Sergeant Bull : Part 11

“Keep talking, dude,” Inky huffed in his ear. At such close range, the sourness of his breath and the stink of male sweat assailed Bull’s senses with a strangely reassuring odor. It also toughened his own painfully stiff erection.

Bull remembered those long-ago nights in the San Diego beach house. “There were mornings she woke me, humming up and down on my dong. I mean, the feel of those lips around my dickhead – and dude, she swallowed every load I didn’t fire up her cunt.”

“Fuck-!” Inky moaned. “She lick your bag?”

“Fuck yeah,” Bull admitted. “Sucked on each of those horse nuts ’til she’d licked them clean.”

“I love having my sac chewed on,” Inky grunted.

The memory of Oscar’s face between his legs proved too much to deny any longer. Balancing against Inky’s shoulder, Bull reached down and fumbled in his fly. Inky’s cock brushed against the back of his hand as he struggled to free his own dick and snapped Bull up to the limit of his full eight inches. He’d gotten so hard, it took all his concentration to free himself from his camouflage pants. Eventually, he managed to peel his bone out of the sweat-soaked skin of his briefs to find it so wet with perspiration and precome, he didn’t need to lube it further.

“That’s it, dude,” Inky urged. “Let’s shoot some Army juice and win this fuckin’ thing!”

Positioning himself to answer that same challenge almost dropped Bull to the ground. He lost balance, and again only Inky’s grip prevented him from stumbling. Inky hauled him back to his feet, an action that slammed their cocks together. Both men groaned out a string of unintelligible swears at the unexpected, electric contact, and when Bull reached down to grip his cock, he found it wet with his Army buddy’s come.

“Shit,” Inky growled. “Feels good!”

It wasn’t intentional, but there, so closely merged together, their hands relaxed just enough to rub hard, sweaty cocks against each other. Bull felt the world go spinning out of focus. Inky’s grip stopped him from collapsing.

“Hang on, buddy,” the other sergeant moaned in his ear. “We earned this little circle jerk.”

“I know, bro,” Bull sighed. “I know…”

When he again took hold of his tool, his own cock wasn’t alone in his hand. Inky pushed into his palm, fucking their dicks together. One sensitive underside rubbed painfully against the other.

“Yeah,” Inky begged. “Do it!”

Bull pumped them both, stroking their shafts in an upward motion. Taking care of two dicks as thick as his and Inky’s proved to be a two-handed job, and with precome pouring over their cocks as heavy as sweat had for the last two days, the other sergeant joined Bull in double-jacking them closer to unloading.

It could have been the exhaustion, the pain and stress of the competition, or the fact he hadn’t shot for days, but at one point Bull’s dick felt twice its thickness and length. He swore it wasn’t two dicks joining them together in the woods, but one massive cock, stretching from the top of Inky’s balls over to his own. That monster dong was so itchy to shoot, it soaked his palm with hot slime.

“We’re gonna win this, buddy,” Bull groaned, a tired, happy grin on his face. He leaned down, set his rough stubbled cheek against Inky’s, and muffled his grunts when the first volley of sperm blew between his fingers.

He wasn’t sure who shot first, or the most. Geysers of foul-smelling come sprayed his arm and the front of his pants. Inky kept their cocks pushing together until spunk, like sweat, stained their uniforms.

“Fuck-!” Inky hooted, pulling away. As Bull watched, the other man looked around for something to wipe his hand on, and failing to find it, settled for licking clean the mixture of both their juices. “We ain’t got no time to enjoy this, dude,” Inky spat. “We got us a competition to win!”

Bull thought about shaking the jizz off his fingers, but like Inky, licked up the powerful load. “Why waste it,” he reasoned. Almost immediately after ingesting their nut-juice, Bull felt energized, as if sharing Inky’s sperm was the secret to surviving the last leg of the competition.

On bloodied feet, he and Inky moved on to the final event. They negotiated a 2,000 meter course complete with twenty-five separate obstacles, did a free-fall drop out of a helicopter into a cold, deep pond, then used their gear as rafts to reach shore. Once there, they crawled across vertical beams and ropes forty feet above a canyon, and finished the competition with an exhaustive run in full gear, the first and only team to survive that year’s Best Ranger Competition.

“We did it!” Inky howled. “You and me, dude. We won!”

“Yeah,” Bull sighed. He fell exhausted to his knees. “We won it, together:”

Heart beating rapidly, Bull inserted the key into the lock. Turning it seemed to take forever, creating a moment like so many others he knew he would remember for the rest of his life. Time slipped into slow motion as the door opened.

Holding the Best Ranger trophy in one shaking hand, Bull entered the house. Winter, spring, summer, and most of the fall had come and passed in his absence. The house smelled of not having been lived in. Worse than that was the silence. No roar of the wind as he streaked down the highway or the noise of his Harley’s engine filled his ears, just a glaring emptiness and the shrouded calm inside the house. Had it always been this quiet, or had he just never noticed?

Bull set down the trophy and slung the saddlebags off his shoulders. The cross-country adventure was over. He’d come home.

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