Date: Wed, 25 Apr 2007 07:12:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jacksantoro1@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arrest Record, Part 16, Adult Friends, 16/20

fArrest Record, Part 16
By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com

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

Continued in Part 17