ICE Cops
By Jacksantoro@yahoo.com
Ed and I received our notice late that day, namely that we were to pack our uniforms and gear and fly out to a small town on the border with Mexico the following day. As members of the Special Operations Section (SOS) of the Department of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) we often received these special assignments. Our supervisor had informed us that another government agency had relayed information that Ibn-el Saud, a terrorist cell leader, would try to enter the United States at this obscure port of entry within the next few days, and that we were to capture him and hold him for interrogation.
The reason Ed and I were chosen was that we were very experienced ICE Agents, and the bosses upstairs felt that we could handle the assignment on our own, without a special squad of agents to back us up. Ed and I would effectively raise the awareness level at that port of entry without tipping our hand. This was a critical point, as any unusual show of activity at the crossing point would alert the terrorist and he would make the attempt elsewhere. It was a "given" that all our border crossing points were under observation from the other side to monitor their activities. Under these conditions, a SWAT team would be a red flag to our adversaries. We were to replace two regularly assigned agents, who would be rotated to other assignments, thus avoiding a visible increase in staffing that would tip off alert observers.
We went home to the small house we shared and after a light supper, we began packing. As we'd done this many times, it took us only 15 minutes to accomplish our well-practiced task, and we were ready for the morning. Now we had the rest of the evening together.
ICE seemed to have a tacit "Don't ask; don't tell" policy in effect. Actually, nobody seemed to care that we were gay. As long as we did our jobs, our private lives were not under scrutiny. Having earned several commendations each, Ed and I seemed to fit in with the department's policies.
It had been a hot day in Washington and we were both eager to take showers. We stripped down in the bedroom, where we shared a queen-size bed, and as usual our eyes were on each other every moment. We were both in our middle 30s, and about six feet, weight in proportion to height. Ed's brown hair matched mine, but his eyes were blue in contrast to mine. Below the waist we were very much alike. Our pricks were small when limp, but each had a long pendulous foreskin that extended well beyond the prominent bulge of the glans.
"We were pretty lucky," Ed commented as we dropped our boxer shorts. "My parents told me that the doctor who delivered me didn't believe in circumcision." Lots of other kids I knew got clipped when they were born."
"Same here," I said. "My father was very much against having me clipped, and the doctor didn't insist. He just did what the parents wanted." I clasped Ed's foreskin nipple between two fingers.
"We've had a lot of fun with our skins," Ed added as he clasped mine, rolling it between thumb and forefinger. His touch made my prick tingle, as it always did. I noticed that Ed's long fleshy sleeve had begun to fill out as the core of his prick expanded to fill his foreskin. Ed pushed back my foreskin, making visible the results of that hot and sweaty day. My helmet was coated with thin white goo, whose aroma filled the air.
"You really need to clean that off," Ed commented as he worked my foreskin back and forth over the slippery head. I skinned him back quickly, exposing the layer of smegma that coated his glans.
"We both do," I riposted as I kept his foreskin back, locked behind his high, flaring rim.
"Well, then, let's get in there," he said. We let go as we walked into the bathroom.
In the shower, the warm water cascading over our bodies promoted a feeling of relaxation, and our half- erections subsided. I also felt an urge to pee, as my bladder was full. I pinched the end of my foreskin shut as I relaxed my sphincter, and watched Ed do the same. Our foreskins expanded as they filled, and when mine became uncomfortably distended I let go. A thick yellow gush poured from the long swollen nipple of my foreskin down toward the drain. Ed did the same a moment later.
"I've been doing this since I was a kid," I said. "My father showed me this trick. He said that with my long foreskin, I had to make sure it loosened from the head and didn't get too tight."
"My older brother broke me in," said Ed. "His skin's as long as mine, and he told me the same thing your father did. I was finally able to skin it back all the way by the time I was seven." Ed retracted his foreskin fully to show me, allowing the hot water to flow freely over his thick helmet-like glans. I did the same, and the rest of our streams poured down the drain.
"I think I got it back about six," I replied. "Let's soap up." I picked up a bath sponge and poured liquid soap onto it and began working it over Ed's body. I carefully scrubbed every surface and crevice, and when I'd finished handed it to him. Now he added more soap and began to scrub me as the shower spray rinsed the suds from his body.
"I never use soap on my tip," he said. "I noticed you never do either."
"That's because my penis never gets that dirty. I don't need soap to wash it. Hot water's always enough." Ed had finished soaping me and we switched places so that I could rinse off.
"I always keep the skin back when I wash, and especially when I rinse," he said. "My big brother warned me about that. He said that if I forgot to rinse my cock inside and out, the soap could cause an irritation."
"That's for sure," I added. "I found that out the hard way when I was about 12. I forgot to make sure my foreskin was rinsed off, and some soap stayed trapped under it. A couple of hours later I felt an itch under there, and I went into the bathroom to check it out. I saw that my helmet and foreskin were red and sore. I quickly rinsed off and a few hours later everything was back to normal." By this time we were thoroughly rinsed and I shut off the water. We dried each other, carefully dabbing at the helmets, and then rolled each other's foreskin all the way down to sheathe the glans.
"We have a lot of fun with these," Ed said back in the bedroom. We were sitting on the edge of the bed fingering each other's prick, and pulling gently on the foreskin.
"We've both had sex with cut guys," I said. "I noticed their pricks aren't as sensitive as ours. They can't do what we can, either. I was again rolling Ed's long nipple between two fingers and watching his prick expand inside its fleshy sheath.
"They sure can't dock," Ed added. "That's maybe the best part of having our skins." I knew he was right. Docking, enclosing the other's glans inside the foreskin, provided an intimacy beyond the experience of anyone lacking a foreskin, unless he happened to meet someone with a long foreskin.
"Well, not all uncut guys have enough foreskin length to dock," I said thoughtfully. "We're luckier than average."
"It's not just luck," Ed countered. "Both you and I have been stretching our skins for more length." He was right. Ever since we'd learned that some circumcised guys had regained hoods by stretching the remaining shaft skin, we'd been tugging on ours regularly to gain more length.
"Well, you can never have too much foreskin," I philosophized. Now our pricks were hard, and our foreskins still covered the helmets, with some extra beyond the end. Ed and I each had about six inches, measured from the pubic bone to the end of the glans, not counting the foreskin. We were "growers," not "showers," as our pricks were fairly small limp. We both had straight shafts, but mine had a big vein on the right, while the most prominent vein on his shaft was on top.
"I love the smell of your cock," Ed said as he leaned down to sniff. "Even freshly washed, there's a lovely odor about it." A moment later I felt his tongue probe into my foreskin's nipple.
"I like the way yours smells too," I said as I shifted my position so that I could smell the rich masculine odor of his wet foreskin and glans. I drew closer, my tongue reaching for the pucker in his foreskin as I felt his tongue-tip plunge into mine and tickling my slit. Now we stopped speaking as we explored each other's pricks. Ed's tongue traced circles around my slit, and then probed deeper, working around the bulge of my helmet, its bulk stretching my foreskin.
I tasted the slippery, salty fluid that was seeping from his slit as my tongue touched it. We loved each other's taste as well as aroma. Now I pushed my tongue between his foreskin and the underside of his glans, teasing the delicate frenulum and its many sensitive nerve endings. I followed the contour of his corona up one side until the top, tickling the nerve endings in the high flaring rim as the bulk of my thick tongue stretched out his foreskin. Ed moaned with delight and I felt the vibrations in my glans.
We were now in a classic "69" position, and I had a perfect view of Ed's scrotum as it began contracting with excitement. I felt mine doing the same, drawing my balls tightly against my body as Ed fueled my fire. I worked my tongue around his rim several times sweeping down to lap his gee-string and then up the other side. He was doing the same to me, his hot tongue hitting my most sensitive spots, and I sighed deeply.
Now Ed removed his mouth from my prick and his gentle fingers drew my foreskin back to bare the glans. I felt a cool sensation as he blew on my wet helmet, and I did the same to him. I studied his helmet, so similar to mine. The high ridge flared attractively on top, a sexy re-curve that displayed the many little buds of sensation that studded its back surface. The blunt front dome of his glans was parted by a long slit, and clear lubricant was steadily seeping from its lips.
"Your tip's so much like mine," he observed. "Your slit looks like a teardrop when you get hard and the lips pout." We were enamored of each other's pricks, and especially the foreskins and helmets. We both had big helmets that bulged proudly through the enveloping foreskins, and glistened wetly in the soft light of the room.
"Let's go head to head," I suggested as I swiveled around so that our pricks pointed at each other. He thrust forward slowly so that the blunt front dome of his helmet pressed against mine. Our tips were very wet and slippery, and Ed began moving his helmet around the front of mine, producing a delicious subtle friction that excited us both without danger of premature orgasm.
Now he pushed forward slightly so that the twin lobes under his helmet caressed the broad upper surface of my glans. As he moved, his frenulum slid over my rim, and I knew that the sharp flare was giving him hot sensations as it scraped over his gee-string.
"Now the other way," he explained as he moved his big glaring helmet under mine, and I felt his rim scrape my gee-string. He drew back, until the lips of his long gaping slit kissed mine.
"Just hold it like that and I'll cover you," I said as I grasped my foreskin, bringing it forward to ride over my corona and it slid down the taper of my glans. I grasped the edges and brought it over his bulging helmet until it enveloped him right down to the corona. I pulled slightly harder so that the stretched forward edge sunk into the deep groove behind his rim. Ed's foreskin was bunched in a thick fleshy ring around the neck of his shaft, and when he let got it pulled forward to touch the forward edge of my foreskin.
"Let's take it nice and easy," I urged as I slid my foreskin in short strokes over his rim. Ed nodded, because we both knew that we attained the best, most intense, and prolonged orgasms if we took our time getting there. The longer the build-up the better the shattering climax.
"Your balls are tightened up," he observed.
"Yours are too," I countered. "We're both pretty hot."
"That really feels good," he said, receiving the full sensations of my fingers lightly compressing the nerve endings in his flaring rim. He was thrusting slightly in pace with my strokes, and I felt the hard front dome of his prick pressing into mine.
"I just love this, feeling you inside my hood and pressing against my tip," I said as I continued to work my foreskin over his head. Each time I pulled it forward, I felt a distinct sliding sensation as it stretched and slid over my glans as well, a subtle and gentle friction that kept me fully aroused. His lips found mine and we shared a long, deep kiss.
"I love looking into your eyes while we're connected like this," he said. I'd heard this before, and had said it to him many times. The intimacy of our locked gazes matched the intimacy of our locked pricks.
"You know my eyes close when I'm about to come," I pointed out to him.
"I've seen that happen a lot," he answered. "I like to watch that, too, and watch your face contort when you're really into it." We both appreciated the utter intimacy and total vulnerability we displayed to each other during our orgasms.
"I love sharing these sensations with you," I said.
"The sharing's the best part," he said. "It wouldn't be the same without you. I can jack off any time, but it's just physical relief." I kissed his cheek.
"I can feel your head getting harder through the skin," I observed. "The rim's really flaring now."
"That means we're getting close," he said. "I can feel the front of your head's harder too." I'd also noticed that. Ed's front dome felt firmer each time he pressed it against mine. Now I grasped my shaft and moved it side to side slightly, swiping the lips of my slit across his as he thrust against me.
"Oooohhh, that feels so nice," he said, surprised at the sudden sensation. I felt liquid warmth pouring out to bathe the front dome of my glans as Ed's prick gushed more lubricant. I twisted my foreskin around Ed's helmet to give him an extra thrill and heard him gasp.
"Like that?" I asked as I continued to twist my hood around his head. He responded by giving me a hard thrust against my tip.
"That's giving me a tickle around the rim," he said as his hot hard head continued to compress my front dome. I was feeling a tickle too because my foreskin was also twisting around my helmet.
"I think we're close," I muttered as I felt a tickle start in the end of my helmet where he was pressing his tip rhythmically against it.
"The tickle's spreading," he whispered as he hugged me and pressed his lips against mine.
"I feel it too," I answered as the tickle expanded to fill my helmet with sensation. I also felt a pleasant ache in my glans from the swelling, a need for relief.
"Your eyes just closed," he observed. "I think this is it."
"Tingle," I muttered as the feelings in my helmet changed dramatically, and I knew I was only a moment away from the explosion.
"Hahhhhh!" Ed yelped as I felt his hot hard helmet throb against mine. A moment later a torrent of hot juice exploded against the front end of my glans, triggering my climax. The tingle in my tip exploded, sending a hot charge of sensation down my shaft to the root. My insides contracted, sending a thick gush of liquid burning its way up my straining prick to erupt against Ed's trapped helmet.
We were now both crying out in joyful agony as the fury of climax ripped through our bodies. I felt his helmet hammering against mine as he shot another heavy discharge into my foreskin and my prick responded by flooding his tip with another blast of hot juice. His hips were bucking, and I wrapped both fists around our pricks to keep them connected as they strained against each other in the frenzy of hot release.
We were breathing hard, grunting and gasping as the spasms swept through our bodies, our pricks spurting heavy gushes that swirled around our swollen helmets. I felt hot juice filling the groove behind my corona while more leaked out of the end of my enveloping foreskin. Our throbbing helmets floated in a thick ocean of cream as they tingled and strained to pump out more semen. However, our throbs weren't as hot or urgent as before, and I knew we were winding down. I kept my fists clamped on our pricks as the last spasms shook our bodies, and then we became very still, dazed by the fury of our mutual release.
We moved closer to each other as our pricks softened, still connected by my foreskin. I reached for a wad of tissues to catch the cream that was already seeping from the end of my hood. I wrapped the soft, absorbent paper around our pricks and concentrated on hugging Ed, whose arms were already wrapped around my body. After an indeterminate time he spoke:
"It's always great when we dock." He gave my body a squeeze when he said this.
"We always come together," I said.
"We both have skins and our tips are both sensitive," he added.
"We're well matched," I completed the thought. Now we pulled apart so that we were able to disengage our pricks. Thick white cream poured from my foreskin as Ed pulled his now shrunken glans out of it. I sopped it up and reached for more tissues. Now I milked Ed's prick, from behind his scrotum right to the end, forcing out the last drops. When I was done I pulled his long foreskin out to cover his glans.
Ed meanwhile was working on mine. He lovingly skinned my foreskin all the way back so that he could dab at the cream in the groove behind my corona, and then carefully wiped the glans, paying special attention to the triangular groove under the head. Then he milked my urethra, and as the residue seeped from the lips of my slit he blotted it. Finally, he replaced my foreskin to protect the precious head.
We were so well-coordinated that we finished at about the same moment, and then we fell asleep in each other's arms. Next morning, we got up and left for the airport. We arrived at the drab and dusty border town of Nada, Arizona, at the end of the day, after a long drive from Tucson International Airport. We presented our orders to Stan, the officer in charge, whom we knew from when we'd served together several years ago. He immediately issued orders detaching the two officers we were replacing and put us on the schedule for the next day's 8 to 4 shift.
"This way, anyone watching this place won't see any increase in strength. We don't want them to know we've increased our awareness level and they'd surely figure it out if we flooded the area with lots of officers. Now this will increase the pressure on you but I think you can handle it."
"I think we'll be okay," I said. "What bothers me is that the description we received wasn't very helpful. It'll be like picking a piece of hay out of a haystack."
"Since you don't have a place to stay you can spend the night at my place," he said. "Hell, it's just about quitting time right now, so let's just head out. Since I knew you two were coming, I got something special for us to eat." We put our luggage in his Chevy Suburban and Stan took the wheel, driving to an isolated ranch house several miles from town. I noticed there was a high wall around his back yard.
"See, I've got a nice little place here," he said as he led us on a quick tour of the house. There were three bedrooms, two baths, kitchen, dining room, living room, and den. The back yard had a swimming pool, several chaises longue, a table, and a charcoal barbecue.
"I got us three t-bones, and I'm going to grill them on mesquite," he continued. "That's something you don't often get back east."
"I know you've got that high wall for privacy," I said.
"Shit yeah," Stan responded. "This place is pretty isolated and hardly anyone ever wanders by, but I figured I'll cover all the bases. Hey, that means you can take your clothes off. It's still hot this late in the day." Stan discarded his uniform and we shed our clothes eagerly, as we'd seen each other naked before. Stan was about our height, ten years older, blond, and his prick dangled in front of him as he walked. It was small like ours, but at the end was a large pinkish-gray helmet just ahead of a thick and jagged brown scar ring.
"Always envied you uncut guys," Stan said as he donned an apron to protect his tender parts from any possible splatter from the grill. "Jack, why don't you get us three beers from the refrigerator?" I complied, taking three bottles of Corona, a Mexican import, and removing the caps. I sliced a lime and poised a slice on the rim of each bottle, Mexican style. We drank deeply and then Stan started the fire. The rich aroma of mesquite filled the air.
"I know what you're doing here," Stan said, addressing Ed and me. "It won't be hard to fit into the regular routine while you're keeping a watch for Ibn-el-Saud. Where did he get that name anyway? Is he Saudi?"
"We don't know," said Ed. "The CIA, which I presume is the source of the information, doesn't know either."
"These terrorists all use aliases anyway," I explained. "That el-Saud name suggests he's a member of the Saudi royal family, but I'll bet my balls that he's not. He's possibly Afghan or Syrian, but that's only a guess."
"Is he likely to be armed?" asked Stan. "I'd hate to see a shoot-out here, with all the other people around."
"We're pretty sure he won't be," Ed replied. "He knows he has to pass close scrutiny at the port of entry, and having any sort of weapon would only draw attention to him."
"I'm pretty sure he'll try to blend in with other Latin American immigrants," I added. "He may well have a Guatemalan or other passport, and I'm pretty sure he'll speak Spanish, at least enough to try to fool us."
"Neither Jack or I are really fluent in Spanish," Ed said. "I couldn't tell if a guy comes from Guatemala or Uruguay." As Ed was speaking, Stan got up to put the potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil on the fire.
"These need to cook longer," he said as he took another swill of his beer.
"We'll just have to be extra careful, and give a close look at anybody who doesn't fit in, whatever the reason," I said.
"Fact is, we can't be sure of catching the guy," Ed said. "We don't have much of a description. All we know is that he's of average appearance, whatever that means, he's about five feet eight, and he's male and about 35 years old."
"I'd guess that being from the Middle East, he's got a mustache," Stan said. "That doesn't help much, because most males from Latin America have mustaches."
"Yeah, and there's no way of distinguishing a Middle Eastern mustache from a Latin American one," I said. Stan put the steaks on the fire and now concentrated on his cooking.
The meal was excellent. We ate outside, and after we'd finished helping Stan clear the table and wash the dishes we continued drinking beer from Stan's copious supply. Stan had taken off his apron and we sat around outside, enjoying the evening.
"Want to go in the pool?" Stan suggested. "That's a good way to cool off." Within seconds we were in the water, happily floating and swimming. After about 15 minutes we were again sitting in chairs, letting the warm summer air dry us. Stan reached over to finger my foreskin, rolling the long nipple between thumb and forefinger.
"I sure wish I had one of those," he said. "I was born in Canada, where doctors aren't as hot on circumcision the way they are here in the states, but I was one of the unlucky kids who got clipped. Hardly any boys get clipped in Canada today." My prick was swelling, as was Stan's, although I hadn't touched it. Just fondling my foreskin-equipped penis was enough to turn him on without additional stimulation.
Now Ed reached for Stan's prick, gently squeezing the large head. Stan pulled on the end of Ed's hood, stretching it out, and this produced an immediate response from Ed. His prick core began filling his foreskin and soon he was hard like the rest of us.
"I'd like to make you guys come," Stan announced. "It isn't often I get to play with a cock with skin, and you two guys have really nice ones."
"I know you need lube for yours," Ed said.
"I know I do. Let me get it." Stan got up and headed for the house, his heavy-ended prick swaying from side to side as he walked. He reappeared moments later with a bottle of Jergen's Intensive Care lotion. Ed squirted a generous gob into his hand and worked his fingers around it, warming it before applying it to Stan's hard prick.
"I'll go easy on you," Ed told him. "I know you don't want to come until you've made us come." We pulled our chairs close and Stan began sliding my foreskin back and forth with his right hand while gently squeezing Ed's six-inch prick with his left.
"I'll make you come first," Stan told me. Ed reached under me, cupping my balls in his left hand. Stan started with short strokes on my prick, making sure I was fully hard before changing to longer strokes that completely covered and uncovered my helmet. In return I cupped Stan's scrotum in my hand.
Even though I was very relaxed from the meal and the beer, Stan's expert touch fired up my excitement, and I felt my scrotum quickly contracting in response. I was seeping clear lubricant, and my tip glistened wetly in the evening light. Stan's helmet was also fully swollen, glossy from the lotion as Ed's fist worked up and down his glans and shaft.
"Stan's slit's just like yours," Ed commented. "See how the lips pout to form a teardrop shape?"
"I want to see you shoot through your skin," Stan announced as he increased his pace. My prick responded with a throb, as my excitement was mounting from Stan's loving attention. He skinned me back totally, right down to the groove, and added:
"I love the way your cock smells. I sure wish mine smelled that way. I love that man smell." His strokes grew longer, evidence of his mounting excitement. His magic touch was fueling my fire, and I felt the tension building in my body. He gave me a few more long strokes and then skinned me back, holding my foreskin bunched in a thick fleshy ring behind the rim.
"I felt your tip getting harder inside that skin," he said. "Now I can see how the head's darker." He resumed stroking me, faster yet, eager to bring my excitement to its peak. I felt a tickle in my rim as he bumped my foreskin over it with each stroke, and I felt Ed's fingers gently kneading my balls inside their tight sac. My breathing was faster and more shallow as I felt the sensations mounting in a hot erotic crescendo.
"I'm feeling that tingle," I muttered as my eyes closed. Stan knew what that meant, and he gave me a couple of extra-quick strokes to send me flying over the precipice. My entire glans was tingling now, and I gasped as the hot sensations peaked and shot down my shaft like an electric spark.
HUNH! HUNH! HUNH!" I grunted loudly as the first hot stream shot from my prick. Stan had my foreskin all the way down during that first gush, which shot unobstructed from my throbbing helmet. The next second he brought it up to envelop my glans completely as the second spasm coursed through the root of my prick, and my sperm shot through the thick foreskin pucker. Now Stan changed his stroke to short but intense jiggles that brought forth another stream that poured from my extended foreskin, giving him the sight he wanted.
I was writhing on the chair as the frenzy of the orgasm swept through my body, and I gushed again. My hand had dropped from cupping Stan's balls, and now my fists were clenched tightly. Stan had stopped stroking me, knowing how super-sensitive an uncircumcised glans became during orgasm, and now was just holding my foreskin fully forward as he watched the remaining spurts pouring from the pucker at the end.
My prick stopped throbbing, and my body began to relax. My eyes were still closed as I sank into the afterglow that permeated my body. After a couple of minutes I revived and opened my eyes to see Stan working on Ed's foreskin. Now that I'd had my release I was able to give my full attention to pleasuring Stan and Ed. I cupped Ed's tight scrotum in my fingers and caressed the insides of his thighs with my other hand.
"I'm going to make him shoot without the skin covering his head," Stan announced. "That's the beauty of uncut cocks. You can make them go either way." I saw that Ed was obviously excited from the attention Stan and I were lavishing on his groin, and I knew that he'd be following me soon.
Now Stan changed his long stroke to a different pattern, keeping Ed's foreskin bunched up behind the head and bumping Ed's corona with the thick ring of hot flesh. On the down-stroke he pulled hard enough to put tension on Ed's gee-string, which in turn made Ed's helmet dip down with each tug. I knew what these pleasant jolts of sensation felt like, as Ed had often done that to me.
"See, his head's getting darker now," Stan told me. Ed's eyes were fixed on his helmet, which was bobbing up and down erotically as Stan tugged on the gee-string. A steady flow of clear lubricant seeped from the lips of his long slit. I carefully kneaded Ed's scrotum, knowing that this and the caresses on his inner thighs were adding to his arousal.
"Man, see how that rim flares out," Stan commented. Ed's corona was dark purple and indeed flaring, as Stan had stated, and I knew that his helmet was hot and hard, poised on the brink of orgasm. Stan continued bumping the engorged corona, driving Ed toward the brink.
Now Ed was breathing hard and his face was flushed. I was happy to have the opportunity of watching his orgasm, because usually my eyes were closed during those critical moments. Ed's legs began to tremble and his stomach muscles tightened.
"HAH! HAH! HAH!" Ed grunted as Stan's expert fingers pulled down hard on his foreskin, making his glans dip as the first stream shot from between the lips of his long slit. Stan brought his thick fleshy ring up to bump against Ed's flaring corona, provoking another hot stream that filled the air with its characteristic chlorine odor. My fingertips, pressed into the tender flesh behind his balls, felt the pulse of semen in his urethra.
"See what I mean?" Stan asked me as he continued to stimulate Ed's hard, throbbing prick to further ejaculations. "I just love watching a big purple tip shoot like that." Ed was now writhing in his chair, as I had been, his face contorted in the blissful agony of orgasm as his prick released another load that shot into the air.
Stan kept pulling down on Ed's thickly bunched foreskin, knowing that although Ed's uncircumcised helmet became too sensitive to touch during orgasm, stretching Ed's foreskin and gee-string back hard would stimulate him perfectly without distress. Ed howled as his throbbing glans released another jet that arced high before falling to the ground.
Stan continued to hold Ed's foreskin back tightly as the orgasm began to fade. The pulses of cream became weaker and smaller, until all that was left was a steady seepage that ran down his glans and shaft. Ed had released Stan's prick when he'd begun to come, and now his hands hung at his sides.
Stan and I waited for Ed to recover from the heavy daze that had overtaken him once the frenzy of orgasm had stopped. I looked at Stan's prick, which was still fully hard, with a pearl of clear lube filling the teardrop shaped slot at the end of his glans. His helmet and shaft were shiny with the lotion that Ed had been massaging into his prick, and looked ready for the final strokes that would bring on his release.
Ed's eyes had been open all this time, focused on his prick, and the first sign that he was back with us was when he pushed his foreskin forward to shield the precious head. Now he grasped Stan's penis again, clasped it firmly and began a series of long strokes that brought his fist up over the glans and then down to the base. Stan's tightly-cut shaft skin didn't move with Ed's fist, but remained fully stretched behind the head.
"His head looks larger than ours," Ed commented to me as he worked his fist up and down Stan's engorged and needy prick. I cupped Stan's balls, again pressing my fingertips against the urethra buried in his perineum so that I'd feel the pulse of his orgasm. My other hand caressed his inner thighs as I'd done to Ed.
"That's because he's got no skin behind the head," I said. "His groove's deeper than ours because of the way he's been cut. The doctor also removed his frenulum." Stan's groove looked as if it had been actually excavated by the doctor who had circumcised him. The effect was to make his corona stand out more prominently than ours. However, the negative effect was that the removal of his inner lining and his gee-string made his prick less sensitive, as he lacked those precious nerve endings that gave Ed and me such intense pleasure.
"I'm really worked up from stroking you guys," Stan admitted. "I can't hold out long." We knew that the psychic stimulation had brought him close to the brink, and only a bit more caressing of his circumcised and desensitized glans would send him hurtling over the edge.
"Now I'll make you come," Ed said as his fist began to twist vigorously with each upward stroke. We all knew that sideways friction on the corona, circumcised or otherwise, was a sure-fire trigger. Stan threw his head back and began grunting as Ed drove him inexorably towards his destiny. His hips bucked as he thrust his helmet deeper into Ed's encircling fingers.
"Look at how dark the head's gotten," Ed commented to me as he twisted his fist again, applying both friction and pressure to Stan's engorged rim. We saw Stan's legs begin trembling and his stomach muscles tightening. Stan's jaw dropped and he grunted loudly as I felt a pulse in my fingertips that originated deep inside Stan's body.
A thick white stream burst from Stan's teardrop meatus as he howled with the excitement of his release. The chlorine odor filled the air as the cream splashed on the concrete patio. Stan's hips bucked again as he howled, and the second massive gush erupted from his straining, throbbing glans. He was totally into it, helpless in our hands, as the frenzy of his orgasm gripped his straining body.
Another thick rope of cream shot from his distended orifice as Ed gave him the back-stroke, and we watched Stan's naked purple glans ejaculating in full glory, sending the ejaculation into the air. Stan's eyes were closed and his face contorted, captivated in the sweet agony of his orgasm.
Stan's forceful streams began to relent, and I knew he was past the halfway point. Ed maintained the heavy twisting friction, confident that Stan's circumcised helmet was not about to become overly sensitive. Stan shot several more times until his jets slowed to a dribble.
Now his body began to relax as his grunts died away, and we watched him sink into the blissful daze that we all experienced after our biological storms. His erection began to soften, and soon he was limp. A few minutes later he opened his eyes, silently thanking us in a way words could never express. Ed and I hugged him between us, grateful to him for a splendid evening.
We were covered in sweat and semen, and Stan led us to one of the bathrooms, containing a king-size shower stall that had four nozzles and easily accommodated the three of us. With all the beer we'd consumed, the hot water had its effect, and an irresistible urge to pee gripped us all. Stan had obviously been expecting this, because his pinched my foreskin nipple with two fingers of his right hand while his other hand pinched Ed's.
Our foreskins swelled with the pressure as we relaxed our sphincters, and Stan released them at just the right moment. Thick yellow gushes from the ends of our foreskin nozzles joined Stan's heavy stream on the shower floor and swirled down the drain. After we'd drained ourselves, we soaped each other and then rinsed off. Stan led us to our bedroom, advising us to get a good night's sleep because tomorrow would be a long day. We had no trouble sleeping that night.
Next morning Stan prepared a hearty breakfast for us, because depending on how events unfolded, we might miss lunch. We put on our uniforms and strapped on our gun belts. I put my Glock model 40 into its holster after double-checking to make sure it was loaded. Stan and Ed did the same, almost certain that we wouldn't need our firearms, but aware that there was always a possibility, however slight.
Nothing happened that day. Many immigrants came to the border post, and we processed them. Those with proper papers we checked perfunctorily and let pass, while those with questionable documentation or no papers we turned back. This was all routine, as many males matching the vague description we had been given presented themselves. We knew we were operating mainly on guesswork and luck.
Stan was kind enough to offer us his excellent hospitality again, saying that we could stay with him for the duration of our assignment and pocket the per diem the government gave us for remote assignments. The per diem was an arbitrary amount, regardless of the cost of living in an area, and often we got screwed because the per diem didn't cover the high costs. We had had to make up the difference out of our own pockets. In return for Stan's hospitality, Ed and I gladly bought the food and beer, and I volunteered to do the cooking.
As we didn't have to pay for a motel and restaurant meals, Ed and I were able to buy very fancy food without spending more than a fraction of our per diems. We ate extremely well and drank our fill of imported beer.
Each evening we dunked ourselves in the pool before going to bed, but were too tired for sex because we were exhausted from our shifts in the grueling heat. We slept and then arose in the morning to dress and face another day.
On the third day there was an unusual crush of people appearing, and I warned Ed to be especially alert because we knew that a typical tactic for spurious immigrants was to appear when we were especially busy, and unable to devote proper attention to each person.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ed paying special attention to a man standing in front of him. The man had a Saddam mustache, but most of the men coming through sported these. Ed fingered his passport, and I observed that the man fitted the rough description we'd been given. I was wondering what had alerted Ed, when I saw him turn and catch my eye. I stepped over to Ed's line and looked over his shoulder at the Guatemalan passport he was holding. Ed asked him in Spanish how long he'd been traveling.
"Veinte dias, senor," the man replied. That meant 20 days, as my rudimentary Spanish allowed me to translate. Ed's further questions elicited that the man, Gilberto, had been on the road, walling, as he had little money to pay for transportation, and that he had slept at the side of the road because he could not afford a hotel.
"Habla Ingles?" Ed asked him. The man nodded that he didn't speak English.
"He's been on the road all this time but his passport's pristine. The date of issue is two years ago but it looks new," Ed muttered to me. Gilberto, if this really was his name, did not seem alarmed, so perhaps he really did not understand English.
Gilberto had a small gold crucifix on a chain around his neck. Ed, being more fluent in Spanish than I, asked him if he knew the Hail Mary. Gilbert recited it in Spanish, as we expected, but this didn't prove much because if he was a terrorist he would have been coached well in how to impersonate a Catholic.
"Let's take him in for a strip search," I said to Ed. Two other agents stepped over to handle our lines while we escorted Gilberto to a small windowless room used for extensive interrogations and searches. Ed ordered Gilberto to remove his clothing and place it on the table. As each item landed on the table, I checked the pockets and found nothing incriminating or even unusual. I would have been very surprised if Gilberto had been carrying a copy of the Koran.
When he dropped his underwear Gilberto hastened to cover his groin with his hands, but he wasn't quick enough. Ed and I exchanged looks as we stepped closer to him and moved his hands. We looked down at Gilberto's groin and Ed muttered "hotneh," the Arabic word for circumcision, loudly enough for Gilberto to hear. We both saw the change of expression on his face, and we knew we had our man.
"Welcome to the United Sates, Ibn-el-Saud," I said. He tried to dead-pan it, but again a flick of his jaw muscles gave him away.
Moslem males are all circumcised, either at birth or during childhood before puberty. On the other hand, Guatemalan Catholic peasants are never circumcised, and it was obvious that this ersatz Guatemalan had been clipped. That "Gilberto" understood the Arabic word for circumcision was conclusive. Ed handcuffed Gilberto's hands behind his back and I went out to tell Stan. Stan followed me back to the interrogation room where we explained in detail what we'd found about our Moslem infiltrator, including his obvious circumcision. He then left to notify headquarters, and we allowed Gilberto to dress. When Stan returned he told us what we were to do:
"We are going to drive Gilberto to Tucson International Airport right now, where we'll be met by two guys who will identify themselves as Smith' and Jones.' They won't show any ID. They'll take over Gilberto and fly him somewhere in an executive jet." We trussed up Gilberto in the manner used for dangerous prisoners; handcuffs, ankle cuffs, waist belt and chain, and we took him out to Stan's Suburban, where we padlocked his chain to a bracket on the floor. Ed and I sat on either side of him in the back while Stan drove.
"I don't know what agency is interested in this guy," Stan explained to us during the two-hour drive. "They're not FBI or CIA or they would have told me. I've heard a rumor about a `9/11 Unit' that was formed after the Manhattan and Pentagon attacks of 2001. These are law officers and military who had lost relatives in the attacks. These people form a secret anti-terrorist task force and they're vindictive and absolutely merciless. I've got a hunch Gilberto's going to them."
"He's going to have a rough time, then," I concluded.
"He really might," Stan said. "Let's see if we can find out anything from the people when we hand him over."
At the airport we proceeded to the private aircraft terminal, where we saw two men in civilian clothing standing next to a Grumman Gulfstream. These were our contacts, Smith' and Jones," and we turned Gilberto over to them.
"Is he going to Guantanamo Bay?" I asked Smith.
"No, someplace else," was the terse reply. I didn't bother to ask the name of the other place because I realized that I wouldn't get a reply. We escorted Gilberto into the aircraft, where Jones sat him into a seat and buckled his seat belt. We removed the cuffs from him when he was buckled into his seat. Smith stuck him in the arm with a syringe and Gilberto went limp, totally unconscious.
"We don't want him to know how long we'll be flying or where he's going," Smith explained. "That's the first step in producing disorientation." He then thanked us for our help and ushered us off the aircraft. We watched it leave and then began the long drive back to Nada.
"I don't think he's facing a very bright future," I began.
"I don't think so either," said Ed. "The way they started off with him, knocking him out to disorient him, means that they're really going to sweat him."
"Our Moslem boy will be fed a steady diet of ham sandwiches," said Stan. "That's the good news for him. I don't know what else they'll do." I had a feeling that Gilberto faced a very painful future. The interrogators would work very hard to drain every drop of information from him, and they wouldn't refrain from physical or mental torture. I'd also heard rumors of fingernails ripped out, mind-bending drugs, and painful electric shocks used to persuade people to talk.
"He's not going to Guantanamo," said Ed. "I think we know what that means." Gilberto wasn't being held for trial, and his interrogators didn't have to show any restraint. It seemed clear that Gilberto would not get out of this alive. When they'd milked him dry, someone would give him a final injection or a bullet in the head.
"I know he looked pretty harmless," said Stan, "but I've got a feeling that little cocksucker's dangerous. It's people like him who killed 3,000 people five years ago. The fucker deserves whatever he gets."
We didn't go back to the office, as Stan had radioed in that we were going off duty. It had been a very active and rewarding day that had left us keyed up instead of tired. At Stan's house we immediately stripped off our uniforms and went into the pool, holding our beers. The tension was not only emotional; it was sexual. The water was hot, not quite like that in a Jacuzzi, but quite warm enough. We sat close together at the shallow end of the pool, thighs touching. I felt my prick swelling, and through the clear water I saw that Ed and Stan were also becoming tumescent.
We quickly dried ourselves and headed for Stan's bedroom, where there was a king-size bed. Stan lay on his back and said:
"I wish you'd dock me, Jack," as he reached for my foreskin's nipple. I lay down facing him and squeezed his big helmet between two fingers.
"Now you lay down up here," Stan said to Ed. "I want to jack your cock while he's docking me." Ed lay on the big bed perpendicular to us with his body crossing the "T", his prick between our faces. His big purple helmet, still shrouded with foreskin, was inches in front of my eyes. Stan placed two fingers around Ed's glans and gently stripped back to skin, revealing the big tip. I admired the sweeping curve of his rim, from the flare on top of the glans to where it swept forward along the shaft to meet the other half of the corona on the bottom. The twin lobes under the head outlined the triangular groove where Ed's gee-string was attached. Stan strummed a finger across the frenulum, eliciting a gasp from Ed, who shuddered at the sharp sensation.
Meanwhile I had stripped my foreskin back part-way to expose the rounded front dome of my glans, and Stan placed his big tip right against it. I urged my long foreskin forward to cover his helmet, stretching it out to engulf the head completely. I was seeping lubricant copiously, and this eased the sliding of my hood over his beautifully contoured helmet.
In front of my eyes Stan's strong fingers were stroking Ed's foreskin back and forth along the glans, rhythmically covering and uncovering it, the pressure and friction hitting all of the delicate nerve endings. I blew on Ed's scrotum, tickling the hairs, and then stretched out my tongue to lick the thick wrinkled skin. I watched Ed's scrotum tighten reflexively as his excitement mounted.
"You must be feeling good with Jack and I working on you," Stan addressed Ed.
"It is nice, very nice," Ed replied.
"I can feel you thrusting against me," I told Stan. His big hard glans pressed into mine with each thrust, the rounded front end compressing the nerve endings in my dome. I worked my foreskin over his turgid helmet, sending messages of joy into the nerve endings, and I knew that Stan was becoming more aroused. My other hand cupped his balls.
Ed's glans gleamed wetly in the soft room light each time Stan skinned him back. Then the foreskin would roll forward again to engulf it, hiding it from view beneath the thick fleshy covering that formed a pucker at the end.
"You guys have so much skin," Stan commented. "I haven't seen many guys with long skins like you have."
"There's more to play with," was Ed's reply.
"I can feel your balls tightening," I told Stan.
"Oh, I'm really getting hot, between you docking me and my playing with Ed's skin. This is a two-way turn-on for me."
"Ed, your tip's getting darker," I said.
"I can feel it getting harder through the skin," Stan added. "He's going to let loose soon."
"You're right," muttered Ed. "I really need to drop my load tonight." Ed's dark purple tip was right in front of my eyes, being covered and uncovered by Stan's fingers working the foreskin, and I saw a steady seepage of clear lube from Ed's long slit. I sensed Ed's body tensing with excitement, and knew he'd be tumbling into the free-fall of orgasm within seconds.
Ed was now fully engrossed in the sensations emanating from his prick, and his breathing became shallow and rapid. I saw his hips buck as he thrust his erection deeper into Stan's encircling fingers. The odor of his secretions filled the air, adding to my excitement and to Stan's.
"AH-AH-AH!" Ed grunted, and I knew he was right on the edge. His big engorged tip seemed to swell even more right in front of my eyes and then I saw the first thick spurt shoot from his slit as he cried out. Stan had his mouth open, ready to receive the jet, and then he closed his lips around Ed's throbbing glans. Stan held Ed's foreskin back to keep the big helmet fully exposed as he sucked avidly on it, extracting another load that he swallowed immediately.
Ed was crying out helplessly, caught up in the excitement, as his body writhed in the throes of his release. My fingertips touched the tender tissue behind his scrotum and I felt each pulse as he discharged repeatedly, filling Stan's mouth with his love-juice.
I was wondering when Stan would start coming. Although I knew his tip wasn't as sensitive as mine, he was being turned on tremendously by the foreskin action, and Ed's throbbing glans hammering his tongue and palate.
Now Ed's orgasm had begun to fade, although he was still grunting and thrusting. Ed's lips were still locked behind Ed's flaring rim, and I could tell by the movement of his Adam's apple that he was still sucking and swallowing Ed's thick sperm. Now Ed became still, and Stan removed his mouth. I caught a hint of the chlorine odor from Ed's semen in the air, and then watched as Stan milked Ed's prick to drain the residue, finishing my pulling the long foreskin forward over the head.
Now I increased my efforts on Stan's helmet, trapped inside my foreskin. I thumbed the corona to compress the nerve endings and asked:
"How are you doing Stan?"
"Close, pretty close now," he muttered. His face was flushed and I knew that his release would be upon him soon. The day's excitement, the foreskin action, and feeling Ed explode inside his mouth had heightened his arousal and made the end inevitable. I felt him thrusting harder against my glans as my fingers worked on him through the skin. I kneaded his balls gently with my other hand and heard him begin to grunt. I sensed the tension in his body and felt the hardness of his helmet as it went into its final swelling. The corona flared prominently under my thumb as he began to grunt loudly. His thrusting action had produced a tingle in my glans.
I felt his prick throb as he cried out, and an instant later the hot jet from his teardrop shaped orifice shot down into mine. Our holes must have been lined up perfectly as he shot. The sensation of his hot juice shooting right down my tube triggered my orgasm, and I was lost. I cried out mindlessly as my body responded automatically, and the heavy pounding of my orgasm began deep inside me. My first discharge filled my tube, rushing up to collide with his sperm and force it out of my gaping orifice. We were both crying out, enthralled by the frenzy of the orgasm that swept over both of us. Another burning stream gushed from my prick, swirling around both swollen heads, and triggering another spasm from each of us.
We struggled together, pricks locked at the tips, pouring out the accumulation of juice from inside our bodies. Each discharge slammed through the lips of my distended slit, adding to my sensations. Time seemed to stop as we floated in space, feeling the heat that enveloped our helmets. The tensions of the day erupted from our bodies, releasing us into pure bliss.
I became aware that my hand was wet and sticky. I was still gripping my foreskin, inside of which was Stan's helmet, pressed against mine. We were both getting soft, and sinking into the daze that follows climax.
Ed was gently dabbing at our pricks with tissues, which absorbed our combined juices. He skinned me back to remove the thick coating of sperm from behind my rim and then dabbed my meatus gently to catch the last drips. I felt him milking my urethra, and then he pulled my foreskin forward again.
I opened my eyes to see him milking Stan's prick, which was now soft and shrunken. A few drops had wet the sheet under us, and Ed pressed the tissues against them to sop them up. We were totally exhausted, and we slumped together on top of Stan's king-size bed, drifting off into deep sleep.
Next morning I got up early and prepared a big breakfast for us, which we devoured enthusiastically because we hadn't eaten the evening before. Ed and I quickly packed, and Stan drove us to the airport for the first stage of our voyage home.
The end
Note: There is a Department of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) but the Special Operations Section is a product of my imagination created for the purpose of the story. Probably there is a corresponding section in ICE, but with a different name. The "9/11 Task Force" is also a fictional creation, but there have been rumors of the special treatment accorded terrorists secretly held in secret prisons for interrogation.