Sergeant Bull : Part 9
Author: Goblin
“By the Hitman”
The rough fumble of a set of fingers through the naked warmth between Bull’s spread legs woke him from the deep and restful sleep. Each upward stroke along the shaft of his cock worked him closer to unloading the first of the new day’s loads.
“Mmm:” he growled, eyes shut against the darkness in the bedroom. A sigh smelling of morning breath and the last time he’d nutted whistled down from the shadowy face hanging over his. It teased the hair on Bull’s chest and his unshaved chin. Four hours earlier, he’d passed out on his back, sure he didn’t have one drop of semen left in the rapidly-shrinking sac of fat balls hanging underneath his pole. Now, the shadow beside him on the bed coaxed rivers of fresh precome out of his bone.
“Good morning, hombre,” the tired, playful voice to his left greeted him upon waking.
“Sure is,” Bull sighed. On instinct, he lifted his head half the distance to meet the waiting lips of Oscar De La Santos, who had lowered the rest of the way. As had been the way for the last thirty or so days, their first morning kiss tasted like their last from the night before, heavy and masculine, reassuringly potent, so powerful it made lips open wider to permit tongues. The room, still dark so early before the dawn, erupted in deep, throaty sighs and the wetness of mouths exploring.
Oscar’s stroking of Bull’s morning wood continued, but the kiss was abruptly cut short. “We don’t got much time, amigo,” the young Marine cautioned, his voice barely above the whisper line.
Bull tipped his gaze toward the other side of the bed where the digital clock’s block numbers read just shy of three in the morning.
“We only got like twenty minutes until my brother gets home.”
Bull smiled and sucked in a deep breath. The air smelled freshly of the ocean outside the bedroom and Oscar’s clean, masculine sweat within it. “Buddy, I don’t think it’s gonna take me all of five minutes to shoot the way you been doin’ me.”
Oscar chuckled to himself as he re-gripped Bull’s cock in a chokehold. More ball juice bubbled out of the Sergeant’s straining piss-slit. “Yeah, I noticed.” Then, without further delay, Oscar leaned down, planting his lips on Bull’s stubbled cheek. A series of butterfly kisses followed as he trailed from neck to pecs, lower toward Bull’s stomach and abs. The anticipation of awaiting the handsome solder-jock’s mouth to his knob was almost as good as the actual contact.
Almost.
“Oh, yeah,” Bull huffed through clenched teeth. The moment hit him fully – Oscar’s warm lips finally encircled the head of his bone and the dark room suddenly filled with stars.
Tensing, Bull felt his butt clench and his hips lift instinctively to greet the hot mouth going down on him. His upward thrust pushed two more inches of hard Army cock down the young Marine’s throat.
As the digital clock ticked silently on, Oscar sucked the snot out of Bull’s root, then bathed his nuts in slow, hungry laps. A trigger-handed jack on the Sergeant’s tool accompanied each curl of Oscar’s tongue around Bull’s stones down to the musky area beneath them. At one point, the young Marine buried his handsome face fully between Bull’s spread legs. The incredible feel of the sweaty buzzcut scraping against his inner thighs was outdone only by Oscar’s hunger for his asshole.
Bull howled out a string of half-muttered expletives, sure that he’d never had it so good before meeting Oscar De La Santos. The other man wasn’t just taking care of his needs; it was as if he was making love to Bull’s manhood. He reached a trembling hand to the side of the bed, his fingers brushing the hair of one of Oscar’s sports- and service-toughened legs. Sweeping his grip up, Bull eventually found the come-packed heaviness of the other man’s nuts. A few fumbles later, he sought the uncut bone they were attached to.
Oscar’s cock, like Bull’s, had toughened to its full girth. A string of nectar dripped from its neck of moist foreskin. Bull gave it a firm pump while brushing his thumb across its piss-hole. Licking the sweet, slightly bitter syrup off his fingers, he wondered if things could get any better.
Is this the happiest you’ve ever been in your life, guy? a voice in his head asked. While mentally flipping through his memories of the last forty years for an answer, Bull pulled Oscar by one ankle until the other man’s gear and hot butt were above his face in a reverse sixty-nine. Wasting no time, he plunged his unshaved face between Oscar’s hard, hairy ass cheeks and dabbed at the musty-smelling hole at their center with his tongue. The heavenly tang was peppered with a recognizable taste. He worked a fuck-finger around his tongue to find Oscar’s shithole still wet with one of the loads he’d shot up into it during the night. No, he told himself. I can honestly say I’ve never been happier.
Bull’s smile went unseen between the young Marine’s ass cheeks. “I want to fuck you,” he growled. His words sent a hot breath up Oscar’s crack.
The man whose butt Bull was eating suddenly spit out his straining bone. “No can do, bro. We ain’t got enough time. Ramon’ll be pulling up at any minute.” Oscar shook his head, scattering drops of fresh sweat over Bull’s package. “Let me get you off now. Once we hear him snoring, you can have a go at my ass again.”
Bull kissed Oscar’s butthole before settling back on the bed. “Hard to say no to you, guy.”
Sighing out a sexy chuckle, Oscar returned to sucking on his dick, but the incredible service was abruptly cut short by a sudden explosion of light in the room. Both men looked up to see twin beams cut across the darkness and reflect briefly off the mirror above the bureau. An instant later, the sound of tires on sand and the slight squeal of brakes drove them apart.
“Shit-!” Oscar huffed. He leapt off Bull and charged the window, pulling the blinds apart enough to see outside. “What’s he doing home so early?”
Bull grabbed an old pair of loose-fitting shorts off the pile of discarded clothes on the floor and stepped into them. “Must’a gotten out of work a little early.” He adjusted the painfully stiff lump between his legs before hotfooting it out of the bedroom to the couch in the beach cottage’s front parlor. One diving tackle past an old easy chair and the TV later, he landed on his side facing the door just as the sound of bootfalls sounded. With his head on the pillows and covers thrown over the couch, his eyes half-shut, and all eight rock-hard inches of his cock pinned against the cushions, he waited for the door to open.
A gust of air heavy with the brine of the ocean swept into the room. Through slitted eyes, Bull focused on the newcomer. Even in the poor light, Ramon’s policeman’s badge glowed a dull silver. Three years older and a few inches taller than Oscar, Ramon’s uniform fit his body to perfection. Like his brother, he wore his jet-black hair in a sharp military cut.
Feigning to be asleep, Bull watched Ramon De La Santos kick off his unlaced police boots at the front door before crossing through the dark house to the bathroom. Once there, Ramon flipped on the switch, which sent a triangle of light across one corner of the parlor. He never bothered to close the door before hiking down his fly; this was, after all, a house of men. In clear view, Bull stared, transfixed, as the older brother of the man he’d been rimming less than a minute earlier assumed a classic piss-stance with one thumb tucked into his gun belt. The other fished out his tool.
Like Oscar, Ramon’s dick had escaped the chop. An impressive sock of foreskin ensconced the dark pink head. A few seconds into Bull’s study of the policeman’s cock, Ramon unleashed a geyser of gold into the toilet. The image was too choice to miss, so Bull stared without blinking until his eyes burned and Ramon’s stream ran down to a trickle. All the stolen image did was keep the hard-on burning between his legs at full mast while giving him a guilty punch to the guts. Hot as Ramon was, he was still Oscar’s older brother.
Ramon shook out the last few drops, yawned, and tucked his uncut hog back into his police uniform. He scratched absently at his package before hauling up the zipper and shutting off the light. Bull rolled over and pressed his raging boner into the back of the couch. Now the wait began.
For the past month, he and Oscar had perfected this secret game. Fresh off his shift, Ramon would usually crack open a cold beer, down it quickly to unwind, then head off to his bedroom. Most nights, it took less than twenty minutes before the house-shaking grumbles of his snores signaled it was safe for Bull to leave the couch and return to Oscar’s bed. Since Ramon slept late into the morning, they were free to screw for the rest of the night unless Oscar’s job on base demanded otherwise.
For some unknown reason, Ramon’s pattern changed this night. As expected, he tucked his head into the refrigerator and the telltale sound of him twisting the cap off the beer bottle with his bare hand erupted in the kitchen. But instead of vanishing back into his bedroom, Bull heard the soft squeak of socks trudge across the living room floor, then the sound of a body slumping in the old easy chair a yard away, followed by the click of the remote control and the diminished volume of the all-night sports channel on the TV.
After the usual twenty minutes passed and it became obvious Ramon would not go so easily, Bull sighed and rolled over to face the smolderingly handsome older De La Santos brother. “Hey,” he said in a fake, sleepy voice.
Ramon narrowed one eye upon him. “I wake you up, dude?”
Bull stretched out fully, his big bare feet hanging over the arm of the couch. “S’okay. They win?”
“You crazy?” Ramon chuckled. “San Diego ain’t won since ’98. Atlanta skunked ’em 7-2.”
“Not San Diego,” Bull growled, scratching his chest. “Seaside.”
“Yeah. I think they blanked Oakland into the Ninth.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Bull sighed.
Ramon chugged another gulp of suds before aiming the neck of the beer bottle in Bull’s direction. “You want one?”
“Why not,” Bull answered, figuring if he wasn’t going to get laid, he might as well at least get a buzz. He moved to stand, but Ramon flagged him back.
“I got it.” Loosening the last button of his uniform shirt to show the sculpted perfection in the T-shirt beneath it, Ramon stood and crossed back to the kitchen. He returned with two cold ones.
The first few sips went down in silence. Eventually, Bull asked, “Rough night?”
Face in a hard scowl, Ramon answered, “Something like that, yeah.”
“Anything you want to lay on me?”
Ramon’s dark, intense eyes met Bull’s in the television’s gray light. “Nada, Sarge. But thanks.”
“No prob,” Bull said. He guzzled another swig of beer and returned to watching the baseball highlights until sleep claimed him half an hour later.
“Hey.”
The hand on Bull’s shoulder shook him awake. Feeling trashed and grungy, he bolted upright to meet Oscar’s handsome face.
“Shhh-!” the other man urged, thumbing the direction of the easy chair in front of the TV. Ramon sat spread-eagled sawing logs dressed only in T-shirt, skivvies, and black boot socks. The rest of his police uniform sat in a pile on the floor. “You up for some waves?”
Bull licked his lips and almost gagged on the stale mix of old beer and even older sex. “Yeah, if you want to,” he whispered.
One look at Oscar convinced Bull he was. The handsome surf jock stood dressed in his board shorts and favorite shades. “It’s a beautiful fuckin’ day out there. Hustle to, Sarge.”
Bull flipped the young Marine his right middle finger before strutting to the bathroom. After a good piss, brushing his teeth, some cold water on his face, and a quick change into a pair of clean shorts, Bull grabbed his sunglasses off the counter and followed Oscar out the door to the beach.
“Okay, get your balance,” Oscar urged. Bull jumped onto the surfboard he’d borrowed from Ramon and followed the young surf jock’s lead. “You’re riding goofy-footed now.”
Bull felt the sand beneath the board shift with his weight. “Yeah, I feel pretty stupid.”
“Shit,” Oscar laughed. “Goofy-footed means you’ll be on the board with your right foot forward. If you guide with your left, that’s regular-footed. I go goofy. Gives me more control over the board.”
Bull jumped onto the sand. The feel of the warm grains between his toes restored the smile to his face. “I trust ya, amigo.”
“You’re a wise man,” Oscar chuckled, clapping Bull’s bare back. “Come on.” He picked up his board and started toward the water.
Bull pursued with Ramon’s board under one arm. “What I am is a suffering man after last night,” he said above the crash of the waves.
“Tell me about it,” Oscar growled. “We gonna play some catch-up tonight after Ramon leaves for work. Promise.”
“I’m gonna hold you to it,” Bull said.
Oscar gave his package a fumble. “Hold this,” he declared, trotting into the surf. Shaking his head, Bull watched the handsome young jock mount his board, pick the perfect wave, and ride it flawlessly in.
“Woo hoo-!” Oscar shouted before the wave dumped him into the Pacific. Water cascaded sensually down his sculpted, solid chest when he emerged from the surf looking pumped. “Your turn, dude! Show me what you got.”
