Exploring, Part 24 By Jackinnm@yahoo.com
Several days had passed, during which I'd conferred with Jim twice to find out if he could dig up anything on Doctor Mangler. The TV news had added little that would provide an understanding regarding why someone had shot him. Jim, however, is a hell of an investigative reporter, and when he came to see me at home a few days later we pooled our information.
"Okay, here's what I know, Jim. I got this from my police sources and the media. First, the doctor was shot at a range of 200 yards, and that .338 Lapua Magnum cartridge had enough velocity and energy at that range to shred his heart and lungs. I think he was dead before he hit the ground. The cops say there was a night vision scope involved. They figured this because the area of the parking lot where he was shot, as he stood unlocking his car, is just too dark for an aimed shot at night."
"Any clue as to who did it?" Jim interrupted.
"No, nothing. The shooter didn't drop his wallet on the scene or anything like that, and there were no witnesses. A few people heard a noise, but nobody identified it as a gunshot. I think that the only possible lead for the cops is to try to work up a list of people who own rifles chambered for the .338 Lapua Magnum. It's not a common caliber, and so there might be a fairly short list."
"That might have been a serious mistake, using that caliber," Jim observed.
"Maybe, or maybe not," I replied. "I think the shooter is smart. Give him credit for brains, selecting the equipment that gave him a one-shot kill. He may have also calculated the odds of being traced because of the caliber. My guess is that he either bought that rifle privately, or moved to Indianapolis from another part of the country some time ago, after he'd bought the gun. After all, the cops can only chase down people who bought that caliber in the immediate area. If he bought it in California, let's say, he's clear. He also might have had the rifle re-chambered for the Lapua. We don't know. It might have been a .460 Weatherby Magnum when he bought it. A custom gunsmith could easily have installed a new barrel and bolt. Hell, the original rifle could have been chambered for any kind of center-fire magnum above .30 caliber."
"If that's so, then he just might be home free," Jim said. "Anyway, want to hear what I've found out?"
"I sure would," I answered. "I haven't heard a word about a possible motive for the shooting."
"Okay, then, this is what I've found out. The good doctor didn't have much of a practice. In fact, he hardly practiced medicine at all. He made a damn good living because he was the CEO of the company that makes the Clip-Clamp. Remember that one? That cheap and dirty plastic circumcision device was Doctor Ripper's invention. Mangler's company made and marketed this thing, and that's probably why he got iced."
"Well, I can't say I mourn for Mangler. His product's helped to mutilate millions of baby boys," I said. That fucker's got a lot on his conscience, if he even has a conscience."
"Yeah, Mangler made lots of profits and Ripper no doubt got a lot of royalties on his invention."
"Some people will do anything for money," I said. There seemed to be nothing more to say, and we sat silently for a couple of minutes.
"I just realized, Jack. I'm hungry. I didn't eat before coming over. Want to go out to eat?"
"I didn't eat, either. I was so wound up with anticipation over your news I forgot all about it," I said. "I guess we could go out to eat, but I've got some hamburger patties in the freezer and I bought some Kaiser rolls at the bakery today. If you like hamburgers home style, we could eat right here."
"That sounds good to me," Jim replied. "I've always liked a good hamburger, not the crap they sell at these chains. Anything I can do to help?" Encouraged by his words, I brought out some frozen patties and handed jim the Kaiser rolls.
"Just slice these and pop in the toaster while I grill the burgers." I went out to the barbecue and when I returned in a few minutes with four grilled patties, I saw that Jim had toasted the buns. We ate the burgers with mustard and pickles and then sat back, sated.
"You're welcome to stay the night," I suggested. "I know that we both work tomorrow, but we can get up early and either eat here or grab breakfast on the way to work."
"That sounds good to me," Jim replied. We went into my bedroom, where the queen sized bed awaited us. It didn't take long for us to get out of our clothing, and I looked at Jim's crotch appraisingly.
"I see you're still using that plastic insert to stretch your new hood," I remarked.
"Not quite," he replied. "This one's a little longer than the one I had on last time. My skin's stretched some since then." As he spoke he removed the tape that held the insert in place inside his foreskin. The insert slipped down into his waiting palm and he took it into the bathroom to rinse off the betamethasone cream he'd been using. As he walked his prick swung from side to side, with the foreskin overhang dangling an inch below the end of his glans. I followed him and pinched the end of his foreskin gently between thumb and forefinger.
"That's a lot of foreskin," I said. "You've got as much as I do."
"More, really, when you think that my cock's not as big as yours."
"You're right, Jim. In proportion you've got more." My erection measured six inches along the top. His was about an inch shorter than mine, and more slender as well. The helmet shaped head was almost as bulky as mine, and therefore larger in proportion to his shaft. Limp, our pricks were about the same. Now he turned and grasped mine. I reached past him to turn on the shower.
Under the water, we rinsed ourselves. There was no need to soap up, as we hadn't gotten really dirty that day. I felt the urge to pee, and I pinched the end of my hood, noting that Jim pinched his as well. Our foreskins began to distend as we let go, and when they were fully ballooned we let go to release our yellow gushes. We repeated this process a couple more times until we'd drained our bladders, and then skinned back to rinse our pricks. Once we'd dried each other we lay side by side on the bed, but we weren't even thinking of sleep.
"I've been wanting to taste your cock," Jim revealed to me. "I've also been wondering what that big smooth head would feel like against my tongue. He moved so that his mouth was over my half-erect prick, stabilizing it with two fingers while his tongue began probing into my foreskin pucker. My prick throbbed in response when his tongue-tip touched my slit, and I grasped his prick and squeezed the head gently through the long covering skin.
I sighed as I felt his tongue insinuate itself deeper into my foreskin, tracing circles around my now pouting slit, the sensations making the shaft stiffen and the helmet swell. I felt Jim's prick swelling between my fingers as I continued squeezing the glans and making the root of his prick throb in response. Jim removed his mouth for a moment to say:
"I love the sweet taste of your cock. I want you to come so that I can taste your cream as well." He enveloped my foreskin with his lips as his tongue pushed deeply into my hood, caressing the body of my glans. His tongue worked around my helmet, swiping across the broad upper surface, while I moaned in delight. I began working Jim's foreskin up and down his helmet, a smaller version of mine. We were now in a "69" position facing each other, and his engorged prick was inches from my face.
My fingers tightened on his prick as I gently drew back his foreskin. I watched the delicate tissues stretch as they rode over the large head, and then lock back behind the flaring, upturned rim. Jim's helmet was as smooth and glossy as mine, now that it had been protected and kept moist by his new hood. He'd told me that its sensitivity had increased since he'd begun restoration, and I believed it. I touched the tip of my tongue to his slit and felt his prick throb reflexively.
Jim was very busy working on my prick. Keeping my helmet fully covered with my foreskin he pushed his tongue all the way into it, stretching my hood and caressing my flaring rim with his tongue-tip. He worked his tongue-tip around my rim, down one side, until he reached bottom where the two halves of my corona joined in a thin weld-line. I felt his tongue-tip pressing into the triangular groove between the two halves of my corona, hitting the many nerve endings just below the surface. Again, my prick throbbed in response. Now he worked up the other side, until he reached the top again, where my corona's flare is most prominent.
I pushed my tongue-tip into Jim's slit. I didn't get very far because he didn't have one of those long slits that would spread to allow my tongue inside. I did taste a drop of his thick, salty lubricant, and I spread it in small circles around his slit. Jim's scrotum was contracting from excitement, drawing up sharply against his body, and I cupped it with my other hand.
I felt Jim's tongue probing deeply into my foreskin, riding over the flaring rim of my helmet to caress the groove behind it. His tongue-tip worked down along the groove on one side, caressed the concentration of nerve endings where the two halves of my corona met, and then moved slowly up the other side. Now he removed his mouth to speak:
"Your big tip's not spongy anymore: it's gotten hard, and I think I'll have your load pretty soon. I'm going to skin you back now." I felt his fingers tighten around my shaft right behind the head as he slowly drew back my foreskin, working his tongue in rapid circles on the glans right behind the expanding ring of skin. I felt my tight foreskin snap down into the deep groove right behind my rim, and then pull back farther as he continued to exert traction. Now my helmet and groove were completely bared, and I felt his lips caressing the helmet as they advanced to the rear. His lips locked behind my flaring rim, and he twisted his head to give me the delicious sideways friction he knew was most effective on a hard, excited glans.
I was working my tongue around his rim and the ring of bunched foreskin behind it, adding to his excitement. His prick was leaking a steady ooze of tasty, viscous liquid onto my tongue, and I swallowed repeatedly so as not to lose it.
Jim was now working his mouth back and forth along my engorged helmet, his lips and tongue massaging it relentlessly to work me up and bring on orgasm. This was very effective because I felt a slight tickle begin where his wet lips caressed my nerve endings. The tickle intensified, and I knew that he was bringing me to the point of no return.
Jim's hard helmet felt hot against my tongue, and I knew he was well along too. I didn't want to risk making him come at the same moment I did, so I slowed my caresses. Meanwhile, he increased his.
The tickle had spread all over my hot, hard helmet, and I knew that, although I was trying to stay relaxed, he'd draw the cream from my prick very soon. I felt how swollen my glans was, hot and hard and aching for relief. My crotch muscles were beginning to tighten, and now my eyes closed involuntarily as I withdrew into myself, captivated by the sensations of my impending orgasm. I let go of Jim's prick, totally focused on the delightful feelings within my prick and groin.
The tickling feeling in my helmet slowly changed to a hot tingle, and I knew that I was only seconds from hurtling over the edge. My legs were trembling and my insides tightened up to the maximum. My awareness of the world outside my body was nonexistent, and my entire perception was in my prick.
My hot, tingling helmet seemed to explode with sensation, and a tingling spark shot down my shaft until it made the root of my prick contract in response. I cried out helplessly as I felt the first burning jet rush up my shaft to slam through my orifice and explode into Jim's warm and waiting mouth. His tongue and lips lashed my straining glans and brought on another explosion that sent a torrent of searing liquid up my prick as I cried out again, helpless in the grip of my agonized ecstasy. My mind was totally engrossed with the sensational feelings in my groin, and my body shuddered again as the third spasm unleashed another gush of hot juice that boiled up my prick to coat his tongue.
Jim had stopped pumping my glans with his mouth because he knew how sensitive my tip becomes during orgasm, but I felt his tongue still tickling my gaping orifice. He swiped his tongue sideways across the pouting lips and triggered another torrent of juice that spurted into his mouth. The next one was not as strong, and the one after that a dribble instead of a spurt.
A few diminishing contractions kept me moaning, but I knew that it was mostly over. My body began to relax, and I felt my prick soften and shrink. It took me a couple of minutes to recover, but when I opened my eyes I saw Jim's prick in front of them, the bloated glans staring right at me. The eye of his helmet was dripping clear fluid, and I quickly wrapped my lips around the rim as I licked his gaping orifice to lap up the tasty juice.
"Man, you really came hard," I heard Jim's voice as I began to work on his prick and he slipped my hood forward to cover my glans. "I felt your tip getting harder against my tongue as you got hotter, and it was really hot and feverish when you started shooting." I guessed that he was primed for an explosion, having just brought on my orgasm, and that it wouldn't take long to make him come.
I sucked hard on his helmet as he'd done to mine, calculating that he'd enjoy exactly what he'd done to me. My lips locked behind his rim, tightening in the deep groove with all it nerve endings as I pulled back hard on the skin to make sure it was all exposed. I worked my tongue around his corona and the groove behind it, until I reached the magic spot under the head where the two sides of the corona meet. Jim still had his frenulum, and I made sure to swipe my tongue across it several times to make him shudder and gasp with delight.
The blood filling his helmet made it both hot and hard. It was losing its sponginess as I tongued it, and the ooze of viscous lubricant increased. I enjoyed the delicious salty flavor as I worked my tongue up to the top of his rim, where it flared out in a sexy upturn. Now I concentrated on the back-face of his rim, where an array of nerve endings lay buried just under the surface, and I heard Jim begin to moan. I knew he was close, and I cupped his balls as I started to pump his glans with my lips and tongue.
My saliva and his copious lubricant kept his straining helmet very slippery as I massaged the delicate nerve endings with my lips and tongue. I grasped the base of his shaft with my free hand and clamped my fingers around it to compress the veins and restrict the outflow of blood. I tightened my lips and compressed the nerve endings in his corona as I pumped his helmet hard. I was rewarded by a hard throb against my tongue and palate.
"OOOOWWWWW!" Jim yelled as the first spasm wracked his body, and I felt the hard pulse in the underside of his shaft as his first load raced up to the bloated glans to erupt into my mouth. I swallowed hard and caught another hot gush that spurted from the lips of his slit to coat my tongue. The throbbing helmet hammered against my tongue as it spewed another torrent of cream into me, and I was forced to swallow hard.
Jim's frenzied grunting filled the air as his prick kept throbbing and spurting into my mouth. At this point I stopped pumping his glans because I knew that he, too, became super-sensitive during orgasm. I made sure to keep the loose skin of his straining prick tightly back to maintain tension on his nerve endings. Jim's hot prick throbbed in my mouth several more times, releasing progressively weaker discharges of semen, until it stopped and his body went utterly still.
I lay beside him, listening to his breathing as it returned to normal. I was profoundly happy to have been able to give him delightful sensations as he'd given to me. The sharing was as joyful as the physical sensations.
After a minute I felt him stir, and I licked his white-coated helmet clean and slipped the precious hood forward over the head. He hugged me silently, the tactile sensations telling me silently what he felt. I hugged him back, and then swiveled my body so that we were face to face. We fell asleep in each other's arms, limp pricks between our abdomens.
Next morning we quickly showered and shaved, in a hurry to get to work. As we walked toward my front door, Jim stopped me, kissed me on the mouth, and told me he'd really enjoyed having my hot prick in his mouth. I told him that I'd enjoyed tasting his as well, and we went off to work.
At 10 AM he phoned me:
"Did you hear the news? It's on the radio right now. A man named Jack Twister just got shot right outside his office at Clip Inc., the company that makes the Clip-Clamp. I'll meet you for lunch after I find out more." I phoned my friend Brad at the Police Department to try to find out what he knew, although as the shooting was not a local affair I didn't have much hope. However, the news had come in over an official line, and he had some details. I met Jim for lunch at a street-corner frankfurter stand and we exchanged information:
"It seems that Twister was the marketing manager of the company," he said. "That's probably the connection. He apparently did a bang-up job of getting the Clip-Clamp into widespread use.
"My police contact told me that the Indianapolis cops have a `person of interest' that they're interviewing. They say he owns a .338 Lapua Magnum rifle. There was no news as to whether he's got a night sight for it."
"How did they get on to him?" Jim asked.
"Just routine police work. They checked a list of people who had bought a rifle in that caliber during the last five years."
"Well, let's keep in touch," Jim said as he finished his frankfurter. "Let's see how this develops." He seemed glum at the thought that one of the shooters had been suspected by the police. I felt the same way.
The next two weeks brought nothing more substantial. The `person of interest' had been interviewed repeatedly by police, but had had the presence of mind to hire a criminal defense attorney. The media rehashed the same news every day, although there had been no really new developments in the case. Friday evening Jim arrived at my house again to discuss the case.
"Remember the Atlanta bombing, where this security guard was investigated as a `person of interest'?" he asked.
"I sure do," I answered. "I also remember the anthrax mail letters, where this doctor was investigated as a `person of interest'. They were both cleared, weren't they?"
"You bet they were. Now it looks like this case is going the same way. The guy in Indianapolis admitted having a .338 Lapua, but that was no big deal. He was able to prove he was in London, England, on business when the first shooting took place."
"What about ballistics? Any tests done?" I asked.
"That was inconclusive. The bullets were too busted up to retain any clear rifling marks. Back to square one."
Continued in Part 25