Orc'ed (Patreon)

Drawing by Curtis Wuedti 

Intellectually I hate it. The tusks that make everything I say slurry, the unwieldy body packed with impractical amounts of muscles, clearly form over function, constantly running hot, constantly sweating and smelling like boiled cabbage, and constantly craving energy. So fucking much food. I'd never had steak tartare before, and now I can't wait to sink my razor-sharp teeth into a big chunk of beef or horse or whatever several times a day. Oh, and the green skin of course. It's honestly pretty far down the list, because it only matters if I manage to escape, and that doesn't seem likely anytime soon.

Just imagine the scene. Me, a seven or eight, or whatever the fuck my size is, foot tall wall of steaming, reeking muscles walking down the street, wearing what? A tank top and baller shorts? Maybe fine for ComiCon, outdoors, but the rest of the year?

I said I intellectually hate it, but he made a few final touches that keep me busy. The cursed cockring keeps my human-arm-sized cock erect at all times, and the wave of pleasure I get every time I manage to cum, after some serious wanking work, is out of this world.