Rosa's Security Checkpoint

You walk out the glowing door of the BJU reception and find yourself on a narrow tropical road. It stretches flat in either direction, but in front of you there’s a driveway with a security booth. Behind the booth there’s a couple electric golf carts and rolling vegetation. Past the vegetation you can see an oceanfront mansion. This feels very familiar. It’s exactly the sort of place where that dog-poisoning motherfucker George would hole up. Why can’t the IRS go after him for a change? No wonder you’re always on bath salts. Everyone’s always after you.

You walk up the driveway, at which point a short Asian girl named Rosa jumps out. Rosa is wearing a security uniform. She lands in a wide stance and points a tazer at you. “Hands up, scumbag!”

You spread your fingers. “Whoa there. Can’t a man walk around all friendly like?”

She’s not mollified. “I said get your fucking hands up. This mansion is a secure throatfucking facility. George has enough dick to orally **** every girl on premises. Trespassing scumbags like you aren’t welcome.”

George? You walk closer to to Rosa as she points the tazer at you. “Listen, short stuff, you ever use one of those stunguns?”

She fumbles the trigger and you duck. The electrodes shoot over your head. You weave around and grab her from behind. One hand chokes her throat and the other goes down her top. “That wasn’t very nice.”

She struggles but she’s a small little thing. She doesn’t have the mass or any point of leverage. “Let go of me, dirtbag.”

You lean down. “Listen, sweetlips, you aren’t in a position to be threatening me. Unlike you, I know how to use that stungun. Are you going to play nice?”

She wriggles. “Rot in hell, bastard!”

You tighten your hold. Rosa must be one of those sluts that pretend they don’t want a dick tickling their tonsils. Kristi told you about them. Very good acting. Unless it’s all a lie and this is another IRS trap. You borrow a pair of handcuffs from her belt and lock her hands behind her back. She’s still squirming as you push her down to her knees in the dust. She spits and glares, so you pinch her jaw open and push your dick in.

The little firecracker takes it. Maybe the IRS briefed her on what you did to their last team of sexy accountants. Either way, your shaft pushes up the groove in her tongue and deeper into her mouth. She moans helplessly and you grab her hair, anchoring her head exactly where she belongs.

You keep Rosa on her knees and fuck her face. *GACK GACK GACK GACK* Your cock punches into the back of her throat. Her slobbery moans get more incoherent, but you just fuck her face harder. Her eyes roll up as she dissociates.

You love watching the effect of ****-feeding your cock to the petite cunt. She can’t help but take more and harder. *GLUCK GLUCK* You hold her firmly and feed her your load, and then you let her collapse into the dust. She lies there drooling.

You’re impressed with your own quick refractory time. You just facefucked Kristi, and now Rosa, and you feel ready to fuck the next bitch you find. If this Blowjob Universe is one big IRS entrapment scheme, they’ve cooked up something good indeed. It’s time for you to invade the secure throatfucking facility. You jump in a golf cart.