Sergeant Bull : Part 12

The painful bliss on Inky’s face flattened. “Wha-?” “We ain’t stopping here, bro. You’re getting that taste of what I did on my trip west, all of it.”

“I don’t know-”

Bull let go of Inky’s cock and grabbed one of his solid, hairy ankles. “Over!”

A moment later, Gary Calhoun’s hard, square beaut of an ass was up and open. Bull toyed with the low-hangers dangling under his fuzzy pucker and admired the image a mere foot from his face.

“Fuckin’ nice,” he sighed. “I been looking at this hairy ass too long without getting a taste of it.”

Bull extended his tongue and slowly targeted his face between the other man’s Army-toughened butt cheeks. Clean-smelling sweat gradually gave way to bitterness the closer he came to Inky’s asshole. The strangely addictive tang quickly had him licking and slurping deeper into his buddy’s knot.

Inky howled his approval and pushed back. “Fuck – eat that shithole!”

Without hesitation, Bull chowed on the other soldier’s can, alternating between sucking on the pucker and licking his way from the top of his crack down to the smelly, furry patch of skin between asshole and balls. He sighed a hot breath across Inky’s loose sac and asked, “How’m I doing?” W

ith a painful expression and beads of sweat covering his handsome face, Inky stepped over Bull’s face, baring his rock-hard, dripping bone. “Great, bud. Suck my cock. I need some fuckin’ head!”

Bull licked his lips. “You got it, but first – ” Reaching down, he freed his own throbbing eight-incher from the leg of his boxer-briefs. Bull’s thick cock snapped up to attention. “I need some of what I’ve been giving.”

Inky settled back on the bed, again looking nervous. “Dude, I don’t know if I can, you know, suck your dick.”

Bull passed a hand through Inky’s sweaty buzzcut and shook his old buddy’s head. “It’s okay, bro. Just you and me. Do whatever comes natural.”

Slowly, Inky reached down and placed his hand over Bull’s. Bull released his tool into the other man’s grasp. “That’s it, pal. Pump me like you do your own prick.” The rough fumble of Inky’s inexperienced fingers excited Bull even more. He growled out an appeased sigh and lowered his Army buddy’s head closer to the crown of his cock.

“Suck it. Suck my bone, dude!”

The warm, wonderful pass of Inky’s straight-soldier tongue over his boner filled Bull’s eyes with stars. Once the explosion burned down and he was able to see again, he looked between his legs to see Sergeant Inky Calhoun contentedly nursing on his dick.

“This is too fuckin’ good to be true,” he growled. Inky momentarily spit out Bull’s cock and tugged his boxer-briefs all the way down. “Could be a hell of a lot better if you went back down on me.”

Bull eased onto his side. “Let’s bring it home, buddy.”

Inky assumed position, and both men settled into a comfortable sixty-nine. For the next few minutes, they sucked away in a silence broken only by the hungry slurps of mouths over dripping cocks. This was the last thing Bull had expected, and the best he could have hoped for. He knew Inky was getting close by the increased flow of precome over is tongue and the throaty moans the other man made around his cock. He’s gonna come, Bull thought. And I intend to make this the best nut-blast he’s ever had. Bull remembered every trick he’d learned, every nuance he’d been taught by the men he met on his long cross-country trip. Humming up and down on Inky’s cock, he teased the sensitive area of skin between his ball-sac and asshole with a thumb while the same hand toyed with his low-hangers. And while he sucked the thick, veiny cock down his throat, he used his tongue to massage the sensitive skin under Inky’s dickhead.

The extra effort paid off. Inky’s cock turned to steel between Bull’s lips; A few seconds before dumping his own cream down the other soldier’s gullet, Inky rewarded him with four steady shots of pure Army spunk.

“Yeah!” Bull hooted. He threw up a hand. Inky met the high-five, and together, naked, they lurched off the couch and pumped air as Atlanta’s fiery new Running Back connected for the touchdown in Jacksonville’s end zone. The field goal kick was on the money, putting them up by thirteen at halftime.

Bull strutted to the fridge and returned with two fresh cold ones, his cock tick-tocking the entire way.

“Shit, dude,” Inky laughed. “You just blew your second load and you’re already up again.”

“Fuck yeah,” Bull said. “I got the balls of an eighteen-year-old.” He glanced over the half-empty bowls of chips, pretzels, and peanuts. “What do you say we throw on some clothes and go fire up the grill. I got enough meat for a dozen tailgate parties.”

“Sure, buddy,” Inky agreed. “But first -” He clapped a hand around Bull’s reawakened rod and hauled him back to the couch by it.

“What?” Bull asked.

Inky met him eye-to-eye. “Dude, you done something really good for me today.”

Bull shrugged. “For real? You ain’t feeling funny or guilty, are you?”

“A little,” Inky admitted. His face grew serious and hard again. “Fuck, I’ll get over it. You trusted me enough to come clean, and damn, dude – if I didn’t get the best damned blowjob this big fuckin’ dick of mine’s ever had.”

Bull unintentionally licked his lips. The saltiness of Inky’s last load could still be tasted. “I’m glad, pal.”

“So now, I want to give you something back, something to thank you for all of this.”

“What you got in mind?” Bull asked.

Inky called at half past nine Tuesday morning. With coffee in hand and in full dress uniform, Bull hustled into his office, catching the phone on the third ring. “Bullen,” he growled.

“Yo, bro, it’s Sergeant Calhoun.”

“Inky,” Bull said, smiling. He brought the steaming cup to his lips. “What can I do you for?”

The voice at the other end answered, “More what I’ve gone and done for you, dude.”

“I’m listening.”

“I made a few calls around base, some to Camp Merrill. Remember I told you that hunch I had, about your boy maybe going someplace to get his head on straight, just like his old man did when you were his age?”

Bull’s stomach pulled tight under the influence of an invisible set of fingers. “Inky-”

“Like I said, checked around Benning. No records of any Jason Kendall passing through on his way to finish Ranger School.”

“Look pal, I’ve already accepted this.”

“Would you let me finish?” Inky interjected. “As I said, no Jason Kendall. However, down at Camp Rudder in Florida, seems there’s some tall, mean, top-of-his-class ugly mother fucker by the name of Jason Bullen.”

The pressure on Bull’s insides doubled. He felt the coffee cup slip from his hand and the splash of the scalding liquid on his leg after it shattered at his feet, but froze where he stood. “What-?”

“Not a common name, dude,” Inky continued. “And from what his instructors tell me, kid must come from some pretty strong genes.”

Bull wasn’t sure how long he stood immobilized by the news, a wide, disbelieving smile on his face.

“Shit, you alive up there, bro?” the voice on the end of the line asked.

Bull choked out a simple, “Yeah.”

“You got a pen handy so’s I can give you the extension where you can reach his instructor at Rudder, or do I got to do everything for your sorry ass?”

A knock sounded at the door to Bull’s office, a thunderclap that sent his already-drumming heart racing even faster. He’d never felt so nervous or unsure about anything. The simple acts of standing and bidding the visitor outside entrance to the room seemed to take forever. Worse, he felt the room spin and had to press his knees to the desk for support. The doorknob turned. The door opened. A tall and impressive figure of a man marched in.

“Private Jason Bullen reporting as ordered, Sir!” he growled in a deep, impressive baritone. Bull focused on the young man’s face. The image was so powerful, it sent a shudder racing down his spine and distorted everything in his line of sight like the surface of a pond overcome by ripples. Once his vision stabilized, Bull was able to study the man on the other side of the desk.

The new recruit stood a hair shorter than him, somewhere shy of six-foot-three. Dressed in full uniform, his dark brown hair had been buzzed down to a typical jarhead cut, but that was where anything typical about him ended. Dressed in full uniform, he was shockingly handsome, a cut above any other good looking young man Bull had ever met in his life.

Glancing quickly down, Bull noticed the visitor’s big hands and even bigger booted feet, and upon the shirt of his crisp uniform, he wore the simple but telling Ranger Patch. This square-jawed young man wasn’t just a soldier; he was among the toughest stock in all the Armed Forces. But it was the eyes that proved the most telling. They were blue, the exact color of Bull’s own. Trained straight ahead, it was as if they were looking right through him.

“At ease, Private,” Bull said, raising a hand.

But Jason Bullen didn’t relax. In fact, he seemed to go more rigid, a fact not lost on Bull. “Do you know why I requested your transfer to this unit?

“I have some knowledge of that, Sir!”

Bull rounded the desk, an action that put him within mere feet of the young soldier. Every inch of his skin tingled with pins and needles. “Jason,” he sighed under his breath. Still, the Private refused to meet him eye to eye. “You know who I am, why I wanted to see you.” The many prepared speeches he’d rehearsed to death over long months on the road to California evaporated. “I probably don’t have the right to tell you this, but your mom – she was a good woman, too good for a dick like me.”

The hard lines around Jason Bullen’s eyes softened slightly. “My mother was a fine lady, Sir!”

Sucking in a deep breath of the tense air in his office, Bull said, “And I’d like the chance to try and be a good father.”

Jason shuffled where he stood.

“I’m not saying you gotta like me instantly or that we pick up like some happy family that’s been together for twenty years. And no matter what, don’t expect things around here to be any easier on you just ’cause we share the same blood.”

“Sir, this soldier expects nothing to be handed to him, Sir!”

“Good,” Bull snapped. “Because it won’t be. In fact, you may have to bust your ass twice as hard under my command.” Forcing a smile, he said in a calmer voice, “All I’m asking for is a chance.”

To his surprise, the handsome young man, his son, finally tipped his eyes in Bull’s direction. “A chance, Sir?”

“That’s all. I won’t push you in this matter. Just get to know me and let me get to know you. You might not like me, but at least you’ll get my side of what happened. Hell, you might even end up thinking I’m pretty cool when all is said and done.”

Jason inhaled deeply, and for a split-second, Bull recognized the hurt and anger behind the young soldier’s stoic faзade. He’d worn the same expression on his own face twenty years earlier.

For the first time since his search to locate the young man standing before him began, Bull understood Jason’s pain. He also realized there might be no reconciling it. But just when the tenseness in the air grew unbearable, Private Jason Bullen nodded. “Okay,” he said, his voice cracked with emotion. “Okay, dad.”

Bull had no idea what the next few days or the months ahead would hold for them, if it would work out or blow up in his face. But of all the things he didn’t know, the one thing he was sure of was that the Army would make a man of his son, a man he could be proud of, the same way it had made a man of him.

He extended his hand. To his surprise, Jason accepted and shook it, bringing a good start to the day Sergeant Bull never expected.

—
The END