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S.A.C. 3 - Brock's Livestream

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Brock's fingers found the radio clipped to his overalls, his thumb hovering over the power switch as he stood in the doorway of the locker room. The air inside was thick and warm, almost tropical, and it made his skin prickle with something that felt like anticipation mixed with vertigo. His heart hammered against his ribs in a rhythm that matched the pulse in his groin, where his cock had been half-hard since the moment he'd entered Phatbuldge Manor. He pressed the switch, silencing the device, and then reached for the body camera mounted on his chest. The team didn't need to see this. This was for his audience. His paying audience. The rationalization came easy... too easy , maybe, but Brock didn't pause to examine it. If Duke or Josh wandered into frame while he was streaming, it would be a disaster. Copyright issues, privacy concerns, the whole mess that came with accidentally broadcasting someone without permission. Better to just... handle this solo. Document the...

S.A.C. Phatbuldge 2 - Connections

  Andrew's laptop balanced on his thighs, the heat from the processor radiating through his jeans and warming the heavy swell of his testicles beneath. The contraction he had felt in his apartment had never quite gone away, and his sack felt tight and constricted around his nuts. The company van rumbled north on the 101, the suspension groaning under the combined weight of five men and their equipment, and Andrew typed with methodical precision while the others filled the cab with the kind of filthy banter that you'd expect to see in a League of Legends public lobby. Josh was mid-story, something about a Tinder date who'd tried to photograph his cock for an art project, and the van swayed with the resulting laughter. "-and I'm like, ' Lady, that ain't a selfie stick ,'" Josh finished, slapping his massive thigh with a hearty THWACK. Alvin wheezed from where he was wedged between Josh and the window, his muscular frame compressed into the narrow spa...