Sergeant Bull : Part 11

Before breakfast had a chance to settle, he and Inky moved on to the next event, the Ranger Stakes. Over the better part of the second day, they focused solely on combat skills – priming demolition charges and setting them off, building communications antennas, firing anti-tank weapons that took out dummy targets across the valley with deafening explosions. With the detonations still ringing in his ears, Bull raced over to the next obstacle in their path: a sixty-foot wall.

The moment he began the rope climb, Bull had his first serious doubts about being able to continue on. A wave of exhaustion overcame his body, head to toe. It would have been easy to give up and drop, exhausted, at his partner’s big booted feet. Looking over, he caught sight of Inky’s perspiration-soaked handsomeness as the other man matched him on their scale up the wall. That glance deep into his old buddy’s shocking blue eyes would not permit it.

Come on, Bull – push it up a notch!

Just when he thought he wasn’t going to make it, he found some reserves and pulled, knowing the climb could only take forty seconds, no more. Somehow, he made it. They reached the top of the wall, maneuvered their way over, and rappelled down to the ground below and the next leg of the competition waiting on the other side, a twelve-hour cross-country march.

* * *

With the sun setting and only a few teams left standing on ruined feet, they set off in search of the first navigation point. They’d located two more by the time darkness fully settled over the woods.

“You gotta give me something,” Inky persisted as they trudged through a field of thick marsh grass. “I need details, dude!”

For the better part of a pain-soaked day that had required most of his concentration, Bull hadn’t thought much about the journey west to San Diego. “Ate at a few good restaurants, drank some beer,” he growled, facing the tall shadow flanking his left.

Inky halted in place, shined his pocket light on the compass in his hand, and adjusted course. “Fuck the beer and chow stories, big guy. I want to hear about all that hot pussy you licked while you were out in California.”

Bull chuckled under his breath. “Shit, Inky, you never share none of your fuck stories with me.”

“I’m married, bro. I don’t got any stories beyond the honeymoon. Why you think I’m always so horny to hear yours?”

Focusing on the dark woods ahead of them, Bull quickly changed the subject. It was better not to give in to reliving his memories of the last ten months, even if he changed some of the facts around for convenience in discussing them. He couldn’t tell Inky the truth, not all of it. “Come on. I think we’re getting close.”

“You owe me,” Inky said.

Bull sighed, “We ain’t won this yet.”

“Fuck, Bull. You gotta give me something – anything!” the other man pleaded. “My dick’s eating a fuckin’ hole in my pants just thinking about it. At least tell me you got some!”

Bull pondered the question. “Yeah,” he eventually admitted. “I got some choice hole, and even better head.”

“Aw shit,” Inky sighed. “You got your dick hummed on?” Bull nodded. “blow jobs. Been a long time, but I remember those.”

“Serves you right for getting so pussy-whipped.”

Inky shined the light on his wedding ring. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea. I woke up next to her one morning and quickly realized it was either marry her or risk losing my dick.”

Both men laughed as the next navigation point loomed up.

One of only two teams to find all twelve objectives on the night march, Bull and Inky finished in eleven and a half hours, which was good enough to put them in first place. They were given the option of a twenty minute rest until the second team could catch up, but Bull knew their feet were so bad by then that if they sat down, neither man was likely to stand up again.

“I can’t believe we got this far,” he said when the officials were out of earshot and only Inky could hear.

The other sergeant leaned closer, and through obvious pain, he smiled. “I can.”

In spite of everything, Bull smiled, too. He’d never been so sore or exhausted, yet he also felt stoked to be nearing the last leg of the competition on both feet. “You want to skip that break or take twenty?”

Inky reached down and groped the meaty fullness between his legs. “I don’t need twenty. Maybe ten,” he growled under his breath.

Bull knew what the other man meant and winked. “You got it. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Inky snapped, “No, you’re coming with me.”

The comment cut through Bull’s pain and snapped his tired eyes wide open. “What-?”

Inky’s wicked grin persisted. “You’re gonna tell me about one of those hot faces you fucked. Come on.”

The other man started toward a wall of tall oaks. Bull hesitated. “‘Scuse me?”

“Hurry up, dude – we’re on the clock!”

They’d gotten this far, and with the end in sight, Bull didn’t have time to argue. He hustled after Inky before he could talk himself out of it, and soon the thick trunks of the trees and their branches provided a wall against the eyes of the other soldiers.

Inky pressed his back to the oak and braced himself upright. The effort made him moan in pain.

By the time Bull reached him, the other sergeant had already unzipped his fly. Bull looked down to see Inky fishing in the moist cotton of his gray boxer-briefs. Without shame or fear, he pulled out a long, half-hard tube of fat, hairy cock. Two meaty balls heavy with the raunchy sweat of the last forty-eight hours followed.

“Aw, shit,” Inky moaned. “I think I’m too fuckin’ tired to beat my meat.”

Fighting the urge to stare, Bull licked his lips. “Buddy, I ain’t so sure about this.”

But the pained look on Inky’s face, Bull soon learned, had less to do with the competition and more with his need to get off.

“I don’t pump off these rocks, I might as well end the weekend right here.” Hawking up a wad of spit into the callused palm of his trigger hand, Inky took hold of his bone and pumped it to its full stiffness. Through the death-hold of his fingers, Bull caught glimpses of Inky’s round, straining head and the veiny, muscled shaft, big and strong like the rest of his old Army pal’s body. “Help me out, dude. Tell me about all those blowjobs you got traveling across America. Help me get off!”

Bull saw the desperation in Inky’s deep blue eyes and knew he couldn’t deny him. “Okay,” he agreed, taking a heavy swallow to find his mouth had gone completely dry. A look of relief flooded Inky’s face. “What do you want to hear about?”

Inky half-closed his eyes again. “Fuckin’ head, dude. Tell me about getting your dick sucked on by some hot babe.”

A dozen faces materialized in the woods around him, all out of focus. Bull thought about all the mouths that licked him from the top of his buzzcut head down to his bare toes and everywhere in between. Of those many ghosts, only one refused to fade, Oscar.

“There was this Latin:” he hesitated. “Chick.”

Inky moaned out a breathless, “Fuck. I love Spanish women. Real pretty?”

“Dude, words can’t describe how beautiful, how hot and giving. Sucked my dick like that mouth was made to fit it. I mean really fine.”

“Oh, shit!” Inky exclaimed, sighing out his approval.

Bull glanced down to see Inky jacking away on his hard cock. Its straining head glistened with a drop of precome. The image, coupled with the stress their bodies had endured, suddenly stole the strength from his legs. Bull leaned forward, reached for the tree trunk, but missed it and fell flat against Inky’s shoulder. As had happened so often in the last forty-eight hours – and the previous years of their friendship – one held the other up. Bull felt Inky’s cock stab him squarely between the legs, pinning their bones together. But to his surprise, neither of them took steps to separate their rods.