The Blade of Ecstasy

Hiya! Just a heads up, this story has a threesome involving two guys and a gal where the subby guy does as much cocksucking as the girl. Hope you enjoy!

***

Benn could see his destination before he even left the forest. Through the breaks in the trees he saw the gentle slopes of the hill, erosion carving what was probably a sheer surface into little more than a drumlin on the plain. Atop the incline, demanding attention from all directions, was the fallen citadel of Shatterstone.

The young man stepped into the clearing, half expecting to be pushed back by some otherworld force. But whatever magic still lingered in the old ruin allowed his transgression. His hide boots touched the soil briefly, but no lightning bolt came out to sheer off his leg. What it had not allowed was anything to grow in a geometrically precise circle around the hilltop. Even the branches of trees seemed to dare not grow in the hill's direction. Benn did not waver. He had come this far...why not a little while more?

It had a true name once. Long before Benn's grandfather was born, an impossibly long time to a young adult's mind. His people, the descendants of hunter gatherers rather than till their own land, had found the ruin in their search for a better life. It looked just like the old tales had described...or at least only a little less flamboyant. Grey stone walls and battlements, crumbling in places but still remarkably intact after what must have need centuries of silent guardianship. There have been no signs of life within the walls for as long as his people have been in this area. And that had to have been at least a hundred years.

Benn ambled up the slope, walking stick coming in handy but still mostly for show. He was a fit lad, someone who could be relied upon to deliver messages post haste between townsfolk. But where others had become muscled and confident, he had...not yet bloomed. He was still short for his age, but he had a wiry fitness about him. He might not toss hay bails like they were nothing, but he could scramble up most of the walls in his village no problem. That's how he had met Gwenneth.

Gwenneth Innis. Gwen. Tall, blonde, with legs that seemed to go on forever when she was in motion. They'd bonded over a shared love of exploration, of climbing to see every part of their sleepy little hamlet. Benn had thought there had been something more there. But a few days ago, on his regular trip to the market, he had seen the announcement. Marriage. Gwenneth Innis to the son of the head of Thatchcreek's town guard, Vargas.

Vargas.

Towering six foot tall, half a head higher than Benn. Confident. Strong. Well connected. Everything Benn wasn't. But he was also slow, stupid, and violent. Everything Benn wasn't. He would show them. He would show his father, Vargas, even dear sweet Gwen

His nimble climbing wasn't needed to enter the ruin. In the bastion's long life, it had undergone a calamity. There were rents in the thick stone of the wall. Some were nearly too small for Benn to climb through, others were gaping chasms that could comfortably let six men standing shoulder to shoulder walk through. The stone around these larger breaches was black as the night's sky, the surface glassy and smooth to the touch. What manner of creature could cause so much destruction?

He stepped through the threshold of the breach, eyes snapping back and forth for dangers. His boots crunched the ancient black stones. Glassy, ebony shards of material covered the area, as well as lining the hole in the ancient walls. It was this ancient shattering that had given the ruin its local name. He picked up a piece, careful not to prick himself. The material was sharp, but gorgeous. He pocketed the shard. Maybe he could find someone who could make something out of it. At the very least, it would let him prove that he'd made it to the walls of Shatterstone.

Pocketing the souvenir, he crept into the fortress. There were no noises to hear. He paused. No noises. No birds, no insects. Not even the blowing of the wind. Dead silence. A shiver ran up his spine, and a more primitive part of his mind urged a speedy withdrawal. But he could see it! The east side of the ruins, just like the old tales. The Arsenal!

Where some buildings had used the protective wall as the backing for their construction, this was a self-contained structure. The stone was a different colour, almost red, and without the crisscross of bricks or slabs to hint at the method of construction it was if it had risen whole cloth, pulled into this world on someone's command.

He looked at the entrance. No door. No lock. Could it really be the building from the legends? He dropped his pack, leaning it against the wall. It wouldn't help him all that much in the building, and maybe it could let someone know he was around here if he were to disappear. Of course, that requires someone to be looking for him in these accursed ruins. That in it of itself would be a long shot. He gulped, looking into the building. No spinning spikes, no terrifying devil-maw. He gulped, steeled his spine, and stepped forward.

The ceiling was massive, ingenious vaulting arches making its weight seem almost suspended on air. He had no idea how one would go about even planning such an elaborate structure, let along building it. The people who had built Shatterstone were immeasurably more advanced that he had even dreamed. The floor was covered in spiralling mosaic patterns that had only been partially obscured by a thin caking of dust. Sunbeams from slitted windows caught dust motes suspended in the air, and gave him a little illumination to proceed by. Absent were the telltale signs of animal inhabitation, and the forces of nature had been kept at bay. It was almost a building out of time.

"Hello."

Benn leapt backward. He toppled over, neck snapping back and forth as he scanned for the source of the voice. From one of the windows, the sunlight coalesced into the shape of a humanoid figure. Its features were hazy but curved gently to invoke a feminine appearance. A glare of the ethereal light concealed its face, giving it a ghostly appearance.

"I...um..." Benn managed, stifling an undignified crack of his voice. "What are you?"

The shimmering figure audibly sighed. Its arms appeared, held out with open palms at the sides of its body. "Please be at ease. I bear no ill will to those pilgrims brave enough to test themselves against the judgment of...hmm..." It paused its exposition, glossy foot tapping soundlessly on the colourful stone floor. "Now what was my name again...I can't seem to recall."

This was not exactly what Benn was expecting. He picked himself off the ground, standing up without losing sight of the apparition for a fraction of a second. He remembered the lines he'd prepared, just in case the stories were true. "Gentle spirit of the Armoury," he began in a quivering voice, "My name is Benn of the town of Thatchcreek, less than half a day's walk to the east of here. I have come to treat with you. I seek to impress upon you my most dire and urgent need for your aid-"

"What do you want?"

Benn's speech caught in his throat. He tried again. "I beseech you favour. I wish for you to grant me the use of-"

"What do you want?"

Benn's mouth hung open was it broken? Who knows how old the Arsenal truly was. Maybe the spells had frayed?

"I need a weapon. A way to prove my worth."

"No," the building's spirit stated, possibly answering the question of if it was even listening. The shimmering humanoid shape approached him, growing in size as it got closer. "What do you, Benn of Thatchcreek, want?"

The voice hammered in his ears like the pronouncement of a judge's verdict. The false bravado drained from his voice. He slumped his shoulders, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I want...a girl."

The spectre laughed. It was a charming giggle that put Benn more at ease, though it did make his cheeks flush a little more.

"I see. To be honest, this is a lot of risk and effort for a teenage crush. You are young, right? It's hard for me to tell anymore."

Benn was obstinate, suddenly getting a little defensive of his motivations. "You don't understand! There is a brute in my village. Vargas. He's to be married to the girl I love. If I can show him, her...everyone that I'm not some weakling...maybe I can run away with her. Maybe she'll choose me over him."

"Ah, now I see. Mortal boys and your urges. But I believe I can help you. Many have travelled to my humble abode to seek the artifacts I hold within these walls. Some are pleased, others puzzled, and some have been driven mad by the revelation of what destiny has decreed. You, Benn of Thatchcreek, are undertaking a perilous quest. Do you dare proceed? Can you handle the sheer weight of knowledge that seeing your fate-bonded weapon will bring?

Benn hesitated, but only for a moment. "Y-yes. Show me, noble caretaker. Show me what my destiny is."

The figure asked a series of seemingly unrelated questions. Some were anodyne, queries that Benn saw no harm in asking. Where was he born? How often did he drink tea? Others related to things he either didn't know, or didn't understand. What position was the moon in the day he spoke his first word? Had he or any of his family ever operated a rhetoricon before? The third category made him a little bit uncomfortable. They were invasive, probing questions. Did he love the taste of sweat? How often did he get an erection? Regardless of if he answered the questions truthfully or not, the spectre always nodded and said something affirmative. By the time Benn had had enough with the interrogation, the Arsenal's avatar gave a placating gesture.

"That was all I needed. Apologies for the intrusiveness of some of that. I could have done a deep soulscan, but those are painful and can leave some people with lasting existential damage. I have narrowed it down to three."

"Three?" Benn asked.

"Now one. Apologies, vocal inflection on questions involving numbers is a part of the test. I have your candidate, the weapon you are fatebound to. Behold!"

The figure spread its hands. From the center of the room, the iris of coloured tiles dilated, allowing a tiny space in the vast, intricate locking mechanism to open. A blinding beam of light shot up into the ceiling. Benn shielded his eyes. A small, dark shape rise of its own accord through the aperture. As the light's power weakened, Benn opened his eyes again. The strange object floated to eye level, as if offering itself to its new owner.

"This is the legendary Blade of Ecstasy," the shape in the form of a woman declared in a now booming voice, "Forged from Endmetal for the Battle Maiden of Norr, it was the weapon that bound a nation during the War of the Brides in the 85th Century. It has had the blood of tyrants and heroes drip from its honed surface. It is a storied weapon, with an ancient past. I bequeath it to you, Benn of Thatchcreek, this ancient responsibility."

The glare faded, giving Benn a good look at the blade. At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him. But no. Further inspections confirmed his fear.

"It looks like a cock."

The dagger bobbed up and down mid-air, as if held aloft by a set of strings. "What do you mean?" the Arsenal's ghost asked with genuine curiosity.

Benn snatched the weapon out of the air with one hand, holding it by the hilt and as far away from the sheath as possible. The casing around the knife had taken the form of an along, detailed male appendage. An erect one too, judging by its engorged head and retracted foreskin. He looked up incredulously at the roof of the room.

"This is my fated weapon? A Cock Dagger?!"

The building scoffed. "The Blade of Ecstasy! A weapon so fierce it was given to only the most dangerous warriors. Kallistra Severhand, the Shade-In-Day, Ven of the Scarlet Robe. Given to ruthless killers, it quelled their lusts for violence, bending them into lusts for...other things."

Benn looked up. "Like what?"

"What do you think?"

Benn looked down at the dagger's sheath once more. It clicked. "Oh no, no no no. I don't want a dagger that's going to make me like cock. I'm not gay!"

"You don't like penis? But you said you had a woman friend at home."

"She doesn't have a dick!"

"Really?" the glimmering humanoid was silent for a moment, before asking: "Are you sure? Have you checked?"

Benn made a face. "I have thoroughly inspected Gwenneth, and I am certain she doesn't have a penis."

"Huh. Forgive me, it has been a while. I forgot some human females didn't have them. Oh well, the Blade of Ecstasy has chosen you and all that. It's quite an honour to be wielding it." It folded its arms, suddenly acting like the boy in front of him was being an ungrateful brat at rejecting such a magnificent gift.

Benn pulled the phallic sheath off his fatebound weapon. The dagger itself was a fine piece of craftsmanship. A honed, silvery metal blade. There were whirlpools of glowing blue texture along the surface of the dagger, though he could not feel them under his finger. He ran his hand down the length of the weapon, only to prick himself as he skimmed the edge. He hissed, then stared dumbly as the blood disappeared into the metal. The blade glowed slightly, and Benn felt a gentle warmth pulse through his hand.

"Holy shit..."

"Be careful! Endmetal doesn't lose lose its edge like iron does. Humans still have Endmetal, don't you?" the Arsenal asked. Benn shook his head. "Oh well," it replied with a wistful tone, "It is probably for the best. As many innocent lives have been taken by Endblades as nefarious ones. Maybe even more."

Benn gave the weapon a few test swipes, then a thrust. It was light, but it didn't feel like a toy. He was no expert, but he could see that this was a weapon to be reckoned with in the right hands. "I suppose I don't need the sheath..."

The Arsenal's ghost laughed. "Oh no no no, of course you do. The blade will only maintain its integrity for roughly four hours. Then it starts wilting, and will need to be re-sheathed."

Benn raised an eyebrow. "So let me get this straight. My fated weapon, the one that destiny itself has decreed I receive, is a dagger with a cock-shaped sheath that, when I use it, it'll make me want to suck dicks."

"That's about the long and short of it, yeah."

"I don't want it."

"What? Of course you do! This is your fated blade! This will be the one with which you will seize your true purpose in life!"

"Not if it means giving up Gwenneth."

"It's not an either or! Confound it, you humans. Alright, look at this. You're straight, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you don't have to worry! The dagger will only amplify any existing urges you have. It can't make them up. If you're completely, 100% straight, you'll have no problems."

Benn hesitated, staring at the weapon on the floor like it weighed a ton.

"You're not...bi at all are you? Not even a little?"

Benn stared wide eyed, something twitching the corners of his mouth. Rather than say what was on his mind, he bent to pick up the weapon, stood, and pushed it through his belt. "Of course not!"

The spectre laughed. "Very well! Take your weapon, hero. Seize your destiny!"

As he turned his back to stagger off out into the ruined bastion, the ethereal glow vanished in a blink. When he looked over his shoulder, the figure had disappeared. The only evidence he hadn't hallucinated the whole encounter was the obscene dagger on his hip.

Benn touched the hilt, getting to feel that absurdly light metal once more. Silly sheath or not, this was a powerful weapon! He worked himself into a frenzy trying to rationalize his newly acquired artifact. It chose him. This was destiny...wasn't it?

He affirmed himself, nodding. It would. Benn had a weapon pulled from the Arsenal at Shatterstone, braving the spirit and its malefic test. He was no coward! This would show Gwenneth, Vargas, and the whole town that he was more than man enough! That damned Vargas, with his snide tone, his rigid thighs, his sandy hair.

"I wonder what his cock tastes like?"

Benn paused. That...didn't sound like something he'd usually say. Must be fatigue...and all that dick talk by the ghost of the Arsenal. He absently fondled the sheath for a second...then shoved the fatebound weapon into his pack. Pulling his backpack on, he trudged forward. With any luck, he'd be able to make the outskirts by sundown. Then to Var...to Gwen's house, to convince her that eloping was a good idea.

***

Benn practically run back to Thatchcreek, propelled by the singular idea of showing up his rival with the confidence given to him by his new weapon. He tried not to think about Vargas, however. When he did, his thoughts slid onto rails he'd never noticed in his head. Ones that steered him directly to pleasing the strong, dominant man. That was impossible. He loved Gwenneth with all his heart, and they would be married.

He found the Innis family home. Her parents were merchants, and they were gone for weeks at a time to function as the village's lifeline of supplies. That was wonderful in some ways, privacy for one, but it meant that he had a week or so before they returned and locked in the betrothal that would steal her away from him. And with his new weapon, that wouldn't happen.

There was no answer. Was he too late? Was Vargas assailing his love? Fearing the worst, Benn pulled the blade from his back. Feeling its energy flow into him, he felt a vigor flow into him. If that brute harmed her...

His boot opened the door with dramatic flare. Pent up apprehension turned to unspeakable heartache. There, in the family's living space, his beloved Gwenneth perched up on her tiptoes to kiss the mouth of a colossus of a man. Tall. Strong. Manly.

Vargas.

"Unhand her, knave!" Benn shouted, fingers tightening around the hilt of his blade. His heart burned with loathing for his homewrecker. Well, they didn't have a home yet, but he was stealing his girlfriend!

"Benn, please, I can explain!" Gwen said, holding her hands out to forstall the looming violence. Vargas rolled his eyes.

"Little Benn is here with a toy sword, is he?" he scoffed. That made Benn's rage grow to a palpable bonfire. But that same fury spilled out of him as soon as it built up, flowing into the weapon in his hand. Confusion reigned as new thoughts replaced it. Lust. But not for Gwen. He shook his head to clear it, but the thoughts only grew more muddled the harder he tried.

"I...I...oh gods," he said, falling to his knees. His outrage and desires to kill were flowing into the dagger in his hand, replaced in equal measure with a powerful urge to fuck and suck and obey any dick he could get his hands on. His own cock felt like it might tear through his leather pants. He gazed longingly at the bulge in Vargas' own clothes, eyes wide and hungry.

"Are you okay?" Vargas asked. Gods his voice was so deep, so manly! Benn's body felt like it was fluttering with his heart, the pounding in his chest akin to when worked to exhaustion. The larger man was so cocky! So...so big...

"I can't think," Benn said, grabbing his head, "The blade...it's in my thoughts!"

Vargas and Gwen stared at the bizarrely shaped blade in his hands, its lewd scabbard in every way looking like the focus of Benn's desire. They exchanged looks between themselves, then back to the kneeling man about to lose his mind to cocklust.

"Is that dagger shaped like a dick?" she asked. "Why would you even have that?"

Benn wanted to explain. He wanted the whole truth to spill out of his mouth and for both of them to understand. But his actions belied his real desire. He inched over on his knees until he was at the feet of his erstwhile rival, shaking hands reaching for the laces to Vargas' breeches. "I can't think...I need cock...I'm sorry Gwen, please forgive me."