Ignore the guards

The crude remarks, derisive laughs and sly looks of your captors embarrass you, and you try to hide your face against your father's broad chest. "But I am your own son," you plead softly, hoping this may still go some other way. You are an Orc breeder - a male, not a mate. Still, your instincts tug you against your objections, as your father's arms wrap around your waist to draw you into his broad lap.

"You are your mother's son," your father insists. One hand strokes up your spine, eliciting a shiver through your frame as it closes on the collar around your neck and draws your blushing face into his dank, steamy armpit. "Breathe!" he urges, as his other hand holds you in his spread lap, where you can already feel his breeding bull-cock stiffening beneath you.

As your captors snicker and jeer and make wagers amongst themselves, you instinctually obey. Perhaps it is your mother's Elvish blood that responds, but the strong, masculine scent draws you in. Before you quite know what you are doing, your need to breed - or is it to be bred? - compels you. Your tongue slips from between your full, panting lips and even as you rake your father's thick underarm thatch with your short tusks, you find yourself nuzzling, lapping, and sucking there.

In return, your father's other hand moves to the small of your back, slowing your restless squirming atop his lap into slow, deliberate, rocking motions where you feel him thicken and swell beneath you. One callused fingertip grazes just at the sweat-slick top of your cleft, then nudges lower, indicating his intentions plainly. You shiver again, but with fear or desire you cannot say.

All you have ever learned tells you that only the most wanton of harem-whores, simpering elf-boys or depraved, demon-worshipping sorcerers crave such use. How can you, meant to sire legions, find your own cock stiff and seeping in the sweaty pouch of your loincloth? How can you allow this? Your own father! But he is an experienced breeder, adept at drawing complaisant arousal from his mate with a touch, and you are half an Elf, enthralled by the scent of him. How can you hope to resist?