Major Pump and the STUD Academy

The gymnasium was absolutely bursting with brawn.

A dozen studs lined the room, ranged around the walls, all around the sides. In the overhead lights, twelve bared, muscular torsos gleamed with oil and sweat. Each jacked stud was at the pinnacle of their perfect physical prime, vibrating with testosterone. This was a church of masculinity. Each of them was here because they were the best of the best, the apex studs, the prime-grade beef of where they were from.

None of them had met yet. The air was bristling with aggression and testosterone as a pecking order had yet to be worked out. Instead, they had been welcomed discreetly, and given an electronic key to open a door to a locker room. There, entering one by one, they had found an outfit laid out for them -- a pair of camo combat trousers, combat boots, with a dog tag on top of the pile. The dog tags each had the words S.T.U.D. RECRUIT and a number next to it. After they had dressed, they went through the only door out of the locker room, which opened into a well-equipped gym.

The only screen in the room had a flashing sign: GET YOUR PUMP ON. And a countdown: 3.00.00, which was ticking down. Three hours.

Lex Anaconda had arrived as number #2. At six-feet nine, he was used to commanding attention wherever he went, if not authority. A ripped black stud, Lex's huge shoulders, flared lats, and thickly-muscle-corded arms were enough to block out the sun when he stood over whoever he was talking to, and his reputation as a sexually dominant alpha preceded him everywhere he went. He was known for brutally -- brutally -- fucking sluts into submission, unconsciousness, or, every once in a while, some kind of semi-spastic state of inhibited cognition that meant that the poor girls just weren't quite the same afterwards. Some walked with a limp afterwards that they could never shake off, some slurred speech or picked up embarrassing vocal impediments, some twitched... with more than a few, it was all three. There was a developing medical diagnosis called 'Anaconda's Palsy' that had been coined to take account of the debilitating effects of coupling with the raging mountain of sexual aggression... Lex just called it getting 'crushed by the snake'.

When Lex shouldered into the gym, a man was already in there. Seated on a bench, arms over his head, performing a tricep curl with a barbell that was normally used for deadlifts, a huge man was coming to the end of a set.

CLANG!

The barbell was thrown to the floor. The man eyed Lex.

'Huh.'

Lex snorted. He selected a bench of his own. Greetings were for pussies.

'Suit yourself,' said the man, and picked up the barbell for another set. 'Just trying to be friendly.'

Lex picked up the heaviest weight possible. 'S.T.U.D. agents don't make friends. We're gladiators. If it comes down to it, I'm gonna have to outfuck you... or worse.'

Now the man snorted. 'You ain't no agent yet.'

#1 started his next set. His physique was herculean. It was like the weights were ping-pong balls on either end. Covered in tattoos, the man's body was already bubbling with sweat at his exertions. Lex did what he did only second best. He got his pump on.

A few sets in, another guy showed up. This one was another in the S.T.U.D. mould. All were over six foot six, all were bulging with granite-like muscles, just with small variations in the size of biceps, pecs, whatever. But there was no mistaking the virility and the same dead-eyed determination with which they viewed their competitors. Before long, the room was full of squatting, bending, straining, and lifting, and groans of exertion filled the room.

At 5.00 the countdown changed. Instead of GET YOUR PUMP ON the sign started to display the words MAJOR PUMP which was throbbing to the sound of a loud, pumping heartbeat. The letters were filling the screen. As the countdown went to zero, the words MAJOR PUMP exploded in a shower of hearts, and a new phrase came up:

STUD RECRUITS 1-12 REPORT TO GYMNASEUM.

The dozen studs barrelled through the exit. At the end of the short corridor, instead of a gymnasium, however, they were surprised to find a clean, white, aseptic medical bay, twelve pristine hospital beds set up, with no-one else in sight.

'This ain't no gym,' one guy said.

'Damn, this one's a genius,' someone shot back.

'Shut up.'

They went through the medical bay through the other door. After another short corridor, there was a gym.

And there they all were, a dozen studs, muscles pumped to maximum capacity, bodies gleaming with sweat, their primal instincts and testosterone levels through the roof.

Lex glared around the room at his fellow competitors. He had picked up a few names from the workout session, where some of the more loquacious types were shooting their mouths off as they worked out, boasting about themselves and belittling others.

There was 'Big Dog' McGraw, a bear-like man with a shaggy mane of hair. He was a little older than the others, an outdoorsman with long, ragged scars on his hard, brawny body -- from tussling with grizzlies, he said -- who had an irritating habit of grinning crazily and saying 'the show ain't over until the big dog howls!'. He then howled like a wolf. It really got on everyone's tits, but McGraw knew that.

Chet Tripplehorn was one of the more annoying, a very clean-cut all-American type. From the look of him, he was packing A LOT in the camos, and he was boasting about being 'Tripplehorn by nature', always dumping his loads in the ass, pussy and mouth of his conquests -- cream filling them, he said.

One of the quieter ones, like Anaconda himself, was Jawbreaker Bones, seven hulking feet of solid black muscle. Jawbreaker who was number #12, didn't say much -- indeed, the only word that passed his lips was when he opened the door to the gym, saw all his competitors working out and scowled 'bitches' at the lot of them. Jawbreaker didn't need to say much, however. Anaconda had already heard of him. Jawbreaker hadn't chosen his own sobriquet -- it had been given him after all the sluts that had ended up with dislocated jaws after trying to engulf his massive schlong. Something generally gave when Jawbreaker tried to throatfuck a whore, it had to -- and it wasn't his steel hard prong. Between the pair of them, Anaconda's Palsy and Jawbreaker's gullet-distending steel-hard fuckprong, the emergency services had been kept quite busy. But it never stopped the sluts coming back for more.

Other cocky men were arrayed around the gym as the distinctive click of heels was heard from the corridor outside. Coming definitely closer, Anaconda scanned the faces the gymnasium, seeing Jawbreaker's glaring scowl, Chet's cocky grin, amongst other expressions -- some composed, cool, and calm, and others visibly agitated, anxious, all the way to infectiously enthusiastic.

'We're all winners here,' grinned an English guy in shades with tribal tattoos on his arms, 'whatever happens, we're all winners today.'

The heels stopped at the door and it swung open.

Whatever expression any of the S.T.U.D candidates were wearing on their faces instantly changed to one thing. Total astonishment.

Anaconda was used to experiencing cockshock. Fuck, any point he released his sex snake in front of any woman that was practically the only expression he would be greeted with. Eyes bugging out, open-mouthed, hand clasped to the cheek cockshock was something he would encounter many times daily. Most sluts could be slapped out of it by a swift back and forth smack to the chops to bring them to their senses. But the one instant effect it had was to shut them the fuck up.

This was the male equivalent. Total silence. Drop-dead astonishment. The joshing, banter, the back-and-forth chat between the S.T.U.D candidates stopped. Instantly.

In came a woman that was so out of keeping with ordinary women it was like she was a superior being. And she was.

Her tits were an eye-popping set of perfect tanned spheres pumped up bigger than basketballs size that projected out of her chest like balloons. The absolutely monumental globes were flawlessly tanned with a deep golden colour that added lustre to the smooth gleaming skin, formed into a pair of bloated, jutting orbs. Each tit on its own was about five times the size of her head.

Her waist was dramatically slender, sleek on the sides and ruthlessly flat except for the thick, deeply edged slabs of abdominal muscles that rippled in a thick, fat grid, the deepest line of all vertically down the middle. Her lusciously wide hips, and the topmost part of her quad muscles in her thighs led to a curved and generously swelling portion of glossy flesh that flared outwards into succulent and juicily thick assmeat. The side view, as she walked into the room, confirmed it as the biggest, roundest, donkey dump-truck ass that Lex has ever seen, projecting behind her like a blimp. The jiggle and sway of the monster globes as she walked was like the most delicious jelly imaginable.

The blonde was fabulously decorated with intricate tattoos that scrolled all over her ass and stomach, with shoulder sleeves too. She was wearing a minuscule black thong, discernible only as a black line cutting deep into her round, luscious, firm assmeat and diving into her pussy, while a cutoff camouflage vest that was more of a thin band wrapped over her nipples bared the entirety of her underboobs, vast, gleaming orbs of cleavage and titflesh on display, with two tight straps, pulled horizontal, around her shoulders. A peaked camo cap and black, shiny knee-length boots with platform soles and eight-inch stripper heels completed the look.

Her golden tanned skin was gleaming in the light of the overheads. She was clearly incredibly fit and powerful. The bulges and muscle striation in her quads were supremely athletic.

The woman's face was impassive. She looked like a ballbreaker. She would have to be.

'Gentleman,' she said. 'Welcome to the S.T.U.D. agency.'

Lex stared at the vixen's slutty, gorgeous face. Thick, plump, huge bimbo lips, fox eyes, exquisite cheekbones. It was heavenly.

Before, the atmosphere in the room had been charged, electric, full of nervous energy. Now it was dead quiet.

The only thing that was moving after the woman came to a stop in the middle of the room, slowly but with dead certainty, was that twelve sets of combat trousers were filling out. Big packages were becoming bigger still. Trouser legs were steadily inflating as solid bulges crept down thighs. Anaconda could feel his own meat already forming a thick log down the left side, creeping all the way to his knee.

'My name is Major Pump,' said the woman, 'and I'm here to see what you're made of.'

There was a groan at this. Lex wasn't sure where it was coming from.

'I'm called Major Pump because I make you pump. Whether you want to or not.'

Another groan, now joined by another across the room.

'You all know why you're here. You've been selected because you may have what it takes.'

Major Pump smiled.

'There's only two ways out of this room, recruits. You either walk through that door behind me, and become an agent of S.T.U.D... or, you get carried out. Feet-first into the infirmary behind you.'

A few of the men furrowed their brows.

'Yeah,' Major Pump said, 'that room you came through? That's for you. We've got a dozen nurses standing by in there. We've got IV drips, adrenaline shots, defibrillators... boys, I'm going to test you to the limit. Let me be clear. Not everyone is going to make it.'

'What do you mean by that?' someone said.

Major Pump smiled. 'Let's just say we have a morgue as well as an infirmary. That any clearer? Your ass is mine. You twelve might like the odds now, but you might feel a bit differently when you're begging your buddies for a heart massage just so you can keep pumping away.'

Ordinarily someone in the assembled host of cocky stud brawn cocksmiths would have cracked wise. With Major Pump whoreish display, jacked, bimbo-body and no-nonsense demeanour, things didn't seem so funny.

But still. Twelve against one.

Major Pump, achingly deliberately, started to slowly walk up and inspect the studs in military parade fashion, the most sultry and suggestive roll and sway of her hips imaginable as her voice lost a little of its clipped, precise nature and took on more of a slutty, smoky drawl.

'Now let's be perfectly honest with each other gentlemen, all of you are here on merit. We haven't selected any puny teenage fingerblasting experts for this gig. You all have a... substantial body count. Some more substantial than others. And I'm sure in your time you've accounted for some pretty nice sluts. But this is about getting to a whole new level.'

As Major Pump made her way around the crescent of men, no-one could fail to note, given the stillness of the room, the swelling and audible creaking of fabric as twelve monster cocks sprouted out of twelve groins, tenting the combat trousers, some sticking out around the waistband, some bloating the material around the thigh and knee, the dozen prongs hugely engorged.

'Let me clue you in about what we expect of you.'

Major Pump passed Chet.

'Bigger than my face isn't going to cut it around here. We need more.'

Chet grimaced as the mega slut passed.

'Pussies leak precum,' Major Pump continued, as she passed a ripped Greek stud known only as Diogenes, 'sissies leak precum. A S.T.U.D. agent can fucking fire precum out of their cock like a cumshot, gentlemen. I'm talking ropes. Can you?'

Diogenes' cock stiffened even further.

'And talking of cumshots...' Major Pump passed the English guy with the tattoos, 'the days of dropping loads are over. You have to be able to drench sluts, gentlemen. Not dribble, gentlemen, this is important. Drench. Whores get splattered.'

Major Pump stopped, in the middle of the gym.

'Now I can see you guys are all hot and bothered but a final word before we start. If you don't think you're up to it -- if you don't think you can take it, you can still back out. There's the door.'

The mega slut indicated the door they had come through.

'There's no shame in it. Back out, go through that door, get a nice tame handjob from a nurse -- they're very good -- to take the edge off, and go. Fuck off. Because we don't want you here. But if you do stay, you do so in full knowledge of the potential consequences. I mean, you all signed the disclaimer, right?'

None of the twelve super studs were going to pussy out. Certainly not in front of each other. Lex's gaze was fixed on Major Pump, but his peripheral vision indicated no awareness that any of the men were looking around at each other. He knew what she was doing. Winding them up. Making sure they doubled down. Intensifying their competitive urge.

Major Pump smiled.

'Then we'll begin.'