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.
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.