Cynewulf's Stone

Editor's note: this fictional work contains scenes of fictional incest or fictional incest content.

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All characters 18+

Cynewulf's Stone.

You are not Men! You call yourselves Men, but a real Man would beat you down with one swing of his lumber! Today there are no Men. Heroes carried Cynewulf's Stone almost every summer when I was young. You would not have the courage to put yourselves forward. And only Ædwulf, the greatest Warrior of them all, was brave enough to see it through.

I was barely a Man myself, only a year older than Ædwulf's son Aldric. As boys he and I went together in all things, and shared the dream of becoming a great Warrior like his Father. Ædwulf was a God to us, with his beard in plaits, and great spiral tattoos on his hairy chest. His oxters stank the place out, and he was always smelled before he was seen.

Aldric and I would stay up late into the night, listening enthralled as Ædwulf recounted war stories with his comrades, and poked at his scars to prove every boast. But as much as we loved to know of all that passed on the battlefield, nothing excited our imaginations better than hearing Ædwulf brag of how he dishonoured his captives. In my day Warriors of Wessex were feared the World over for the way we shamed our prisoners, and Ædwulf made fallen champions of every nation submit to his will. Defeated they knelt under his big balls and took his monumental cock at both ends. How I wished he was my Dad!

Aldric and I would hide to catch a glimpse of the Hero naked as he bathed in the lakes. Ædwulf knew we were there, but did not deprive us of the sight. Of course the new Christians have called our ancient passions sinful, and put an end to them. But in those noble times we practiced the rite of Cynewulf's Stone.

Long ago, the great Warrior King Cynewulf founded the very Nation of Wessex. And when his first son Ceolwulf was grown to be a virile young man, they fought side by side and killed the monstrous Giants in this country. Sharing these triumphs with his son aroused great lusts in Cynewulf's bosom, and soon he was in love. Such a union of Father and son was forbidden, then as now, so Cynewulf cut his fabled stone from the heart of Bal Tor. And he spoke to the Nation, saying,

"Bind me, my wrists and neck in stocks. Sit the lad on my shoulders. Hang the stone from my balls! If I can carry it past every Warrior among you, to the summit of Bal Tor, then will you let me take my son?"

And the people said "Yes!"

But should he fail, and fall before he reached the top, he must forfeit the boy, and turn him over a slave to our enemies in Mercia. Of course Cynewulf prevailed!

Since that time the most courageous of every generation came forward to take the trial upon themselves. For it is written that the Man who should successfully carry Cynewulf's Stone will be Master of his eldest son, just as any Man is Master of his wives. Hundreds coveted this prize, almost none earned it. No more punishing test of a Man's true worth could be devised. Success demanded all a Man's physical strength and all his emotional fortitude.

We were well aware of this growing up, and now that Aldric was a young man, the looming promise of becoming his Father's lover excited many wet dreams. Ædwulf already had three wives - his newest, Twyla, was younger than me. The second, Gwen, was busy raising little ones. And the first, Aldric's Mother, was hardly seen anymore. She had long since become a powerful Sorceress and vanished into the woods.

Aldric held no shred of doubt that he could make Ædwulf happiest of all. He had not a hair on his chest; he was lithe and pale; he had a cheeky smile which promised a dirty mind; and he was Ædwulf's own begotten son - a forbidden lust - and what can compete with that? I was jealous of his fortune, ardent for his destiny, and terrified by his fate, all at once.

Because, the Warrior who failed to reach the summit - he who was toppled by his compatriots, or who gave in to exhaustion - always lost his son. I had seen this happen too. Our boyhood friend Beorhtric was dropped by his Father - thrown back down the mountain by Ædwulf not fifty yards from the top. Everyone was sorry to see Beorhtric go. He was a good lad, beloved of all unmarried girls, and of many also who were betrothed. Now he belonged to the Mercian brutes.

Brash in all things, Ædwulf made no secret of training for the challenge. He boasted unashamed that he would reach the Tor and make quick work of his boy when he got there. Aldric and I listened with a nervous mixture of hope and terror, especially after Beorhtric was gone. Ædwulf's triumph was my own heart's desire. I feared nothing more deeply than seeing him loose.

The Champion got serious about his drills just as soon as the Elders declared Aldric was at the age of manhood. We watched him dangling heavy gourds and random weights off his big Daddy balls in total awe.

"Just you wait, son," he'd wink if he caught us staring. Aldric would fall over backwards.

Ædwulf's confidence seemed unshakable, and it stoked our own belief in his success. But it did not stop us praying each night to every God we could I think of. I even made a secret sacrifice, slicing my thumb at the Temple and rubbing blood on the totems. Anything that might incline divine assistance. Aldric told me he admitted his fears to his Pa one night, and Ædwulf became suddenly furious, dragging the lad to the lake. After throttling him under the surface, close to the point of choking, Ædwulf snatched the boy back, telling him leave his cowardice drowned in the water. It half worked.

Next day he carried the boy on his back to run circuits in the field. Aldric held him tight, the warmth and manly stink of his Father's bull-body making him swoon. In such moments, the promise of all they stood to win was a dangerous temptation to them both, and yet somehow they kept themselves chaste.

The summer wore on in this way. Father and son training ever harder under the watchful eyes of our neighbours. Soon the big day arrived. This was fixed each year by the Druids who followed the motions of heaven, seeking returning stars. The planets aligned.

I could not sleep the night before, my thoughts turning over and over. Aldric slept neither. Ædwulf snored. And rising typically late in the morning, he arrived at the foot of Bal Tor last of everyone in the tribe. True to his style, Ædwulf made a show of himself, tensing his biceps and cracking jokes. Of a sudden, he tore Aldric's tunic and the boy stood naked before the crowd.

"My boy's prettier than your daughters!" he hollered, slapping Aldric's ass for dramatic effect.

Ædwulf was well-liked, and we all laughed with him. Solemnity was restored by the Druids however as they disrobed the Warrior and bound him in stocks. After testing their knots, they lifted Aldric on his shoulders. The Nation gawped below. Finally the Druids hung Cynewulf's Stone. It was uncovered with great ceremony, and this was the closest I ever got to the relic.

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.

There were no Murcian survivors once we caught up with them. And in the middle of that carnage we dragged Ædwulf from the puddles.

He had breath just enough to speak some dying words. He said this was how he wanted to go - gloriously, on the War Path. He honoured each of us by name, praising our loyalty and courage. Even Cynric was praised, for he fought alongside us that day. But Ædwulf saved the last of his words for me.

"Twyla is yours now. And my son Aldric, take care of them both. Go forward and become a great Man!"

I knew then that he had known about me and Twyla all along. Then he was dead, and all the Men cried.

"He should have left Aldric to me!" Cynric spat, as heavy rains began to fall. "He took my son, it only stands to rights that I should have his!"

The others berated Cynric for this disrespect, but his resentment did not abate.

We had won the battle, but there were no celebrations in the village that day. Ædwulf's body was dressed in fine armours and he was buried in a barrow befitting his life and unparalleled status.

Twyla cut her hair, as all women do when their husbands die, but she did not mourn long. She wanted babies, and I loved her very many times to make doubly sure it would happen - Dousing my newly lawful load freely within her!

Such things were commonplace, that a Man should inherit another's wife. But the question of Aldric was quite different. He was no wife. Ædwulf had earned the right to Aldric's body by lifting Cynewulf's stone, and had also made himself the very last to do so by breaking it on the summit. The Elders discussed the matter among themselves three days and nights. In the end it was agreed that the Hero's dying wish should be the law, and it would please the people to see it done. This honour seemed something too great to accept, but I made no objection.

I did not see Aldric for yet another month. He hid himself away to mourn, up in the hills with the Sorceress, his mother. I was plenty busy in his absence with my wife, but I did wonder about him. I wondered if he would want me. I wondered if I would want him. Twyla was already making me happier than I believed I could be, but when Aldric did finally return I found I had desire enough for them both.

He came to me by night, and having shaved away his whiskers and all the hair of his pubic mound, he looked just as he did when we were young. Aldric had not a single tattoo or scar. He'd done nothing to make a Man of himself while I had been going to war.

Before long I was banging his ass with all the same tenderness I had for Twyla, and over the nights I let my passions alternate between the two. Each was respectful and knew when to be needed and when to be gone.

And I did not flaunt my authority over Aldric the way Ædwulf had done. Having never carried Cynewulf's stone (nor anything even close to such a great deed), it was not my place to show off. I never loved Aldric for the entertainment of others.

But if Twyla was worried I would forget about her the way Ædwulf had done, I soon put her mind at ease. In fact the two got on well at first, and even better after, so that in the fullness of time I could bed both my sweethearts together! Ædwulf had gifted me with such pleasures as are denied all other Men.

But like his legendary Father before him, Aldric was not for this world. I returned one dark day from fighting our enemies in the north to find my boy dead, his body in a broken heap at the foot of Bal Tor. Although there was no witness to the tragedy, everyone could guess at what took place. Mad with jealousy, Cynric had kidnapped Aldric in my absence and marched him to the summit of Bal Tor, where he determined to make the boy his in an unlawful ceremony of his own. But Aldric would not be taken, and in the tumult they were both thrown from the precipice. The Coward died also in the fall, and like the hated murderer he was, we did not honour him with burial.

I shed more tears for Ædwulf's wanton son than I did for the great Man himself. At least they would be reunited in the map of stars. I see them together as Star-men in dreams - Aldric settled snug on his Father's great cock for all eternity.

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