Jingle Balls (Deeper) – Part 7 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

Morning light stabbed through the blinds like it judged this den of sin. I woke up already aching—impossibly hard, the kind of morning wood that I had not felt since Christmas, heavy and angry and leaking like a broken faucet. My balls were drawn up tight, full and tender, feeling every heartbeat.

Of course I’d picked the worst possible boxers last night: the old grey ones with the open fly. The traitor had staged a full breakout. My cock had shoved straight through the slit, thick and veined, head flushed dark and shiny, a fat bead of pre already rolling down the underside. It was wedged right between Tate’s plump, firm ass cheeks—skimpy lace briefs shoved up high, skin hot and smooth against my bare shaft. Every tiny shift of my hips smeared more slick precum into his cleft, making the glide wet.

“Shit…” I whispered, trying to pull back without waking him.

Tate stirred anyway. Instead of moving away, he pushed back—gyrating his hips in a lazy little circle that dragged my leaking cock deeper between his cheeks. The head nudged right against his hole through the flimsy lace, catching on the rim for a heartbeat before sliding up again. He did it again. And again. Soft, teasing rolls that turned into proper dry-humping.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. My hips started moving on their own—short, desperate thrusts, sliding my slick length up and down the warm valley of his ass. The friction was too much. Wet sounds started up, quiet but audible—skin on skin, pre making everything slippery. Tate’s breathing changed, turning into soft, amused little huffs. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Fuck… Tate…” I groaned under my breath, gripping his hip.

He just giggled—low, wicked—and pushed back harder, ass flexing around my cock like he was trying to milk me without even letting me inside. The pressure built fast and brutal. My balls tightened, spine tingling, and I couldn’t hold it.

My balls tightened, I unleashed torrents between his cheeks—heavy surges pumping out in messy ribbons, striping his lace and the small of his back, some of it leaking down to soak the waistband of his briefs. My cock twitched and jerked, painting him until the mess started cooling sticky between us.

Tate let out a soft, satisfied giggle, wiggling his ass once more just to torture me.

Then I heard it.

A slick, rhythmic sound coming from the other bed—wet, quiet. Skin sliding on skin. A tiny, suppressed whimper.

My brain short-circuited. I coughed hard, loud enough to cut through the room like a gunshot.

Suddenly everything went still. The slick sounds stopped instantly. The air felt thick with awkwardness. Tate froze mid-wiggle. From the other bed came the faint rustle of sheets being yanked up fast.

Everyone seemed a bit… shy.

I cleared my throat again, face burning. “Uh… morning.”

Tate rolled over slowly, eyes sparkling with pure evil even as his cheeks were flushed. He stretched like a cat, the movement making the cum I’d just painted him shift visibly under the lace. “Morning, everyone.”

We both sat up at the same time, trying to play it cool. I yanked on a pair of sweats fast, but not fast enough—Tate caught the huge wet spot on my boxers before I could hide them, biting his lip to keep from laughing. He stood and pulled on his own shorts, but the back was obviously damp and streaked, the lace waistband dark with my load. He didn’t even try to hide it properly, just gave me a little shrug like “oops.”

Across the room, Carter and Braden were moving way too carefully. Carter’s face was red as hell, pretending to scroll on his phone while keeping the blanket bunched high over his lap. Braden looked guilty as sin, cheeks pink, one hand suspiciously under the covers before he yanked it out.

Nobody made eye contact for a solid ten seconds.

“Breakfast?” I muttered, desperate for an exit.

Carter jumped at the word. “Yeah. Breakfast. Good idea. I’ll come with.”

We threw on shirts and shoes in record time, both of us avoiding the other two like they had the plague. As we stepped into the hallway, I could’ve sworn I heard Tate’s soft laugh behind the closed door.

The walk to the dining hall was quiet at first—awkward as hell. Carter kept adjusting his shorts like they were suddenly too tight, staring straight ahead.

Finally he broke. “So… uh… Tate and his friend. They’re… interesting roommates.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah. They’re temporary. Apartment’s almost ready.”

Carter nodded too fast. “Cool. Cool.”

I didn’t answer. My mind was still replaying the slick sounds from their bed. The way Carter had frozen when I coughed.

We grabbed trays—eggs, bacon, coffee, the usual—and headed back toward the room in silence. Halfway there Carter cleared his throat again.

I sighed, already feeling the headache coming back. “Let’s just get breakfast back to the room first. Then we’ll talk.”

He grinned like I’d already said yes.

Fuck.

This dorm was never going to be the same again.

◆◆◆

We walked back into the room carrying trays loaded with greasy breakfast sandwiches, hash browns, and shitty dorm coffee. The air still felt thick from the morning’s collective walk of shame. Tate was lounging on my bed in just his sweats and an oversized hoodie, scrolling on his phone like nothing had happened. Braden was sitting on the floor folding laundry, cheeks still faintly pink.

Carter and I set the trays down on the desk. For a second nobody spoke. Then Carter, being Carter, decided silence was the enemy.

“So…” he started, grabbing a sandwich and taking a huge bite, “you guys are, like, running an actual business with this Uranus thing, right? How does that even work? Do you have to pay taxes and shit? Because I’m trying to get my influencing stuff to take off before I graduate, and… you know… money would be nice.”

Tate looked up, amused. He stretched lazily, the hoodie riding up to show the mess I’d left on his lower back earlier. “Yeah, it’s a business. We treat it like one. Track expenses, write stuff off, pay the platform cut. It’s not crazy money yet, but it covers rent and keeps us fed.”

He paused, then looked between Tate and Braden, clearly building up to something. “So… if you guys ever need extra hands… I could help. Lighting, running a second camera, buying supplies, maybe even filming sometimes. I’m already doing some of that anyway. I learn fast.”

My brain short-circuited. “Wait, what?”

Braden glanced at me, then back at Carter, shy but hopeful. “Actually… that could work. We’re always short on time for setup and editing. Having someone reliable to hold the reflector or adjust angles during shoots would be huge. We could even pay you a cut. Like… a small assistant fee or percentage on the scenes you help with.”

Carter sat up straighter, practically vibrating. “Percentage? Like, actual points?”

Tate smirked, clearly enjoying this. “We could work something out. Nothing crazy at first—maybe 10-15% on any scenes you directly assist on. You’d help with prep, lighting, keeping the tripod steady, that kind of thing.”

Carter’s face went red, but his grin was huge. “15%? For real? That could actually move the needle for me. Chloe would lose her mind—in a good way. I mean… I’m down. When do we start?”

I stared at all three of them, tray still in my hands. “Are you guys serious right now? Carter, you literally walked in on them filming porn two days ago and almost had a stroke.”

Carter shrugged, suddenly very interested in his hash browns. “Yeah, but… it’s just helping behind the scenes at first. And Chloe’s probably cool with it as long as I’m not the one getting fucked”

Braden let out a soft laugh. Tate just raised an eyebrow at me, clearly amused by my reaction.

I set my tray down harder than necessary. “This is insane. You’re turning my roommate into a porn production assistant now?”

Tate tilted his head, voice sweet but edged. “Relax, Braddie. It’s just business. Carter needs money before his ‘influencer career’ takes off. We need reliable help. Everyone wins.”

Carter was already pulling out his phone, thumbs flying. “I’ll text Chloe right now and tell her the good news. She’s gonna freak—in the best way.”

I rubbed my temples, feeling the headache from yesterday return with reinforcements. My dick, fucked up, as it is, gave a lazy twitch at the mental image of Carter holding the camera.

This was spiraling.

And the worst part? A tiny, stupid part of me was already wondering what percentage I could negotiate if I ever stopped saying no.