Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Keep low," Grashnak growled, pressing a massive, calloused hand against his son's shoulder. The young orc, barely fifteen summers old, crouched obediently beside his father, his breath shallow with excitement. Through the dense underbrush, their prey came into view—two figures moving along the narrow forest path, unaware.

The older cuntboy walked with a limp, his left leg dragging slightly as he adjusted the strap of his satchel. His son—smaller, frailer—stayed close, fingers twisting in the hem of his tunic. They were talking softly about supper, about whether they had enough coin left for candles, when Grashnak's nostrils flared. The scent of their fear was subtle but unmistakable, threaded through the sweat clinging to their skin.

Krog, the orc boy, shifted impatiently beside his father. His tusks dug into his lower lip as he watched the humans pause by a fallen log. The younger one—barely more than a child—knelt to inspect a cluster of mushrooms, his fingers delicate as they brushed the caps. Krog's breath hitched. He'd never seen a human boy up close before, not one like this. His father had told him stories, of course, but the reality was different. Softer.

Grashnak's grip tightened on the hilt of his knife. He didn't need it, not really. The humans were unarmed, their bodies built for bending, not fighting. But the weight of it steadied him. He'd promised his son a lesson, and he intended to deliver. Slowly, silently, he motioned for Krog to circle around, to cut off their retreat. The boy obeyed, his movements clumsy with eagerness.

The older cuntboy stiffened first. His head snapped up, eyes scanning the trees. Too late. Grashnak stepped into the clearing, his shadow swallowing the sunlight at their feet. The younger one gasped, scrambling backward until his back hit the log. His father moved instinctively, stepping between his son and the orc, his hands raised in a futile gesture of protection.

Grashnak lunged before the cuntboy father could react, his massive hands closing around the man’s wrists with a grip like iron. The human gasped, his body arching as he was yanked forward, his satchel spilling its contents onto the forest floor. Behind him, Krog was less graceful but just as effective—the young orc barreled into the smaller cuntboy, knocking the breath from his lungs as they tumbled into the dirt. The boy’s cry was cut short as Krog pinned him, his tusks grazing the delicate skin of the human’s throat.

The father thrashed, his limbs wiry but useless against Grashnak’s strength. “Don’t—don’t touch him!” he snarled, voice cracking. The orc only grinned, his free hand tangling in the man’s hair to wrench his head back. “Quiet,” Grashnak rumbled, the command vibrating through his chest. He didn’t need ropes—not yet. The threat of his weight alone was enough to still the man’s struggles, the heat of his body pressing the cuntboy into the damp earth.

Krog was less patient. His fingers fumbled with the leather straps from his belt, his breath coming in ragged bursts as he struggled to bind the younger human’s wrists. The boy whimpered, his legs kicking weakly, but Krog leaned down, his nose brushing the shell of the human’s ear. “Stop,” he muttered, the word clumsy in his mouth. It wasn’t a request. The boy froze, his chest heaving, and Krog took advantage of the hesitation, yanking the straps tight enough to bite into pale skin.

Grashnak hauled the father up by his hair, ignoring the man’s choked gasp. “Watch,” he grunted to his son, nodding toward the trembling human still pinned beneath Krog. The lesson was clear—this was how you handled prey. The older cuntboy’s eyes darted to his son, his throat working as he struggled to speak, but Grashnak’s fist in his hair silenced him. With a grunt, the orc slung the man over his shoulder like a sack of grain, the cuntboy’s legs dangling against his back.

The cave mouth yawned before them, its darkness broken only by the flickering orange light of torches staked unevenly along the rough walls. Grashnak adjusted his grip on the cuntboy father slung over his shoulder, feeling the man's ribs expand in shallow, panicked breaths against his back. Behind him, Krog dragged the younger human by his bound wrists, the boy's bare feet scraping against the stone as he stumbled forward.

A chorus of guttural voices erupted as they crossed the threshold. "Grashnak returns!" bellowed one of the sentries—a hulking orc with a scar bisecting his lip. He clapped a meaty hand against his chief's shoulder, his yellowed tusks glinting in the torchlight. "And he brings gifts for the whelp's first blooding!"

The cave stank of musk and smoke, the torches casting long shadows that danced across the gathered orcs like living things. Grashnak strode forward, the cuntboy father's limp body bouncing against his shoulder with each step. A chorus of rough laughter and approving grunts rose from the warriors clustered around the firepit—broad-shouldered brutes with scarred knuckles and eyes that gleamed with hunger.

"Good haul," rumbled Borgha, the clan's shaman, as he leaned on his staff. His single good eye raked over the humans with clinical interest. "The whelp's first breeding should be memorable. The smaller one's barely ripe, but the elder..." He licked his cracked lips. "He'll take well to the seed."

Krog shoved the younger cuntboy forward, his grip unforgiving on the boy's bound wrists. The human stumbled, his knees hitting the stone floor with a sharp crack that drew another round of laughter. "He fights," the orc boy panted, his voice thick with pride. "Like a rabbit in the snare."

Grashnak dumped the father unceremoniously onto a pile of furs near the fire. The man groaned, rolling onto his side instinctively, as if he could still shield his son from view. "Save your strength," Grashnak advised, crouching to rip the cuntboy's tunic open with one clawed hand. The fabric tore like parchment, exposing the smooth plane of the man's stomach, the delicate dip of his hips. The orcs murmured appreciatively.

Borgha's gnarled fingers pinched the father's chin, tilting his face toward the flickering torchlight. The shaman's breath smelled of rotting meat and bitter herbs as he pried the cuntboy's mouth open, examining his teeth like a trader inspecting livestock. "Good," he grunted, smearing a thick paste along the human's gums with a yellowed fingernail. The father gagged, his tongue pushing weakly against the intrusion, but Borgha merely chuckled and turned his attention to the trembling son. "This one's tight," he observed, kneading the boy's inner thighs until they parted reluctantly. "The whelp will need patience."

Borgha's clawed fingers worked methodically, smearing a thick, glistening salve between the cuntboy father's thighs, where his pussy already glistened with involuntary slick. The human shuddered, his thighs trembling as the herbal mixture burned cold against his sensitive folds. "This will loosen you," the shaman grunted, pressing two knobby fingers inside without ceremony. The man arched, a strangled whine tearing from his throat as Borgha scissored him open, the salve bubbling at the stretch. Behind him, his son sobbed openly, his small body jerking as another orc held him down and pried his legs apart, rubbing the same ointment into his untouched slit.

Grashnak dragged Krog aside, his massive hand gripping his son's shoulder. "Watch," he ordered, unlacing his own loincloth with his free hand. His cock sprang free, already thick and heavy with arousal, the head glistening under the torchlight. Krog's breath hitched—he'd seen his father naked before, but never like this. Never hard. Grashnak spit into his palm and fisted his length, his rough strokes pulling a groan from his chest. "This is what you'll use," he growled. "Not your fingers, not your tongue. Your cock. It's the only tool that matters."

Krog’s breath came in ragged bursts as he watched his father’s cock swell to its full, intimidating length—thick as a wrist and easily over fourteen inches, the veins standing proud beneath the rough skin. A bead of precum glistened at the tip, catching the torchlight as Grashnak gave himself another slow stroke. "Now you," the older orc grunted, nodding toward his son’s loincloth. Krog’s fingers trembled as he fumbled with the ties, his own cock already half-hard from the scent of fear and arousal thick in the cave air.

The younger orc’s cock sprang free with a twitch, his inexperience showing in the way his hips jerked forward instinctively. Grashnak’s nostrils flared as he eyed his son’s length—thick at the base, tapering slightly toward the head, and already matching his own in girth. "Good," he rumbled, reaching out to grip both their cocks in one massive hand. Krog gasped at the contact, his father’s callouses scraping deliciously against his sensitive skin. Grashnak squeezed, aligning their lengths side by side, and Krog’s breath hitched. His cock was nearly as long as his father’s, just a fraction shorter, but the resemblance was unmistakable.

Borgha chuckled from where he knelt between the cuntboy father’s splayed thighs. "A fine bloodline," the shaman mused, his fingers still working the human open with slow, brutal precision. The older cuntboy’s head thrashed against the furs, his hips twitching as Borgha crooked his fingers, drawing out a broken moan. "But let’s see if the whelp can use it."

Grashnak growled low in his throat, his grip tightening around both their cocks as he watched Borgha work the cuntboy father open. The human’s thighs trembled violently, his pussy clenching around the shaman’s fingers as another slick gush of arousal dripped onto the furs beneath him. "Enough," Grashnak barked suddenly, releasing his son’s cock to stride forward. He hauled Borgha up by the scruff of his robes, ignoring the shaman’s indignant snarl. "Tie them on the breeding bench. Side by side. Legs spread." His yellowed tusks gleamed as he bared them in a grin. "Then leave us."

Borgha’s single eye narrowed, but he dipped his head in a shallow nod. With a snap of his gnarled fingers, two younger orcs scrambled forward, dragging the heavy wooden bench from the shadows. The cuntboy father whimpered as rough hands hauled him up, his limbs still loose from the salve’s effects. His son thrashed weakly when they lifted him, his bound wrists straining against the leather straps, but a sharp cuff to the back of his head stilled him. The bench was wide enough for both humans to lie flat on their backs, their legs forced apart by thick ropes looped around their ankles and secured to iron rings bolted into the wood. The father’s pussy glistened obscenely under the torchlight, his folds swollen and parted from Borgha’s ministrations, while the son’s untouched slit fluttered with each panicked breath.

Grashnak waited until the last of the clan had shuffled out, the cave’s heavy hide curtain falling shut behind them, before turning to Krog. His son stood rigid, his cock jutting proudly from his hips, his nostrils flaring as he drank in the scent of human fear. "This," Grashnak rumbled, stepping closer to the bench, "is how you take what’s yours." He palmed the cuntboy father’s thigh, his claws pricking the soft skin as he leaned down. The human’s breath hitched, his hips jerking when Grashnak’s hot tongue swiped through his dripping folds. "Taste him," the orc ordered, straightening to meet Krog’s wide-eyed stare. "Learn his flavor before you claim him."

Krog hesitated only a heartbeat before dropping to his knees beside the younger cuntboy. His tusks scraped the boy’s inner thigh as he nosed between his legs, his tongue darting out to lap tentatively at the tight, pink slit. The human boy sobbed, his back arching off the bench, but Krog growled and gripped his hips, holding him down as he licked deeper. The taste was sharp—fear and salt and something sweet beneath it—and Krog’s cock throbbed in response. He glanced up at his father, his lips glistening with the boy’s slick. "He’s—he’s small," Krog managed, his voice rough.

Grashnak chuckled, stroking his own cock as he watched his son explore. "Then stretch him," he said simply. He reached down, spreading the cuntboy father’s folds with his thumbs, his breath hot against the human’s clit. "Like this." With a grunt, Grashnak shoved two thick fingers inside the man’s dripping hole, twisting them cruelly as the human screamed. His walls clenched around the intrusion, his hips bucking helplessly, but Grashnak didn’t stop. He fucked his fingers in and out, his other hand pinning the man’s thigh to the bench. "Your turn," he panted, nodding to Krog. "Don’t be gentle."

Krog’s hands shook as he mimicked his father, pressing one blunt finger into the younger cuntboy’s tight entrance. The boy shrieked, his legs straining against the ropes, but Krog gritted his teeth and pushed deeper. The heat was unbelievable, the clenching pressure almost too much, and Krog groaned as he added a second finger. The human’s pussy resisted, his muscles fluttering wildly, but Krog crooked his fingers the way he’d seen Borgha do, and the boy’s body suddenly yielded. A gush of slick soaked Krog’s wrist, and he shuddered, his cock dripping precome onto the stone floor.

Grashnak’s breath was a hot, ragged growl against the cuntboy father’s throat as he straightened, his cock jutting thick and glistening between them. With one hand still pinning the man’s thigh, he dragged the blunt head of his length up the trembling plane of the human’s belly, smearing precum in a slick trail. The cuntboy whimpered, his hips twitching uselessly as Grashnak pressed deeper—his cock reached past the man’s navel, the veined underside resting heavily against the shallow dip of his stomach. "See?" Grashnak rumbled, his free hand gripping the base of his shaft to emphasize the obscene stretch of it. "This is what fills you. What breeds you."

Krog’s breath hitched as he watched, his own cock throbbing in time with the ragged pulse he could feel beneath his fingers where they still worked the younger human open. The boy beneath him was sobbing openly now, his pussy clenching rhythmically around Krog’s fingers as if trying to expel the intrusion. Swallowing hard, Krog pulled his hand free—strings of slick clinging to his knuckles—and positioned himself between the boy’s thighs. His cock looked monstrous in comparison to the human’s slight frame, the flushed head nudging against the boy’s fluttering hole. With a shaky exhale, Krog pressed forward, mimicking his father’s display—his length reached the boy’s navel, the difference in their sizes just as stark.

The younger cuntboy’s breath came in panicked little gasps, his wrists straining against the straps as he stared down at the orc’s cock resting on his belly. "N-no—" he choked out, his hips jerking when Krog’s thumb brushed his clit. Grashnak’s laughter was a dark, rolling thing as he watched his son hesitate. "He’ll take it," the older orc assured, shifting his grip to the father’s hips. "They always do."

Grashnak's grip tightened on the cuntboy father's hips, his thick fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he leaned down, his breath hot against the human's ear. "Look at him," he rumbled, nodding toward Krog where the younger orc hovered over the trembling boy. "See how his cock dwarfs your son's belly? That's the first lesson." He dragged the blunt head of his own length through the man's folds, teasing the slick entrance without pressing inside. "Human males are pitiful. Soft little things, barely thicker than a finger." His lips curled back from his tusks in a sneer. "You think their mewling thrusts could ever fill a cuntboy properly? Breed him deep?"

The cuntboy father whimpered, his thighs trembling as Grashnak's cock bumped against his clit with each mocking stroke. Behind them, Krog's breath came in ragged bursts, his hips jerking forward instinctively—the flushed head of his length caught on the younger human's tight rim, making the boy sob. "Watch," Grashnak ordered, squeezing the man's hip hard enough to bruise. "See how your boy's body tries to refuse him? That's because he's never known a real cock. Only those pathetic human sticks."

Grashnak dragged the thick underside of his cock along the cuntboy father's clit in a slow, deliberate stroke, the rough texture catching on the swollen nub with just enough pressure to make the man's hips jerk. "Feel that?" he growled, watching the human's face twist as he repeated the motion, slower this time. The cuntboy's breath hitched, his thighs straining against the ropes—his body betraying him with another slick gush that pooled beneath his twitching hole. "That's how you make them drip before you even fuck them."

Krog's nostrils flared as he tried to mimic the movement, the head of his cock bumping awkwardly against the younger human's clit. The boy flinched, a high-pitched whine escaping his throat as Krog adjusted his angle, the ridge beneath his glans finally scraping the sensitive bud. The orc boy grunted in satisfaction when the cuntboy's legs trembled, his little cock stiffening against his belly despite the tears streaking his cheeks. "He's—he's getting wetter," Krog rasped, his own hips twitching forward instinctively.

Grashnak chuckled darkly, increasing the pressure on the father's clit until the man's back arched off the bench, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to stifle a moan. "They'll fight it," the older orc murmured, his tusks gleaming as he watched his son experiment with rougher strokes. The younger cuntboy gasped, his hips jerking uncontrollably as Krog's cockhead caught his clit just right—a broken sob tumbled from his lips, his toes curling against the ropes. "But their bodies know what they're made for." The father whimpered when Grashnak abruptly pulled away, leaving his clit throbbing and exposed to the cool cave air.

Grashnak's fingers tightened around the base of his cock, the thick shaft twitching against his palm as he adjusted his stance. The cuntboy father's clit stood swollen and slick under the torchlight, a flushed little peak that jerked when the orc exhaled hotly over it. Without warning, Grashnak brought his cock down in a slow, deliberate slap—the meaty impact sent a visible shudder through the human's body, his thighs clamping reflexively around nothing. The orc chuckled at the reaction, lifting his cock again to let the glistening underside drag wetly over the man's clit before striking once more.

"See how he jumps?" Grashnak rumbled, watching the cuntboy's stomach muscles flutter with each measured slap. His cock left angry red marks against the delicate skin, the rhythm steady—thwap-thwap-thwap—each strike precisely harder than the last. The father's breath came in ragged gasps, his hips twitching upward involuntarily after every third strike, his body betraying him with another pulse of slick that dripped onto the bench beneath.

Krog's hands trembled where they braced on either side of the younger cuntboy's hips. His own cock ached, neglected and throbbing, but he forced himself to watch—to memorize the exact angle of his father's wrist, the way his hips shifted minutely to control the force. "Like this," Grashnak ordered, pausing mid-swing to nod at his son. The older orc's cockhead glistened where it had smeared the father's arousal across his twitching belly. "Slow. Let him feel every ridge."

The younger orc swallowed hard before lifting his hips, his cock swaying heavily as he lined up with the trembling boy's clit. His first attempt was clumsy—too much force, not enough control—and the human yelped, his legs straining against the ropes. Krog froze, but Grashnak's growl spurred him on. "Again. Lighter." The second slap landed with more precision, the plush head of Krog's cock catching the very tip of the boy's clit. The cuntboy's entire body jerked, a broken sound tearing from his throat as his back arched off the bench.

Grashnak grunted in approval, resuming his own rhythm with renewed vigor. The father's thighs trembled violently now, his toes curling with each strike—his clit had darkened to an almost purple hue, the skin stretched taut and sensitive. The orc varied his strikes unpredictably; sometimes a slow, grinding press of his cock's underside, other times a sharp snap that made the man's hips buck uncontrollably. Slick dripped steadily from the father's hole now, pooling beneath his twitching ass.

Grashnak’s breath hitched as he paused mid-strike, the swollen head of his cock resting heavily against the cuntboy father’s throbbing clit. The human whimpered, his thighs twitching with oversensitivity, his hole clenching around nothing. "Watch," the orc murmured, his voice uncharacteristically low as he dragged the flat of his tongue up the man’s inner thigh. The contrast was jarring—the rough scrape of his tusks followed by the shocking warmth of his mouth. The father gasped, his hips jerking when Grashnak’s tongue flicked over his clit in a single, fleeting lick.

"Too much pain numbs them," Grashnak explained, his breath hot against the cuntboy’s damp skin. He watched the man’s stomach muscles flutter as he brought his cock down again—this time just hard enough to make the human’s breath catch, but not hard enough to draw another cry. "Too much kindness makes them defiant." His tongue followed the path of his cock, lapping up the slick that had dripped down the man’s trembling thighs. The father’s fingers scrabbled against the bench, his back arching as Grashnak alternated between sharp slaps and slow, wet licks, each touch calculated to keep him teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure.

Krog’s brow furrowed as he tried to mimic the rhythm, his own cockhead gliding over the younger cuntboy’s clit with less finesse. The boy beneath him sobbed, his legs straining against the ropes, his hole fluttering with each hesitant stroke. "Like—like this?" Krog rasped, his tusks grazing the human’s inner thigh as he leaned down to lap clumsily at the boy’s slit.

Grashnak chuckled, his hand wrapping around the base of his cock to still its movements. "Softer," he corrected, nodding toward his son’s trembling prey. "See how his body jumps when you breathe on him?" The younger cuntboy’s clit twitched visibly under Krog’s exhale, his thighs clamping reflexively around the orc’s broad shoulders. "That’s the fear talking. The uncertainty." Grashnak’s thumb brushed the father’s oversensitive nub, his touch feather-light. "Make him wonder if the next touch will hurt or heal. That’s when they break."

The father’s breath came in ragged hitches as Grashnak’s ministrations grew deliberately erratic—a sharp slap followed by a torturously slow lick, a grinding press of his cock’s underside interrupted by the sudden pinch of his claws on the man’s inner thigh. The orc’s nostrils flared as the cuntboy’s resistance frayed; his thighs trembled uncontrollably now, his hips rocking into each cruel tease, his whimpers dissolving into wordless pleas.

Grashnak's breath was hot and ragged against the cuntboy father's thigh as he finally stilled his teasing, his cock slick with the man's arousal. The human's entire body trembled, his clit swollen nearly purple from the alternating torture of slaps and tongue. "Now," the orc growled, lifting his hips just enough to drag the thick underside of his length through the man's dripping folds—slow, so slow the cuntboy could feel every ridge, every vein catching against his sensitive flesh. The father whimpered, his thighs twitching apart instinctively despite the ropes, his body betraying him with another gush of slick that coated Grashnak's cock in glistening strands.

"Watch the way it catches," Grashnak instructed, his voice gravelly with restraint as he angled his hips to give Krog a clearer view. The younger orc's breath hitched as his father's cock dragged through the human's folds again, the swollen head bumping against the twitching entrance without pressing inside. The cuntboy's hole fluttered visibly, his muscles clenching around nothing as Grashnak's length slid higher, smearing slick up to his clit in one torturously slow stroke. "See how his body opens for it?" The older orc's tusks gleamed as he pressed down slightly, letting his cockhead grind against the man's oversensitive nub just hard enough to make his back arch off the bench. "Like a flower for the sun."

Krog's hands shook where they braced against the younger cuntboy's thighs, his own cock dripping onto the boy's trembling stomach. He mimicked his father's movement awkwardly, his hips jerking as he tried to drag his length through the human's tight folds. The boy beneath him gasped, his legs straining against the ropes—his untouched pussy was slick now, but not enough to ease the stretch, and Krog's rough thrusts drew another broken sob. "Too fast," Grashnak corrected, reaching out to still his son's hips with one massive hand. "Like this." He demonstrated again, his own cock moving with agonizing precision through the father's folds, each millimeter of friction wringing another helpless noise from the human's throat.

The cave air thickened with the scent of musk and fear as Krog adjusted his rhythm, his tusks scraping the younger cuntboy's thigh as he leaned down to watch his cock move. The boy's folds parted reluctantly at first, clinging to the orc's length until the slow drag forced another slick gush between them. Krog groaned at the sensation, the heat almost unbearable against his sensitive underside. "Good," Grashnak rumbled, his fingers digging into the father's hips as he increased pressure slightly—his cockhead caught the man's entrance on the next upward stroke, the flared ridge teasing the rim without breaching it. The cuntboy's entire body jerked, his hole clenching visibly around nothing as Grashnak chuckled. "See how he begs for it without words?"

The cuntboy father’s voice cracked as he twisted his head toward his son, straining against the ropes that pinned his wrists to the breeding bench. "Don’t—don’t beg," he gasped, his thighs trembling as Grashnak’s cockhead dragged over his clit again, the rough ridge beneath it catching just enough to make his hips jerk. "No matter what they—ah!—no matter what they do." His words dissolved into a whimper as the orc father leaned down, his hot breath searing the human’s inner thigh before his tongue followed the same torturous path his cock had taken.

Krog’s nostrils flared at the scent of the younger cuntboy’s fear, his own cock twitching where it rested heavily against the boy’s slit. He copied his father’s movements with clumsy precision—dragging his length up to brush the human’s clit, then retreating just before the pressure could tip into pleasure. The boy sobbed, his fingers scrabbling against the bench, his legs straining against the ropes. "P-please," the word slipped out before he could choke it back, his body arching when Krog’s tusks scraped his inner thigh.

Grashnak’s laugh was a dark rumble as he paused mid-stroke, his cock glistening with the father’s slick. "Did you hear that?" he taunted, his claws digging into the man’s hip as he nodded toward Krog’s trembling prey. "Your boy’s already breaking." The older orc shifted his weight, his cockhead bumping against the cuntboy father’s entrance—not pushing inside, just teasing the rim with each shallow thrust. "How long until you do?"

The father gritted his teeth, his thighs quivering as Grashnak’s length dragged through his folds again, the underside rubbing his clit with just enough pressure to make his toes curl. "Never," he hissed, though his voice wavered as the orc’s thumb circled his oversensitive nub, alternating between feather-light brushes and sharp pinches. Behind him, his son’s cries grew more desperate, each of Krog’s teasing strokes drawing another fractured gasp.

Krog’s inexperience showed in the way his hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering whenever the younger cuntboy’s body clenched around nothing. But he followed his father’s instructions with dogged determination—denying the boy any real friction, keeping him teetering on the edge with every near-brush of his cockhead against that swollen little bud. The human’s thighs trembled violently now, his hips rocking up instinctively after every retreat, his body betraying him with another slick gush that dripped onto the bench.

"Fuck me—please, please just fuck me!" The younger cuntboy's voice shattered into a scream, his back arching violently against the restraints as Krog's cockhead finally—finally—dragged hard over his clit. Tears streaked his flushed cheeks, his thighs splayed wide and trembling, his hole clenching around nothing with every aborted thrust of the orc's hips. The words tumbled out between sobs, raw and desperate, his body betraying him completely as he rocked against Krog's length.

The cuntboy father's breath caught. His head turned slowly toward his son, eyes widening in something between horror and shame as the boy's pleas echoed off the cavern walls. His lips parted, but no rebuke came—just a quiet, defeated exhale as his own hips twitched involuntarily against Grashnak's teasing cock.

Krog snarled, his control snapping at the human's broken begging. His cock pulsed thickly against the boy's soaked slit, his claws sinking deep into the soft flesh of his hips as a guttural growl ripped from his chest. The orc's tusks scraped the boy's inner thigh, drawing a thin line of blood that mingled with the slick smeared across his skin. "Mine," Krog rasped, the word more animal than language, his hips jerking forward without finesse—just pure, desperate need.

Grashnak's laughter was a dark, rolling thing as he watched his son finally lose restraint. "Good," he rumbled, his own grip tightening on the father's hips. "Now show him what he's begging for." With that, Grashnak shifted his stance, the swollen head of his cock pressing insistently against the cuntboy father's entrance. He didn't thrust—not yet. Just let the human feel the stretch of that first impossible inch, the way his body resisted before reluctantly yielding.

Krog's breath came in ragged bursts as he lined up, his cockhead catching on the younger cuntboy's fluttering rim. The boy whimpered, his thighs trembling, but his hips tilted upward in subconscious invitation—still resisting even as his body betrayed him. Krog didn't hesitate. With a sharp snap of his hips, he sheathed himself inside in one brutal thrust, the boy's tight channel stretching obscenely around his girth. The human screamed, his back bowing off the bench, his fingers scrabbling against the wood as tears spilled down his cheeks.

Grashnak's hand shot out like a striking serpent, clamping around Krog's wrist just as the younger orc's hips began to piston forward. Krog snarled in frustration, his cock buried to the hilt in the sobbing cuntboy beneath him—except not quite. The torchlight glistened on the last few inches of his shaft, still exposed where the human's body refused to accommodate his full length.

"Stop," Grashnak ordered, his voice a gravel-edged command. He didn't release Krog's wrist, instead using his grip to forcibly still the younger orc's thrusting hips. "Look." With his free hand, he gestured downward where his own cock pressed against the father's dripping entrance. "See how he resists?"

The cuntboy father whimpered as Grashnak adjusted his stance, the swollen head of the orc's cock kissing his fluttering hole without penetrating. "Human cunts have a barrier," Grashnak explained, his claws digging into the man's hip as he suddenly thrust forward—not fast, but relentless, like a landslide gaining momentum. The father's scream echoed off the cavern walls as Grashnak's girth stretched him obscenely wide, his belly distending slightly with the impossible girth forcing inward.

Krog watched, transfixed, as his father's cock disappeared inch by torturous inch into the human's convulsing channel. At about three-quarters depth, Grashnak's forward motion hit resistance—the cuntboy's body jerked violently, his back arching off the bench as his muscles locked around the invading thickness.

"Cervix," Grashnak grunted, his own thighs trembling with restraint. Sweat gleamed on his brow as he maintained pressure, his cockhead grinding against the stubborn inner barrier. The father's cries had dissolved into breathless whimpers, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the restraints as his body was stretched beyond anything natural.

The father's fingers splayed wide against his son's sweat-slicked back, his palm pressing flush against the trembling muscle there. His breath came in ragged hitches—half from Grashnak's cock grinding against his cervix, half from the choked sob building in his throat. Through gritted teeth, barely audible over the younger cuntboy's whimpers: "Now."

Their hips arched in perfect unison—the father's spine bowing upward as Grashnak's monstrous cock speared through his cervix with a wet, visceral pop; the son's back curving sharply as Krog's thick length ripped past his virgin barrier in one brutal thrust. Their screams tangled together, raw and shattered, echoing off the cavern walls in discordant harmony. The father's vision whited out at the edges, his body convulsing around the impossible stretch as Grashnak's cockhead plunged deep into his womb. Hot slick gushed around the invading length, dripping down the orc's thick thighs in glistening rivulets.

Krog snarled like a beast unchained, his claws sinking deeper into the younger cuntboy's hips as his own cock bottomed out inside that searing tightness. The boy's body jerked violently beneath him, his hole fluttering around the sudden, overwhelming intrusion—too much, too fast, his virgin channel struggling to accommodate the orc's girth. Blood streaked Krog's shaft where it disappeared into the human's torn entrance, mixing with the boy's slick in a pinkish smear across his trembling thighs.

Grashnak's laughter was a dark, rolling thunder as he watched his son finally claim his prey. "Feel that?" he growled, grinding his hips in slow circles to emphasize the way his cock stretched the father's womb obscenely wide. The human's stomach bulged slightly with each movement, the outline of Grashnak's cockhead visible beneath the taut skin. "That's where you plant your seed." To demonstrate, he pulled back just enough to make the father whimper—then slammed forward again, his hips meeting the man's ass with a wet smack that sent another gush of slick splattering onto the bench.

Krog mimicked the motion clumsily, his inexperienced hips stuttering as he tried to find a rhythm. The younger cuntboy sobbed beneath him, his thighs trembling violently where they were splayed wide by the ropes. Each shallow thrust drew another broken sound from his throat—half-pain, half-something else entirely—his body arching into the penetration despite himself. "D-deeper," the boy whimpered before he could bite back the words, his face flushing with shame as soon as they escaped. Krog's nostrils flared, his grip tightening on the human's hips as he obeyed, sheathing himself completely with one brutal snap of his hips.

Grashnak went still, his cock buried to the hilt inside the convulsing human beneath him. He pressed one massive palm flat against the cuntboy father's distended belly, fingers splaying wide over the taut skin where his own outline bulged obscenely. "Come," he ordered Krog, voice rough with restraint. The younger orc hesitated, his hips stuttering mid-thrust before obeying—his trembling hand settled over his father's, both sets of claws framing the human's swollen abdomen. The cuntboy whimpered, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Krog's fingertips traced the unmistakable ridge of Grashnak's cockhead pressing upward beneath the thin layer of flesh.

"Feel how deep?" Grashnak growled, rolling his hips just enough to make the bulge shift visibly. The father's back arched off the bench, a broken noise tearing from his throat as the movement dragged his oversensitive inner walls along every veined inch of the orc's girth. Krog's breath hitched—his fingers twitched against the human's belly, marveling at the heat radiating through the skin, the way his father's cock pulsed against his palm with each ragged heartbeat.

The younger cuntboy sobbed audibly beside them, his own belly quivering where Krog's neglected cock still stretched him brutally wide. His thighs trembled violently, his hole fluttering around the intrusion—neglected but impossibly full, each shallow breath making the orc's shaft shift inside him. Grashnak's free hand shot out, clamping around Krog's wrist and dragging it from the father's belly to press instead against the younger human's abdomen. "Yours too," the elder orc rumbled, guiding his son's fingers to where Krog's own cockhead distended the boy's lower stomach, a firm, hot outline beneath sweat-slick skin.

Krog's claws dug in instinctively, his hips jerking forward at the contact—the younger cuntboy screamed, his body bowing off the bench as the sudden thrust pressed his inner walls tighter around the invading length. The orc could feel it now—the way his cock pulsed beneath his fingertips, buried so deep the human's body struggled to contain it. His breath came in ragged bursts, nostrils flaring at the coppery tang of blood mixing with musk and terror.

Grashnak chuckled darkly, resuming his slow, grinding thrusts—each movement exaggerated so Krog could watch the way the father's belly shifted with his cock's outline. "Remember this," he instructed, his free hand circling the human's swollen clit with cruel precision. The cuntboy's hips jerked uncontrollably, his thighs straining against the ropes as pleasure and pain warred across his face. "Their bodies will fight—right until they don't." To demonstrate, he pinched the man's clit sharply between two claws, wrenching another broken cry from his throat even as fresh slick gushed around his invading length.

Grashnak's claws scraped upward along the father's heaving ribs, leaving faint red trails in their wake before circling one peaked nipple. The cuntboy gasped as the rough pad of the orc's thumb dragged across the sensitive bud—a sharp contrast to the brutal fullness stretching his womb below. "Clits are obvious," Grashnak rumbled, his hips still grinding in slow circles to keep the human impaled on every veined inch. "But these..." He pinched the nipple abruptly between thumb and foreclaw, wrenching a strangled cry from the father's throat as his back arched off the bench. "These make them unravel."

Krog watched, transfixed, as his father's other hand moved to the human's neglected nipple, rolling the hardened peak with deceptive gentleness before suddenly twisting. The father's scream dissolved into a broken sob, his thighs trembling violently as his clit—still trapped beneath Grashnak's coarse pubic hair—throbbed in helpless sympathy. Slick gushed around the orc's embedded cock in a hot rush, dripping onto the bench beneath them.

"Try," Grashnak ordered, nodding toward the younger cuntboy whose tear-streaked face was turned toward them. Krog's hand hovered uncertainly over the boy's chest before mimicking his father's motions—his claws catching on one pink nipple and tugging experimentally. The boy whimpered, his hips jerking despite the orc's cock still buried deep inside him. Krog's tusks gleamed as he twisted harder, fascinated by the way the human's breath hitched when he alternated between sharp flicks and slow, grinding pressure.

The father's fingers scrabbled against the restraints as Grashnak escalated his torment—one hand still working his nipples with cruel precision while the other pressed firmly against the distended outline of his own cock visible beneath the man's belly. "Watch his face," the elder orc growled as he rubbed circles over the taut skin. The cuntboy's mouth fell open in a silent scream, his body convulsing as pleasure and pain warred across his features. Tears spilled down his temples as his nipples darkened under the relentless attention, each twist and pinch sending jolts straight to his oversensitive clit.

Krog snarled in triumph when the younger cuntboy's hips began rocking involuntarily—tiny, aborted movements that made the orc's cock shift inside him. The boy's nipples stood stiff and red under Krog's rough ministrations, his breath coming in ragged sobs as his body betrayed him. "D-don't," the boy gasped, even as his back arched into another cruel twist of his nipple. His thighs trembled violently, his hole fluttering around Krog's girth with each merciless stimulation.

Grashnak's tusks scraped upward along the cuntboy father's throat—slow, deliberate strokes that left faint pink trails in their wake without breaking skin. The man's breath hitched, his pulse visibly fluttering against the rough ridge of tusk pressing into his jugular. Just as the sensation teetered on unbearable, Grashnak's head dipped lower, his sharp incisors closing around the father's left nipple in the same moment his tusk-tip nudged the vulnerable hollow beneath his jaw. The simultaneous assault wrenched a guttural cry from the human's throat, his back arching so violently the breeding bench creaked under the strain.

The father's clit throbbed in time with each heartbeat, his entire body strung tight between pleasure and torment as Grashnak maintained pressure—his teeth an unrelenting vise around the sensitive bud, his tusks now dragging downward to trace the prominent veins of the man's pectorals. Slick gushed around the orc's still-embedded cock in a scalding rush, the sudden flood making Grashnak's nostrils flare with satisfaction. He released the nipple abruptly, letting his rough tongue soothe the abused peak in one broad stroke before biting down again, slightly lower this time. The cuntboy's scream dissolved into fractured whimpers, his hips twitching in useless circles against the orc's merciless grip.

Krog watched, mesmerized, as his father's technique reduced the human to shuddering, wordless submission. Emulating the motion clumsily, he dragged his own tusks along the younger cuntboy's collarbone—too shallow to truly sting, but enough to make the boy gasp. Grashnak's warning growl rumbled through the cavern before Krog could correct himself. "Not like a mate," the elder orc snapped, demonstrating by scraping his tusks sideways across the father's ribcage, leaving angry red lines that immediately bloomed with heat. "Like a conqueror."

Krog adjusted his angle, pressing harder as he dragged his right tusk upward along the boy's sternum. The human's breath caught—pain first, then the delayed flare of sensation that made his hips jerk. Blood welled in a thin bead where the tip caught slightly, the coppery tang mingling with the scent of terror and arousal. Encouraged, Krog repeated the motion on the other side, this time angling his head to let his lower tusk graze the boy's nipple on the upward stroke. The effect was instantaneous—the cuntboy's entire body spasmed, his back arching so sharply his shoulder blades lifted off the bench. Grashnak rewarded his son with an approving grunt before turning his full attention back to the trembling father beneath him.

Grashnak's cock slid free with a wet, obscene sound—the sudden emptiness wrenching a shocked gasp from the father's throat. His hole fluttered visibly around nothing, clenching rhythmically as if trying to recapture the brutal fullness. The cuntboy's belly, previously distended by the orc's girth, collapsed inward with a shudder, his womb clenching around phantom intrusion. His thighs trembled violently, slick dripping down in glistening strands onto the bench beneath him.

"Watch," Grashnak growled, his claws digging into the father's hips as he positioned himself again. The orc's cockhead caught on the man's gaping rim, stretching it obscenely wide for one suspended moment—then he slammed forward with a brutal twist of his hips. The father's scream shattered into fractured moans as Grashnak's thick ridges scraped mercilessly along every sensitive inch of his inner walls, the abrupt penetration forcing another gush of slick that splattered against the orc's thighs.

Krog's breath came in ragged bursts as he watched the father's body betray him—the way his back arched off the bench, the violent tremors racing through his thighs, the fresh flood of arousal dripping from his stretched hole. The younger orc's grip tightened on his own cuntboy's hips, his claws leaving crescent indents in the pale flesh as he resisted the urge to rut mindlessly into that tight heat.

"See?" Grashnak's voice was a dark rumble as he pulled out again—slow this time, letting his son trace the glistening path of his cock with his gaze. The father's entrance gaped slightly, pulsing around nothing as slick welled up to spill over his trembling thighs. "Their bodies beg even when their mouths refuse." To demonstrate, he thrust back in with another punishing twist, this time angling upward to grind his cockhead directly against the man's cervix. The father's hands fisted in the restraints, his scream dissolving into breathless whimpers as his womb clenched visibly around the invading thickness.

Krog snarled, his control fraying as he watched the human's belly bulge again with Grashnak's girth. His own cock twitched inside the younger cuntboy, the sensation drawing a broken sob from the boy beneath him. The orc's claws dug deeper as he finally withdrew completely—mimicking his father's motion—leaving the boy's hole clenching frantically around sudden emptiness.

Grashnak's approving growl vibrated through the cavern as Krog sheathed himself fully in one savage thrust—the younger cuntboy's scream fracturing into wet, hiccupping sobs as his cervix took the brunt of the impact. The orc father grinned, his tusks glinting in the torchlight as he demonstrated proper form—rolling his hips in slow, grinding circles that made the father's distended belly shift obscenely beneath his clawed hands. "Like this," he rumbled, emphasizing each movement so Krog could see how the human's inner muscles fluttered around his girth in helpless response.

The son's thighs jerked violently as Krog attempted to mimic the motion—his inexperienced hips stuttering forward in uneven bursts that alternated between too shallow and punishingly deep. Every misaligned thrust knocked breathless whimpers from the boy's throat, his untried womb clenching sporadically around the invading cockhead. Blood smeared thicker down Krog's shaft where it disappeared into the boy's torn entrance, the coppery tang mingling with the scent of forced arousal as his body struggled to accommodate the brutal rhythm.

Grashnak tightened his grip on the father's hips, his own thrusts never faltering—each measured roll forward grinding his cockhead against the man's swollen cervix with precision. Sweat gleamed along the orc's brow as he maintained the punishing tempo, his claws leaving crescent indents in the human's flesh. "Control it," he barked at Krog when the younger orc's hips bucked erratically again. The father gasped beneath him, his belly quivering where Grashnak's outline pressed upward beneath sweat-slick skin—a living testament to the power of disciplined movement.

Krog snarled, his nostrils flaring as he fought to steady his rhythm. The younger cuntboy's body convulsed beneath him—his hole fluttering wildly around the uneven penetration, his clit swollen and neglected where it rubbed against the coarse thatch of orc pubic hair with each aborted thrust. Tears streaked the boy's flushed cheeks as his hips lifted instinctively toward the next anticipated thrust—only for Krog to withdraw too far, leaving him sobbing around empty ache before slamming back in brutally.

Grashnak's free hand shot out, clamping around Krog's wrist and forcibly slowing his movements. "Breeding isn't rutting," he growled, guiding his son's hips into a shallow, grinding roll that made the human beneath them arch with a broken cry. The elder orc emphasized his point by angling his own next thrust upward—the father's scream dissolving into a guttural moan as his cervix stretched obscenely around the invading cockhead. "Make their bodies remember your shape."

Grashnak's thrusts shifted without warning—one brutal upward snap of his hips that angled his cockhead directly against a deep, hidden ridge inside the cuntboy father's clenching channel. The man's breath seized in his throat, his entire body locking rigid as sensation detonated through him like lightning splitting a tree. His back arched violently off the bench, tendons standing out in sharp relief along his neck as his mouth fell open in a silent scream.

The orc chuckled darkly at the reaction, his claws tightening on the father's hips as he repeated the motion—slower this time, grinding deliberately against that same spot with sadistic precision. The cuntboy's thighs trembled uncontrollably, slick gushing around the invading length in a scalding rush as his body betrayed him utterly. "There it is," Grashnak rumbled, tusks gleaming with satisfaction when the father's hips jerked forward in helpless pursuit of the sensation. His next thrust dragged outward just enough to make the man whimper—then slammed back against that spot with enough force to make his vision whiten at the edges.

Krog snarled in frustration beside them, his inexperienced thrusts still erratic as the younger cuntboy sobbed beneath him. One particularly graceless snap of his hips drove his cock upward at a sharp angle—the boy's scream shattered into a broken wail as his body bowed off the bench, his hole clenching rhythmically around the sudden, overwhelming pleasure-pain. The orc froze, nostrils flaring at the flood of fresh slick that coated his shaft. His yellowed eyes flicked to his father just as Grashnak delivered another punishing thrust to the elder cuntboy's sweet spot, drawing out a guttural moan that dissolved into shuddering gasps.

"Again," Grashnak ordered, his own rhythm never faltering as he demonstrated the angle—hips tilting forward to emphasize how his cockhead scraped upward along that internal ridge. Krog adjusted his stance clumsily, his next thrust still too shallow—but the following attempt struck true. The younger cuntboy's entire body spasmed, his thighs splaying wider despite the ropes as his back arched in a perfect curve. Tears streamed down his flushed cheeks even as his hips rocked forward instinctively, chasing the sensation with helpless desperation.

Grashnak's laughter rolled through the cavern like distant thunder as both cuntboys writhed beneath them, their bodies responding with violent enthusiasm despite their sobbed protests. The father's fingers scrabbled uselessly against the restraints, his chest heaving as Grashnak's cockhead massaged that devastating spot with relentless precision. Each thrust forced another fractured sound from his throat—half-sob, half-moan—his clit throbbing in time with the brutal rhythm.

Grashnak's claws scraped down the father's sweat-slicked back as he stilled his hips mid-thrust, his cock twitching deep inside the convulsing human. "Breathe," he growled—not to the whimpering cuntboy beneath him, but to Krog whose uneven panting matched the younger captive's sobs. The elder orc's nostrils flared as he inhaled deliberately through his nose, the expansion of his ribcage visible beneath scarred skin. "Through here." His free hand smacked against his own diaphragm. "Not your throat. Control it."

Krog's attempt at mimicking the breath hitched when the boy beneath him clenched unexpectedly around his cock. Grashnak's tusk grazed the father's shoulder as he leaned over to correct his son's stance—adjusting the angle of Krog's hips with a brutal shove that made both orc and human groan. "Now the muscles." His palm slid down to grip his own flexing abdomen. "From here—" A claw tapped the dense ridge of muscle above his pelvis. "—through here—" The calloused pad of his thumb pressed into the powerful V-line leading to his groin. "—not your spine. You're fucking, not hauling stones."

The father gasped as Grashnak demonstrated—every controlled snap of the orc's hips originating from that core tension, each thrust rolling through his body like water through a narrow gorge. Krog's brow furrowed as he attempted to replicate the motion, his first few tries still jerky until Grashnak dug his claws into the younger orc's hipbone. "Slower," he commanded, forcing Krog's next thrust into a grinding push that made the boy beneath them arch with a shattered cry. "Count."

Grashnak began a guttural chant—"One" (a shallow withdrawal), "two" (hips tilting forward), "three" (the brutal snap that made the father scream). The rhythm wasn't fast, but devastatingly precise, each number punctuated by the wet slap of flesh and the cuntboys' escalating whimpers. Krog's tusks gleamed with concentration as he matched the count, his earlier frantic rutting replaced by measured movements that gradually drew out the younger human's broken moans.

"Now the hands," Grashnak rumbled, shifting his grip on the father's hips to demonstrate. His claws didn't simply dig in—they pulled, manipulating the human's angle to accentuate the drag of his cock along trembling inner walls. The father's breath hitched when Grashnak adjusted his hold slightly upward, the new position making his next thrust scrape directly against that deep, devastating ridge. "Like guiding a spear," the orc growled as Krog fumbled to replicate the technique. "Not clutching. Directing."

Grashnak's breath hitched as he watched Krog finally find his rhythm—the younger orc's hips moving with deliberate precision now, each thrust calculated to wring another broken sound from the cuntboy beneath him. The boy's thighs trembled violently where they were splayed wide by the ropes, his hole fluttering around Krog's girth in helpless syncopation. "Good," Grashnak rumbled, his own cock still buried deep inside the father's quivering body. "Now listen—" He paused mid-thrust, making the elder cuntboy whimper at the sudden stillness. "Hear that hitch? When his breath catches?"

Krog's tusks gleamed with concentration as he slowed his pace, tilting his head to catch the younger human's ragged gasps. The boy's chest heaved—quick, shallow pants that stuttered whenever Krog's cockhead brushed a particular spot inside him. Grashnak grinned when his son adjusted his angle instinctively, drawing out a long, trembling moan. "There. Now hold." He demonstrated by grinding his own hips in slow circles, letting the father's inner walls clutch at him in desperate pulses. The man's back arched off the bench, his mouth falling open in silent plea. "Let him chase it," Grashnak growled, resisting the instinct to thrust deeper.

Krog snarled in frustration when the boy beneath him began rocking upward—tiny, aborted movements that begged for more friction. "Not yet," Grashnak warned, clamping a hand on his son's shoulder. He waited until the human's whimpers bordered on sobs before snapping his hips forward sharply. The father's scream shattered into breathless gasps as Grashnak's cock speared into him with brutal precision. "See? Make him ache first."

The lesson continued in rough increments—Grashnak demonstrating each technique with cruel efficiency while Krog mirrored them on the younger captive. When the father's thighs began trembling uncontrollably, Grashnak pinned his hips down and fucked into him with short, punishing strokes that left no room for respite. The man's belly bulged obscenely with each thrust, his womb stretched tight around the invading girth. "Fast when they're close," Grashnak panted, his claws digging into the human's flesh. "Deny them the build."

Krog obeyed eagerly, his earlier hesitation replaced by predatory focus. He watched the younger cuntboy's reactions like a hawk—the way his hole fluttered when Krog dragged his tusks along his collarbone, the sharp gasp that followed a well-placed bite to his nipple. Grashnak's approval rumbled through the cavern when Krog suddenly slowed his thrusts to a near-still grind, letting the boy whimper and writhe beneath him. "Tease the clit next," he instructed, guiding his son's clawed fingers to the swollen bud between the human's thighs.

The boy's entire body spasmed when Krog's rough fingertip circled his clit—once, twice—before withdrawing completely. His thighs strained against the ropes, his hole clenching around nothing as Krog denied him release. "Now bite," Grashnak commanded, demonstrating by sinking his tusks into the father's pectoral just hard enough to draw blood. The man arched violently, his scream dissolving into shuddering moans as pain and pleasure collided.

Krog mimicked the motion clumsily at first—his teeth scraping too lightly along the boy's shoulder—until Grashnak corrected his angle with a growl. The next bite landed perfectly, sharp incisors piercing the tender junction of neck and shoulder. The boy's back bowed off the bench, his thighs splaying wider as slick gushed around Krog's cock in a scalding rush. "Good," Grashnak praised, his own hips never faltering in their brutal rhythm. "Now kiss it better."

The sudden gentleness made the younger cuntboy sob louder—Krog's rough tongue lapping at the bite mark with unexpected tenderness. His hips rolled forward instinctively, sheathing himself fully just as Grashnak had taught him, pressing his cockhead against that deep, devastating spot inside. The boy's scream fractured into hiccupping cries, his body convulsing as pleasure overwhelmed him.

Grashnak watched his son's progress with narrowed eyes, his own thrusts growing more erratic as the father's clenching heat threatened to undo him. "Pinch his nipples now," he ordered through gritted teeth, demonstrating by twisting the father's peaked buds between claw and thumb. The human's back arched violently, his hole fluttering around Grashnak's cock in helpless rhythm. Krog obeyed eagerly, his claws finding purchase on the younger boy's chest—rolling one nipple cruelly between thumb and forefinger while his other hand teased the neglected bud with sharp flicks.

The simultaneous assault on both cuntboys' bodies filled the cavern with broken sounds—whimpers, sobs, the wet slap of flesh meeting flesh. Grashnak's breath came in ragged bursts as he felt the father's inner muscles begin their telltale clench. "Now," he growled, slamming forward with one final, brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt. The cuntboy's scream dissolved into wordless keening as his womb stretched obscenely around the invading cockhead, his body betraying him utterly as pleasure crested through the pain.

Krog's tusks glistened with spit as he panted above the younger cuntboy, his claws digging fresh crescents into pale hips still bruised from earlier handling. "Again," Grashnak growled from where he still pinned the father beneath him, his own cock pulsing visibly beneath the human's distended belly skin. The elder orc watched with predatory focus as Krog withdrew completely—ignoring the boy's broken whimper at the sudden emptiness—before repositioning himself with deliberate slowness.

"Count," Grashnak reminded him, his voice roughened by the father's convulsing heat around his own shaft. Krog's nostrils flared as he obeyed, his first thrust shallow—"One"—the stretch making the boy's entrance flutter. "Two"—a deeper push that drew a wet gasp as his cockhead kissed the untouched depths. "Three"—the brutal snap forward that made the human's back arch violently, his scream fracturing into shuddering moans when Krog's girth forced past his cervix in one savage motion.

The younger orc's claws scraped down trembling thighs as he repeated the sequence—withdrawing too fast the first time, earning a sharp cuff from Grashnak's free hand. "Control the emptiness," the elder snarled, demonstrating by pulling halfway out of the father and holding position, making the man sob at the lingering stretch. Krog's next attempt was better—his withdrawal measured, the boy's hole clenching visibly around nothing before he sheathed himself again with precision.

"Good," Grashnak rumbled, his approval vibrating through the cavern. He didn't ease his own punishing rhythm as he watched Krog begin again—this time adding the cruel nipple twist mid-thrust that made the younger cuntboy's entire body spasm. The boy's thighs trembled where they were splayed wide by ropes, his neglected clit throbbing in time with each brutal penetration.

By the fifth repetition, Krog's movements flowed with dangerous grace—no longer the frantic rutting of an untrained whelp, but the calculated strokes of a hunter. His claws found the exact pressure that made the boy gasp, his tusks scraped sensitive skin at precisely the right angle to draw out broken pleas. When the human's hips began rocking involuntarily, Krog pinned him down with a snarl, denying the movement until tears streaked the boy's flushed cheeks.

Grashnak's claws dug into the father's trembling hips as he watched Krog adjust his stance over the younger cuntboy—his son's movements slower now, more deliberate, each thrust calculated to wring another choked sound from the human beneath him. The elder orc's nostrils flared at the scent of musk and salt thickening in the air. "Good," he growled, his own cock still buried deep in the father's convulsing heat. "Now I want you to breed him—pour your seed into his womb." The words rolled off his tongue like a sacred command, thick with promise and violence.

Krog's tusks gleamed with effort as he obeyed—his hips snapping forward in that perfect angle Grashnak had taught him, driving his cockhead against the boy's battered cervix with enough force to make his back arch off the bench. The human's scream dissolved into wet, hiccupping sobs as his body betrayed him again—his inner walls fluttering helplessly around the invading girth despite his tear-streaked pleas. Krog snarled, his claws tightening on the boy's thighs as he felt the first undeniable twitch deep in his balls—the buildup coiling tighter with each measured thrust.

Grashnak's breath hitched as he watched his son's control waver—the younger orc's rhythm faltering for just a heartbeat before he corrected himself with a growl. "Not yet," the elder orc warned, demonstrating by rolling his own hips in slow, grinding circles that made the father whimper. The man's belly quivered where Grashnak's outline pressed upward beneath sweat-slick skin—a living testament to the power of restraint. "Make him feel every inch first."

Krog's answering snarl vibrated through the cavern as he forced himself to slow—his next thrust a brutal tease, sheathing himself to the hilt before withdrawing agonizingly slowly. The boy's hole clenched visibly around the retreating girth, his thighs trembling where they were splayed wide by the ropes. When Krog paused completely—his cockhead just barely stretching the human's entrance—the cuntboy's hips jerked forward instinctively, his body begging for completion even as his sobs denied it.

Grashnak's approving laugh rumbled darkly as Krog denied the boy—his next thrust deliberately shallow, scraping along sensitive inner walls without granting the deeper penetration the human's body craved. The younger orc's claws dug fresh crescents into pale flesh as he alternated between punishing depth and cruel restraint, each movement wringing another fractured sound from the cuntboy's throat. The boy's clit throbbed obscenely where it rubbed against Krog's coarse pubic hair with every aborted thrust, his neglected nipples pebbled tight with arousal despite the tears streaking his cheeks.

Krog froze mid-thrust, his entire body trembling with restraint as Grashnak's clawed hand splayed across his son's sweat-slicked abdomen. The elder orc's touch wasn't gentle—his talons bit into flesh just above Krog's groin, pressing deep enough to make the younger orc snarl through gritted teeth. "Feel it here," Grashnak growled, his other hand still pinning the father's hips down as he demonstrated the tension in his own flexing muscles. "Your seed is a spear in your guts—not spilled yet." His claws dragged upward, tracing the rigid outline of Krog's cock through the younger cuntboy's distended belly. The boy whimpered beneath them, his hole fluttering weakly around Krog's girth.

The lesson was brutal in its simplicity—Grashnak forced Krog to hold position while the human's body clenched desperately around him, his inner muscles rippling in helpless waves. The younger orc's tusks gleamed with effort as he fought against instinct, his hips jerking in aborted thrusts as pleasure coiled tighter in his gut. "Control it," Grashnak barked, digging his claws deeper until Krog's snarls turned to ragged pants. The elder orc twisted his wrist suddenly, pressing down hard just above Krog's pubic bone—a cruel mimicry of the pressure needed to sheath a weapon. The younger orc's entire body locked rigid, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as his cock twitched violently inside the boy beneath him.

Grashnak waited until Krog's breathing evened slightly before nodding. "Now," he rumbled, releasing his grip. The younger orc's thrust was devastatingly precise—no frantic rutting, but a single, measured snap of his hips that speared him to the hilt. The cuntboy's scream fractured into wet, hiccupping sobs as his cervix took the brunt of the impact, his womb stretching obscenely around the invading girth. Krog's claws scraped down trembling thighs as he held himself there, his nostrils flaring at the flood of slick that gushed around his shaft.

"Good," Grashnak grunted, his own cock still buried deep in the father's convulsing heat. He demonstrated the next step with a slow, grinding roll of his hips—making the man beneath him arch with a broken cry as his inner walls fluttered around the invading thickness. "Now pour it in." His voice dropped to a guttural rasp, the command slithering through the cavern like smoke. "Not spilled—planted."

Grashnak's thrusts faltered mid-stroke when Krog suddenly wrenched backward—his cock popping free from the younger cuntboy's gaping hole with an obscene wet sound. The elder orc's tusks gleamed in confusion as he watched his son tremble with restraint, claws digging into his own thighs hard enough to draw blood. "Why do you—"

"Together." Krog's voice was raw, his yellowed eyes burning with something deeper than lust as he gestured to both trembling captives. "First seed. Our seed." The words came out mangled by his tusks but unmistakable—a request to share the breeding, to mark this initiation as more than just a lesson.

Grashnak's thrusts stuttered mid-motion—an uncharacteristic lapse—as Krog's words registered. The elder orc's nostrils flared at the scent of his son's restraint, musk thick in the air where Krog's cock glistened above the younger cuntboy's gaping entrance. For three pounding heartbeats, silence hung between them, broken only by the captives' ragged sobs and the crackle of torch flames.

Then Grashnak's tusks gleamed in a feral grin. He withdrew from the father's fluttering heat with deliberate slowness, his cock dripping slick onto the human's trembling thighs. "First blood," he rumbled, dragging a claw through the mess of precum and saliva coating the father's belly. "First seed." He smeared the mixture across Krog's chest in a brutal parody of ritual paint. "Our line."

Grashnak's breath hitched—genuine surprise flickering across his scarred features before morphing into something darker, prouder. His claws flexed against the father's hips where they still pinned the trembling human down, watching as Krog's cock twitched violently above the younger cuntboy's gaping entrance. "Our blood," Grashnak rumbled at last, the words thick with ritual weight. "Our seed." His tusk scraped the father's shoulder as he leaned over, smearing the mess of slick and pre-cum across Krog's heaving chest. "Their shame."

The torchlight flickered violently as Krog's breath shuddered through his tusks, his cock twitching above the younger cuntboy's abused entrance. Grashnak watched his son's hesitation—the way his clawed hands trembled where they braced against the bench—and grinned at the war raging behind those yellowed eyes. Tradition warred with instinct, discipline with desperation.

"Your grandfather," Grashnak began slowly, dragging a talon down the father's heaving flank, "held his seed for five nights when siring me." The elder orc's voice rolled through the cavern like distant thunder, thick with ancestral weight. "Not because the shaman demanded it. Because his cuntboy wept prettiest on dawn's fourth day." His claw bit deeper, drawing a fresh welt across pale flesh. "Weakness disguised as patience."

Krog's answering snarl vibrated through his chest as he sheathed himself fully in one brutal thrust—ignoring the boy's shattered scream—and held. Muscles coiled, veins standing stark along his shaft where it disappeared into clenching heat. "How many dawns did you wait?" he ground out, sweat dripping from his brow onto the human's tear-streaked face.

Grashnak's laugh was a dark thing, tangled with memory. He withdrew from the father's fluttering hole with obscene slowness, letting the man feel every ridge before answering. "Seven." His cock glistened in the firelight, swollen and twitching with restraint. "Because your mother's womb gripped like a vice." The admission hung between them, heavier than the chains securing their captives.

Torch shadows danced across Krog's face as understanding dawned—this wasn't merely endurance. It was conquest. His claws scraped stone as he braced himself, hips rolling in shallow, controlled circles that made the boy beneath him sob. "Then we take eight," he growled, the challenge dripping from his tusks.

Grashnak's nostrils flared as he remounted the father in one brutal stroke, sheathing himself to the hilt with a snap that lifted the man's hips off the bench. "Nine," he corrected, grinding his pelvis against the human's clit with enough pressure to draw a broken keen. "For the sons we'll rip from them."

The cavern dissolved into measured torment—Grashnak demonstrating each ancestral technique with cruel precision while Krog replicated them on the younger captive. Slow, grinding thrusts that teased sensitive inner walls without granting relief. Calculated pauses where both orcs withdrew completely, letting their cuntboys shudder around emptiness before reclaiming them with devastating thoroughness.

Near midnight, when the younger boy's thighs trembled uncontrollably, Grashnak forced Krog to bind his own wrists behind his back—removing leverage, forcing discipline. "Your grandfather's trick," he panted, his own claws digging bloody crescents into stone as he resisted the father's fluttering heat. "To learn the difference between rutting and breeding."

Krog's breath came in ragged bursts as the ropes bit into his wrists, his tusks scraping the younger cuntboy's shoulder with each restrained thrust. The boy beneath him whimpered—not from pain now, but from the unbearable emptiness as Krog withdrew completely, his cockhead just brushing the fluttering entrance. "Count," Grashnak growled from where he loomed over the father, his own massive frame trembling with restraint.

"One," Krog snarled, watching the boy's hole clench around nothing. His claws flexed impotently behind his back. "Two,"—a shallow push that barely stretched the rim. The human's hips jerked upward instinctively, seeking friction that wouldn't come. "Three,"—Krog's voice broke as he buried himself to the hilt in one brutal motion, feeling the boy's cervix yield beneath his cockhead with a wet pop.

The torchlight guttered as Grashnak forced his own rhythm to match—each numbered thrust punctuated by the father's hitched screams. When Krog's control wavered, the elder orc dug his claws into his son's shoulder, drawing blood. "Your grandfather lasted until dawn's fourth day," he reminded through gritted teeth. "Prove your blood runs thicker than spit."

The younger cuntboy's thighs trembled where they were splayed wide, his clit throbbing obscenely against Krog's pelvic bone with every aborted thrust. His neglected nipples stood taut, brushing against coarse orc hair with each shallow penetration. When Krog accidentally grazed that deep, devastating spot inside, the boy's entire body convulsed—a wordless scream tearing from his throat as his womb fluttered around the invading girth.

"Again," Grashnak commanded, his own cock pulsing visibly beneath the father's distended belly. Krog obeyed with a snarl, adjusting his angle minutely until the next thrust wrenched a shattered keen from the human's lips. The boy's back arched violently, his hole clenching in helpless waves as pleasure overrode pain.

Grashnak's claws scraped stone as he watched his son's discipline fracture—Krog's thrusts growing erratic, his tusks dripping saliva onto the boy's heaving chest. "Not yet," the elder orc warned, demonstrating by rolling his hips in slow, grinding circles that made the father sob. The human's belly quivered where Grashnak's outline pressed upward beneath sweat-slick skin—a living testament to the power of restraint.

Krog's answering growl vibrated through the cavern as he wrenched himself back from the edge—his next withdrawal agonizingly slow, letting the boy feel every ridge drag against oversensitive inner walls. The human's thighs strained against the ropes, his hips jerking in aborted movements that begged for completion. When Krog paused completely—his cockhead just breaching the entrance—the boy's entire body spasmed, a broken wail tearing from his throat as slick gushed around the invading tip.

"Good," Grashnak rumbled, his own rhythm never faltering despite the father's clenching heat threatening to undo him. He waited until Krog's breathing evened before nodding. "Now take what's yours."

The younger orc's thrust was devastating—no frantic rutting, but a single, measured snap of his hips that speared him to the hilt. The cuntboy's scream dissolved into wet, hiccupping sobs as his cervix took the brunt of the impact, his womb stretching obscenely around the invading girth. Krog's claws flexed impotently behind his back as he held himself there, nostrils flaring at the flood of slick that gushed around his shaft.

Grashnak's claws flexed against the father's hips where they still pinned the trembling human down. The torchlight flickered across his scarred face as he studied Krog's bound wrists—the ropes biting deep into green flesh as his son fought against instinct. "My father tied my hands for three nights straight," Grashnak rumbled, his voice thick with memory. "No hands to pinch, to grab—only this cock doing the work." He ground his hips forward to emphasize the point, drawing a broken sob from the father beneath him.

Krog's tusks gleamed with effort as he held himself still above the younger cuntboy, his cock twitching violently inside the human's fluttering heat. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the boy's tear-streaked face as he locked eyes with Grashnak. "Then after I proved my worth," the elder orc continued, rolling his hips in a slow, grinding circle that made the father arch violently, "he released me." His claws traced the outline of his own cock beneath the human's distended belly. "And I could do whatever I wanted with my cuntboy."

A growl vibrated through Krog's chest as he watched Grashnak's demonstration—the elder orc's free hand now roaming possessively over the father's heaving chest, pinching a peaked nipple between thumb and claw. The younger cuntboy whimpered beneath Krog, his own neglected nipples brushing against coarse orc hair with every shallow thrust. Krog's bound hands flexed impotently behind his back, the ropes creaking with tension.

"Are you still worthy, old man?" Krog's challenge dripped from his tusks, yellowed eyes burning with something sharper than lust. Grashnak's answering snarl lifted the hairs on the father's sweat-slicked skin as the elder orc withdrew completely—his cock glistening in the firelight—and held position. The human's hole gaped obscenely, clenching around nothing as slick dripped onto the bench beneath them.

Grashnak's claws dug into the father's hips as Krog's challenge hung between them—a dare wrapped in musk and sweat and something sharper than blood. The torchlight flickered violently across the elder orc's scarred face as he processed his son's words, the implications settling like stones in his gut. His nostrils flared at the scent of Krog's restraint—the younger orc's cock twitching visibly inside the younger cuntboy's abused entrance despite the ropes biting into his wrists.

"Old?" Grashnak's voice dropped to a graveled rasp, the word slithering through the cavern like a blade being unsheathed. He withdrew from the father's fluttering heat with deliberate slowness, letting the man feel every ridge drag against oversensitive inner walls. His cock glistened in the firelight, swollen and veined with unspent seed. "You forget who taught you to count."

Krog's answering growl vibrated through his chest as he held himself still above the trembling cuntboy, his bound hands flexing impotently behind his back. Sweat dripped from his brow onto the boy's tear-streaked face as he locked eyes with Grashnak. "Then prove it," he ground out, tusks gleaming with challenge. "Tie yourself."

The cavern air thickened with tension as Grashnak studied his son—the way Krog's muscles coiled beneath green skin, the ropes creaking with the strain of his restraint. The elder orc's claws scraped stone as he considered, weighing generations of tradition against the fire in his offspring's yellowed eyes. Then—with a snarl that lifted the hair on the father's sweat-slicked skin—Grashnak reached for the spare ropes coiled near the bench.

The father whimpered as Grashnak wrenched his own wrists behind his back, the thick cords biting into green flesh with each practiced loop. His claws flexed impotently as the final knot pulled taut—a mirror of Krog's bonds—leaving only the massive girth of his cock standing rigid above the human's gaping entrance. "Count," Grashnak rumbled, his voice thick with more than just restraint.

Krog's thrust was instantaneous—a brutal snap of his hips that speared the younger cuntboy to the hilt. The boy's scream fractured into wet, hiccupping sobs as his cervix took the impact, his womb stretching obscenely around the invading girth. "One," Krog snarled, watching Grashnak's cock twitch violently in response.

Grashnak answered with a slow, grinding roll of his hips—the only motion his bonds allowed—dragging a broken keen from the father's throat as his inner walls fluttered around the invading thickness. The elder orc's tusks gleamed with effort as he held position, veins standing stark along his shaft. "Two," he corrected, nostrils flaring at the flood of slick that gushed around his cockhead.

Krog's answering growl vibrated through the cavern as he withdrew agonizingly slow—letting the boy beneath him feel every ridge drag against oversensitive flesh—before slamming home again. The younger cuntboy's back arched violently, his hole clenching in helpless waves as pleasure overrode pain. "Three," Krog panted, sweat dripping from his tusks onto the boy's heaving chest.

The torchlight guttered as Grashnak matched the rhythm—each numbered thrust punctuated by the father's hitched screams. Without hands to pin or claws to dig, both orcs relied solely on the brutal mechanics of their hips, the obscene bulges they created beneath the humans' distended bellies telling the story of their restraint. When Krog's control wavered—his thrusts growing erratic—Grashnak dug his heels into the stone floor and held himself still, demonstrating disciplined emptiness.

The younger cuntboy's thighs trembled where they were splayed wide, his clit throbbing obscenely against Krog's pelvic bone with every aborted thrust. His neglected nipples brushed against coarse orc hair, the sensation drawing fractured whimpers from his bruised lips. When Krog adjusted his angle minutely—grazing that deep, devastating spot inside—the boy's entire body convulsed, a wordless scream tearing from his throat as his womb fluttered around the invading girth.

"Again," Grashnak commanded through gritted teeth, his own cock pulsing visibly beneath the father's distended belly. Krog obeyed with a snarl, sheathing himself to the hilt in one brutal motion that made the boy sob. The human's hips jerked upward instinctively, seeking friction that wouldn't come—his body betraying him even as tears streaked his face.

Krog’s breath came in ragged bursts, his tusks dripping saliva onto the younger cuntboy’s heaving chest as he ground out the question between thrusts. "How—how do we drink?" His wrists strained against the ropes binding them behind his back, the coarse fibers biting deeper with every involuntary twitch toward the waterskin hanging just out of reach. Grashnak’s laughter was a dark, rasping thing as he paused mid-thrust, letting the father beneath him feel the full, suffocating weight of his cock buried to the hilt.

"We don’t," the elder orc growled, rolling his hips in a slow circle that drew a broken whimper from the human. The torchlight caught the sweat sheening Grashnak’s green skin, dripping onto the father’s flushed face as he leaned closer. "Stamina decides the count of nights. Thirst decides nothing." Krog’s nostrils flared at the challenge, his cock twitching inside the boy’s clenching heat as if in protest.

The younger orc’s hesitation lasted only a heartbeat before he snapped his hips forward again, sheathing himself fully with a wet slap that echoed off the cavern walls. The cuntboy beneath him arched violently, a garbled scream tearing from his throat as his overstimulated womb struggled to accommodate the intrusion. "Then how—?" Krog’s question dissolved into a snarl as Grashnak interrupted him with a brutal thrust of his own, the father’s belly bulging obscenely beneath the elder orc’s cock.

"Womb juice," Grashnak rumbled, his voice thick with amusement as he watched Krog’s eyes widen. The elder orc dragged his tusks along the father’s collarbone, lapping at the sweat beading there before continuing. "The more you wring from them, the more they give." To demonstrate, he angled his next thrust upward, grinding his pelvis against the human’s clit until the man’s back bowed off the bench, a gush of slick spilling around Grashnak’s shaft. "Every scream," he continued, punctuating each word with a shallow, punishing roll of his hips, "every twitch, every drop—it sustains."

Krog’s breath hitched as the younger cuntboy beneath him convulsed, his hole fluttering wildly around the invading girth as another wave of slick gushed forth. The scent of it—musky and thick with arousal—filled the cavern, mingling with the sweat dripping from both orcs’ straining bodies. Grashnak’s tongue dragged a wet stripe up the father’s throat, collecting the salt there with a satisfied grunt. "Sweat," he murmured against the human’s pulse, "slick, tears—suck it all. Let their shame nourish you."

The younger orc’s growl vibrated through his chest as he bent forward, his tusks scraping the cuntboy’s shoulder as he lapped at the sweat pooling in the hollow of the boy’s throat. The taste was sharp, laced with salt and the faint metallic tang of fear, and Krog found himself drinking greedily, his thrusts growing more erratic as the human’s broken sobs filled his ears. Grashnak watched with yellowed eyes gleaming in approval, his own rhythm never faltering despite the ropes biting into his wrists.

"Good," the elder orc rumbled, his voice rough with exertion. "Now make him give you more." Krog’s answering snarl was muffled against the younger cuntboy’s skin as he redoubled his efforts, his hips pistoning with renewed fury. The boy’s cries dissolved into wordless, hiccupping gasps, his body twitching like a gutted fish as pleasure and pain blurred into unbearable sensation. With each brutal thrust, another wave of slick spilled forth, coating Krog’s thighs in sticky warmth.

Grashnak’s claws flexed impotently behind his back as he watched his son learn the lesson—the way Krog’s thrusts grew more calculated, angling deeper to wring every last drop from the trembling cuntboy beneath him. The elder orc’s own cock pulsed inside the father’s clutching heat, the human’s exhausted whimpers music to his ears. "Dawn comes," Grashnak growled, his breath hot against the father’s sweat-slicked skin. "And we’ve only just begun."

The torchlight guttered as Krog buried his face in the younger cuntboy’s heaving chest, his tusks scraping over a peaked nipple before sucking it harshly into his mouth. The boy’s scream shattered into a fractured keen, his body convulsing as another rush of slick gushed around Krog’s thrusting cock. Grashnak watched his son drink greedily from the human’s trembling flesh, his own cock twitching inside the father’s abused hole at the sight.

The torchlight flickered against the cavern walls as Grashnak's voice rumbled low between thrusts, each word punctuated by the wet slap of flesh against flesh. "Your great-grandfather," he growled, hips rolling in a slow, grinding circle that made the father beneath him sob, "once kept a cuntboy buried to the hilt for fourteen days straight." Krog's nostrils flared as he paused mid-thrust, the younger cuntboy's fluttering heat clenching desperately around his cock.

"Fourteen?" Krog's tusks gleamed with disbelief. His bound wrists flexed behind his back as he adjusted his angle, drawing a broken whimper from the boy beneath him.

Grashnak's laugh was a dark, rasping thing. "The Black Maw clan thinks endurance is strength." He punctuated the statement with a brutal snap of his hips, watching the father's belly bulge obscenely. "Fools. A womb isn't a sheath—it's a living thing. Needs to breathe." His next withdrawal was agonizingly slow, letting the father's inner walls cling to every ridge before sheathing himself fully again. The human's scream dissolved into wet, hiccupping sobs.

Krog's brow furrowed as he mimicked the motion, his cock twitching inside the younger cuntboy's overstimulated heat. "The Frostfang elders—"

"—starve their captives," Grashnak interrupted with a derisive snort. "Weakness disguised as discipline." His claws flexed impotently behind his back as he thrust upward, grinding his pelvis against the father's clit until the man's back arched violently. "A empty belly tightens the womb, yes—but what good is a vice if it snaps?"

The younger orc's breath hitched as the cuntboy beneath him convulsed, another gush of slick spilling around his shaft. "The Riverborn clan—"

"Bah!" Grashnak's interruption sent spittle flying onto the father's heaving chest. "They treat cuntboys like broodmares—pampered and fat." His tusks scraped the human's collarbone as he leaned closer, voice dropping to a graveled whisper. "Tell me, boy—do you feel *pampered*?" The father's answer was a fractured keen as Grashnak's next thrust punched the air from his lungs.

Krog's growl vibrated through his chest as he watched, his own hips moving in time with Grashnak's rhythm. "Then why are we the only ones who—?"

"Because we *understand*," Grashnak snarled, his yellowed eyes gleaming in the firelight. "The Black Maw breaks them. The Frostfang withers them. The Riverborn spoils them." His next withdrawal was abrupt, leaving the father gaping and clenching around nothing. "But we—" He slammed home again, grinning at the human's shattered scream. "—we make them *want* it."

The torchlight guttered as Krog processed the words, his thrusts growing more measured. The younger cuntboy's thighs trembled where they were splayed wide, his hole fluttering wildly around Krog's cock. "Even when they scream?"

"*Especially* when they scream," Grashnak corrected, his voice thick with amusement. He dragged his tusks along the father's throat, lapping at the sweat there. "The body knows what the mind denies." To demonstrate, he angled his next thrust upward, grinding deep until the father's back bowed off the bench, a fresh wave of slick gushing forth. "See?"

Krog's answering snarl was muffled against the younger cuntboy's skin as he bent forward, his tusks scraping the boy's shoulder. His next thrust was brutal—a single, devastating snap of his hips that speared him to the hilt. The boy's scream dissolved into wordless, hiccupping gasps, his body convulsing as pleasure overrode pain.

Grashnak watched with approval, his own rhythm never faltering despite the ropes biting into his wrists. "The Red Hand clan uses spikes," he continued conversationally, as if discussing the weather. "Cunts bleed prettily, but dead wombs breed nothing." His nostrils flared at the flood of slick spilling from the father's abused entrance. "We fill ours until they drip for generations."

Krog's breath came in ragged bursts as he drank from the younger cuntboy's trembling flesh, the boy's broken sobs music to his ears. "And the Broken Tusk?"

Grashnak's pause was deliberate, his cock twitching inside the father's clutching heat. "They *share*," he finally rumbled, the word dripping with disdain. "One cock, then another, then another—like dogs fighting over scraps." His hips rolled in a slow, grinding circle that made the father sob. "No pride in ownership. No understanding of *territory*."

Krog's grip on the younger cuntboy tightened instinctively, his tusks scraping the boy's collarbone as he snarled. The human beneath him whimpered, his thighs trembling where they were splayed wide—already stretched obscenely around Krog's girth. "Weak," the younger orc growled, driving his cock deeper as if to stake his claim. The boy's scream fractured into wet, hiccupping gasps, his womb fluttering wildly around the invading length.

Grashnak's laughter was a dark, rasping thing. "Weak?" He withdrew abruptly, watching the father's hole gape obscenely before slamming home again. The human's back arched violently, his belly bulging with the force of the thrust. "No. *Lazy*." His claws flexed behind his back, the ropes creaking with tension. "A cuntboy's womb remembers every cock that's filled it. Let too many in, and it forgets which one *owns* it."

Krog's nostrils flared at the implication, his thrusts growing possessive—each snap of his hips punctuated by a gush of slick from the boy's overstimulated entrance. The scent of it—thick with musk and submission—filled the cavern, mingling with the sweat dripping from both orcs' straining bodies. "Then how—?"

"*Mark them*," Grashnak interrupted, his voice dropping to a graveled whisper. He bent forward, his tusks dragging a wet stripe up the father's throat. "Not with scars. Not with brands." His next thrust was brutal, sheathing himself to the hilt in one devastating motion. The father's scream dissolved into broken sobs as Grashnak growled against his skin: "*With seed*."

Krog's answering snarl vibrated through his chest as he pistoned into the younger cuntboy, his cock twitching violently inside the boy's fluttering heat. The human's nails scrabbled uselessly against the stone beneath him, his body convulsing as pleasure and pain blurred into unbearable sensation. "And if—" Krog's breath hitched as the boy's walls clenched around him, "*—if they resist?*"

Grashnak's grin was all tusks. "Then you're not *fucking hard enough*."

The torchlight guttered as Krog redoubled his efforts, his hips pistoning with renewed fury. The younger cuntboy's cries dissolved into wordless, hiccupping gasps, his body twitching like a gutted fish as another wave of slick spilled forth. Grashnak watched with yellowed eyes gleaming in approval, his own rhythm never faltering despite the ropes biting into his wrists.

"Good," the elder orc rumbled. "Now *make him beg*."

Krog's tusks scraped the boy's shoulder as he bent forward, his breath hot against the human's sweat-slicked skin. "*Say it*," he growled, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. The boy's mouth opened soundlessly, his throat working around fractured whimpers. Krog's snarl deepened as he angled his next thrust upward, grinding deep into that devastating spot inside.

The cuntboy's scream shattered the cavern air—a broken, pleading thing. "*Yours!*" he sobbed, his thighs trembling where they were splayed wide. "*Yours, yours, yours—*"

Grashnak's laugh was a dark, satisfied thing as he watched his son claim his prize. The father beneath him whimpered, his own hole clenching around nothing as Grashnak withdrew completely. "See?" the elder orc rumbled, his cock glistening in the firelight. "Even the proudest cuntboy *knows* his place."

Krog's answering growl was muffled against the younger human's skin as he drank greedily from the boy's trembling flesh, his thrusts growing more erratic. The scent of submission—thick and heady—filled the cavern, mingling with the sweat dripping from both orcs' straining bodies.

Grashnak's claws flexed behind his back as he watched his son learn the final lesson—the way Krog's hips moved now, not just with possession, but with *certainty*. The elder orc's own cock pulsed violently, aching for release, but he held himself still—disciplined even in triumph.

The first gray light of dawn seeped through the cavern's cracks when Grashnak's head snapped up, nostrils flaring at the scent of approaching daylight. His cock twitched inside the father's clutching heat—a reluctant pulse of acknowledgment—before he growled low in his throat. "Enough." The word carried the weight of generations, of ritual carved into bone-deep tradition.

Krog snarled in protest, his hips still pistoning into the younger cuntboy's ruined hole. "But he's—"

"*Dawn comes*," Grashnak interrupted, his voice like grinding stones. With agonizing slowness, he withdrew from the father's gaping entrance, watching thick strands of slick stretch between his cockhead and the human's trembling rim. The father's whimper echoed off the walls as his womb clenched around nothing, his belly still distended from hours of abuse.

Grashnak's claws made quick work of the ropes binding his wrists, the fibers parting like gutted prey. He didn't spare a glance for the raw furrows the bonds had left in his green flesh—such marks were pride, not pain. Krog hesitated for three more thrusts, his tusks dripping saliva onto the younger cuntboy's heaving chest, before obeying with a snarl. His withdrawal was brutal, dragging a scream from the boy's throat as his inner walls fluttered desperately around sudden emptiness.

The cavern reeked of sweat and sex and the metallic tang of overstimulated flesh. Grashnak inhaled deeply, committing the scent to memory as he surveyed their handiwork. Both cuntboys lay splayed across the stone bench, their thighs trembling where they'd been forced wide for hours. The father's hole pulsed obscenely, dripping a mixture of slick and the herbal tinctures Borgha had used to prepare them. The son's entrance was swollen nearly shut, his clit throbbing visibly against the cool air.

Krog's claws flexed at his sides, his cock still rigid and glistening. "The tradition is—"

"—*nine nights*, you vowed." Grashnak finished, stepping close enough for their sweat to mingle. He gripped Krog's chin, forcing the younger orc to meet his gaze. "The sun demands our strength elsewhere. Hunting. Leading." His thumb dragged across Krog's tusk, smearing the cuntboy's dried tears. "A clan chief who can't pull his cock from a hole by dawn isn't worthy of the title."

A shudder ran through Krog's frame—part protest, part understanding. His yellowed eyes flicked to the younger cuntboy, still twitching from overstimulation. "And them?"

Grashnak's grin was all tusks. "Let their wombs ache with emptiness." He bent abruptly, lapping a stripe up the father's trembling thigh to collect the slick pooling there. "Hunger makes the next claiming sweeter."

The father moaned weakly, his nails scraping against stone as Grashnak straightened. The elder orc made no move to untie the humans—tradition dictated they remain bound until the orcs returned. Instead, he stalked toward the cavern's exit, his gait uneven with residual lust. Krog hesitated just long enough to drag his tusks down the younger cuntboy's sternum, drawing a broken whimper, before following.

Outside, the rising sun painted the mountains in bloody light. Grashnak filled his lungs with crisp morning air, feeling the night's fever begin to cool in his veins. Behind him, Krog's breathing still came ragged.

"Nine nights," Krog muttered under his breath, his tusks clicking together as he rolled the words around his mouth like unspent seed. "One night down." His claws flexed at his sides, still tacky with the younger cuntboy's slick.