Arrest Record, Part 15 By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com
"Maybe we'll get a couple of days of relaxation," Ed remarked. "Amir's next stop is in Toronto, Ontario. We'll tag along, but we have no jurisdiction up there. The Canadians are pretty strict about bringing guns into their country too. We'll have to leave ours on our side of the border."
"So what do we do?" Harold asked.
"We can act as observers," Ed explained. "We have no police powers, no power of arrest. It's all in the hands of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the RCMP or the Mounties, as they call them."
"In Quebec they're called the GRC, the Gendarmerie Royale du Canada," I added, drawing on my high school French.
"This is where Ted, Paul, and the others get off," Ed went on. The three of us will fly up there and our liaison in the Mounties will meet us at the airport. He's with their anti-terrorist squad. Luckily, we know him. We've worked with him before." I gave Ed a questioning look. He noted it and went on:
"We've played with him before, too, Harold. I know you'll be glad to meet him. He's got a foreskin too, and loves to show it off." With that, we packed and were off to Detroit's Metropolitan Airport. Our Grumman was waiting for us, and after handing our firearms and holsters to one of the agents from the local office we were airborne. An hour later we were on the ground at Toronto Pearson International Airport, in Ontario.
"Harold, this is Peter," I said by way of introduction when our contact came forward to greet us as we disembarked. We shook hands all round and Peter led us to his unmarked car. He was about our height, muscular, and blond, with green eyes.
"We'll go to my place," he said as we followed the highway out of the airport. "I know you guys are on a per diem, and there's no point you wasting money on a hotel when I can put you up easily. I've got a three-bedroom house in Hamilton with a big back yard and a grill, so we'll be pretty comfortable. We've got a couple of days before anything goes down, so let's concentrate on relaxing." Hamilton was about an hour down the freeway from Toronto. I remembered Peter's house from the time Ed and I had been his guests three years ago.
"You keeping tabs on Amir?" I asked.
"Absolutely," he answered. "Our team picked him up at the border, where your guys handed him over to us. They'll baby-sit him at the hotel and a couple of other teams are going to run the moving surveillance if he has to deliver the canister on the street. Amir is still going to drive his own car, to make everything appear normal. Actually, there's nothing for you to do up here, although of course you're welcome to observe."
"Can you stop so I can buy us a case of your wonderful Canadian beer?" Ed asked. "Since we've got all that per diem we won't be able to spend we might as well stock up your refrigerator." A few minutes later Peter pulled into a liquor store parking lot and Ed bought two cases of beer. When we pulled into Peter's driveway we unloaded our luggage and the beer and followed Peter inside.
As it was still mid-afternoon we went out to the back yard. Ed wanted to know more about the Mounties' plan.
"We're not going to arrest anyone right now," Peter explained as he sipped at his beer. "You told us the canister's a dummy, so there's no danger to public safety. On the other hand, we sorely need more information about terrorist cells in this country. Your people at the border gave our team one of those GPS trackers, so we'll be able to follow that canister wherever it goes. That way, we'll get an idea of the people involved, who they are, and how many, and we hope to develop this investigation to lead us to more of the network."
"A lot of terrorists have been using Canada as a base for attacks on us," I pointed out. "I'm not criticizing you, but that's a fact."
"All too true," Peter conceded. "Our immigration laws are too lax, and we don't have a good department of immigration like yours. They get into the country and disappear. Our government's been complacent because to date all their targets have been south of the border. Now they seem to be planning an attack against Toronto. Maybe this might wake them up a bit."
"It's nice and warm here," Ed observed. "What do you say we stop talking shop and strip down?" Peter led us into the house, where he pointed out the bedrooms. Within a couple of minutes we were all naked and gathered again in the yard with fresh beers in our hands. I saw that Harold's eyes were fixed on Peter's crotch.
"Ed phoned me about you," Peter said, addressing Harold. "He said you like foreskins." Harold smiled in acknowledgement. "You'll find lots of foreskins in Canada. We never got into wholesale amputation the way you did south of the border. We've got socialized medicine here, so our doctors aren't in it just for the money." Peter had his legs spread, exposing his crotch to us. His scrotum was slack because of the warmth, and tested on the cushion. His prick was thick at the base and tapered smoothly to a thick pucker. There was no glans outline visible through the thick skin.
"I wish I'd been born in Canada," Harold said wistfully.
"Me and my three brothers never got cut," Ed told him. "I almost did, but there was a reason. My foreskin was always tight, while my brothers were able to skin back by the time they were five. The doctor asked my mother several times about taking it off, but she always refused because my dad's was tight too, and it didn't bother him."
"Our doctors are money hungry," I agreed. "They collect a fee for the circumcision, and then they sell the amputated foreskins to biotech or cosmetic companies for extra profit."
"Can you skin it back now?" asked Harold, leaning forward in his chair. Both their pricks had started swelling as a result of the conversation.
"I can, but rarely do," Peter told him. "I like to keep it forward. It gets a bit cheesy but that doesn't bother me. Some guys really enjoy the aroma."
"I know I do," Harold told him. Peter smiled broadly.
"Then come on over here and do what you've been wanting to do ever since you saw it," he suggested. He pushed his hips forward, bringing his prick to the edge of the seat, as Harold came over to sit on the grass in front of him. Ed and I knew we were going to watch a show, and we brought our chairs next to each other. Ed's fingers grasped my foreskin nipple and I grasped his, administering the delightful rolling motion that always aroused us. Harold had leaned forward and now his nose was an inch from the end of Peter's prick. He inhaled deeply, savoring the erotic scent.
"I love that smell," he whispered. He grasped Peter's foreskin and felt for the glans inside it. Peter's prick rapidly grew between his fingers, extending to over six inches, including foreskin. Harold's prick had swelled even faster, and was now full hard, the shapely purple helmet standing proudly at the end of the shaft. He had not removed the protective condom, and Peter was gazing at it questioningly.
"Now that it's hard you'll be able to feel the head better," he remarked to Harold. Harold began pushing the long hood back slowly and carefully, watching the thick pucker spread as the end of Peter's small glans became visible.
"That's a really long skin," Harold asked. "I'd love to have you dock me."
"My hood's too narrow," Peter responded. "The head's not very large and it's tight even over that. It would never stretch to fit over your big helmet." He reached down and grasped Harold's penis around the corona, sliding the condom slowly up and down over the head.
"Harold's wearing a condom to keep the head moist," Ed explained. "He's already gotten more sensitivity."
"That's nice, being sensitive," Peter said. "Mine's very sensitive."
"I bet it is," Harold said, a moment before he slipped the tip of his tongue inside Peter's hood to tickle his slit. Peter sighed deeply and his fingers tightened around Harold's swollen glans. Ed and I were fully hard, our helmets bulging inside our hoods.
Harold pushed his tongue farther into Peter's narrow foreskin, stretching the nerve endings as he probed for the corona. We watched the thick intruder as it distended Peter's hood, stretching it to its limit, as Peter sighed deeply. Now Harold pulled back, his tongue protruding, and we saw that it was coated with Peter's smegma.
"I don't bother cleaning it very often," Peter explained. "My dad didn't either, and it never bothered him."
"Do you skin back to jack off?" Harold asked as he smacked his lips, relishing the pungent taste.
"Never do," Peter admitted. "I like to watch the cream dribble out of the end. Now go ahead, lick the inside of my cock clean, if you like." Harold once more probed Peters' thick hood with his tongue, inserting it all the way back to the corona and swirling it around the glans. Peter's body shuddered as he threw his head back and stared at the sky, still holding Harold's penis and stroking it lovingly.
Harold pushed the foreskin back farther, exposing more of Peter's glans, and worked his tongue around the front of it. Now he pushed it all the way back, and the edge snapped down into the groove behind the rim to expose a small but perfectly shaped cherry-red helmet head, complete with flaring rim that locked the voluminous foreskin behind it. Peter shuddered again, and I knew he wasn't used to having his tender cherry tip exposed and licked.
"Does this hurt?" Harold asked Peter as he cautiously exerted more traction on the foreskin, baring the groove behind the rim so that he could lick away the cheese inside it. Peter nodded negatively and Harold continued, stretching the thick tight foreskin back along the shaft as his tongue plunged into the sulcus, licking away the coating of aromatic creamy secretion. Now Peter's small helmet glistened with Harold's saliva, and a drop of clear fluid slipped between the lips of the tight slit. Harold licked that away before replacing the foreskin over the head.
"Since you can't dock me I'd like to suck you or stroke you," Harold told him.
"Better stroke me," Peter replied. "My tip's very sensitive, and I almost jumped out of the chair while you were licking me." He was obviously very excited and very eager, as we saw a steady flow of thick lubricant dribbling from his foreskin's puckered end. Harold wrapped his fingers around the tapering shaft and cupped Peter's balls with the other. They were already tight.
"Let me get down there with you," Peter suggested as he eased himself out of the chair onto the grass to sit facing Harold. He put his legs over Harold's spread legs so that they sat barely a foot apart, with easy access to each other's pricks. Ed and I got into a similar position a couple of feet away from them, so that we could watch them as we stroked each other. Our pricks were dripping too, and we gave each other long slow strokes to spread the precious lubricant evenly between hoods and helmets. I felt blades of grass tickling my scrotum. Harold and Peter were also applying slow strokes to each other's pricks, but Ed and I were looking at each other's crotch, as we enjoyed watching our glossy purple helmets appearing and being engulfed by our foreskins.
"Maybe Ed and Jack could dock and put on a show for us," Peter suggested. I looked at Ed, and then we lay down facing each other. With practiced motions, we drew back each other's hoods, again baring the shapely helmets that I knew both Harold and Peter admired, and touched them end to end. I felt my front dome compress as Ed pushed against me, and I saw that his also dented where mine was pressing into it. Ed slipped my foreskin over his bulging helmet and then I covered my hood with his, creating a double layer of foreskin flesh to encase our swollen tips.
We were both secreting copiously, making the contact very soft and slippery. We worked our pricks to rotate the front domes against each other, stretching our layered hoods. Ed pressed forward and his glans slipped up over mine, the twin lobes of his helmet sliding along the broad upper surface of mine. Now I drew back and thrust forward, sliding my glans along the top of his, feeling the friction along my twin lobes underneath that framed my frenulum. I was aware that Harold and Peter were watching us avidly, excited by the display, and was glad that we were turning them on.
"I'm going to go off soon: my tip's so sensitive," Peter wailed. Ed and I stopped and turned our heads to watch. Harold's fingers were still stroking Peter's foreskin at the same slow and measured pace, but we knew from experience how sensitive Peter's rarely exposed glans was, and we anticipated that within seconds we'd see gobs of sperm dribbling from the end of his thick tight foreskin. Harold continued stroking, never baring even the front of Peter's helmet, and we watched Peter's body tense.
Peter cried out, and we saw a thick rope of cream pour from the pucker in his foreskin, and the odor of chlorine hit us. Harold stroked him again, bringing forth another discharge as Peter's eyes closed tightly and his lips drew back. Now Harold skinned him back completely, having learned from us how super-sensitive the uncircumcised glans becomes during orgasm, and this time we saw a long thin jet blast from Peter's slit to strike Harold in the abdomen. Harold was holding the foreskin tightly back from the cherry-red glans, putting tension on Peter's frenulum but not applying any friction.
Now the taut frenulum dragged the front of Peter's spurting helmet down, and the next surge of sperm slammed through the lips of Peter's slit and sprayed his hand and Harold's prick. Peter was moaning mindlessly, totally caught up in the hot fury of his orgasm, and he blew another load. His stream went under his hand and sprayed Harold's tight scrotum.
The next jet was weaker, although Peter was still moaning loudly. The following one arced down onto the grass, and the next was just a white dribble that seeped from his small slit. After a few seconds the dribble stopped, and Peter lay back on the grass. Ed and I watched as Peter's body relaxed. Harold's unfulfilled prick was still rock hard, and I saw a large drop of clear liquid parting the lips of his slit and pouring through the opening in the condom.
Harold's prick was just within my reach and I grasped it, sliding the condom to catch the drop of precious lubricant and spread it over his engorged helmet. Harold turned and grasped our pricks where they were joined by our layered foreskins, stroking gently. Peter lay inert on the grass as his prick deflated and the retracted foreskin began creeping back over the small shrinking helmet.
"I'd better take care of Peter," Harold said as he let go of us and turned back to milk the residue from Peter's shaft and glans. Several thick drops appeared at Peter's slit, which Harold licked off promptly. Peter didn't cringe, as his prick was rapidly losing its excessive sensitivity as it relaxed. As Peter revived he sat up and grasped Harold's erection, slowly sliding the condom up and down.
"That's a beautifully sculpted helmet," he noted as his fingers traced the contours through the thin latex, from front dome back to the high flaring ridge. He cupped Harold's balls with his other hand.
"Let's watch Ed and Jack docking," Harold suggested. "I can always come afterward. Anyway, the longer I hold off the hotter it's going to be for me." Peter removed his hands from Harold's crotch and turned to watch us.
"I wish I could do that," he said to Harold. "Both Ed and Jack docked me the last time they were up here, but I can't dock anyone with my tight hood." I remembered how Peter's small hard tip had felt inside my foreskin several years ago, hammering against my front dome as he flooded my hood with his streams.
Now Harold was back, grasping our pricks where they met, gently twisting our layered foreskins. He knew how exciting the sideways friction felt, and he was applying it lovingly, to bring us to hard, crashing orgasms. His touch gave the final increment to my excitement, and I felt my helmet go into its final swelling. I knew Ed's was similarly engorged, full of blood and awaiting the triggering touch that would launch his orgasm.
"Your rims are really hard and swollen," Harold commented as his fingertips traveled over our pricks. "I can feel them even through the two layers of skin." Now he gave our foreskins another gentle twist, making both of us sigh with delight.
"Ed and Jack have nice big helmets, just like you do," Peter commented to Harold as he ran his fingertip up the bottom of his prick from base to tip as a reminder of his presence. Harold's prick jerked at the contact. Meanwhile, I was feeling the start of the familiar tickle in my rim, which I knew would quickly spread all over my glans.
"How's this?" Ed asked as he bucked his hips to thrust his prick against mine. I felt the gentle friction, cushioned by the copious lubricant we were secreting, as his front dome slid against mine.
"Can't-hold-out-much-longer," I muttered as I felt the tickle spread to the front of my glans. The lips of Ed's slit kissed mine, and as Harold twisted our foreskins again, I felt a sudden hot tingle filling my helmet.
My eyes closed as I yelped, and I felt the first spasm deep inside me as Ed's glans gushed a stream of hot juice over the front of mine. The first torrent of burning hot sperm seared its way up my prick to flood his glans. Another spasm shook me and we shot together, the combined streams mixing as they swirled around our swollen, throbbing helmets.
We were both moaning helplessly as our bodies reacted reflexively, spewing surge after surge into our foreskins, distending them and stretching their embedded nerve endings. Ed's helmet throbbed hard against mine as it spit its loads against it. I was floating in the free-fall of my orgasm, aware of little outside the sensations in my own body.
There was hardly any friction now, as our helmets floated in a thick bath of semen, insulated against our twisting hoods. Despite the cushioning, we still got the sensations to maintain our orgasms as our foreskins stretched under the pressure of our juices. Now my jets were weaker, although we were still caught up in the frenzy of our orgasms, and we continued moaning mindlessly until they slowed to dribbles.
It felt very slippery where our pricks were joined, and I knew that the thick viscous fluids had seeped between our foreskins, slowly dripping onto the grass. I felt Ed pull back from me, his lubricated prick slipping out of my foreskin easily. Our pricks were subsiding now, and the end of my foreskin was still inside the end of his, but the flow of cream was heavy. I opened my eyes as we broke the contact, and saw a huge gob of thick viscous white juice drop onto the grass between us just before Ed pulled me to him and hugged me, kissing me on the lips.
"That was beautiful," I said to him, and then looked at Peter.
"I know," Peter said. "Remember, I was in there a couple of years ago."
"You were in mine too," Ed reminded him. "When you blasted off, you shot like a fire hose." Ed was milking my prick as I did the same to his, and when we'd drained the last drops we pulled the foreskins forward to cover the heads.
"Your tip throbbed even harder than Ed's," I added. "You shot so much that you blew my foreskin off your tip." I remembered how my foreskin had distended and then peeled back off his glans with the volume of sperm he'd discharged into it.
"How about helping me take care of Harold?" Peter asked us as he pushed Harold flat onto the grass. He began running his finger over the latex-covered helmet as Harold began moaning softly. "I love to feel the contours of that beautiful big helmet." Ed cupped Harold's tight scrotum, gently kneading the orbs inside it, while I twisted and pinched his nipples. Harold's moans became louder.
"I want to feel him in my mouth," Peter said as he slipped the condom off Harold's swollen prick, liberating the shaft and head for his lips to engulf. Now he began pumping his head up and down, his lips traveling from the bulging front dome, riding over the swollen corona, until they reached the thick scar where Harold had been circumcised. Now he pulled up, his lips distending as they rode over the flaring rim, and then closing again as they traveled down the taper of his glans to the front dome.
Harold's breathing was rapid and gasping as his excitement mounted uncontrollably, and he began bucking his hips to thrust his prick up into Peter's mouth. His head rocked from side to side as the surge of excitement overtook him, and I knew he was on the edge. Peter's lips closed tightly around Harold's corona as he twisted his head and Harold yelped loudly as I saw the first spasm shake his body.
Peter swallowed hard and twisted his head again, bringing forth another howl and another convulsion. Harold was caught up in the wild frenzy of his release, and he grunted as another spasm gripped him, and I saw Peter swallowing frantically as the sperm flooded his mouth. Some dribbled from his tightly encircling lips as he drew another discharge from Harold's body, and he swallowed again. I felt Harold's heart pounding in his chest through my fingertips.
Harold was still grunting loudly, but the shudders that shook his body were weaker now as his orgasm tapered off. After a few more spasms he became still. Peter ran a fingertip up the bulge on the bottom of his prick to draw out the last drops, and he swallowed again. Now he lifted his head and milked Harold thoroughly, starting from behind his balls because Ed had removed his hand. As the last drops seeped between the lips of Harold's slit Peters licked them off delicately, and then he replaced the condom over the shrinking penis.
Peter got up and went into the house, returning with a quartet of beers for us. We drank deeply, perhaps to replenish the fluids we'd disgorged. Harold sat up and gratefully took a beer from Peter's hand, and up-ended it into his mouth. We sat huddled together on the grass, arms around each other in a lingering moment of tenderness. After several minutes Peter announced:
"I think it's time to eat," and he went into the house again, returning several minutes later with a tray full of dishes, napkins, steaks potatoes, and bread. He fired up the grill and donned an apron.
"I wouldn't want the grease to splash on my delicate parts," he said lightly as he arranged the potatoes around the periphery of the grill. When the grill was hot enough he put on the steaks. We happily inhaled the aroma of grilling meat as Peter brought out another round of beers.
"This Canadian beer's a lot better than some of the stuff we get back home," Harold commented.
"I'll second that," I affirmed. "There are some things you do here better than we do south of the border."
"Not always. I think our gun control laws are stupid," Peter said. "They don't do much good. The bad guys can get all the guns they want. Hell, look at what we're into. The bad guys are getting canisters of virus."
"At least, they think they are," Ed answered.
"What scares me is that these are the ones we know about," Peter added. "How much more of that stuff is out there, and we don't know anything about it?" I knew he was right. At the moment, we were going to sit down to eat and forget all about it. However, there would be a lot to discuss in the morning.
Continued in Part 16