Serviced

Marcus Iron steps into the dim-lit room and freezes. Jason Branch sprawls on the bed, hand wrapped around his thickening shaft, eyes half-closed in lazy pleasure. A sly grin spreads across Marcus's face. He doesn't speak. Instead, he strides forward, drops to his knees, and zeros in on Jason's crotch like a predator scenting prey. His mouth engulfs Jason's rigid cock in one eager plunge—wet, warm, and relentless. He bobs with gusto, tongue swirling the length, drawing out low groans from Jason's throat. Jason's control snaps. He hauls Marcus up, flips him onto all fours, and dives in. His tongue lashes across Marcus's firm ass, tracing the cleft with hungry precision. Saliva slicks the tight crack, glistening like liquid silk. Jason positions himself, the blunt head of his cock pressing against that prepared entrance. He thrusts forward—slow at first, then deep and unyielding—burying himself to the hilt in Marcus's heat. They move together, bodies slick with sweat. Marcus's hand flies to his own pulsing erection, stroking in frantic rhythm. Jason matches him, grip tight on his shaft as he pounds away. Pleasure builds, sharp and inevitable. They erupt almost in unison—hot spurts arcing across Marcus's chest, Jason's release flooding deep inside—collapsing in a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths.