Date: Tue, 31 Oct 2006 11:57:57 -0800 (PST)
From: jack santoro <jacksantoro@yahoo.com>
Subject: ICE Cops, Adult Friends, 1/1

                                    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.