I should probably clarify in advance that I don't support the brutal subjugation of any peoples, real or imaginary, before I get pitchforked to death by an internet mob.
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The dwarven district was the industrial heart of the human empire. Dwarves had been allies since humanity took its first steps into the world, and dwarven smiths and artisans churned out armor and armaments in huge quantities for the security of all. In any other war, they'd have been indispensable. In this war, with the united dwarven clans marching on the borders, they were a liability. Rumors of the sacrilege a human had inflicted upon their vaunted God-King were spreading in the district, turning it into a literal and figurative powder keg.
As master of the guard, I’d been given instruction by the emperor himself to contain the situation. He’d chosen me for my benevolent and diplomatic nature. It was vital the forges remained open - he needed control, not a slaughter.
I assembled 15,000 guardsmen and entered the district in full battle array. The air was mutinous, wizened dwarven visages glaring out from the windows. My soldiers took the two main thoroughfares, dividing the district into quarters, and dealing with each quarter at a time.
At the business end of 15,000 crossbows, the dwarven workers were ordered to down tools and gather into lines within the foundries, where they were made to strip away their overalls and turn into their stone forms. Some disobeyed and ran, only to be cut down by crossbow bolts. The majority of them obeyed. One foundry foreman, so bent, gnarled and twisted as an old oak tree that he couldn't be any less than 600 years old, spat at my feet, though all dwarves will naturally slip into stone after a few whacks from a truncheon.
Taking a masonry chisel and mallet, I went along the line, removing each of their thick, petrified cocks with a single hard blow each to the base of the shaft. Their fallen manhoods were gathered up and thrown in a pile.
Human sculptors followed behind, utilizing carving chisels for the finer work; grinding wheels, files and rasps to scrape away the brutish masculine physiology, erasing the ropy bands of muscles of their biceps and abdominals; while a team of men wielding rock augers finished up the job by working the crudely broken lumps of their former manhoods into delicate, dainty, tight little holes.
Their chosen form was a shrewd and calculated one - slender and petite, so as to be less danger in the event of an uprising. Human, as how better to instill loyalty than to make them appear as one of us? Feminine, and fuckable - the dwarven invaders lusted just the same as any other race, and things didn’t end well for women in a failed siege. What better incentive for the feminized workers to keep the walls standing?
One by one, the ex-dwarves shifted out of their stone shapes, staggering and collapsing at the changes wrought upon them.
“Consider these hostages, stored at his majesty’s pleasure,” I stated, pointing with my chisel at the pile. My soldiers began shoveling them into sacks for the Emperor’s vaults. “When this war ends in our favour, they’ll be returned. Cause trouble, and your cocks will be ground to dust to become mortar for the city walls. Get back to work.”
Before today, there had never existed a dwarven woman. After today, there would be 40,000.
One maiden caught my eye as I left, her look of loathing transformed into the most delightful sultry sulk on her new face. It was the foreman. I appraised his comely figure.
“Nothing more to say? No more spit?” I leered, gesturing to my guards. “Perhaps we can find a more fitting use for that mouth of yours.”
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