Bull unzipped the knee pocket of his black cargo pants and removed two small objects. He set the first, a pocket mirror, flat against the ledge and faced his reflection. Gripping the second object firmly in his right hand, he began the final phase of his transformation from civilian biker to guerilla soldier.

Using the dark end of the camo stick, he colored in his forehead, then dragged it down his nose. From there, he ran it over his chin. Next, he drew from nose to ear, finally from his nose down to his neck. He filled in the rest of his face with the lime green end of the paint stick.

'I'm good to go,' he whispered to himself, picking up his rifle.

It was time for war.

The lush green leaves of the rural forest were strangely quiet. Only the rare sound of a bird and the occasional snapping of branches underfoot, alerting him to the enemy's presence, reached Bull's ears. Through the hedge of branches, he focused coldly on his mission, the search for other bodies dressed in black with camouflaged faces, like his own. The eerie silence in the forest around him and the knowledge he could be tagged and bagged at any moment from multiple directions kept him vigilant; it wasn't just his own life now that mattered, but the young man he'd been entrusted to protect.

With his raised rifle leading the way, Bull moved quickly and cautiously toward the circle of tall pines where the enemy had taken their prisoners. A stretch of dead leaves and spindly twigs on the ground blocked him from making a direct assault, a sure invitation to alert the enemy that he'd made it this far. Bull backtracked into the choking jungle of branches and proceeded around the tiger trap, his well-worn boots making little noise on the moss and green things.

He avoided the forest path leading past the temporary jail. The enemy no doubt had staked out that venue, and as one of the last members of his company left standing, freeing the others now sat squarely upon his shoulders. He couldn't let them down.

Ever vigilant for a glimpse of their mortal enemy, Bull crossed a small hill and trudged down the slope, an action that put him almost at the southern boundary of the prison. There, he moved from tree to tree, flattening out against the trunks to avoid detection. At about ten paces from the jail, he caught a rapidly moving flash of black. Bull brought up his rifle, took quick aim, and fired. He struck the enemy soldier right on target.

Proof of his accuracy could be seen splattered across the tagged man's chest, a dark liquid stain from where the bullet had found its mark. Eyes narrowed, face frozen in a pensive soldier's scowl, Bull turned away from the fresh kill. He never looked at their faces. He had to rescue his men.

Checking his weapon, he started toward the prison camp. He only got a few steps closer when the telltale cracking of a branch to his immediate rear ripped through the forest's tenebrous calm. Bull spun around and brought his rifle to bear, but he was a moment too late. A second soldier dressed in black stood over the body he'd just taken out. Bull heard the hollow explosion as the bullet left the enemy's gun a split-second before he felt it strike his chest, then a mildly-painful, warm itch ignited across his left pec right beneath the nipple. Bull looked down and saw the blood.

There was a lot of it.

Blood, sprayed across his chest.

Blue blood.

Powder blue blood from the paint bullet.

The newest addition to the blue team's prisoner camp was led past the tall pines into the roped-off area where four other prisoners tagged with blue paint waited.

'That's five for us, three to you,' the cocky blue team's captain chuckled.

A quartet of raised middle fingers answered the enemy's boast. Bull swore under his breath and approached the green team's leader, whose stark blue eyes stared out through the slits of a black ski mask. Drops of blue paint had splattered across the top of his chest and the neck of the ski mask. 'Sorry I let you down, Jake.'

'Oh, fuck 'em,' a youthful voice growled back. 'We still got us two men out there, and if we lose today, we'll kick their asses next month.' Then, in a voice much lower meant only for Bull, he said, 'You didn't let me down, Sarge, just like you never fell short for the old man.'

The leader of the green paintball division peeled off his ski mask. The action bared a hard, handsome face, short dark hair one length longer on top than the military would have allowed, and the perfect ring of a goatee and mustache on a square jaw.

And those eyes.

Bull stared a moment longer, right at the handsome face of twenty-five-year-old Jake Samuelson.

The motel door slammed in place with a heart-thumping thunderclap. Bull stared at his reflection in the floor-length mirror on one wall. He looked like hell.

Peeling off the paint-stained black sweatshirt that stunk of sweat and pine pitch, he plunked his sore ass on the edge of the nearest double bed. A few seconds after Jake Samuelson sprawled across the other, he began unlacing his boots. Bull kicked both off and stretched out on the bed in his pants and sweat socks.

'Phew,' he sighed, rubbing the tender spot on his chest where the paint bullet had clipped him, just a few yards longer than pointblank range. 'That was a ball-buster. But it was fun, too.'

Jake flashed a grin, one so smoldering and sexy in its youthfulness and familiarity, Bull had to look away. It was as if he was facing a younger version of his former Commanding Officer. 'Yeah, a bunch of my buddies get together twice a month. Glad it worked out with your visit, Sarge.'

'Me, too,' Bull said. He absently reached for the remote control and turned on the TV. A few flips later, he settled on the Saturday afternoon baseball game of the week. 'Hey, it's Seaside against San Diego-!'

'San Diego,' Jake grumbled. 'Ain't that where you're headed?' Bull nodded. 'Maybe it's some kind of a sign. You know - like you're on the right track.'

Bull huffed out a sarcastic laugh beneath his breath and sat up. The game was in its early innings, and though he stunk from the effort he'd put into the paint ball war, he was happy to just relax. A shower could wait. Peeling the sweat socks off his Size-12 feet, Bull turned back toward Jake Samuelson. 'I'm gonna grab something cold from the machine. Want one?'

'Sure,' Jake answered. Bull fished two bills out of his wallet, and dressed only in his jeans, he left the room.

When he returned, Jake had left the other bed, and without invitation, lay stretched on one side of Bull's. The handsome young man lie on his stomach with his head propped on his hands at the foot of the bed, right beside Bull's stankin', discarded sweat socks. To Bull's greater surprise, his former C.O.'s son had shucked down to the bare essentials - a gray t-shirt and white briefs.

He tried to keep his shock at the image hidden. Jake's clothes sat in a heap on the other bed, his kicked-off black sneakers on the floor. In his bottled scrutiny of the other man, Bull traced the length of Jake's body - the firmness of his shoulders, his tight lower back, the firm double globes of his hard-looking ass, lower yet to the incredible perfection of his legs and large, bare feet. Like his dad Ike Samuelson, Jake's calves resembled hairy softballs, his quads, footballs. The smell of sweat, masculine and powerful, infused the motel room's stagnant air.

'What do you think you're doing?' Bull asked, his voice broken and unsure.

'You got a better view of the TV on this bed,' Jake challenged, the trace of a smirk on his handsome face.

Setting down the soda cans, Bull unbuckled his pants and pushed them to his ankles. He stepped out, and like Jake was now down to a pair of nut-smelling white briefs. He sat beside the younger man on the half of the bed he'd been relegated to.

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.

Jake stood with both hands pressed flatly against the room's floor-length mirror, legs spread police-frisk style. Bull licked the younger Samuelson from the mossy pits beneath his arms and down his back, until he had made his way to the concrete square of Jake's hairy ass.

Spreading the other man's cheeks aside, Bull lapped into the musky, fur-lined warmth. The stale, sweaty tang of Jake's crack grew more powerful as he neared the puckered ring of the younger man's asshole. Bull sucked and chewed on Jake's shitter with renewed fervor and soon had it glistening with spit.

'Do it, Daddy-!' Jake groaned.

Bull huffed a hot breath up into Jake's crack. 'You like this, son?' Jake moaned his approval and flexed the muscles of his perfect can. Bull watched, amazed, as the younger man's tight hole winked open, flashing a glimpse of its pink interior through the jungle of dark brown hair. It was the perfect invitation.

Worming the fuck-finger of his right hand into that spit-lubed tightness, Bull forced his way beyond the ring of clenched muscles, slowly and gently at first. Eventually, he made it to the bottom knuckle. Jake wiggled around the finger fucking his can.

'Fuck me, Daddy!'

Bull stabbed at the younger Samuelson's hot, slick shithole, enough to loosen it for the assault he planned to follow. A second finger joined the first inside Jake's butt. The younger man seized in place, but took it.

'That's it, son,' Bull growled. 'You want daddy to fuck you?'

'Yes, sir,' Jake nodded. Bull glanced up to see the young man's face reflecting a painful smile.

Bull pulled out and licked the oily tang off his fingers. By this point, his cock was up and ready for a second go at Jake Samuelson. He hawked a wad of spit onto his fuck-finger and palmed the head of his dick, mixing the lube with fresh precome and the stale remains of the load he'd shot into the other man's handsome mouth. 'You ready, boy?' Bull placed a hand on Jake's ass and spread his cheeks. The younger Samuelson affirmed.

'Ready for daddy's cock?'

'Yeah, dad-!' Jake moaned.

Bull lined up the head of his rod with the hot, moist hole at the center of Jake's licked-clean ass and eased in. The first jolt of pressure made the boy gasp.

'You can take it, guy,' Bull promised. 'Open it up. That's it, son. Open up for daddy's cock!'

Jake's reflection in the mirror showed his agony. Fresh sweat poured from his forehead. Eventually, he loosened and Bull slid all the way in, his pubes mashing the top of Jake's hard, square ass. Now locked together, Jake's face relaxed enough to show that his pain had turned to pleasure.

Bull leaned down and set his chin atop the younger man's left shoulder. There, they kissed briefly again before Bull reached a hand around Jake's waist for support. He used the other to pump Jake's thick, seven-inch cock. This double action pushed both men to the tops of their toes in front of the motel mirror.

'Fuck me, daddy,' Jake moaned. Bull clamped his mouth to the other man's left ear and chewed while pulling out. He licked the salty skin at the base of Jake's neck and rammed in again. For a moment, it wasn't Jake Samuelson's face smiling back from the mirror, but Ike's.

It didn't take five minutes inside Jake's asshole for the pressure in Bull's nuts to erupt.

'I'm fuckin' coming, son-!' he wailed. Bull whipped his dick out of Jake's shitter and sprayed his next two salvos of ball-snot into the younger Samuelson's crack. With his dick still dribbling, Bull wasted no time. He hunched down and sucked his load out of Jake's pucker.

Not far behind, the son of his former Commanding Officer pushed back against Bull's face and grunted loudly. Bull knew by the clenching of the other man's hard, sperm-doused ass cheeks and the way Jake's cock bounced stiffly in his hand that the younger Samuelson would soon shoot his snot.

'Do it, son,' Bull ordered. 'Shoot that juice, boy!'

Drenched in sweat, standing on tiptoes, Jake gritted his teeth and threw back his head. A bullet of sperm flew out of his cock, striking the mirror. Four more followed. Once his orgasm wound down, Jake sank to his knees, and together both men licked the mirror clean.

The baseball game had long ended, but Jake rested at Bull's feet, toying absently with his toes. 'You'll find him, guy. You'll find your real son.'

'Hope so,' Bull sighed. The finger he'd eased between Jake's legs again found the hole Bull had now fucked twice. Jake's stretched knot was wet with the Sergeant's stale load.

'I'm glad you came by, Sarge,' Jake grunted, opening up to accommodate Bull's exploration of him. 'Just wish you could stay.'

'Sorry, son,' Bull growled. He felt his cock begin to stir. 'But I still got some time before I hit the road again.'

Jake's face lit in a bittersweet smile. 'Will you stay the night?'

Bull groped the younger man's ass. 'Anything for my boy..'



the Hitman

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