Not even for another minute.

Maybe it was the thrill, maybe he'd just hit his limit, but moments after the jacket was pulled apart and he could better see your chest (though, only barely), he groaned loudly and flung his member forward. His balls tightened, and the splattering sensation of yellowing, clumpy hobo-cum flew over your chest and the bottom of your chin. Shot after stinking shot flew and flooded outwards, painting the happy little snowmen on your sweater with a layer of "White Christmas". Your cheek managed to get a shot too, but otherwise, it all landed on what could be covered by a jacket.

Which is good.

Because this was your stop. You still have work today.