fArrest Record, Part 16 By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com
We awoke next morning feeling well rested. Ed and I had slept in the guest bedroom, while Harold had slept with Peter. This was necessary because even Peter's king size bed would not hold four of us. Ed and I showered in the guest shower, while Peter and Harold used the main bathroom, whose shower would not have accommodated us all.
We both had piss hard-ons, and as we stepped into the shower I turned the water as hot as I could stand it. The shower had an adjustable spray nozzle on a hose, an idea that Peter had copied from us after he'd visited us in the states several years ago. As I took the nozzle from its bracket I gently stripped back Ed's long hood to uncover the engorged purple helmet. Adjusting the nozzle to deliver a concentrating pulsing jet, I directed the stream onto the front dome of Ed's big tip.
"Ahhhhh!" he sighed as the hot water hit his helmet, and he stood on tiptoe. Despite his erection, the hot stream forced his sphincter to relax and soon his thick yellow jet was arcing upward and then falling back down to the shower floor.
Some of the hot water was hitting me, and I felt the flow down the front of my body. It warmed my prick, and even though my glans was still shielded by my thick enveloping foreskin, I felt the urge to pee. I tightened my sphincter hard, as I knew it would feel better if I was forced to release my stream later. By this time Ed was drained, and he took the shower spray from me as I turned to face the front.
Delicately he eased down my foreskin, stretching it back over my rim, until it dropped into the deep groove behind it, leaving my swollen purple tip fully exposed. Then he aimed the thick pulsing stream directly at the front dome, and I felt the needles of hot water penetrating between the pouting lips of my orifice and stabbing deeply into the sensitive lining of my urethra. I groaned as my sphincter let go, releasing the contents of my distended bladder. The glorious feeling lasted as long as it took to drain myself, but then Ed shifted his aim, and I felt the heavy, pulsing jet attacking my gee-string.
Ed had a firm grip on my shaft, and held my foreskin tightly back, putting tension on my frenulum. This, and the hot liquid pulses, stimulated my prick and I felt my scrotum contracting despite being bathed in hot water.
"Your rim's swelling more," he announced as I felt my excitement mount. I hadn't planned on having an orgasm in the shower, but Ed's spontaneity was welcome, because my body was responding to it. I looked down and saw that me tip had turned dark purple with excitement, and I knew that the relentless pulses would draw the orgasm from my prick within seconds. Already I was feeling a strong tickle on the underside of my glans, where the twin lobes define the triangular groove holding the root of my gee-string.
Ed's fingers clamped tightly around my shaft, compressing the veins, and ensuring that my erection became as hard as possible. The nerve endings in my glans and frenulum had become extremely sensitive with the enhanced hardness, and hungered for more stimulation. My eyes closed and a moment later the hot sensations in my helmet exploded, triggering the release.
I cried out loudly as the heavy pounding of orgasm resonated deep inside me, sending a torrent of sperm gushing from my throbbing tip. I held on to Ed's shoulders as I leaned back against the tile wall, feeling my knees turn to jelly. The relentless water stream now stabbed deeply into my urethra, and I cried out again as a contrapuntal stream of sperm poured up my tube.
Another contraction deep inside me sent another jet hurtling up my straining prick, and my jaw dropped. My entire body shuddered as the hot liquid pulses continued to hammer against my engorged glans. I cried out as I shot again, caught up in the blissful frenzy of orgasm, aware of little except the delightful torment in my lower region.
My tip was super-sensitive now, but Ed kept the pulsing jet aimed at it, working around the sides and then down to the flaring corona, stimulating fresh nerve endings every second. I show again, but the contraction was weaker, although no less pleasurable. Now the spasms within me were definitely weaker, and they finally faded. Ed removed the jet and I felt the slow seepage of the residual liquid crawling up my tube. He put an arm aro8und my waist to brace me as I recovered from the discharges, and eventually I opened my eyes.
"That was a surprise," I murmured before kissing him tenderly on the lips.
"You really blew your load then," he replied. "I was watching every second of it, and it made me even more horny." His erection was still at full mast, and I grasped it at mid-shaft as I took the spray head from him. Tightening my grip, I made sure his foreskin was clear of the corona and groove, drawn back tightly along his shaft, inverted so that the inner lining was exposed.
Now I played the pulsing stream along his prick, stimulating all those exposed nerve endings and making him gasp. Ed leaned back against the tiles, knowing that he'd need support when the orgasm took his legs out from under him.
"Your climax is going to be harder than mine," I suggested. "You've been hard longer and watching me come primed you." He nodded as I worked the jet stream around his swollen helmet, all around the high flaring rim and then underneath where his frenulum was tightly stretched. I pulled back harder and watched his glans dip right against the pulsing stream, soaking up the sensations that were driving him to a irresistible climax.
Now I aimed the pulsing water stream directly at his front dome, and saw the liquid needles part the lips of his long slit, reaching deep into his urethra to hit nerve endings that never saw the light of day. This brought him up on tiptoe again, and I saw his fists clench.
"Your tip's really hard and dark now," I commented. "Any second^Å." Ed's lips drew back from his teeth as he watched the water stimulating his prick. I moved closer to him to let him lean on me if he couldn't stand up any more.
I felt a hard throb in his shaft as I heard him cry out, and an instant later a thick rope of white sperm shot upward from his straining glans, right into the water stream. Just then I became aware of movement outside the shower door, and through the frosted glass I saw the shapes of Harold and Peter, who were watching avidly as Ed spewed his sperm into the air.
Ed grunted hard as a second throb filled his straining prick and another rope of white cream erupted from his engorged helmet, giving off the familiar chlorine odor. I played the pulsing jet around the broad upper surface of his glans, bringing forth a third hard jet. Ed sagged against me as his prick threw out a fourth load that slammed through the lips of his long slit and left them gaping and distended. His breathing was heavy and ragged as his body was overwhelmed by the fury of his orgasm.
Ed's beautiful prick was still pulsing, but the jets had given way to a steady seeping, an almost clear liquid that slowly dribbled from his long slit. His breathing had slowed, although he still sagged against me. I dropped the shower head and hugged him to me, supporting him as he sank into the delicious afterglow. Peter slid the door open enough to reach in and shut off the water, and then he said:
"That was a lovely sight, Jack. Harold and I did the same thing half an hour ago, when we woke up. Now are you hungry?" I now saw that he and Harold were also naked, although not wet as Ed and I were. I nodded and he patted me on the arm. "We'll prepare breakfast then," he continued, before he and Harold left.
Ed and I rinsed ourselves and toweled each other dry. We went out to the kitchen naked, not knowing if Peter and Harold would be dressed. They were not, and Peter motioned us to sit at the table. He and Harold were preparing ham, bacon, and eggs, as well as toast. The odor of coffee filled the air, and Harold brought us two cups.
"I got a call from Ted," Peter said after we'd begun eating. "He's flying in to Pearson Airport with some important information. We'll go pick him up and take him in to the office. I've got the conference room reserved in case he wants to set up displays or a slide show." Peter had met Ted once, and seemed to admire his competence. As Ed and I were now in Canada, the task of heading the investigation had de facto fallen on Ted, and I thought he was perfectly competent to handle it.
"Harold really enjoyed the hot water jet," Peter continued in a different vein. "He told me you'd done this to him before. His dick really throbbed when he came, and one of his jets hit me in the chin."
"You came even harder," Harold said to Peter. Turning to us he continued:
"His cock's extremely sensitive. He did me first, and when it was my turn I skinned him back to give him the water treatment. His tip was already deep red and the moment the water jet hit it he just jumped and his cock started spurting. I'm surprised you didn't hear him yell."
"That hot water jet triggered me right away," Peter confirmed. "I didn't know what hit me. One moment Harold was skinning me back and the next I just exploded. I really drained myself this morning."
"Glad you had a good time," I said. I was really gratified that Harold and Peter were hitting it off so well.
"Well, let's get dressed," Peter said after we'd finished and as he and Harold were clearing the table. "We'll get on the road and meet Ted on the private aircraft side of Pearson Airport." Half an hour later we were in Peter's unmarked Crown Vic heading north.
We watched the Grumman taxi in, and when the pilot had shut off the engines we drove onto the hardstand to greet Ted. He appeared buoyant and even exuberant as he debarked, and after a round of greetings he scrunched himself into the back seat between Ed and me.
"Good news!" he exclaimed, but refused to say any more until we were inside Peter's conference room. We saw several trays of food on the side table, including cold cuts, salads, and several breads.
"Holy cow!" Ted said. "How many people are going to be here?"
"Just the five of us," Peter told him. "I just wanted to make sure we wouldn't starve, no matter how long this took."
"It won't take too long," Ted assured us. "I'll just hit the high spots. You don't need to know all the details." I knew Ted well enough to understand that he wasn't being high handed or arrogant, but merely straightforward and realistic.
"You made a special trip here," I told him. "I'm sure it's worthwhile."
"Bet your ass it is, Jack," Ted said, turning to me. Turning to the others he informed them:
"We've got the head guy. We have him and his headquarters all wrapped up. We've got the whole enchilada." I was stunned by the news. It seemed so improbable that Ted and his team had so quickly rounded up the head of the terrorist organization in North America.
"How?" Harold asked, open-mouthed.
"Telephone traces," Ted answered simply, reading from his notebook. "Now here's the really good news. This guy, Massad Aboulay, if that's his real name, kept beautiful records. We got everything, from a name and address book, telephone numbers, financial records, the whole lot. We've got it all, including the plan for the canisters." I knew then that Ted had been right: we wouldn't need or even want to know the details, as it would mean sitting through a recital of seemingly endless lists.
"None of this was encrypted?" Peter asked, almost disbelieving.
"No, it was all in the clear, and in English. This guys been here over 15 years, and he feels more comfortable in English than Arabic."
"But didn't he practice even basic security?" Harold asked.
"No. That's it. No," Ted replied. "Remember, he was the big guy. Maybe he felt he was above the rules. It's not surprising. Lots of people in high places feel that they don't have to follow the rules people lower down do. Look at New Jersey's Governor Corzine. He got smashed up a few days ago because he wasn't wearing his seat belt, although that's the law. He thought he was immune."
"He wasn't immune to the laws of physics," Ed interjected. "He got hurt pretty bad."
"That's right," Ted agreed. "Now this guy Massad or Massood apparently thought the same way, that because he was the big hot shit nothing could happen to him. Well, we bit him right on the ass, and we've got him and his comprehensive records. The best part is that he's been spilling his guts to us."
"You mean you didn't have to subject him to the customary rigorous interrogation?" Peter asked. There was a sarcastic tone in his voice. We all picked up on it. Peter and the Mounties didn't approve of the severe methods we sometimes had to employ.
"No, not at all," Ted answered him without taking offense. "We took him down when he stepped out of his car late last night, and he offered absolutely no resistance. He didn't have a suicide pill, no handgun, nothing. Inside his house, of course, we found all sorts of shit- explosive vests and all that. Massad is over 40, a lot older than the youngsters he sends out on suicide missions while he stays safely behind. Martyrdom's not for him. He's grown too comfortable in America." I let out a long sigh of relief. This success was more, much more, than I'd allowed myself to anticipate or expect. Ted went on:
"We know where every individual in his network is, name, address, phone number, car if any, all the information. Now our problem is going to be logistics. We just don't have the manpower to pick them up all at once."
"Can't you ask the FBI to help?" suggested Harold. Ed turned on him.
"Bite your tongue! The FBI is publicity hungry. They'd have network TV crews taping the arrest and broadcasting it all over creation. We need to keep this quiet, especially so as not to warn any members of the network who might not happen to be conveniently at home when we come for them. No, we'll have to do this on our own, and hope for the best."
"There's one way we could minimize the members' becoming alerted by the absence of their contact," I put forth.
"What's that?" asked Ted.
"Since you have the list of all members, start by picking up those who were in direct contact with the head man. If he's as voluble as you say he is, he should be able to help you on that. Then, look for their contacts. Look in their cell phone directories, personal address books, and the like. Pick those up next. That way, you ought to roll them up with minimal danger of the rest becoming alerted." Ed caught on quickly and made his contribution:
"There's always a chance that one or more of the members might not have their contacts written down, so we wont know about them. However, working along the ones we can link is the best choice we have."
"For our part, Peter said, "We'll continue the present operation as we'd planned. We'll follow whoever contacts Amir and at the right moment we'll arrest him. We'll prosecute him in the conventional manner."
"This might alert the others if we haven't picked them up yet," objected Ed.
"Oh, we'll maintain close liaison with you so that we don't impede each other," Peter reassured him. "You've played it straight with us and we want our good relationship to continue."
"That's right we've played it straight with you," I told him. "That way we both benefit."
"I really appreciate it that you notified us about Amir and his contact in Toronto instead of sending in your CIA killers," Peter told me. I saw Ed blush. Peter's comment had hit a nerve. Ted coughed and then burst into laughter, although he knew that Peter was serious.
"I know, I know," Ted told him. "We do things a little differently but we've been facing the threat longer than you have."
"I understand that," Peter replied. "We're very strict about following the letter of the law up here. Still, there might come a time when we can't cope with the terrorists in our regular way, and then perhaps you might give us some unofficial help."
"Such as how?" asked Ted.
"We might want to hand a suspect over to you to make him talk."
"Oh, shit! Rendition! That got us into a bit of trouble a while back," Ted told him.
"We don't have to call it that, and we'd keep it very quiet," Peter said. "We simply don't have the expertise to extract information from unwilling subjects, even if we wanted to."
"We'll help in any way we can," Ted informed him. "The only suggestion I have is that you hand over people to us at a private airport. That way we can transport him with the least risk of exposure. We damn well don't want the media getting on to this."
"Nor do we," Peter said. "We'll follow your suggestion. How much notice would you need to pick up a subject?"
"24 hours at most," Ted replied. "We can move pretty fast, and flying time between our countries isn't long."
"The food's been sitting on that table for over an hour," Peter said. "Let's eat now." He walked to the table, picked up a plate, and began assembling a sandwich.
"There's a hell of a lot," Ted pointed out as he followed Peter along the table. "We can't eat all that."
"After we're through," Peter told him between bites, "I'll invite the office staff to partake. Then we'll take the rest home for dinner." Ed and Harold began selecting their meal, and I picked up a plate and waited in anticipation.
"Can you do that?" Ed asked. "That's government property or something like that."
"Not at all," Peter said in his low-key, urbane manner. "I paid for that myself. That's mine. Getting the government to pay for lunch would have entailed a lot of paperwork and signatures from several of my superiors. This way it's neat and clean, no nonsense." Ed nodded approvingly and said:
"Well, thanks a lot, Peter. "I'll buy more beer on the way home. I owe it to you."
"I wish I could hang around for dinner," Ted said as he munched his pastrami sandwich. "These are really good cold cuts." I agreed silently as I worked my way along plates laden with various excellent meats, salads, pickles, and condiments.
"Why can't you?" Harold asked before biting into his sandwich.
"I've got to get back south," Ted said, turning his head to speak to all of us. "I've got to help with Massad, and coordinate the arrest teams. Paul's a good guy, but he can't handle all this by himself. Adams and Spicer are working overtime, but they're only two men. The local offices are helping but their manpower's stretched thin."
"I think we'll see some action with Amir tomorrow," Peter said. In any event we have people sitting on him to make sure everything goes right. We have enough people for the task right now."
"I'm beginning to feel as if we're supernumeraries up here," I said. "There's nothing for us to do."
"No offense," Peter replied, "But you are. We're the legally constituted authorities up here, and we'll handle it all. Prosecution would be hampered if a defense attorney could show that the suspect had had his rights violated. An example would be that people who are not authorized police officers in this country had carried out the arrest. We don't want to cut you out of the action, but you can watch it from the command center with me."
We were all avidly eating, because the food was so tasty. I felt that Peter had excellent taste in food as he had made the selections.
"So there's nothing to do until tomorrow?" Harold put forth. Peter looked at him before replying.
"That's correct for now. I suggest that after we've finished eating I'll have a car run Ted out to the airport right now so he can get home without delay. We'll let the office people get their fill, after which we'll just pack up and go home." As Peter spoke, I was thinking of an afternoon of relaxation.
Continued in Part 17