The Neithergloom was not generally a festive place. Busy occasions were occasions were assassins might ply their trade, and moriel were a paranoid lot, but one of the things that could always gather a crowd were slave markets. Slavers and prospective owners from far and wide would come together, compare their progress, make deals, discuss good hunting grounds and breeding stocks. Sellers and buyers met, and coin, favours and land were freely traded for flesh.
There was a great menagerie of creatures there from surface raiders, selling their stock. From the population of entire villages, sold in bulk, to highly prized elven princes. From catboys plaintively mewing to minotaurs raging against their bonds. Even ogres and goblins were sold, for those with... odd tastes.
But of course there were plenty of moriel slaves. Most of them male slaves naturally. A few were... recently collared ones. Gagged, chained and furious, others were highly trained, prized slaves, kept in tents and only those who had reserved could see them. But there was also a large number of moriel who were just of age and for whom this was simply the course of things. They stood in neat rows, naked, arms behind their backs, heads bowed, there for inspection. around their leather collars hung parchments describing their names, vital satistics, their skills and their starting price.
One of the boys was standing there. He wasn't particularly noteworthy. A pretty enough face, a fit enough body.The parchment on his collar markedhim as recently come of age, a healer and also marked his cock, anus and mouth all three as virgin. He got some interest, but no immediate takers. His price was high, but then young slaves were often considered an investement. Indeed, some moriel made their living buying up slaves with basic training, and molding them into particular niches, fulfilling particular demands.
It was one such slaver, Jabress Nilsath of house Tintoreda, who was going over faces. She had walked by a few times. An experienced merchant, she always made sure to explore all the offers. She stopped in front of the slave, carefully reading the scroll in front of him. The slave didn't speak, he was well trained, and felt the eye of his owner on him. The woman seemed to find him of interest, thoroughly investigating him. Teeth were inspected, the state of the skin, his penis was searched for flaws, and soon enough, he was forced to bend over so the moriel's cold fingers could ascertain that yes, that hole was still virgin. Finally, she commanded he sing, but not any words.
The woman then went to speak with the owner, and after some discussion, coin was exchanged, and a leash was attached to the boy. "All right, the Lady Tintoreda has purchased you. Don't shame me, La..."
"Don't say that name." The boy's new owner interrupted. "He will get a new name. Once he earns it. For now, you have no name, slave. You will know I speak to you when my crop hits you."
The slave looked surprised at this, but bowed. "I will do as you say, jabress."
...
The slaveboy was brought to the female's home. The first thing that happened when he entered, dressed in nothing but a loincloth was a group female servants grabbing him. While his owner looked on coolly, they tied him to a table.
"There is an order I must fill, slave. You will be the raw material." Her voice was cold. "But for my client to get what she wants, you will be changed."
As she spoke, his loincloth was removed. Hot, scadling water was poured over his body.
"She has extravagant tastes. Your skin is rather soft, and you have a good shape of face. Your voice and walk we can correct with training."
The women started working, using scissors to cut his pubes short. They rubbed an oil on him that caused the little invisible hairs on his body to stand on end.
"First order of business is removing the hair from your body. Shaving is a loss of time. So we will simply pluck them. My servants will be very thorough. It will take some time though."
The servants came out with small tongs. Two started on his leg, one on his eyebrows, two on his arms and one on his pubes. He gave little winces as it started. The women were well trained, and captured the hairs at a rapid pace.
"That'll be the first thing. Tomorrow, you can start getting used to your new clothes, and we can practice your voice."
The pain started to build up. Basic slave training had only included bearing the more basic forms of pain, and the boy soon began to cry out in pain as his body was completely rid of all body hair.
"Forget all about your old name, slave., and your old life. Today starts your life as a sissy slave." The woman rose and walked off, shutting the door behind her as the slave started to scream in earnest.
...
And she was as good as her word. As soon as his body was prepared, eyebrows plucked, body smooth, if hurtful, he was forced in female clothing, covered in leather clasps to make sure he couldn't take it off himself. His face was covered in make up, his feet clasped in high heel shoes. He was made to relearn everything. He had to walk delicately, he had to speak in a high voice, and was not allowed to use personal pronouns, every gesture he did, every look he gave was meitculously followed up, and every straying from approved form was harshly punished.
And that was not everything. while the boy's virginity was safeguarded, apparently part of the deal, the body's body and soul were shaped and morphed by the cool, profesionnal trainer. Through careful use of both positive and negative reinforcement, he was taught to desire to wear female clothes. He was humiliated and mocked by everyone, including the other slaves in the household, all the while being inundated with pleasure. He was made to be aggresive, or even steadfastness and stoic, and then given agony. He was expected to cry, to weep, to plead for mercy at the slightest show of pain, and offer more tears no matter what had happend.
He was given duties. Clean, cook and see after household tasks.The household had many slaves, but the slaveboy was made to understand he was yet the lowest of them all. For many of the male slaves, picking on stekol was the closest they would ever get to insulting a female, and eagerly used it. And of course, there were the sexual lessons. Never fully in practice, the boy had to remain virgin, but careful attention was given on letting him orally please wooden bodies, and made to watch in detail and write reports as experienced sex slaves. And of course, endless upon endless training in orgasm denial and control over his own erections.
Time past like that. Who's to say how long? Moriel live long. They could easily spend a decade on training a slave JUST right. Suffice to say the slave before and after would not recognize themselves. And then one day he was brought to his owner office. And he was given a new dress, a nice maid's dress. And a name. stekol. Toy. For that was what he was. And stekol nodded, and thanked her, because he knew he had become exactly the sissy fucktoy she had aimed him to be when she purchased him.
...
There was but one problem. The client that wanted him lived quite some distance away. And the tunnels in between were a hotbed of war. Travel through there impossible. But House Tintoreda had its pride in filling its debts. And so, the sissy slave was moved over the Surface. Along with his owner, they moved in a caravan, travelling briefly through a Surface nation called the Empire, in a closed cart that would protect sensitive moriel eyes from the sun's hated rays.
Was it just bad luck? An old score to settle? Or did another moriel arrange a pack of feral wolven to mark the travelling group as prey? Stekol didn't know. All he heard were the sounds of combat coming from outside, and then the curtain of the caravan was torn open, sunlight entering, a roar given as a large wolven dragged his mistress out of the cart.
It should be understood that as far as stekol was concerned, his mistress was next to Kirva. When he saw the beasts tear into her with tooth and claw, it was as if the world had jsut gone insane. Utter and absolute terror took the maidboy, as he scrambled out of the caravan, wide eyed, and fled into the wilds of Nanthalion. The wolven let him go, likely more out of disinterest than mercy. And they left a sissy-maid boy to wander the Empire, unowned for the first time in his life, and not knowing what to do with freedom, or even to desire freedom. It was just a matter of time before the ISA would know his name.