It was a beautiful object – a granite ring, intricately carved with interlocking patterns and fabulous creatures. I squinted to glean all I could as they hung it on his bollocks, which went tight and red with the strain. The Stone patted his inner thighs as he swayed in the heat, and a fat drop of sweat rolled off his nutsack to splash over the sacred designs. I thought,
“If that doesn’t please the Gods, nothing will!”
It pleased me. And Aldric, who had been peering down between Ædwulf’s legs, kissed the back of his Dad’s neck when he saw it.
“Hold off, boy,” the Champion muttered, anxious not to partake anything his winnings before the terrible challenge was done.
When all was made right and ready, a Druid more ancient than the rest broke his staff above our heads. With the splitting of the wood, the race was begun and Ædwulf bounded forward. He disappeared through the branches, and the crowd had a job to keep apace with him.
At various clearings on the hillside the couple could be seen, advancing ever onwards in great strides. The branches lashed them both, leaving red lines on their bulging muscles. Before long the first of our Warriors came forward to interrupt them. Ædwulf was completely undeterred however, and he charged directly toward his opponents. One after another he crashed them off their feet, using the extra weight of Aldric upon his shoulders against them.
Higher up the rocky slopes better fighters were waiting to stop him, but Ædwulf showed no sign of fear. We all saw him crack Ængas in the jaw with the butt of the log he was cuffed to. And all the while, that great barbell-weight knocked about between his thighs and tugged on his balls. The people couldn’t help but cheer. The Nation was behind him!
The Hero was within sight of the summit, and not a single Warrior had even so much as wrestled with him. By now Ædwulf was groaning with fatigue, but his greatest challenge lay yet ahead. From the bracken strode the last of our fighting men – Beorhtric’s Father Cynric. Still sore from his own defeat the year before, he had climbed the Tor to intercept Ædwulf at the last leg and send his boy into slavery too.
Ædwulf let a wide grin break across his face as he began his charge toward that vengeful foe. But Cynric had concealed a lance! In absolute contempt of the sacred laws! All Warriors protecting the summit did so in hand-to-hand combat only. Weapons were forbidden.
“Get back!” he cried, punting Ædwulf square in the chest with the end of his stave.
Together Father and son reeled backwards in the dirt. They really almost toppled – everything nearly lost to them in one blow.
But fall they did not. Aldric threw all his weight forward, bringing his Dad right again. The gathering crowd hissed and loured at Cynric, but he went in for second strike, swinging his stave with a clattering whack on Ædwulf’s big balls. The Hero creased, lurching forward, and while Cynric puffed himself up in readiness for some scornful retort, Aldric leant over his Dad’s back and took hold the staff. Cynric reacted much too slowly to get it back. Before he knew it, Aldric cracked Cynric straight on the head, laying him flat and clearing the way to the summit.
The cheering of the Nation lifted our Champions forward. Golden sunlight broke through the clouds. And standing now at the highest point, Ædwulf dropped to his knees. Cynewulf’s Stone broke clean in two as it hit the ground. The crowd covered them over – slapping their backs and roughing their hair. In no time the hundred hands of the people released Ædwulf from his bondage, and he held those pieces of the shattered stone aloft for all to see and praise.
Elated, Ædwulf looked ready to drop. Every muscle was grazed and bruised, the dust and sweat a greasy smear on his skin. Yet even now he refused to submit, and without another word he got down to claiming his rightful reward. For the satisfaction of the Nation, Ædwulf threw his son over the moss.
Soon he was driving his magnificent cock between Aldric’s buttocks, and the boy gasped duteously through his virgin agony. As he thrust, Ædwulf reached around to snatch the lad’s bouncing balls and crush them leisurely – proclaiming his victory with every squeeze. Aldric’s panicky, weakling attempts to prize open his Dad’s loving grip only made Ædwulf chuckle more deeply, and he planted tender kisses behind his son’s ears and on the back of his neck as he squirmed.
“Often shall I remind you of the pains I withstood to win you, boy! And you will grow to love it so!”
Aldric spurt his seed, moaning like a girl, but Ædwulf was only just begun. We watched all afternoon as the Conqueror railed his boy. And once Ædwulf’s Lordly gruntwork was done, the crowd lifted Father and son back down the mountain to a Hero’s return.
Ædwulf’s buxom wife Twyla waited (all tits and curls) for these celebrations to settle down, but the Champion barely noticed her now. And who could blame the Man? Ædwulf had his own son sitting soft and naked in his lap, making his legendary dick drip and throb. I felt sorry for her. She’d felt Ædwulf’s bone only once or twice before his obsession with Cynewulf’s stone destroyed their love entirely. I was now a Man myself, and having put childish fantasies of being in Aldric’s place out of my mind, I looked to Twyla lustily. It was only natural that we should unite.
While the Big Man was busy, fucking his boy’s face for the entertainment and jealousy of all the other Soldiers, Twyla and I met under cover of darkness. By moonlight I took her, squeezing firmly on all her curves. I made her gasp and shriek, but always pulled out for fear of getting her pregnant! Then she would steal away in giggles, leaving me deliberately unfinished! Such was her peculiar pleasure. Kept me coming back for more though.
Things went on this way for several years. I became a Warrior in my own right, fighting alongside the Champions I so admired. I even took my first Mercian prisoner, and put my fat dick up his ass the Wessex way! Ædwulf took a special shine to me after this, and he became my mentor on the long path to Chieftainship. He treated me like kin, guiding my progress and exalting my success. Truthfully, I came to replace my friend Aldric in all normal things between a Father and his son.
Of course I was terrified Ædwulf might discover the truth about me and Twyla. But every night Ædwulf spent in the village, he bedded his son; usually for an audience of salivating Men. I watched many times myself. Aldric never seemed to tire of it, lifting his butt for another beating night after night. He was in heaven, lucky boy. And I too was in my own strange heaven, quietly boning Ædwulf’s wife behind the scenes.
One special night returns to me often, when the secret thrust of my naughty dick in Twyla’s sweet cunny fell perfectly in time with the loud spanking Ædwulf gave his son in the Chieftain’s Hall. It felt like the rhythm of mother nature herself, pulsing through all things and drawing ecstasy from our accord.
These happy times were soon shattered however. Ædwulf, perhaps the greatest Warrior Wessex had seen, was too marvellous to live among us. The day he fell came suddenly, cut down in the heat of battle, ferocious to the last. Ædwulf died in a singlehanded clash with eighteen Mercian cowards. We saw him lost in the enemy crowd from a terrible distance, completely unable to get close in time. We had to watch helpless as he was overcome.