"M-m-may I come in?" he meekly stammered out, willing his autism to not fully release in front of the armed guards. The sergeant at the gate looked him up and down; this cum encrusted boy covered in dirt and wearing rags that not even a stray dog would sleep on. "You are the most wretched cur I have ever laid my eyes upon, and I've seen many a dogs asshole before," muttered sergeant Balling, shaking his head. The captain had been riding his ass all week about letting the peasant filth into the gorgeous city of Cuckistan, but maybe he could make an exception for such a supple youth. "Come e're peasant boy you have to.. erm.. sign some papers, for entry of course", he said, ushering Swift into the guardhouse.
Swift wondered why they needed to go into the guardhouse when all the other visitors were hurried through the gate. Being a boy of simple mind, however, the thought quickly escaped and he followed the guards with a simple smile upon his face. As soon as he entered the barracks, he was thrown on the ground and his crusty tunic and britches cut from his body and thrown into the fire. The smell of Whoreley's burning offspring was horrifying, and dogs throughout the town began to howl in protest. As he lay prone on the floor, the cruel Balling and his guards began to give Swift a shower of gold, and then promptly relived him of his coins. After repositioning their pants, they threw the poor boy back out into the street nude, broke, and alone on the streets of Cuckistan.
The second day of freedom that young Swift enjoyed was simply majestic. The golden sun shone clear and bright under the banners of emerald green denoting the Holy City of the Screeching Empire, Cuckistan. Feeling quite hopeful and rejuvenated from his healthy injections of protein and a good spirited washing from Balling, young Swift cracked a smile as he rose. Flicking off the remaining flakes of dried baby gravy, Swift set about the task of finding new clothing. Fortunately due to his diminutive stature and minuscule endowment, he was widely regarded as a child, and paid no attention. Scampering naked through the yards with only the clank of his chastity belt and the whistle of the morning breeze, Swift had never felt so free. After frolicking in the grass and dirt for several hours Swift happened upon a lovely clothesline - it must have been set out just for him. Quickly he snagged several garments and dashed into the nearest outhouse to don his new threads.
Emerging from the outhouse like morning wood, Swift burst into the wonderful outside world. Clad in a woman's nightgown and soiled pantaloons, he proceeded to proudly march to the heart of the town. Today was the day he would be free from chastity! Surely there would be a kind enough blacksmith to take pity upon his woeful adventure.
Pakito, the town blacksmith, was a man built inversely to any other man. He was twice as round as he was tall, and boasted a majestic beard of fiery red. His day began like any other: after swigging a jug of the finest dwarven mead he began to hone his craft in glorious service to the Screeching Empire. This fond routine was disturbed, however, as a crazed cross-dressing youth entered his shop, reeking of stale piss and sweat.