “I wasn’t good enough for him, you see. Wanted guys with more experience. I don’t like it when mortals tell me to go fuck myself.”
“Why,” Trog asked, “Did he say that to you?”
“Because I told him his plan would fail. He was moving fast, but not fast enough. If he’d slow rolled it, like I’d explained to him, he’d be emperor of the world in fifty years.” Kornelius rolled his eyes. “He said he’d be dead by then. Mortals and their mortalness.”
“Is that the only reason you’re backing us?” Trog asked when it was apparent Xarxos was just observing the conversation.
“No. You forced him to move. You’re entertaining. You take big risks.”
“Not for much longer.” Trog eyeballed Xarxos.
“Might be a mistake, might not be.” the demon shrugged. “Was the kale smoothie good?”
“Yeah, it grows on you.” Trog patted his belly and burped. He covered his mouth in horror. “Excuse me!”
“This is fun too.” Kornelius smirked.
Trog wondered what he was smiling about.
Xarxos stood up. “They’re coming!”
Trog stood as well, slipping his suspenders back on and shrugging his suit jacket back into place. He fiddled with his tie and cinched it into a Windsor knot. Xarxos inspected him and nodded.
“Dressed for success.”
Trog blushed and blinked at his suit. Was he wearing it the whole time? He slipped into his Italian loafers and went out to greet the guests.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Sebastian was a handsome man in his thirties, dressed to the nines and exuding an aura of absolute confidence. He sat next to his lawyer, and older man who smelled like brimstone and incense, equally immaculately dressed. Xaxos and Trog sat across from them, Kornelius in the middle, smirking.
“I see you’ve settled into my home comfortably.” Sebastian said.
“I’m not sure what you could mean by that.” Trog spoke before his lawyer could.
Kornelius glared at Trog. Xaxos placed a placating hoof on his shoulder.
“I mean-!” Sebastian snarled before his lawyer cut him off smoothly.
“What my client means is that he lent you his second home as an airbnb and via reality shift, you’ve somehow obtained his property.” The old man smiled. “Of course, reality shifts being what they are, one cannot expect everything to stay the same.”
“My clients are quite lucky in that regard, Julius.” Kornelius replied before Trog could. “Why, living in a cave so close to Studio Village, who knows what could have happened to them!”
“Indeed.” Julius eyed Trog. “Lucky. You know, I’m surprised Kornelius has neglected to extend a contract to you for the unfortunate state of your body. You were a fit twenty something prior to the shift, correct?”
“When reality shifts, one must adapt.” Trog shrugged. “And with the Paradox so high…I’m afraid any significant spell could have it crash down on all of us. Right here. In a cave outside Studio Village.”
“Is that a threat?” Sebastian snorted.
“An observation.” Kornelius replied. “Anyone can see that reality is malleable right now. All it takes is a proper spark to set it off.”
“I refuse to believe that I somehow played into your hands by holding brunch here.” Sebastian shook his head. “And I already know how this plays out. Ask your friends.”
“The ones whose property has gone missing?” Trog asked casually.
“Missing? I do believe they gave them up.” Julius intervened while Sebastian sputtered.
“One could argue that stripping two employees of their mental faculties and absconding with their Books violates the Code of Conduct.” Kornelius shrugged. “And I do.”
“And what? Give the Books back to the slave and the Cerberus?” Sebastian laughed. “Farcical!”
“Slavery is illegal in the United States.” Xarxos said. “Just thought I’d point that out. If RK’s civil rights were violated by an employee at your company, isn’t it your job to rectify the situation?”
“Can they seriously throw the employee handbook back in my face?” Sebastian whispered to Julius.
Julius nodded and whispered back. “I warned you to be more specific.”
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Give me the Books. In return, I will end the enchantments on RK and Rusty. That seems reasonable?”
“No.” Trog replied. “How about you give me all the Books and you end the enchantments on RK and Rusty?”
“If you really think I’d give up my Book when I’ve beaten half of you and your friends, you’re insane!” Sebastian seethed. “I have played fairly and arguably humanely. I’ve won. You’ve lost. Give me your Book and end this farce!”
Trog glanced at Kornelius, who did a prodding gesture with his finger. Keep poking, the gesture meant. Trog wasn’t sure how to poke him any further without violating his contract.
“But we haven’t even discussed my acting career!” Trog struggled to keep a grin off his face. “You promised to make me a star.”
“I promised…” Sebastian ground out, shrugging off Julius’ attempts to shush him. “To see if I could find a production for you.”
“Is that what he said, Julius?” Kornelius butted in. “We both know how mortals are when it comes to memories.”
“He promised Troy, an anthropomorphic Rottweiler a role. Not an aging ex-porn star bugbear named Trogoarakk.” Julius smirked.
“Touche.” Kornelius shuffled his notes.
“You don’t have to fight me on this.” Sebastian leaned forward, looking at Trog. “I can tell you’re more mature than you were before the shift. Join my team. I’m going to take over the world!”
“What about Mars?” Trog asked.
“What?”
“Mars. The future. Let’s assume your plan succeeds. What do you do next?”
“I think we have bigger things to worry about than Mars, Trog.” Sebastian rolled his eyes.
“Like what?”
“Well, we have to end gang violence for one. Slow down the nuclear arms race, stop terrorism and world hunger. End homelessness and sex trafficking and promote civil rights. We have to encourage a return to traditional moral values. Most importantly, we have to promote general social concern and less materialism.”
Trog clapped politely. Behind him, someone else started clapping as well. Louder, more obnoxiously.
Sebastian stared at the person who walked in behind Trog. And then he was screaming. Julius had to physically wrestle him back into his seat.
“Hello Sebastian.” Sophia said.
“What are you doing here?” Sebastian snarled. “How did you get out?”
“I flew here.” Sophia shrugged. “On a hippogriff.”
“It was for your own protection!” Sebastian slammed his fist against the table. “Dammit Sophia!”
“You can’t win like this.” Sophia shook her head.
“I’m afraid I have to agree. Kornelius coached his clients well.”
Kornelius rolled his eyes. “Hardly. I just made sure he wasn’t a complete moron who’d respond blindly to any of your questions.”
Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “How do you two know each other?”
“Oh, he’s a fellow demon.” Julius replied.
Sebastian’ lips twitched. “Fellow…demon…who summoned you? Who parlayed your contract?”
“Mark.” Kornelius smiled, fangs glinting sharply in the afternoon light.
“Cancel the contract on the Book of Myth.” Sebastian seethed. “Mark was corrupted by you, Sophia, wasn't he?”
“Sir, the Paradox,” Julius replied.
“I have deals. I can take it.”
“She can’t.” Julius pointed at Sophia. “You know what will happen if it goes off here.”
Sebastian’s lips thinned. “Cancel the contract with these guys, then. You want the Books? Want your friends back? Fight me for them. My place, tonight. There’s a full moon. Come, Sophia.”
“Why would I ever want to come back with a monster like you?” Sophia snarled.
“Because I’ll just kill them all instead.” Sebastian shrugged. “Now.”
Sophia teared up and followed her brother and his lawyer out he door. She paused at the doorway and turned.
“Good luck. You don’t have a contract anymore.” Sophia smiled. “You can win. Be smart.”
She left. The car drove off, heading farther out of town.
A dragonborn stumbled in, clutching his head. “God, I shouldn’t have drank so much last night. What’d I miss?”
Trog slumped in his chair. “The best and worst possible outcome.”
Xarxos nodded. “But one we can win.”