Back to the car

When you get back to your car and Bobby unlocks it, you open up the back door and push him onto the backseat. You lay down on top of him and start french kissing him. You undo his belt and push your hand down his pants. There you find his dick still wet, but sadly also soft. "Get hard," you groan at him.

"Sorry, babe," Bobby says, "I just came twice in thirty minutes. I'm only human." You let out an annoyed sigh. At this point in time the burning fire of lust has subsided to a lazily glowing ember, so you resign yourself to simply making out in the backseat of the car. You french-kiss deeply and passionately. You fondle his balls, his soft cock and his sweaty ass, while he plays with your nipples and massages your ass. When your incessant groping has slowed down, Bobby reluctantly gets in the front seat and drives off, leaving you to lazily masturbate in the back.

After a couple of minutes your mental capacities start to return, and with them the realizations of what just happened start trickling in. You sit up and Bobby eyes you through the rearview mirror. "That was a real dick move, turning the orgasmatron on me," you tell him. Bobby doesn't answer, except for one of his trademark arrogant smiles. "What did you do to the guard?"

"An industrial strength roofie," Bobby tells you. "I thought it would be better if he didn't remember anything. Now it's just like we've never been there." You can't argue with that. For a moment you think about asking Bobby why he's carrying roofies around, but than you realize you'd rather not know. Your partner looks you over in the rearview mirror, his eyes going from your face to the tits you're absentmindedly massaging and to the pussy you didn't realize you were rubbing. You're suddenly aware that you're still completely naked and stop your self-gratifying groping to cover up as much as possible.

You look around for your clothes, and see your belt with your gun, your id and the other stuff you'd taken with you, but you don't see your clothes anywhere. "Bobby," you ask, "where are my clothes?"

"Dang," he replies, "must have accidentally dropped them when you pushed me in the backseat." It seems like he isn't even trying to sound convincing.

"Goddammit," you tell him, "how am I suppose to get home from HQ now?"

"Naked, I guess." You sigh deeply, wondering how you can politely ask to be assigned a different partner.