Date: Wed, 28 Mar 2007 12:20:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: Jack Santoro <jacksantoro1@yahoo.com>
Subject: Arrest Record, Part 6, Adult Friends, 6/?

Arrest Record, Part 6
By Jacksantoro1@yahoo.com

The following morning we got to the office at nine
sharp, and found that there were three copies of the
translation we had so eagerly awaited. Ed, Harold, and
I sat at our respective desks and began to read. The
conversation had been long and rambling, but the gist
of it was that Harris had not come on the scene as a
replacement for Taylor, as he'd arrived before
Taylor's fatal accident. Rather, he was a
quartermaster delivering a canister of biological
agent for an attack at a shopping mall. It was unclear
when the attack would take place, but from the context
we knew it would be within days.
"Fuck me!" exclaimed Ed. "This guy's serious. We've
got to grab him and his package right now."
"Will we have time to get a warrant?" asked Harold.
"This is an emergency," said Ed. "We can make an
arrest without a warrant because of the extreme danger
to public safety." Ed got to his feet and headed for
our supervisor's office. When he returned he told us
that Phil, our supervisor, had given his okay and that
he was notifying the 911 Task Force.
"What's the `911 Task force,' some other special
group?" asked Harold.
"This is the outfit that gets called in when there's
an actual attack or imminent threat of attack,"
explained Ed. "They're completely top-secret and
actually operate outside the law. They can use methods
we can't to get information out of a suspect."
"You mean drugs and like that?" asked Harold.
"Like that and more than that," I replied. "First, hey
have secret facilities, some in this country and
others abroad, where they can hold a guy indefinitely.
One of them told me they even have a couple of ships
they use as floating prisons. They remain in
international waters and thereby out of any country's
jurisdiction.  They've got facilities for forced
interrogations aboard, and that means physical
torture, in plain language. Ripping out the
fingernails is only a preliminary step." Harold's
expression showed he was shocked.
"It's extreme, but when lots of lives are at stake,
it's justifiable," Ed concluded. "Anyway, let's get
going. We're going to take down Mr. Harris right now
and hope the canister in question is on the premises."
Harold rode with me while Ed went in his Toyota. As I
drove I explained the situation to him:
"This isn't like on TV, or even some other police
work. We don't call out the SWAT Team or any
high-profile unit because we prefer to keep our
operations low-key. We don't want any shooting because
we want this guy alive. Also, if we can take him down
inconspicuously, nobody's going to be asking awkward
questions. He'll just disappear."
"No press, then," Harold said.
"Especially no press," I responded. "If this ever got
into the media, the sneering liberals would be
babbling about the guy's Constitutional rights while
ignoring the rights of the thousands of people who
could be killed by the can he's carrying." We pulled
up in front of the apartment building. By then it was
10 A.M. and there were few people on the street or in
the building. We gathered in the building's lobby.
"On the way over I checked by radio and got a report
from the telephone section. Most of the phones are
quiet because most of the people have gone to work.
They did pick up a short conversation by Harris, which
means he's in the building right now. Now here's what
we're going to do." Ed explained our procedure, more
for Harold's benefit than mine, as we'd done this
several times in the past. He had a stack of
newspapers under his arm, and when we left the
elevator on the 4th floor we spread them in front of
apartment 4-D. Ed lit the corners with a match and we
waited for the smoke to build. We saw that some of the
smoke was leaking into the apartment through a gap
under the door, so we knew that Harris would smell it.
After several seconds Ed knocked on the door loudly
and shouted:
"FIRE! FIRE! EVERYBODY OUT!" He knocked again and we
heard movement on the other side of the door. When it
opened and our suspect stuck his head out Ed grabbed
him by the collar and pulled him into the hallway so
forcefully that he dropped the can he was holding. It
was a dull gray cylinder about a foot long and three
inches in diameter. Harris was frightened, but only
because of the flames that licked around his feet from
the newspapers. He had no idea who we were until
Harold and I lifted him bodily and pushed him to the
floor away from the fire. We had him facedown while we
cuffed his hands behind his back. Meanwhile, Ed had
picked up the can and was stamping out the fire.
"There must be nobody else on this floor," Harold
said, slightly surprised. "Nobody else came out."
"I think we just got lucky," Ed told him. "It might
have been hard to keep this low-profile if someone
else had come out and seen the fire." Harold and I
lifted the man to his feet and walked him to the
elevator. Ed joined us, saying:
"Someone else will be around to clean up the evidence
of the newspapers. We want to keep this as neat as
possible." We bundled Harris into the back seat of the
Honda and Harold sat next to him while I drove. At the
office we took Harris in through the underground
garage instead of the parking lot.
"Am I arrested?" Harris asked in his thickly accented
voice as we pushed him into an interrogation room. I
unlocked his handcuffs and told him to undress. Harold
gave me a questioning look.
"You are arrested," I confirmed for Harris. Now take
all your clothes off. When Harris hesitated I kicked
him in the shin, and he complied. As each garment came
off we examined it closely for weapons and suicide
pills. We set aside his wallet and keys.
"What's in that can you were holding?" Ed asked him. I
took Harold outside and explained the procedure to
him:
"We got him naked partly because people are more
vulnerable psychologically without their clothes.
Also, we wanted to confirm something. Did you notice
anything significant about him?" Harold didn't
hesitate before replying:
"He's circumcised and his pubic hair is shaved."
"That's exactly right," I said. "It's 99 percent sure
he's Moslem. When we find out what was in the can
we'll have the business nailed down."
"Think Harris will tell Ed?" Harold asked me.
"Maybe and maybe not," I responded. "Harris may not
even know. If he doesn't tell us, we can have it
analyzed. We'll find out in the end. " At that moment
Phil, our supervisor, approached us.
"Get the suspect out to the airport, private aviation
side. You'll meet a couple of guys from the 911 Task
Force there and you're to hand Harris over to them."
"Yes, sir," I said. I was slightly dismayed but not
surprised. Harold looked at me questioningly.
"Apparently someone in a higher pay grade than we are
decided that Harris merits special treatment. Those
911 guys are going to fly him off to somewhere and
milk him dry of information."
"Then what, put him on trial?"
"I've never heard of anyone going to trial after being
handed over to the Task Force. They just vanish off
the face of the Earth." I opened the door of the
interrogation room and informed Ed of the latest
development.
After Harris was fully dressed, minus the contents of
his pockets, we handcuffed him again and took him down
to a marked unit for the trip to the airport. In the
private aviation section we found a Learjet with a
couple of men in black suits standing beside the
hatch. These were familiar faces, for we'd handed
another prisoner over to them some months before. They
took control of Harris and one of them unlocked the
handcuffs and gave them to me. We accompanied them on
board, where they strapped Harris down on a gurney
bolted to the cabin floor. A third man inserted the
needle of a syringe into the vein on the back of
Harris' right hand. After a few seconds his eyes
closed.
"That's nighty-night for him," said the oldest of the
agents. "He won't wake up until we get to our
destination."
"That's an undisclosed location?" asked Ed with a
smile that showed he didn't expect an answer.
"That's undisclosed and top-secret," answered the
agent, returning Ed's smile. Despite the apparently
cordial atmosphere, I knew that these men were deadly
serious.
After we were back in the car and leaving the airport,
Harold asked about Harris' likely fate. I answered, as
Ed was driving.
"I think they're going to ask him some questions, such
as whether he's working alone, whether there are any
more cans floating around, and a bunch of other
details. They won't be too gentle with him unless he
opens up."
"Those guys looked very serious to me," Harold said.
"They didn't crack a smile except for that one guy
just before we left."
"They are very serious. One of the qualifications for
the Task Force is that each member must have lost a
relative to terrorism. They're really motivated."
"I can see why they won't be too gentle with him,"
Harold said. "He might not get out of this alive."
That seemed like an understatement to me.
"He won't. After they get everything they can out of
him, they'll give him an injection and bury him. They
could never release him or even expose him to public
view, as at a trial because what they're going to do
to him leaves lots of marks. He might be missing
fingers and toes, and even testicles by the time they
get through with him."
"We're going to go and help the guys search that
apartment," Ed said. "I'd like to see exactly what
that guy had with him." There were a couple of
unmarked units parked in front of the apartment block,
ad Ed parked our conspicuously marked unit two blocks
over to avoid attracting attention to the site.
Inside, we helped the other agents toss the place, and
noted that apartment 4-D was a two-bedroom unit, but
that there was no evidence that anyone other than
Harris had lived there. There were no other weapons
found.
"What would he have done with that can, spray it in a
mall? Asked Harold. "How would he have avoided
inhaling some of that nasty stuff?
"He would have inhaled it gladly," I told him. "These
guys want to die as martyrs for the cause. They have
the same mentality as suicide bombers."
By the time we'd finished searching the apartment it
was almost five and we headed for home, leaving the
other agents to lock up.
"We've had an action-packed day," I said. "Let's stop
for some Chinese take-out on the way. Ed nodded and we
stopped at a Chinese restaurant famous for its good
food. Once home we placed the cartons on the outside
table and went into the bedroom to strip down. We were
hot and sweaty because it had been another hot day,
and our sacs hung low. I noticed that Ed's foreskin,
like mine, was relaxed and distended, the nipple
gaping enough to let me see his slit.
Outside we sat down to eat, relishing the exotic
flavors of the various dishes.  We washed the meal
down with beer and let the tensions of the day
dissipate. After cleaning up we went into the bedroom.
Harold sat next to me on the edge of the bed and
slipped his finger into the gaping opening in my
foreskin, tickling my slit. Ed sat down on Harold's
other side and received the same treatment. I felt
Harold's finger twirl around my helmet, sliding on the
slippery wetness inside my foreskin.
"Pretty sensitive in there," Harold suggested in a
questioning way.
"Very," Ed replied. "It's not just the head. Your
finger's stretching the skin, and half the nerve
endings are in the foreskin."
"I wish I still had mine," Harold said as he removed
his finger from inside my hood and smelled it. "I wish
my cock smelled like yours does." By this time Ed and
I were fully swollen, but our long hoods still encased
our helmets. Harold was almost hard, and I squeezed
his glans a few times to pump him up to full hardness.
He grasped my prick around the head and began slowly
pumping my foreskin up and down.
"I want to taste your cock again," he said, staring
into my eyes. "First you, then Ed."
"That sounds like a plan," Ed told him. "After that,
we've got something special for you." We rearranged
ourselves on the bed, with me supine. Harold clamped
his right hand around the base of my shaft as he
placed his lips around the end of my foreskin nipple.
I saw that he still had the index finger of his left
hand inside Ed's hood, slowly working around the
helmet. I felt Harold's tongue probing inside my
foreskin to tickle my pouting slit.
"He can't get enough of our dicks," Ed commented as
Harold continued to stimulate us.
"That's all right," I added. "Our pricks love the
attention." Harold had the talent to get us quickly
aroused and eagerly anticipating orgasm. For my part,
the pressure in my bladder from the beer added to the
tension, and I quickly approached the peak. His tongue
probed more deeply, circling my corona and then
dropping into the deep groove behind it, inflaming the
tender nerve endings. Ed cupped my sac, which had
contracted sharply after Harold had slipped his tongue
inside my foreskin, and he gently kneaded my balls.
Now Harold pulled back sharply on my foreskin to bare
the helmet right down to the groove, and I felt the
tension in my gee-string pulling the head down as his
lips rotated around it. He knew exactly what to do to
get me off, and he worked hard at it. My breathing was
more rapid now as my excitement mounted, and I
abandoned myself to the flood of sensations as both Ed
and Harold stimulated me.
Harold's lips administered the delicious sideways
friction to my corona as his tongue-tip drilled into
my pouting meatus. A delicious tickle started around
the lips of my teardrop shaped orifice, and slowly
spread to join the tickle in my flaring corona.
Harold's strong fingers compressed the veins in my
shaft, causing my prick to swell to its final
hardness, and the nerve endings in my helmet became
even more sensitive. I lay passively, awaiting the
delicious explosion that would wrack my body within a
few seconds.
Now the tickling feeling engulfed my entire glans and
my eyes closed. Harold quickly pumped my foreskin a
couple of times and the tickle in my glans turned into
the familiar hot tingle as the first contraction
wracked the root of my prick. The first torrent of hot
lava surged upward, searing its way up my tube, and
spewed into Harold's mouth. I cried out helplessly
just before the second spasm ripped through me,
sending another hot jet erupting from my throbbing
helmet. My legs trembled and my hips bucked as I
grunted hard, driving my surging prick deeper into
Harold's mouth.
Now I felt him remove his mouth, but he maintained the
tight grip around my shaft, stretching the skin and
frenulum tightly to send more sensations into my nerve
endings. More jets followed until I was drained.
A couple of minutes later, after my prick had shrunk
and my breathing had come back to normal, I opened my
eyes.  Ed and Harold were looking down at me, and
Harold kissed me tenderly.
"I hope it was good for you," he said. "Are you still
too sensitive?" When I told him "No" he began milking
my urethra, forcing the last drops from my slit,
lapping them as they emerged. Then he pulled my
foreskin up to cover the glans. Now it was Ed's turn.
Harold still had his finger inside Ed's hood, and had
been stimulating the head all this time. Ed lay back
and Harold skinned him back completely, ready to begin
the long strokes along his glans. I cupped Ed's
scrotum as Harold pumped his head up and down, his
lips working from the front dome right down to the
groove behind the flaring purple rim.
Each time Harold raised his head, I saw Ed's long
purple helmet bared in its beauty. From flaring corona
its lines swept in compound curves, defining its
shape, until they met in the blunt front dome and long
wet slit. Ed's helmet glistened in the soft room
light, and as Harold clamped his fingers around the
base of the shaft it became darker purple, ready to
respond by spewing its juice. Ed's jaw as clenched and
his stomach muscles rippled as his excitement mounted,
and I knew he'd be unloading even more quickly than I
had.
It didn't take long for Ed to grunt helplessly as the
first spasm shook him. Harold had lifted his mouth and
I saw the thick creamy jet shoot upward. Harold then
engulfed the throbbing helmet completely, swallowing
the sperm. Ed's body writhed again and he yelped with
the second spasm. Harold's face was flushed with
excitement as he drank Ed's discharges, and after the
third torrent he removed his mouth because Ed's tip
got super-sensitive like mine.
Harold kept the foreskin drawn back tightly, and we
watched Ed's naked helmet spit several more jets that
fell back onto it and ran down the shaft. The odor of
chlorine filled the air. Now Ed's slit was merely
drooling, as the main force of his orgasm had spent
itself. When the last feeble drop oozed from the long
slit Ed began to relax. Harold's finger explored under
Ed's scrotum, pressing the residue forward and then he
gently milked the shaft, lapping up every drop that
emerged from between the lips of the long slit.
Now he began lapping at the glans and shaft because
Ed's hyper-sensitivity was fading fast, and he licked
away every drop of sperm. Finally he pulled the long
supple hood up over the softening glans and kissed Ed
on the lips. A minute later Ed said:
"Thanks. That was out of this world." Harold smiled
lovingly at him.
"Ed promised you something special," I told him,
although I was unsure of what Ed had meant. "Lie down
and we'll take care of you now." I gave Harold's
swollen purple helmet a couple of squeezes to
reinforce my meaning. It sill felt slightly spongy,
not rock-hard the way it becomes just before
ejaculation. Still, the flaring corona blended into
the tapered body of the glans in sweeping lines that
curved until they reached the blunt front dome at the
top.
"Ever try electro-sex?" Ed asked Harold as he pulled a
cardboard box from a shelf in the closet.
"I've heard of it, but never had the experience," was
the reply.
"Electro is perfect for circumcised guys. It lets them
feel the sensations as if they'd never been clipped."
He started sticking adhesive electric pads with wires
attached to Harold's hard prick, one under the glans
over the frenulum, and another a the base of the
shaft. He handed a third to Harold and said:
"Here, stick this right next to your anus." After
Harold had done so, Ed plugged the wires into the
control box.
"This works on a battery, and generates high-frequency
electric pulses that go right through your prick," I
explained. "Now although your foreskin and all its
nerve endings are gone forever, the nerves are still
there inside your prick. The pulses work on them
directly. Ed's going to show you how." I held Harold's
prick vertical and Ed turned on the control box and
twisted a knob slowly.
"Tell me when you start to feel it," he told Harold.
"I feel something now," Harold said after a couple of
seconds.
"What does it feel like?" Ed asked.
"It feels like a rippling sensation, traveling all the
way down my cock," he said. "I also feel it deep
inside."
"It's stimulating your prostate gland," Ed explained.
"Now I'm going to turn up the power a little."
"Ooooohhhh, that feels so good," Harold murmured as
his face broke into a smile.
"Now I'm going to turn on the pulse feature," Ed said.
"That's going to give you a different sensation." He
twisted another knob on the control box and Harold
took in a deep breath.
"That feels like someone's jerking my cock, giving me
a hand job, but from the inside."
"That's because the pulses are reaching deep inside
your prick," I said. "They're also making your
ejaculatory muscles react. You're not coming yet, but
when you do, the pulses will make the contractions
more intense. You'll go into orbit, I promise you."
"Okay, turn up the power a little more," Harold urged
him. Ed twisted the knob farther and Harold's body
stiffened.
"It's having a powerful effect on you," Ed told him.
"We can see that your helmet's more swollen and turned
darker purple. Now try to relax. Don't fight the
sensations and don't try to help them. Just stay
relaxed and let us bring you over the top." He twisted
the knob another increment and Harold began breathing
rapidly, although he relaxed his body.
"I feel it all through my cock, right from the head
down to deep inside me," Harold reported. "It's like
every nerve's come alive."
"That's the way it's supposed to feel," Ed coached
him. "Just stay relaxed and let the sensations build
until they drag you over the top." He gave the power
knob another twist.
Harold's face turned red and the cords in his neck
stood out. His legs began trembling and his eyes
closed. A drop of clear fluid pushed through the lips
of his long slit. I caressed his cheek tenderly,
knowing that the full fury of an electronic orgasm
would wrack his body within the next second or two.
Harold's shaft felt rock-hard between my fingers,
topped by its swollen purple helmet. I fixed my eyes
of the engorged glans waiting for it to disgorge its
thick ropy white jets.
"AAAHHH!" Harold cried out as I felt his prick throb
between my fingers. I saw the first jet shoot high
into the air and fall back onto his stomach, filling
the air with its characteristic sharp chlorine odor.
Harold yelped again and his prick pulsed in my hand,
shooting another white torrent from its long slit. I
leaned closer and watched avidly as the third eruption
forced its way through the lips of his slit. His hips
bucked as he thrust his prick up, captivated by the
hot fury of his orgasm.
"He's really rocking and rolling," I heard Ed say as I
continued to steady Harold's throbbing, spewing prick.
He yelped again and another heavy discharge spewed
from the slit at the top of his throbbing helmet.
Another flood poured from his orifice, but didn't
shoot. Harold grunted and another stream flowed out of
his slit and down over the engorged helmet. The
ejaculations were weaker now, but I was sure the
sensations were as intense for Harold as the first
one.
Now there was just a steady seepage of clear liquid
flowing from Harold's meatus, and Ed reduced the power
level. I knew he was trying to keep the sensations
going for Harold, but not over-stimulate him to cause
distress. Harold's eyes were still closed, and he was
moaning softly. After 30 seconds of this, Ed turned
off the power. Harold lay dazed, not moving, a typical
result of the intense, electronically-induced orgasm
that had wracked his body.
I began removing the sticky electrodes from Harold's
flesh, while Ed wiped the ejaculate from his stomach
and pubic hairs. I milked his urethra, from behind the
balls right to the end, squeezing the glans to force
out the last drops.
"Oh, fuck, oh fuck," Harold gasped. "That really hit
me hard." He opened his eyes and extended his arms,
pulling us down to him. We embraced and kissed
tenderly, sharing his joy.
"I'm so lucky to have ended up with you guys," he
said.
"We're glad to have you as part of the team," I
replied. "I know that Ed agrees with me when I say
that you pull your weight."
"You're great both in and out of bed," added Ed.
"Every day when we go to work I know I can look
forward to a hot evening with you two guys," Harold
said. "It's not just your uncut cocks, it's you. You
make it really pleasant for me."
"We know you do your best for us, Harold," Ed
reassured him. "You're a really hot guy, and we're
happy to share our skins with you." I got up and
beckoned them to the bathroom, where we showered
before going to bed. We didn't know what they next day
might bring, and we had to be well rested.

Continued in Part 7

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 remote prisons operated by
one of the alphabet soup government agencies for
protracted and painful interrogation.