Jingle Balls (Deeper) – Part 1 (Patreon)

Hey everyone! A lot of you asked for more parts of my Jingle Balls story, so I decided to turn it into a little sequel series. In this one, Brad gets his balls jingled—even deeper. Hope you all enjoy it! :)

Everyone in this story is 18+

I was sprawled on my dorm bed—single twin mattress shoved against the wall like always—scrolling through Tate’s latest Snap for the third time. Him bent over a hotel sink, skirt hiked, plug winking red in the mirror, caption:

“Landing tomorrow. Can’t wait, I also got a surprise. 😈”

My dick was already half-hard in my sweats, leaking a wet spot just from the thought of finally getting my hands on him again. One week since I’d left Aunt Lisa’s, and the holiday fuckfest had turned into this constant low-grade fever. I told myself it was just post-vacation horniness. Nothing deeper.

Knock-knock-knock. Sharp, impatient.

I yanked the door open expecting Tate alone—blonde hair messy from the flight, that slutty grin, maybe already half-undressed in the hallway.

Instead Tate stood there with a duffel slung over one shoulder… and Braden right behind him like a kicked puppy. Church-boy Braden in a hoodie that swallowed him, eyes red-rimmed, backpack clutched to his chest like it was the last thing he owned.

Tate pushed past me into the room without asking, dragging Braden by the wrist. “Surprise, Daddy.”

I slammed the door shut fast, heart kicking. “What the actual fuck, Tate? You said you were flying over. Not you and the Bible boy!”

Tate dropped his bag, turned, and dropped to his knees right there on my shitty dorm carpet—right in front of Braden, who looked like a deer caught in headlight.

“His mom found a vid,” Tate said, voice sweet and filthy as he palmed my bulge through the sweats. “The one where I’m riding him in the candy-cane skirt? Kicked his ass out, told him he’s going to hell, cut him off. He’s homeless now, Brad. And I always thought homeless guys were low-key hot—desperate, grateful, a little broken. Can we keep him?”

I stared at Braden. He looked wrecked—cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, like he’d been crying the whole flight. “This isn’t a goddamn shelter. And you’re not his fucking parent.”

Tate’s fingers hooked my waistband, tugged my sweats down just enough for my cock to springhard, already leaking, head shiny from the Snap preview. He leaned in, lips brushing the tip, tongue flicking the slit once, lapping up the pre like it was candy.

“Yet I can call you Daddy,” he purred, then swallowed me down in one smooth, wet glide.

My knees almost buckled. Hot, tight mouth wrapped around me, tongue flat along the underside, cheeks hollowing hard as he bobbed fast and sloppy. Spit already dripping down my balls, hand pumping the base in perfect rhythm. He took me deeper with every suck, throat opening up like a pro, gagging himself on the head, strings of drool stretching from his lips to my sack every time he pulled back for air. The wet, choking sounds filled the room—gluk gluk gluk—like he was trying to suck my soul out through my piss slit.

Braden just stood there frozen—then Tate reached back blind, grabbed his wrist, tugged him down.

“Help out, church boy,” Tate mumbled around my cock, popping off just long enough to spit a thick glob right on the head, watching it drip down the veiny underside before diving back in. “Earn your keep.”

Braden dropped to his knees like he was praying, hands shaking as he cupped my balls—gentle at first, rolling them slow, then firmer, tugging downward the way Tate had obviously taught him. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin behind, thumb pressing just right while Tate dove back in, throat opening around me, nose brushing my pubes. Braden leaned in closer, breath hot on my thigh, and started licking—tongue flicking my sack, lapping up the spit Tate let drip, sucking one ball into his mouth gentle while rolling the other in his palm.

I tried to object—“Not here, my roommate could walk in—” but the words died in a groan. Heaven. Pure fucking heaven. Tate’s mouth working me relentless, throat squeezing the head while his tongue swirled the tip on every pull back, Braden’s mouth hot and wet on my balls, sucking and licking every crease, fingers dipping back to tease the skin behind like he was mapping every inch. Pre leaked constant down Tate’s chin, mixing with spit in messy strings that Braden lapped up eager, his own face getting smeared with the slop.

The combo hit like a freight train—pressure building low and brutal, balls churning under Braden’s tongue, cock swelling thicker in Tate’s throat. I grabbed Tate’s hair rough, fucked his face shallow—tip popping in and out of his lips with wet smacks, pre and spit splashing his cheeks and chin. Braden sucked harder, mouth full of my sack, fingers pressing that spot behind until stars burst behind my eyes.

I lasted maybe a minute. Balls drew up tight, cock swelling massive—and I blew like a fucking geyser. Thick, heavy surges pumped straight down Tate’s throat in endless waves, flooding his mouth until it overflowed, cum bubbling out the corners of his lips, dripping down his chin in pearly streaks while he swallowed frantic. Braden kept sucking my balls through it, milking every last flood, tongue lapping the overflow that ran down—there and there, right on the spots where the mess hit hottest.

When I finally stopped twitching, Tate pulled off slow, cum stringing from his lips to my tip, face a wrecked mess—streaks on his cheeks, chin shiny, eyes watering from the gag. He turned to Braden and kissed him deep—sharing the load, tongues tangling messy, cum swapping between their mouths in filthy strands that dripped down both their chins.

I sagged against the door, jeans still open, cock softening but still dripping, a final weak spurt landing on Tate’s cheek as he pulled away.

Tate stood, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand—smearing more than cleaning—grinned like he’d just won the lottery.

“So… can we keep him?”

I looked at Braden—puppy eyes wide, lips swollen and glossy with my cum, hoodie tented obvious, a streak of white on his chin he hadn’t licked off yet.

“Fuck,” I muttered, zipping up. “Get in. Both of you.”

They scrambled like good little strays.

I locked the door.

This was gonna be a long fucking semester.