Arrest Record, Part 20 By Jacksantoro2@yahoo.com
Well, it had finally happened, and I was paralyzed with fear. I'd been shot, it hurt, and only a second after the explosion I realized that my ballistic vest had stopped the bullet, and I began to draw my SIG P229. However, Ed dove by me, grabbing the assailant's wrist and twisting it hard enough to make the bones snap. The man's hand unfolded and the Makarov clattered to the parquet floor.
I wondered who the man might be as he began screaming in pain. Was he the terrorist who lived there? A visitor? Co-conspirator? A second terrorist about whom we didn't know? Yeah, Sherlock, he had to be involved somehow. I hadn't been shot by the Fuller Brush Man.
"You okay? Ed turned back toward me as he threw the gunman to the floor. He planted a foot on his back as Ted bent down to put the needle in his arm. The screams of pain subsided as the drug took effect, and then Ed and Ted lifted him to his feet to walk him down to the van. I stood leaning against the wall, recovering from the shock, while Paul watched both me and the other terrorist on the floor.
Now neighbors were milling in the hallway, asking us what the shooting was all about. I couldn't answer, but Paul said: "Narcotics," and that seemed to satisfy them. Ted and Ed reappeared and walked the second terrorist down. I followed, while Paul remained to secure the apartment until a search team arrived. A couple of uniformed local patrol officers approaching up the stairs stopped me and the female officer asked: "Are you the one who got shot?" "Yes, I am," I answered feebly. "It's no fun." "Good thing you had your vest," her male partner said. I nodded agreement and continued down. In the van I saw that the gunman had been cuffed to a seat rail by his left wrist. The other was sitting in the seat beside him, while Ed watched both carefully. "Hurts, I bet," he said to me, a look of concern in his eyes. "It did happen," I mused. "I never believed deep down that it could happen to me, although I should have known better after Harold got shot." Ed squeezed my hand and said: "You know you'd better get checked out at the emergency room. I think you'll be okay but you might have a cracked rib. The other guy also needs medical care." He was right, and once we got squared away with the local police we took a slight detour to drop us off at a hospital. Ed remained with us, while Ted and Paul drove the other prisoner to headquarters. My problem wasn't serious, just uncomfortable. An X-ray showed a cracked rib, as Ed had surmised, but the gunman whose wrist Ed had twisted during the affray had both the radius and ulna broken, as well as several torn ligaments. In short, he was a mess, and the doctor scheduled him for surgery in the morning. Two uniformed ICE Agents showed up to guard him, and Ed and I took their vehicle and made our way back to headquarters. Novick greeted us with a grim expression, and after receiving the news that my injury wasn't serious, seemed to relax slightly. "Well, we've got a real shit storm here, guys," he continued. "Too many suspects, two agents shot, and a hell of an administrative mess to clean up. It'll take a month to interrogate all these guys. Meanwhile, you and Harold are on administrative leave. You've done enough. I don't want to see you back here until you're recovered. Ed, your job is to take care of them while they're recovering." He patted us on the back and dismissed us. Wearily, we headed for the parking lot. Ed drove. It was 3 A.M when we arrived. Harold was sleeping and we joined him. We all needed rest, and we dropped off to sleep. Ed and I were exhausted, and slept until noon, when the aroma of food stimulated us to full wakefulness. "French Onion Soup," Harold told us as Ed and I staggered into the kitchen, naked. "I didn't know you could cook," Ed said stupidly after inhaling the aroma. "Lots of things you don't know about me," Harold said as he stirred the soup. It was ready to serve, and we soon slopped the soup down hungrily. After eating we all went back to bed, cuddling together as sleep overtook us again. We stirred ourselves at six, and ate more soup. We weren't ravenously hungry, just horribly fatigued, and we ate just enough to keep us going. The weeks of investigation, arrests, and thousands of miles of travel had ravaged us, and we realized that Novick had been absolutely right in granting us open-ended leave, as we would have been ineffective if he'd kept us on duty. At this point, we weren't even interested in sex. Two weeks later Ted phoned to say that he and Barton would be holding a substantial briefing the next day, and that we might want to attend. We were becoming bored, and welcomed the chance to find out the results of our investigation. The following day we dressed in our uniforms and reported to the conference room Ted and indicated. Ted led off: "Well, we've finally got all of our prisoners processed and believe me, we got a lot of information from them. We rounded up several calls across the country and in Canada, and we found several of their affiliates who hadn't been on the books. We got 96 suspects, and the Mounties across the border arrested another 19. As you know, the FBI rounded up a group totally independent of our organization and our investigation in New Jersey. This points up the fact that there are independent groups operating, groups with no contact with the Middle East outfits." "Are any of these going to trial?" someone asked. "The FBI is going for prosecution with their suspects, as you probably know. We're going to keep ours totally dark, as we're not seeking publicity for a number of reasons." I knew what he meant. We wanted, as much as possible, to keep the terrorists in the dark about our successes and our investigative techniques. "Then that means administrative disposition of the suspects?" someone else asked. Ted nodded. I knew what this meant- a bullet in the back of the neck or a lethal injection. I spoke up: "Ted, what about Amir and a couple of others who helped us?" I was concerned about them, as they'd cooperated fully. "We've been working with the U. S. Marshall's Service and their Witness Security Program," he replied. "Amir's in the program, as are a couple of others, and they've been relocated. However, the two guys who shot you and Harold are already dog meat," he went on with a chuckle. "The guy who shot you, Jack, was a new member of that cell. He'd arrived in the states just the day before, which is why he was the unexpected co-tenant of the guy who had the apartment." "Thanks, Ted," interjected Novick. "We appreciate the work you and a lot of others have put in during the last few weeks. We've destroyed the entire Middle East network on this continent, for now. At least that's what we believe. Our work isn't over yet. Barton is going to fill you in on what's on the horizon." He sat down as Barton took the floor. Barton had informed us several weeks ago about the new method of communication between some terrorists. "Sorry, folks, but I've got only bad news. You all did a terrific job on this major investigation, but the going to be tougher ahead. By now al of you should know that with these pay-as-you-go cell phones, terrorists and their wannabees have untraceable communications. More, they can open up a new channel within minutes if they feel uncertain about the old one. Worse, free-lance terrorists, like the ones in New Jersey, can spring up at any time and since the members of a cell all know each other, they don't even need cell-phones to communicate." "How is that going to affect our work," an agent in the back asked. "Very adversely, I'm afraid. The big vulnerability of terrorists controlled from the Middle East has been their communications. Their cells are all networked, and we can trace them through their communications and associates. They've used Internet cafes for untraceable e-mails for years, but we still got a line on them. These free-lancers, on the other hand, are completely independent. They start up without telling anybody, discuss their plans only among themselves, work to their own schedules, and select their own targets. In other words, getting a line on them is always going to be problematic." "A bitch, you mean," Ed interjected. "Exactly," agreed Barton. "You'll never see them. They'll be under your radar screen unless they go out of the country and return, or someone from overseas joins them. That's unlikely, as most of them are home-grown, such as those in New Jersey and in London a couple of years ago." On that unhappy note the briefing ended, and Novick wished us all well before dismissing us. We decided to stop at an Italian Restaurant on the way home, instead of cooking a meal. None of us were fussy eaters, so choosing a restaurant or cooking style had never been a problem between us. After we'd eaten, we tumbled into bed, sated and tired. Perhaps dining out had revitalized us, for next morning we awakened without the blanket of oppressive fatigue that had dogged us during the last couple of weeks. Over coffee in the kitchen, Harold suggested: "You guys realize we haven't done anything for a couple of weeks." He was right. It wasn't just our injuries, which were superficial, but the psychological shock of realizing our vulnerability in the most vivid manner possible, that had depressed us. Ed, too, had been affected, because he'd come within measurable distance of losing his two closest friends. "What would you like to do?" Ed asked as he reached over to caress Harold's prick, still covered with the condom that he'd been faithfully wearing 24 hours a day. "I'd like to wrap my lips around those beautiful dicks and stick my tongue inside your skins," Harold answered without hesitation. "I'll settle for just one if we can do a three-way." "Sounds good to me," I said. "Let's finish off the coffee first, though, so we have full bladders and a caffeine high." We each drank another cup, emptying the carafe, and then headed for the bedroom. Harold removed his condom before lying down with us to form a triangle, my face at Ed's crotch, Ed's face at Harold's, and Harold's eager lips already caressing my foreskin's long nipple. Ed's lips wrapped around Harold's big glans, and I was sure he was tongue-probing Harold's slit as well. Harold removed his mouth from my prick for a moment to say: "My tip's gotten more sensitive since last time, that's for sure. I also haven't come in over two weeks." Neither had we, and I knew that with the coffee, our orgasms would come soon. I grasped Ed's prick behind the head and worked my tongue into his orifice, tickling his long slit and tasting the salty lube leaking from it. We'd already been half-hard in anticipation when we'd begun, and now we were fully hard with only slight stimulation. Harold removed his lips from my prick again and said: "Yours is really tasty this morning, and I love the smell." I knew why. The last time we'd showered had been the previous morning, and I'd been in a hurry. I hadn't skinned back for the usual rinse, so I had two days' accumulation of natural secretions inside my hood. Harold's tongue plunged back into my foreskin and I felt a slight tingle in my tip as it reached its objective, circling my pouring orifice. Harold's fingers gently cupped my sac, which was already tightening. Ed's lips worked rhythmically on Harold's swollen glans, and he was becoming aroused very rapidly. I felt his hot breath on my groin as he got more and more worked up, and I knew that he was going to come before Ed and I would. Harold was about 10 years younger, had been anticipating sex for over two weeks, and his glans had become very sensitive in the moistness of the condom he'd kept covering it. I peered past Ed's prick to see his lips around Harold's prick, even as I pushed the foreskin back with my lips. My lips locked behind Ed's rim as I worked my tongue the length of his slit and into the triangular groove under the helmet to hit the sweet spot. Ed's sac was tightly contracted between my clasping fingers, but still Harold was ahead of him. Harold had just grasped my shaft and yanked back my foreskin when his mouth opened. "AAAAHHHH!" he yelped as the first wave of orgasm overtook him. He threw his head back and shuddered as the overpowering sensations flooded his body. I knew he was pumping his sperm into Ed's mouth, and Ed was swallowing hard to cope with the flow. No chlorine odor was detectable, as Ed was swallowing it all. I was working on Ed's swollen tip, feeling it harden even further as his excitement mounted, when Harold's second wave of orgasm immersed him and he yelped again in pure joy. His hips bucked as he thrust his prick deeper into Ed's mouth, disgorging another stream of cream that Ed frantically swallowed. I kept working on Ed's lovely hard prick, seeking to time it so that his orgasm would begin when Harold's ended, and I was getting results. Ed was breathing hard, taking rasping breaths between swallowing gobs of Harold's sperm. Harold's back arched as his body shuddered again, and I knew that his throbbing prick had just released another surge or sperm into Ed's mouth. Ed's prick seeped salty lubricant steadily as I worked my lips and tongue around the contours of Ed's helmet, the taste mixing with the other natural secretions that coated his glans and lined the inside of his foreskin. Now I saw Ed twisting his head to provide Harold those delicious sideways caresses around his corona. Harold bucked his hips again, thrusting his prick into Ed's mouth as far as the scar where he'd been circumcised, as he grunted again. All my senses were alert, as I was watching and hearing Harold having his orgasm, and feeling Ed climbing to the peak of his sensations, the dam about to burst. Harold grunted again, but this time he didn't buck his hips. His body shuddered, but I knew he was on the descending slope. It would be over for him after a few more spasms. Meanwhile, my tongue and lips explored Ed's helmet, following its compound curves and sexy contours. The surface was very hard, as mine gets just before the final surge. My prick was out of Harold's mouth, but still rock-hard from the contained excitement. I knew Harold would finish me off after he'd recovered. Meanwhile, he shuddered again and unloaded another discharge into Ed's mouth. Ed's lips were wrapped tightly around his shaft, just behind the corona, and Ed was avidly sucking the sperm out of him. Ed began pumping Harold's prick with his fingers, forcing the last drops forward, as Harold's orgasm faltered to a stop and he began to relax. Now, I knew, it was Ed's turn. I grasped Ed's shaft tightly around the base, compressing the veins to gain that last iota of hardness as my lips and tongue worked on the helmet's sensitive nerve endings. Ed's foreskin was lodged behind the rim in a thick fleshy ring, and I moved my lips to give it a circular twist. As I moved back, I let my teeth lightly scrape Ed's straining corona, and this triggered his storm. Ed grunted hard as I felt his turgid glans throb hard against my lips and tongue, and an instant later I tasted the first surge of chlorine-flavored fluid as it jetted against my tongue and palate. I swallowed hard as his hips bucked and his shaft throbbed again between my fingers. The engorged helmet hammered against my tongue as it flooded my mouth with another hot discharge. I yanked back hard on the shaft skin, dragging the foreskin and gee-string with it, to bare the back-face of Ed's corona. My lips encircled it and I twisted my head, hearing Ed cry out helplessly in response as another heavy spasm shot through his prick. The powerful odor of chlorine filled my throat and nostrils as I swallowed frantically and Ed's body trembled in orgasm. I knew his tip was about to become overly sensitive, and removed my lips, keeping my mouth open to catch his jets. I gave his shaft skin another yank, increasing the tension in his gee-string, to keep his orgasm going and trigger another spasm. His tortured prick responded instantly, shooting another heavy jet into my mouth as he cried out again. Ed was now moaning mindlessly as the frenzy of orgasm swept uncontrollably through his body. I gave his shaft skin another jolt and his tip shot another surge of sperm into my mouth. Now the spasms had become weaker, and his white cream just seeped from between the lips of his long slit. I delicately licked away the flow, savoring the delicious taste and viscosity, for a moment thinking of how I was going to disgorge my loads when Harold resumed his action. Ed was now still, although his prick was still seeping, and I felt faint throbs in his shaft. I began milking his urethra behind his scrotum, working my finger forward to force the residual discharges from his prick. His prick had lost its peak hardness, although it was still erect, and a slow discharge began to seep from the slit that parted the front dome of his glans. Ed's body began to relax, and he was quiet. Suddenly Harold's fist closed around the base of my shaft and I felt his lips around my foreskin again. His tongue probed forcefully into the nipple, reaching for the slit. I felt a tingle in my tip as his tongue traced small circles around my teardrop orifice. I released Ed's prick, pulling the protective foreskin up over the head, as Harold's tongue probed aggressively inside my foreskin. I knew I'd be blasting off very soon, because I had been hard the longest, and now I felt my shaft and helmet swelling even more in their final engorgement. A tickle deep inside me told me I was secreting lubricant, and I felt a drop begin to crawl forward inside my groin. Harold's fingers tightened even more around my shaft as he dragged my foreskin back off the glans to snap down into the deep groove behind my rim. My helmet was now fully exposed to his lips and tongue, and he began to give me the delicious sideways friction around my corona. My straining glans ached for release, and my body tensed despite my best effort to remain relaxed and prolong the anticipation. My eyes closed as the first sharp spasm wracked my groin, and I felt the rush as the hot sperm boiled up my throbbing prick to erupt from the teardrop shaped orifice. I cried out helplessly, caught up in the frenzy of my orgasm, as my body shuddered and another torrent of burning lava seared its way up my tube. The heavy pounding of orgasm had me in its grip and I was in an altered state of consciousness. Harold's lips were tight around my corona and the thick fleshy ring of foreskin bunched behind it, compressing my nerve endings as his tongue strummed at my orifice. I grunted and moaned mindlessly as waves of sensation flooded my body. My prick gushed another load into his mouth and now I felt him remove his lips from my helmet. He kept my foreskin back tightly, maintaining the tension on the nerve endings and triggering another spasm that made me groan mindlessly. I was rapidly draining myself, releasing two weeks of pent up fluids that poured from my throbbing helmet onto his waiting tongue. Now the pulses were fading, but the delicious sensations still pervaded my nether regions. I floated in the limbo of semi-consciousness, aware only of the sensations in my own body. Now my pulses had ceased, and I felt the pressure of Harold's fingers forcing my residual fluid forward in my urethra. I felt every drop as it slipped through the gasping lips of my teardrop, producing a gentle tickling feeling. As my prick shrank and lost sensitivity, I felt my foreskin being pulled forward to cover my helmet. We lay still on the bed, exhausted from our efforts, and I reflected on the intimacy of our complex three-way relationship. We had been through a lot during the last few weeks, faced danger and fatigue, and shattered a dangerous terrorist organization. Despite this, the end was not in sight. Our problems were multiplying and becoming more dangerous, and we'd need all our physical and emotional resources to face them. However, I was confident I was teamed up with the best in the field.
The end
Would you like to read a sequel to "Arrest Record?" Please let me know.