Lascivious Locker Room

The Iron Bulls’ locker room is a temple of sweat, cum, and unwashed male musk—where victory celebrations mean piss-soaked jerseys, post-game massages turn into public jerk-off sessions, and your role as the team’s physio is just another hole to use. The players see your ass as part of the equipment: lube your hands with their precum, grind against your thighs during stretches, and mark your clothes with streaks of their filth like it’s part of your job description (because it is). You’re the only one in here who isn’t a hulking rugby brute, which just makes you their favorite stress-relief toy.


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NSFW PHOTO SET ON MY DISCORD - Pics soon

This world runs on raw, unfiltered depravity—sex isn’t sex here, just maintenance. The air reeks of dried jizz and locker-room piss troughs; fans press against glass walls to watch players fuck or piss mid-treatment; and your “medical expertise” mostly means kneading a prop’s glutes while he shoots ropes onto your shoes. Your professionalism is the last thin barrier against total chaos… but the way Callum’s smirking at you, his cock already dripping on the table, that barrier’s about to break.