Major Pump Part 5

Sorry it's late. Back on track now. Thanks for sticking with it. Enjoy. 

‘Well well well,’ Pump said, staring down the barrel of McGraw’s fuckpiece.

The thing throbbed in front of her. It hadn’t been fully hard when the wild man fished it out, but there was enough of the veiny schlong in view to be certain that it was inflating. Fast. The broad, girthy thing was already accumulating brawn by the second as it rose upwards, and the toned, mega jugged fuckdoll’s eyes widened dramatically as she took in the beastcock as it surged to it full dimensions, fat veins thickening all over the surface. It was ripening and then becoming hard.

It was one fat fucking hog. No doubt about that.

As the blonde whore gaped at the fattening organ, something hard suddenly contacted against Pump’s head. It was hard too.

‘Ow!’ Pump said. She turned her head back down the line and glared.

Viktor, engorged, mega-hard penis in hand, had given her a neat thwack on the back of her cap with his beefy, iron-bar like fuck log. It was sticking out in her face as she swivelled, grimacing.

‘Fucking idiot!’ Pump said, ‘stay in line.’

Viktor flipped her off. He pumped his pc muscle at her and the prick danced up and down.

Major Pump glared at him: ‘Haven’t you any conception of narrative structure? I have to get my way all down the line of these cocks before you can take me apart with that fucking thing! That’s if you can. Do you want to end up like maggot?’

Viktor grinned. The word sorry wasn’t in the vocabulary of any of the hopefuls of the S.T.U.D academy, Viktor perhaps least of all. He had a hareem of teens in Romania and didn’t keep them in line by emoting with them and rotating the dishwashing.

Pump could not be mad at literally any monstercocked male for more than two seconds, no matter what their shortcomings, and playfully spat another glob of slobber in Viktor’s direction which once again uncannily landed right on the Eastern European cocksmith’s bell end, some of the froth dribbling down, some hanging off. The hardened stud grinned wider and rubbed it into his glistening beastcock with his hand.

Turning her head back to McGraw, Major Pump smiled as the thick, vein-riddled length now extended out towards her. McGraw, possibly more animal than man, growled at Viktor for stealing his thunder with the boobed babe on her haunches in front of him, but Pump was certainly taken with the mountain-dwelling stud.

‘Don’t know whether to fight you or fuck you, McGraw,’ Pump said, getting into a deeper stripper squat still and then sliding on her knees further down. Separating her knees, so that they parted across the floor of the gymnasium, her gleaming, oiled body helping the motion, the tattooed blonde fuckdoll did a sensual limbo-squeeze that meant that her upturned face was right underneath the behemoth meat pillar of engorged masculine flesh that now poked directly outwards.

Pump pressed her face up to the thick, vein-crammed underside of the monster cock that hung over her. When McGraw looked down, he could barely see Pump’ gorgeous face because of the thickness of his massively erect member. It was just veins, veins, veins. Pump’s view was not dissimilar, the fuckdoll exhaling a sweltering hot breath as her eyes roved all the way down the throbbing column of the stud’s pulsing corpus spongiosum. When Pump stuck her tongue out, McGraw gasped as he felt her soft tongue against his dangling balls.

And like that, she was gone. Onto the next one. The opening trickle of a loosed lasso of clear precum emerged leakily from the tip of Big Dog’s crown and dangled in isolation as Pump swept on the floor over to the next S.T.U.D. contender.

McGraw growled at the sudden lack of attention, hackles raised. He could take care of the competition, but the bimbo slut was driving him wild. He looked back down the line of the other four studs that Pump had already inspected, and saw four thick, precum-roping engorged fucklogs, each being played with in a lewd but restrained way. AP was there on the end teasing the round, black head of his gigantic cunt-crushing mace between his curled index finger and thumb. Diogenes and Chet were both very slowly stroking their glistening lengths the full way, up and down. He could see thick laces of oily precum oozing out of both in distinct ropes.

Viktor was jacking off.

Pump, now kneeling, was in front of stud number 6. Since it was all that McGraw could do to restrain himself from taking his clublike cock and impaling the buxom vixen then as punishment for the extended teasing, he settled for an afterthought. Grasping his immense, fleshy, fully stiffened organ in his right hand, the hirsute Wildman pulled it up and whipped it downwards, catapulting the lengthy rope of precum in Pump’s direction.

Pump giggled as the hot wet lace of precum smacked against the side of her face.

She pulled the brim of her peaked cap down and peeked up at the next stud that she was prostrating herself in front of. Looking up, her startling gorgeous, slutty face, was just visible under the tip of her hat. Sparkling almond eyes with thick, defined lashes and perfect crisp white teeth biting the most succulent set of cocksucking lips ever were what the next stud saw.

He was another broad-shouldered stud, perhaps a little younger than the rest.

‘I’m Ten, Major,’ he said.

‘Well, you’re half way down the line, so I make you number six,’ Pump said.

‘No Major Pump! I’m ten.’

The vixen cock-connoisseur squinted up at Ten. He couldn’t be more than nineteen. He had an easy smile. Pump couldn’t detect the same masculine braggadocio that was coming off the others in thick, pungent waves.

‘Afraid I didn’t pay all that much attention to your file, sweetie,’ Pump said, eyes sliding evasively from left to right. Ten was jacked, but he wasn’t a monster of brawn and masculinity like the others. He had a sculptured physique, but he hadn’t filled out yet.

‘They told me I was a late addition,’ Ten said.

‘Well I hope there wasn’t some sort of mistake, sweetie,’ Pump said, face drawing tight into a sort of sympathetic wince, ‘these guys are some real monster cocksmiths and I don’t think ten inches is going to get you very far… I mean it shouldn’t really have got you through the door…’

The young stud unbuckled his belt and unzipped his belt.

‘Not inches, Major Pump, seconds.’

Ten flopped out a simply disgracefully large, flaccid member. Soft, the thing hung massively down between his legs and hung. It went back and forth, the weight of it pulling it from side to side.

Pump’s face was a picture. Her whole expression contorted, eyes scrunched in shocked and uncomprehending disbelief, plump lips hanging open. Quickly, on instinct, she grabbed the hanging appendage, feeling it squish a little as she wrapped her fingerless gloved hand around it and reversed her other arm, jamming her elbow into Ten’s groin and letting the plump schlong lay against her forearm.

‘Obligatory forearm test,’ Pump said, looking up at Ten and grinning now.

Even while the bimbo cock-measuring slut was looking up at Ten’s face, she quickly switched her eyes back to where his dick was inflating in inhuman speed. The fucking thing was engorging like a party balloon being blown up and was inching towards her face. At over an inch a second, the tip of Ten’s hog was the size of a nectarine as the tube of meat stretched, ripened, and pulsed until its thick length reached tumescence.

The plump, round, glistening helmet of Ten’s penis ended its journey lodging right in Major Pump’s eyesocket, obscuring her eye completely. The long shaft had extended far past the whoreish Major’s crooked forearm, and the tattooed blonde fuckdoll craned her good eye, squinting, past her nose and under the brim of her cap up at Ten.

‘So yeah that’s a good bit more than ten inches,’ Pump confirmed.

‘It was a good bit faster than ten seconds to full erection too,’ Ten said, ‘might have to get me a new nickname!’

‘Ten is fine,’ Pump assured him. ‘Ten is fine. Stick with ten. If anyone else underestimates you, they can be pleasantly surprised.’

With a squelching sound, Major Pump, with all the dignity she could muster, pulled her head back and separated her eyeball from ten’s glans.

Looking down the line, Lex was interested at the way things were unfolding. He was learning as much about the rest of his contemporaries as he was about Pump himself. Pump was a salacious porndoll hyperslut with more than a hint of danger who was prowling in front of them like a caged tigress snarling at its captors – except there were no bars. Some of these guys were getting wound up good. Nobody wanted a repeat of what had happened to Maggot, so they were now compared to wait it out. Provided they could, of course. A.P. had shown enviable composure, but Viktor was a loose cannon, and McGraw, right there in the centre of the line, was trembling his lid before presumably flipping it.

It wasn’t clear, to Lex, whether Pump had bitten off more than she could chew or the situation was the exact reverse. Not was it clear to him whether the other S.T.U.D recruits were compatriots or competitors.

The next guy in the line was the blonde English guy in the shades Lex had clocked calling them all ‘winners’ in the weights room.

He didn’t look so composed now.

The stud was looking a little bit delicate. Overfaced might be the word. In any other context, the guy would have stood out from ordinary men like an eagle amongst crows. Here, where the competition was all that stiffer, the guy was having to do that much more to stand out.

He was achieving that for now, Lex reflected. The guy’s dick was tenting out his combats by a full foot, easily, and the material was both visibly and audibly straining. The groinal protrusion that projected out obscenely from his trousers wasn’t too far from Major Pump’s taut stomach as she made her way in front of him. She struck a pornified pose, licking her lips, monster tits heaving, shifting her weight from hip to hip.

‘Chesney Beauclaire,’ Pump said.

‘Call me Chezza,’ the blonde guy said. He tucked his shades up in his blonde hair. It was meant to come across as assured and nonchalant but all it did was draw attention to the sweat on his forehead. The heavy, hard log in his trousers shifted and kicked.

‘All the way from England,’ Pump said.

‘Heart of oak,’ Chezza said, ‘not just a heart and all…’

Chesney Beauclaire was already known to everyone in the room. A blue-blood aristocrat, he was favoured with an enormously privileged upbringing, but had, inconceivably, been expelled from his exclusive private school due to excessive homosocial activity – to wit, frotting. Eventually Chezza had dragged his dick over one too many of his compatriots. He found solace in the seedy fleshpots of London as a denizen rather than, like many of his class, a tourist, but found a meritocratic pleasure in slowly working his way up the ladder in skinflicks. Fifteen years later, he was one of the most recognisable male pornstars on the planet, garlanded with every single porn award many times over, feted as an all-timer in the hall of fame, and had the Guinness World record for the most cumshots caught on camera.

‘Chezza, you got something you wanna tell me?’ Pump enquired, looking suggestively at the humongous bulge sticking out from the Englishman’s trousers.

‘Yes, Major Pump,’ Chezza said. ‘I confess I am about to have a very serious accident.’

For no apparent reason, Chezza saluted. Then the groin of his trousers exploded.