Sergeant Bull : Part 6

With two pillows behind his bare shoulders and his feet kicked up inches from Jake Samuelson’s handsome face, Bull settled back and tried to follow the game. This proved almost impossible in the tense, silent minutes that followed.

This is fucked up, a voice in his head nagged, drowning out the sportscaster’s play by play call of a collision at home plate… “Seaside Top Socks centerfielder Tommy Bruno had knocked the ball from the San Diego catcher’s glove to slide safely across the dish for the first run of the game. Second baseman Timmy Weare was due up next.”

But all Bull could think about was how weird this felt. Jake had dropped trou and come over to his bed, even more, he lie face-first near his feet like some kind of obedient pup.

Am I hallucinating this? he wondered. Is Ike’s son purposefully trying to get close to me, or is that just what I want to think is happening? And fuck, yeah, I do want him. Dude’s one of the hottest looking fuckers I’ve ever seen:

Bull’s thoughts about the handsome younger man temporarily vanished in an eruption of noise from the television. Hot dog second baseman Timmy Weare had followed Bruno’s run with a homer over the left field wall.

“Woo hoo!” Jake exclaimed. Whether intentional or in reaction to the excitement, he gripped Bull’s big, crossed feet and shook them spiritedly. A jolt of electricity surged through Bull’s insides, having little to do with the baseball game and owing everything to the feel of the young Samuelson’s strong fingers on his toes and instep. Furthering his confusion was the fact that Jake held onto his feet after the play on the TV ended. His rough fingers slowly, tentatively rubbed Bull’s skin in slow, firm circles.

“What are you doing?” he growled, eyes half-shut. It felt so good, so strange, before he realized what was happening, he’d popped a boner. The hot and heavy fullness trapped in the pouch of his briefs expanded painfully. Bull took a heavy swallow, only to choke on the dryness that had gathered at the back of his throat.

“Nuttin’,” Jake said in a cocky voice. His warm breath slipped between Bull’s toes, an action that sent fresh jolts of adrenaline pumping through his blood. The handsome young man sent a shit-eating grin over his shoulder, back at Bull. Jake’s smile was as provoking as it was sexy.

“Nothing, huh?” Bull uncrossed his arms and reached to his left, where the younger Samuelson’s big, sweaty feet rested near his side. Gripping Jake’s dogs by their hairy ankles, he bent them up toward his face. Like Bull, Jake had a pair of perfect Size 12s with long, flat hairy toes. Saying nothing, he massaged Jake’s toes. The bone in Bull’s briefs stretched prominently against the elastic waistband.

The younger man let out a deep, hearty groan. The hand on Bull’s feet swept higher, up to his shins. Jake toyed with the hair on Bull’s legs, felt up his muscled calves, and explored the moist warmth between his toes. At about the moment Bull groped his cock, squeezing it hard enough to coax out a drop of precome to stain the tent in his tight whites, Jake again did the unexpected, something that signaled there would be no going back. The son of his former Commanding Officer leaned down, opened wide, and sucked the nearest of Bull’s big toes between his lips.

For an instant, he could have been in his early twenties again, alone with Sergeant Ike Samuelson, who had sucked Bull’s toes on many of those private nights on the Army base. Closing his eyes, he, too, moved his mouth toward the younger man’s feet. Bull pressed his nose into the warm, sweaty heaven of Jake’s toes before running his tongue along the bottoms of the other man’s instep. He tasted salt, bitter but pure, the stink of locker rooms and hot summer days spent with good buddies.

“Aw, fuck,” Bull growled. He pulled his underwear to one side and freed the rock-hard bat and two balls from the perspiration-soaked area between his legs. With one hand stroking his cock and the other playing with the muscles of Jake’s legs, he sucked the younger man’s toes feverishly.

Jake spit out Bull’s big toe and said, “I wish you were my dad now.”

Bull looked toward the foot of the bed. With the taste of Jake’s feet on his lips, he smiled at the younger man’s handsome, mustachioed face. It was time to bring this full circle. “Why don’t you come up here then and see daddy?”

Jake didn’t need much more of an invitation. He playfully jumped down from the bed and did an about-face, joining Bull at the headboard. An obvious lump bulged out from the front of Jake’s underwear. A quick glimpse of it was all Bull was given before the younger man’s hair-ringed mouth met his in a hard, wet kiss. Bull kissed back, deeply, hungrily. The hands Jake had explored his feet and legs with now ogled his chest, armpits, stomach. Lower, the younger man dipped his fingers past Bull’s fur-covered abs. Bull grunted as Jake took hold of the eight-inch bone jutting above his come-packed horse nuts. The entire room seemed to haze and spin around him.

“Yeah,” Bull sighed through the kiss. He settled back and pulled Jake closer. Again, their mouths met, but only briefly. After a quick taste of Jake’s tongue, Bull pushed his new son’s face down along his chest. “That’s it, boy,” he ordered. “suck daddy’s cock!”

“Yes, sir!” Jake enthused, a wide smile on his handsome face. An instant later, the same mouth Bull had been kissing wrapped around his bone-stiff pole. A month had passed since Bull had gotten any head, and all of Jake’s attention had him already dripping so much precome, he could have popped at any moment. The scratch of the other man’s goatee across his nuts worked Bull right to the edge of shooting.

Placing a hand on the back of the young Samuelson’s head, he guided Jake up and down. It was obvious by the skill he showed that this was not the first cock Ike Samuelson’s boy had sucked. With each downward plunge, he squeezed the head of Bull’s dong against the back of his throat. Every upward arc came with the brush of his tongue across the Sergeant’s dribbling piss-slit. The boy knew what he was doing.

“Shortstop Hector Valenza, now with the count full-” the TV droned on in the background. “He fouls off another pitch. Still at three balls, two strikes:”

Jake sucked harder and faster. While slurping on Bull’s shaft, the younger man tugged on the fat, sweaty nuts pinned beneath his chin.

“The pitch is down and in-!”

Bull felt the juice in his balls bubbling up. Eyes half shut, the head of his dick on fire, he gripped the back of Jake’s neck.

“Valenza swings-!”

A loud thunder-crack ripped out of the TV. Bull pushed Jake’s head all the way down and howled as the first volley of jizz spurted out of his spout. Somehow, the younger Samuelson managed to take it all the way without choking.

“Home run! The Socks have batted around!”

A second, third, and fourth blast of come followed. Jake kept pace and swallowed every drop. When the stars cleared enough from Bull’s eyes that he was able to see again, he looked down at the milky smile on his adopted son’s handsome face. Through the haze of sweat staining his vision, Bull said, “Your turn:”

Sucking Jake Samuelson’s cock was like revisiting familiar territory. Like his dad, Bull’s former Commanding Officer, Jake sported a thick, hung tube of meat and two low-hanging nuts full of man-juice. Even the heady smell of his package restored images of long-gone days with Sergeant Ike in North Carolina. As he hummed on the younger man’s root, Bull couldn’t help but wonder if Jake knew about those times, if his father had confided it in him at some point. Jake’s seduction had been that complete.