Try to get away

His belt can't be that hard to remove, you figure, and decide you can still escape if you are clever.

Sadly, you are not an Orc of strong mind, and though you feign submission, when you make you sneaky attempt to unfasten the heavy leather strap, the Orc Chief catches you with a heavy cuff to the side of the head that makes your ears ring.

"None of that, whelp," he jeers, jerking you up by your chain. Then he lifts you bodily and hangs you roughly over his shoulder, knocking the wind from you.

One hand meatily grasps your backside, a rough-callused thumb slipping into your loincloth to graze your tight-clenched ring, the other holds you by your collar, keeping your face pressed to his loin furs as he stalks purposefully toward his tent.

"You'll learn, half-breed," he promises ominously and, to your growing horror you find some trace of your Elvish blood responding, your pucker shivering under his thumb as you stiffen in your loincloth from the scent of him.

You determine to bide your time for a better moment, and only hope your dual heritage doesn't betray you. You were already intent on breeding when the day's misadventure began, and in spite of your predicament, your half-chubbed Orc cock only gets harder.