Jingle Balls (Deeper) – Part 9 (Patreon)

Everyone in this story is 18+

-------------Braden’s POV------------

I was adjusting one of the ring lights when Brad finally said it.

“I can’t do this.”

He was standing in the middle of the room in just his black boxer-briefs, the balaclava dangling from his hand like it weighed a hundred pounds. His chest was already oiled up, abs gleaming under the lights, and his cock was half-hard in his briefs — clearly betraying him even as his brain tried to bail.

Tate didn’t even look surprised. He just tilted his head, calm as ever. “But like… we need a frat jock. Everything is already set up. The whales are waiting. The pot is at twenty-two grand.”

The room went quiet. Carter, who had been fiddling with the second camera, froze mid-motion.

Brad rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at us. “It’s too far. I thought I could, but… fuck, this is crazy. I’m out.”

Tate opened his mouth to reply, but Carter beat him to it.

“I could do it!”

We all turned to look at him at the same time.

Carter’s face went bright red, but he didn’t back down. “I mean… I could ask Chloe. Maybe we could work something out?”

Tate raised an eyebrow, intrigued. I just stared. Carter? The same guy who almost had a heart attack when he walked in on us filming a few days ago?

Carter pulled out his phone with shaky hands. “Just… give me a second.”

He stepped into the hallway. We could hear the muffled conversation through the door — his voice nervous, hers sharp and fast. A couple minutes later he came back in, looking equal parts terrified and wired.

“She wants to talk to you guys. Like… a meeting.”

Chloe arrived fifteen minutes later like she owned the place. She was pretty in that sharp, expensive way — tight top, designer bag, perfect makeup — but her eyes were all business. She sat on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and immediately took control.

“Okay, so Carter says you need a straight frat guy for a live show tonight. What’s the payout looking like?”

Tate stayed cool. “Base pot is twenty-two grand right now. We were offering Brad a split after fees. Short-notice would mean a little extra.”

Chloe’s eyes lit up. “How much extra?”

Carter shifted uncomfortably. “Babe, isn’t this enough? I’m content with whatever—”

“You’re always content, babe. That’s why you’re still a low-level Temu influencer,” Chloe cut him off, waving a hand. “Now let me talk business.” She turned back to Tate. “What if he appeared in scenes? Not like… real buttfucking or whatever, but simulated. I’ve heard some creators do gaybait stuff.”

Tate shook his head politely. “We kinda prefer to keep things real.”

I cleared my throat. “But… a lot of the comments lately have been asking for actual fucking content again. Ever since we stopped going full penetration, the tips have been lower.”

Tate sighed. “Yeah, true. But could we make it look real?”

Chloe leaned forward, all smiles now. “Yeah, no problem. Just use a cocksock, grind on each other, work the angles. Easy.”

Carter looked horrified. “Babe, this is—”

“Shh, babe.” Chloe patted his knee without looking at him. “So how much could something like that net you? Live, straight frat guy railing twinks?”

They started negotiating. Chloe pushed hard for a short-notice fee, eventually getting them up to a better split than Brad had been offered. Carter just sat there looking increasingly overwhelmed.

When they finally shook on it, Tate clapped his hands. “Alright. Have to move fast to prep Carter. Let’s move.”

We worked fast. Carter was already surprisingly well-groomed (“I like it neat,” he mumbled when Tate commented). We just slapped some oil on his chest and abs, made sure the balaclava sat right, and adjusted the lights one last time.

Brad pulled Tate aside right before we hit go-live. I was close enough to hear.

“Carter is not gonna fuck you?” Brad asked, voice low and tight.

Tate gave him a calm little smile and winked at both of us. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

Then it started.

Chloe took one look at the setup, wrinkled her nose, and stood up. “I can’t watch this. Text me when it’s over.” She grabbed her bag and left without another word.

The red light on the main camera blinked on.

“Live in ten… nine… eight…”

Carter stood there in the balaclava, chest already gleaming with oil, breathing fast and shallow. His cock was rock-hard, straining obviously against the front of his black boxer-briefs, the thick outline of the head clearly visible. He was bigger than I expected — long and girthy, the kind of dick that looked intimidating even soft. Right now it looked almost angry, flushed dark and leaking a wet spot through the fabric.

Tate and I dropped to our knees in front of him like we’d done it a hundred times.

The chat started flooding in instantly — tips pinging, messages scrolling by too fast to read.

We started slow, the way the audience liked. Worship first. I kissed down Carter’s oiled chest, tongue dragging over the ridges of his abs while Tate licked along the other side. Carter’s hands shook as he rested them on our heads, clearly trying to stay in character, but his hips twitched every time my lips got close to the waistband of his briefs.

Tate glanced up at the camera, voice breathy and sweet. “Look at this straight frat boy… so hard already just from two twinks on their knees.”

I mouthed along the thick ridge in Carter’s briefs, feeling him throb against my tongue. He let out a shaky breath. I pulled the waistband down and his cock came free — large and veined, the head already shiny with pre. I wrapped my lips around it without hesitation, taking the frat cock deep in one smooth glide. Carter groaned loud behind the mask, fingers tightening in my hair.

“Fuck… that feels…”

Tate grinned and leaned in, licking along the side of Carter’s shaft while I bobbed, our tongues meeting around him. Carter’s legs trembled. He was rock-hard the whole time, leaking steadily down my throat, but there was still that awkward stiffness in his shoulders — like part of him couldn’t believe he was actually doing this on camera.

Tate pulled back just enough to speak to the lens. “Chat wants more. Should we give them the main event?”

The tips exploded.

I bent over the pushed-together beds, skirt flipped up, ass presented. Tate had already worked two slick fingers into me during the worship, stretching me open and making sure I was ready. Carter moved behind me, hands gripping my hips. They slid the thin body beige cocksock over his cock, and pressed the covered head against my hole.

He started grinding, slow and careful, the cocksock making it look like he was sliding between my cheeks. The chat went wild, tips pouring in.

But I could feel how badly he wanted more. His cock was throbbing, the heat bleeding through the thin fabric.

I turned my head just enough to whisper, “You can put it inside… just the tip. They’ll never know the difference.”

Carter froze for half a second.

Tate noticed immediately. He leaned in close to Carter’s ear, voice low and encouraging, almost coaxing. “Go on. Just the tip. Chat’s begging for it. Chloe will never know.”

Carter’s hips twitched. The cocksock came off discreetely in one quick tug — audience had demanded “raw angle, full view” in the chat — and then the real, bare head of his cock was pressing against me, hot and hard.

He pushed.

The tip stretched me open — massive, burning in the best way. I moaned loud and genuine, pushing back against him, driving him deeper. “More… give me more.”

Carter groaned behind the mask, the awkwardness shattering. His hands gripped my hips tighter and he sank in another inch, then another, until half his cock was buried inside me. The feeling was intense — he was bigger than he looked, stretching me wide, the veins dragging along my inside walls.

Tate smiled beside us, fingers buried in his own ass, jerking himself slowly. “That’s it… give him all of it. Look how bad he wants you.”

Carter lost it.

The last of his hesitation vanished. He slammed the rest of the way in with one hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt. I cried out, pushing back eagerly, fucking myself onto his cock, driving him wild. He started thrusting — hesitant at first, then harder, deeper, completely feral. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, his heavy balls smacking against me with every stroke.

“Fuck… so tight…” he groaned, voice wrecked behind the mask.

I kept pushing back, meeting every thrust, taking him as deep as I could. The chemistry was instant and filthy — he fucked like he’d been starving for it, hips snapping, hands gripping my waist hard enough to leave marks. Tate stayed beside us, fingering himself faster, eyes gleaming as he watched Carter lose control.

Carter’s thrusts turned erratic, desperate. His cock swelled even thicker inside me.

With a choked, broken grunt behind the mask, Carter slammed in one last time and came like he was trying to punish me for it. His cock swelled brutally thick inside me, then started pulsing hard — heavy, forceful surges that pumped deep into my guts in thick, endless waves. I could actually feel every jet, hot and heavy, flooding me until my insides felt swollen and sloppy with it. Cum started forcing its way out around his shaft with every frantic, stuttering thrust, leaking down my balls and thighs in messy, warm streaks.

Tate stroked himself faster beside us, eyes half-lidded and dark. His own orgasm hit him in sharp, shuddering gray-white bursts splattering across his chest and stomach in messy arcs, some of it even hitting his chin as his abs clenched and his thighs trembled. He let out a soft, filthy little moan that sounded almost surprised, like he hadn’t expected to cum so hard just from watching.

The timer hit zero.

Live ended.

Carter stayed buried inside me for a long moment, breathing ragged behind the mask, cock still twitching with the last weak spurts. Slowly he pulled out. Cum immediately leaked down my thigh in a warm rush.

Tate looked over at the now-dark camera and let out a soft, satisfied laugh.

“Well… that escalated.”

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