The Blade of Ecstasy (Story) and a Fetish Bonus

Sorry for the spam. I know, three posts in a row, DANGIT LEAF LEAVE ME ALONE. But it's just the way things worked out.

Anyways. So I wrote two stories. Yes, I know NaNo is still on, but I got worried that y'all Patreon peeps might feel left out from good lewds while I work on my larger project. I dived into my back catalogs and found an erotic comedy short story I wrote for another project that I thought I could turn into something spicy! And...I did. It turned out pretty good, I think. I call it The Blade of Ecstasy, which is interestingly the name of the metal band that I don't have.

Last month, I ALSO wrote another story for a commission. This one is...a lot different than my usual fare, I think And I should warn you, it has one of the cursed fetishes: ABDL stuff. I don't exactly advertise that I can write this, but, well, I do. I've been saving its release for when I had my next ""normal"" story, so the people who tune in for NOT THIS can have something to read, and the people who may be interested in the more, erm, exotic fair can have two stories in one. Everybody wins? Except my dignity.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: if you're into ABDL/wetting stuff, please follow this pastebin!

 https://pastebin.com/UAXaHtwF 

And if you're interested in NORMAL, WHOLESOME stuff like a tale of magical submission, cocklust, Male/Male/Female threesome and generalized bisexuality, continue on from here!

***

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.”

This close, Benn could smell his manly musk. It took a minor miracle of willpower to stop himself from jacking off. Instead, his dick ached and strained against its prison of clothing while his fingers worked to free Vargas from his. The guard didn’t stop Benn. On the contrary, he seemed to take the whole thing in stride.

“About time you realized what was good for you. I think we were all sick of your pretend rivalry for Gwen’s affection.”

Benn’s hands found Vargas’ shaft. He was so big! It took a while to fish out all seven inches of hardening cock, but when he did, the drool came on its own. He stared at the stiffening meat in front of him as the last of his defences were worn down by the magic interference of his fatebound blade. 

“Gwen…please…don’t look,” he whimpered, before opening his mouth and taking the bulbous head between his lips. A pulse of pleasure made him moan around Vargas’ cock. This was where his place was: servicing superior cocks. The blade in his hand was too unimportant to worry about. He let it drop to the floor, raising both hands to cup the dominant man’s ass for stability. 

Vargas laughed. A great, booming noise that shattered Benn’s self-esteem. “That’s right. I always knew you were a cocksucker deep down. Get to work.”

Benn searched inside himself for any resistance. For any hope to deny that accusation. But all he found was the building, tainted lust that had transformed him. It was too late: he was a cocksucker now. He polished his superior’s dick, obeying his cravings for male meat. Male musk infiltrated his nostrils, and soon all he could think about was dick. Dick in his mouth. Dick in his mind. The little dick in his pants. Dick~

Benn was so caught up in his desires that he only noticed Gwen had joined him on her knees when she tilted his chin to face her. He let the dick slip from his mouth to kiss her. He no doubt tasted like Vargas but she didn’t mind

“Oh Benn,” she said breathlessly, “We can both be Vargas’ pets!”

Both worked equal portions of Vargas’ massive dick. Two tongues slid up and down, tasting both his skin and each other’s saliva and making the whole organ drip. Most of the time, Benn kept his eyes closed and focused, but once in a while his gaze met Gwen’s. His girlfriend. His lover. Doing her part to pleasure his masculine rival alongside him. It made him wriggle in place with the waves of submissive pleasure.

He had to jerk off. It was impossible not to. He freed his cock and started stroking frantically, but a yank to his hair made him yelp.

“No. If you want to get off, Gwen has to do it to you. And you can help her out in return. I want you two enjoying yourselves, but this is no place for selfishness.” His voice had a faux air of moralizing that Benn recognized from their shared days listening to Vicar Mattias. But rather than the spiritual, Vargas’ efforts focused on the material. Devotion to the pursuit of pleasure for him and his two submissives. A generous god, but a god nonetheless. 

With needy reluctance, he pulled his fingers off his own genitals and slid them up Gwen’s skirt. There he found her familiar hole, though it was way wetter than he’d ever seen it. Was she getting more into sucking off Vargas than she had while fucking him? That stung Benn a little, but he had no time to ruminate. Her soft fingers found his erection and stroked him, making him stiffen and drip into her palm. Both continued to lap and slurp on the larger cock in the room, of course, but soon all three were receiving attention for their building lust.

“Alright, I want to pick one of you to take me deep,” Vargas commanded, then added with a devilish grin, “And you will fight for it. Go on, show me which one of you sluts deserve to suck me off.”

“Oh, please let me suck your dick!” Gwen pleased, swirling her tongue around his tip. “You know I’m so good at it!”

Benn tried a different tactic, ducking his head under the shaft and going for Vargas’ balls. He knew all too well how underutilised oral attention to the sack was when women performed oral, so he got to work. The salty taste in his mouth only propelled him to cup each nut before letting it go with a wet pop.

“Oh god, so yummy,” he said in his most pathetic voice. Benn wanted to be picked so bad that his pleading turned to moans that vibrated through Vargas’ lower half. Gwen, sensing weakness, struck decisively and jerked Benn off with her slickened fingers. He lost focus, his sensitive shaft rendered a plaything in her skilled hands. Benn tried to reciprocate, but it was a lot more difficult to finger his girlfriend, slobber on the nuts of her boyfriend, and hold back from cumming himself. The lust struck young man abandoned the latter two trials and devoted his entire being to pleasuring Vargas.

Benn didn’t last much longer than that. Gwen jacked him to orgasm, allowing several weak squirts of cum to shoot out uselessly onto the floor. The orgasm was almost secondary to his task, however. Vargas’ enjoyment came first.

“I’ve decided.” Both cock polishers looked up at Vargas, whose breath had sped up and came out heavy from the attention he was receiving. “Benn gets to suck me off.”

He squealed! He was getting the chance to suck Vargas off! Gobbling as much dick as he could with his first dive, his eyes were soon crossing and he had to pull back with a gasp and a cough.

“Hold on, sweetie!” Gwen told him, sliding up behind Benn, “You have to take your time and get used to it. Go slow, focus where your tongue is and how he’s feeling.” Her fingers massaged his scalp while he got used to the rhthym of sucking dick. When he reached a consistent pace, her hand returned to his cock and stroked him, tits pressing into his back. “That’s it. Good, you’re doing so well.”

Benn took all the encouragement to heart. Corkscrewing his neck from side to side, the telltale throbbing and groans were easy for even a novice to understand. Vargas was quickly approaching his peak under Benn’s gentle care. He could even taste the weak spurts of precum that heralded the coming eruption. His hard dick kissed the back of Benn’s throat and kept going. For a newbie, he was getting good at suppressing his gag reflex. 

“Alright slut, hold still and keep that facepussy open,” Vargas demanded. Benn obeyed, but was caught unprepared when the man’s heavy hands latched onto his head. The suspense didn’t last for longer than a minute before Vargas took over and facefucked his new bitch. His heavy balls slapped Benn’s chin with the intensity. The growing need to cum was all consuming. He needed to expel his superior load and mark both of his partners with his seed. Benn, for his part, did his best to act like the human fuckslot he was, making lewd swallowing noises and letting drool slide from his mouth. Gwen licked some of that up in some perverse attempt to clean up, but really, she just wanted to taste more cock.

Eventually, even the prodigious stamina of the guardsman was expended. He pulled out of Benn and instructed both to press themselves together, mouths open. 

“Gonna…gonna….ngh,” Vargas’ groaned out as he came. His hot cum blasted over both Gwen and Benn, thick ropes landing intact on their faces and tongues. They didn’t stop working his prick until it was drooling the dregs of the cumshot. Then the subby boy pressed his face right up against the tip and milked the last little droplets out onto his cheek. His induced lust faded, allowing him to think clearly for the first time in hours.

“Oh no…what have I done?” Benn asked. Gwen answered his apprehension with a cum filled kiss. Initially reluctant, the shared passion won him over, and soon they were swapping spit and sperm as they enjoyed each other’s mouths. 

“Ha, there’s my good girls. I don’t mind keeping the both of you around, you know. If you want, you can both be mine. I’ll need Benn to promise not to pretend to be in charge when I’m out, of course, there’s only one Man in this house. And we’re going to need to train you on how to take my dick.” 

Benn blushed. He had wanted to be such a strong guy for Gwen. But here he was, with her, and he didn’t have to pretend to be the tough, macho man that he wasn’t to get her. He swallowed the salty mess that he’d ended up with, then returned to kissing his crush. His small dick got hard again as his gaze fell upon his weapon once more. The phallic sheath was a match for Vargas’ cock. The perfect training tool for learning how to be an anal slut.

Looks like the Armoury had given him the right weapon after all!