He moaned “I’m coming” to the guest while blasting cum across my face

*He never cleaned for guests, not the dishes, not the mess we left on the floor, not the cum drying in my shirt.*

Jesse had booked the cabin for a quiet weekend. He was twenty-two. The listing said “minimalist,” but the host met him at the door in a worn t-shirt and boxers, barefoot, paint on his forearm. His name was Marcus, mid-thirties at most. He said almost nothing as he led Jesse through the place.

The cabin smelled like sweat, pine, and coffee grounds. Nothing had been cleaned for guests. The sink was full of mugs, the couch had a dent where someone had just been sitting. Jesse dropped his bag in the guest room and stood there for a minute, already hard, already confused about why.

That night, on his way to the kitchen, Jesse passed the open bathroom. The lights were on. Inside, Marcus was in the shower. He faced the wall, water hitting his back. The glass door was clear. His ass was thick, legs covered in dark hair.

Jesse stopped. Watched. Didn’t breathe. His cock pressed up hard inside his sweatpants. He left without getting water.

The next afternoon, Marcus asked Jesse to help carry a desk up from the basement. They got it halfway up before Jesse lost his footing. The desk banged into the rail. Marcus caught him from behind, hands locked around Jesse’s waist, chest pressed to his back.

Jesse didn’t move. The heat from Marcus’s chest soaked through his t-shirt. Sweat stuck them together. He could feel Marcus’s cock, hard against his ass through damp sweatpants, blunt and obvious. Neither said a word.

Jesse pushed back, slow, grinding his ass into the bulge. Marcus adjusted his stance, feet apart, his breath getting heavier.

Jesse turned, dropped to his knees on the step, pulled Marcus’s waistband down. His cock sprang out, fat and veiny, the head already slick with pre. Jesse spat in his hand, jerked it once, then took it straight into his mouth. Thick. Heavy.

He sucked hard, the slurp echoing in the narrow stairwell, spit leaking fast down his chin, soaking the front of Marcus’s sweatpants. His own cock throbbed in his pants. Marcus grunted low, hand resting heavy on Jesse’s head.

He pulled Jesse up by the collar and they stumbled down the stairs.

On the floor, Jesse lay on his back. Marcus climbed over him and lowered his hole onto Jesse’s mouth while swallowing Jesse’s cock. Their bodies locked into a filthy, wet 69.

Jesse’s tongue moved in messy circles, then darted deep, greedier, rougher. His nose buried in Marcus’s crack, breath hot against the slick hole.

Above him, Marcus bobbed on Jesse’s cock, spit and precum making it slick and messy. Marcus rocked his hips against Jesse’s face, grinding down while swallowing Jesse’s cock deeper with each bounce. Jesse groaned into his hole. Marcus moaned around the dick in his mouth.

After a few minutes, Jesse pushed Marcus off and dropped to his knees in front of him.

Marcus stood at the base of the stairs, cock dripping, balls hanging heavy. Jesse sucked him deep, fast, throat opening for every inch. He pulled out his own cock and jerked it, fast and tight, eyes locked on Marcus.

Then the doorbell rang.

They both froze. It rang again.

Jesse didn’t stop sucking.

Marcus’s voice cracked, breath ragged.

**“I’m coming...”**

He staggered forward.

**“I’m... coming... just a second!”** he shouted toward the front door.

At the same time, he grabbed Jesse’s head with both hands and groaned like he’d been holding it in all day. Cum shot hard. One thick rope hit Jesse’s top lip, another painted his cheek, then a messy line across his closed eye. It dripped off his chin as he came.

Jesse kept jerking his cock and came seconds later, spurting hot over the basement floor, a shiny mess between his knees.

Jesse wiped cum from his mouth with his wrist, breathing hard, eyes half-lidded.

Marcus zipped up and ran upstairs, still half-hard, muttering, **“Fuck, fuck. You should go out the back.”**

Jesse didn’t answer. He scooped Marcus’s cum off his lips with two fingers and sucked it clean. He didn’t wipe the floor.

In the morning, Jesse woke up alone. The guest bed smelled like sweat and dried cum. On his crumpled shirt, tossed beside the pillow, was a dried streak of white across the collar.

He pressed his face into it, jerked off again, and came into the sheets without thinking. He didn’t clean it. Just zipped his bag, locked the door, and left.