The Story of Marreth (WoW, cuntboy, more)

Chapter 1: Marreth Imprisoned

Ratchet was home to many places and people that are rarely discussed publicly. Houses of ill repute where the sexually strange or rare can be very popular and profitable, owned by some of the seedier elements of the Steamwheedle Cartel. One such establishment near the docks, simply named Ratchet Tides, saw more traffic than a Dalaran Mammoth Parade. The goblins of Steamwheedle ran it well, and were in posession of several rarities that each brought in enough gold on a weekly basis to feed a small army.

Marreth was one such rarity. He was slim, awkward and a little tall for his age. He was untrained, and in fact had spent about half his life working in the Ratchet Tides. He was almost twenty.

The operator of the Tides was a stout goblin with a large circular hole in one awkwardly flapping ear, named Slipcrank. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he cried out to his audience. The Tides' clientele were mostly Orcs and Tauren, due to its relative placement between Durotar and Mulgore; though it wasn't very rare to see a draenei or an elf in the crowd. Repeat business was uncommon, although the occasional performer attracted several stalkers sometimes for months at a time. Marreth was a special case, one of the most rare and profitable people the goblins could have ever asked for in such a line of work. "It is my esteemed pleasure to introduce you to the only human worthy enough to be presented here on our stage. He is indeed a thing of beauty, and here to show his stuff for you tonight. Wait til you feast your eyes on Marreth, one of the world's only known cuntboys!"

If Marreth had ever felt like he could possibly belong anywhere in Azeroth, Slipcrank had abolished the notion every time he waved his hand and announced the boy to the stage. He never objected to any of it, though, as long as the goblins fed him and protected him from the dangerous outside world.

A couple of cheers came out from the crowd as Marreth made his way onto the stage. The goblins had made him wear the same ridiculous gown every time he performed. He had heard one orc customer once say that it was the color of a night elf's tongue. From the front, it looked like a two-piece dress, but it was connected in the back by a thin bridge of pinkish-purplish cloth. On a woman, it might have stirred some emotions. On a man's body, though, it looked silly, baring his midriff and showing off a smooth, flat and hairless belly. If there was one thing he ever looked forward to, it was getting rid of that awkward collection of fabric. He would swing his hips in a seductive manner as he turned his back to the audience, a couple of people groaning their disappointment that he wasn't a woman as he swung around, showing off his bare, flat chest.

Much to Marreth's chagrin, nobody had left their seats yet. The top of his dress was hanging behind his legs, dragging along the floor behind him as he stepped closer