MMA Camp Tryout
Anyone who followed mixed martial arts fighting at all knew about Camp Beast. It was the fight camp that came out of nowhere to dominate the MMA scene at all levels for the last 2 years. If you participated in the sport, you dreamed of being one of their fighters.
I had spent the last 3 years working hard in the amateur ranks. I am a solid 185 pounds but could briefly cut to 171 to fight down a weight class when the occasion arose. After 4 successful amateur fights and some good low-level professional fights, I wanted to take things up a notch. Like many guys in my position, I compiled videos of fights, filled out the paperwork, and wrote a letter practically begging Team Beast to take me on. It was really a wild flier. In the grand scheme of things I didn't think I was far enough above average to claim one of the few openings that opened up in their school. Still, there was always a chance so I sent my application package to them.
Surprisingly, a couple of weeks later, I received a reply. I truly wasn't expecting anything other than a rejection. Despite telling myself there was no chance, I handled the letter like one of those sweepstakes "you may be a winner" things. I ripped into it and read the first line. I think the entire apartment building heard my yell. I had earned a coveted tryout. The letter went on to specify that I would be contacted at a random time in the next two weeks with travel instructions. When I was contacted, I had 24 hours to report to their training center. I was to bring only workout gear including gloves and pads. It ended with a harsh reminder that there would be a drug test upon my arrival. It warned that the test would be far more thorough then the standard athletic commission ones so cheating was not advised.
I could hardly sleep for the next few days while I was waiting for the message to report. Finally, rather ominously, the message came late at night a bit more than a week later. In order to make the deadline, I had to set off at midnight for the drive out. The head games had already started.
By the next morning, my apprehension had been taken over my that typical fighter's confidence that bordered on arrogance. Obviously they felt that there was something to my skill. They felt that I was ready to be part of the best. I confidently pulled into the parking lot of what looked like a generic low-rise hotel in a somewhat run-down part of down. I went inside, and before I could even speak, I was told that an instructor would be up briefly. In short order, a man appeared from behind a door. Amazingly even I had to suppress a leap back. This dude was totally shredded. There was zero fat on him, and I mean zero. The skin-tight shirt he had on showed off veins that ran from his chest all of the way down his arms. Cage shorts showed off his legs looked like steel poles. I was used to seeing strong guys, but this guy was at a whole new level to me. With a bone-breaking handshake, Mr. Chambers introduced himself and explained the general way the day would proceed. There would be a medical screening and drug test, workouts on and off the mats, and something he was only calling personality and tolerance testing that he declined to give details on. A bit anxious and overwhelmed, I could come up with no reasonable questions sohe proceeded to escort me to the medical center.
The physical was the usual, slightly embarrassing ritual. Stripped naked, I had my measurements taken, blood pressure and resting heart rate checked, range of motion checked, every scar explained, and finishing with the usual hernia and prostate groping that left my thick 7 inches pointing skyward. I had avoided jacking off as I had wanted to be at my best. As it would turn out later, this would be a smart move. In the meantime however, it was about to make things somewhat awkward and painful. As my acceptance letter had indicated, these guys do not mess around with drug testing. A catheter would be inserted completely draining my bladder. A fresh catheter would then be left in place until I filled the sample cup. This prevented any pre-packing or attempts at diluting a sample. Of course in my current state, it also meant that the catheter had to go down my rock hard shaft. I tried my best, but I couldn't help but let out some grunts as the doctor slid the tube in. With one last gasp, it pushed through my sphincter and I felt the relief of my bladder draining after the long drive. That relief was short-lived as my just-begining-to-soften cock was brought back to life as the catheters were swapped out. I was left alone while my body slowly filled the sample cup. Like everything about the evaluation, this was a calculated moved. It allowed thoughts of dread about what was to come to enter my head. If this was the drug test, what was the rest of the day going to be like? Fear is the mind-killer in fighting and I tried to shake if off. About twenty minutes later, I had produced my sample, the catheter was taken out, and I was led through a door to a pretty ordinary appearing locker room. I was told to put on my workout clothes and bring my pads into the gym where the physical evaluation would start.
The first thing that hit me when I went through the doors to the gym was the heat. The gym was kept at 90F. Add to that the humidity from sweating guys and just being in the room was a bit of a workout. I immediately stripped off my shirt. The next thing that I noticed was that everyone there was a practically perfect specimen of humanity. The school had fighters from 115 all of the way to 250 pounds. All were just oozing lean muscle on shaved, perfectly proportioned bodies. If it wasn't for the scars and broken bones, all of them could be swimwear or underwear models. The sight caused a slug of precum run down the inside of my leg. For the first time since high school, I actually felt my body was inadequate. Another striking thing was the relative quiet in the room. Apart from slaps on the mat, and clank of weights, there was only the occasional scream of a final rep or a yell of motivation. There were no side conversations going on, just pure devotion to the tasks given. Fortunately in a very short time, my sweat would hide any wet spot that might start showing through. I was quickly thrown into a series exercises alternating with mat drills. Nothing was easy, everything was maximum effort. The guys working the mat with me seemed to show no mercy even though I was told they were taking it easy. They dropped me with a ferocity I had never felt in my home camp or even in the ring. Between the heat and work, I was falling into a daze and beginning to doubt myself. Mr. Chambers assured me that they were not looking at the absolute level of work, only effort and attitude. I dug in and a trip to the puke bucket later, the first phase was over. Mr. Chambers threw me a towel and led me off down a hall to another room.
We went through what seemed like a strange door setup. Two heavy steel doors, the first of which had to be closed before the second would open. All I knew is that it was a normal temperature inside and it felt good. Then I saw a big gauge on the wall marked in feet from -500 up to 12,000. This has an altitude chamber. I only thought I had been through hell earlier. I noticed one side of the room had a treadmill with a chain hanging from it. A flood of apprehension filled my head. The apprehension grew worse when Mr. Chambers instructed me to strip, but put my running shoes run. As I still had my grappling gloves on, it took me a minute of fumbling to get my shoes tied. While I was doing that, I noted out the corner of my eye Mr. Chambers opening a panel in the wall and adjusting something. As I stood up from tying my shoes, I heard the sound of a metal drawer closing, Mr. Chambers was heading towards me with a parachute ball clamp. I also noticed the altitude in the room starting to go up. The chain on the treadmill now came sharply into focus. I was going to be attached to the treadmill by my balls, and forced to run at altitude. This was not going to feel good. Strangely, despite the fear, the feeling of Mr. Chambers (and sight of Mr. Chambers close-up) fitting the clamp around my scrotum caused me a brief erection. This caused Mr. Chambers to have to give my balls and good squeeze and yank to finish closing the clamp. The jolt brought me back to reality as I was led to the treadmill. With the room now at 6,000 feet and the chain on the treadmill fastened to underside of the clamp, Mr. Chambers started the treadmill at a brisk walk and dialed in a moderate incline. Almost immediately I felt the lactic acid start to build up in legs as my body couldn't pull in enough oxygen. Already weak from the previous workout, the soreness started setting in. At the end of five minutes, my legs were screaming for relief. Mr. Chambers stopped the treadmill, unfastened me, and led me over to a heavy bag. He started a 5 minute boxing timer and I was told to work the bag for the duration. An excruciating 5 minutes later I was struggling to stand up on legs that felt like jelly and doing everything I could not spit my mouthpiece out in order to get more air. I was led (any other time it would have been dragged) back to the treadmill. This time a light jog was dialed in. I was emitting a low grunt every three or four strides. I was starting to feel the occasional yank on my balls as I struggled to keep up. The low grunts slowly turned into audible cries of pain as I began squeezing my eyes shut and throwing my head back. The chain was starting to spend more time fully taught. At four minutes, Mr. Chambers shut off the treadmill again. I almost fell over getting off. My entire left leg was on the verge of completely cramping. Cupping my balls in one hand I limped over to the bag area where I had another 4 minutes on the bag. I really don't know how I made it through that. At the end of the round, I noticed I was starting to look like the others. Veins were raised all down my arms, up my calves, and even on my abs. With a loud bark from Mr. Chambers, I was driven back to the treadmill. It was all I could do to not just cry. Mr. Chambers set what normally would have been a steady running pace, but at this point it was just brutal. It took 100 percent of my concentration just to make my legs move.
I don't know how long it took, but I woke up on the floor. I was in the fetal position clutching my balls, with the clamp off. The room was back to normal pressure. Mr. Chambers handed me a water bottle and helped me to a sitting a position. He explained that they used a break-link in the chain that would open at around 15 pounds of pull. Enough to give a good pop to the balls but not cause damage. As the fog in my head cleared, Mr. Chambers went on to explain that the test was to see how far I was willing to push myself. The absolute result was not what mattered. Mr. Chambers helped me up, and told me I had a half an hour before the final phase of evaluation would start. I was told to rest up, shower, and bizarrely, to make sure cock and balls were shaved. I stumbled back to the locker room, not even remembering that I was totally naked. This didn't even raise an eyebrow in the gym. I noticed many had dropped down to nothing but jocks in an effort to deal with the heat. Despite my left leg screaming and my extreme fatigue, I barely made it back to the locker room before my cock had fully hardened and started dripping. I dragged myself into the shower area, washed off, and found a bin of disposable razors I could use to shave. I normally keep my pubic area trimmed up, so shaving the cock and balls was more of a clean up effort then a chore. In order to blend in a bit, I also took the time to trim my chest and abs. Feeling somewhat better at this point, I resisted the temptation to bust a load and proceeded to put some shorts on and report back to Mr. Chambers.
The final test was supposed to be one of pain tolerance. With all I had already been through today, what more could they possibly want to see? I had taken kicks to the nuts in fights, I had finished jiu-jitsu matches with broken bones, and trained with broken ribs. The fatigue was now being pushed out of my head by a what was no doubt a false sense of confidence. After the previous two sessions, I felt I could handle anything. At last, we reached a room that on the outside was labeled Training 2. Another heavy steel door, this time with an ominous amount of padding on the inside, was closed behind us. I quickly got the answer to my wondering.
For the first time all day, a normally in-shape, non-super human (but still trim and hot-looking) was standing in front of me. I was introduced to Scott who had the odd title of Trainer-Technician. The explanation of what was about to happen came out like a medieval sentence of being "shown the instruments". I was to strip and be secured to the gynecological chair in the center of the room. Electrodes would be placed on my cock, balls, and in my rectum. The electrodes would not (at least at first I was told) provide direct pain by themselves. Instead, the electrodes would be used to stimulate orgasm and efforts to keep direct pain from the current would be made. After every orgasm, I would be given 5 minutes rest, then the stimulation would resume. This would go on until a pressed a button on device secured to my hand. If I passed out, I would be revived and given the choice of stopping or continuing. Mr. Chambers again assured me that they were looking for the effort and devotion, rather than some absolute result.
I dropped my shorts and laid down in the chair, cock, balls, and ass exposed. Mr. Chambers assisted Scott with straps around my arms, chest, legs, and hips. Mr. Chambers slid the device with the shut-off button into my right hand and secured the strap so that I could not drop it. I noticed during this that there was one of those infamous one-way mirrors in front of me, presumably for observation. At this point Mr. Chambers left Scott to complete the rigging. Scott proceeded to encircle the head of my cock, the base of my cock, and both balls with electrodes. He then lubed and inserted a plug into my ass. All of the wires were led back to a console that was out of my line of sight. Scott asked if I was ready. After a deep breath I answered yes. My cock was already engorged from Scott's fondling so the current had an easy time of bringing it to full mast. I have to admit that under Scott's control, the current actually felt good. In no time I could feel my cock throbbing, the head pointed straight at my chest, already dripping. I told myself not to fight it, just let the orgasm occur. Deep breaths, just let it happen. Within a few minutes, I felt a tensing of my hips and legs and with a grunt I pushed out my first orgasm. Three had shots filled the area between my pecs and upper abs with a puddle of cum.
The 5 minute count-down clock started above the mirror. I willed myself to relax and breathe. I flexed my hands and feet trying work blood down to my extremities. Despite my efforts, I knew that 5 minutes was not a long recovery time. The timer expired way too quickly for me. With jolt, the current came back on. The levels were much higher, and much less comfortable this time. Still, Scott found the sweet spot and I was getting hard again. As I my shaft started growing, I could feel Scott working the frequency controls to get the pulses to fall in line with the natural rhythm of the bobbing of my cock. I reached full erection and the current was turned up. I could feel pulses of current running from my ass out the top of the head. They pushed me towards another orgasm. Again, breathe, let it run I tell myself. It's taking much longer this time. Scott cranks up the current in my balls creating a feeling of them getting fondled. My breathing gets ragged and my abs are shaking. Scott changes the pulses in my ass creating a feeling of my ass getting fingered. It's enough to force me over the edge again. This time the shots barely make mid-abs, and the volume is heavily reduced. The clock starts counting down again.
Scott wipes me down a hand towel in attempt to try and humanize my torment. He sees the look of fear and anguish on my face and just responds with a rub down of my calves and shoulders. I want to free my hand and just cup my balls for a few minutes to get some relief, but all I can do is try and shift a bit in the chair. All too soon the timer is up and we start again. This time around absolutely nothing about this feels good. My cock hangs limp despite Scott working the range of frequencies. This forces Scott to go to brute force mode and simply turn up the power. With what feels like a shin hitting my balls, pain wells up in me triggering a purely reflexive erection. Big pulses of current are sent from balls to cock head. My groin muscles try in vain to pull my legs closed. The head of my cock swells in reaction to the blood rushing in trying desperately trying to relieve the pain. The precum starts to help conduct current all around the shaft causing a tremendous throbbing sensation. Still, my body won't move towards another orgasm. Scott turns up current in my ass. The current causes my glutes and abs to contract in a sensation that feels like a giant dildo being rammed in and out. The contractions also cause my cock to leap up. I start to feel the 3rd shot coming. For what seems like an eternity I am stuck in that phase. I needed to cum, my hips and abs were flexed, my cock standing up but I couldn't move on. Finally, Scott tweaks the timing of pulses in my ass and balls. My head is lodged against the rest, back trying to arch, eyes squeezed shut. I finally go over. When my breathing calms down, I look down at my stomach and see only the barest of dribbles. I look up and there is only a minute and a half left on the clock. I audibly moan "no no no" and start shaking my head. I try to psych my self out for the next one but I have nothing left mentally or physically now. The clock reaches zero and Scott starts to ramp the current up. My hand almost involuntarily closes on the stop button.
I come around in a cool room. The room looks like my college dorm room. Mr. Chambers walks in. He helps me sit up. He tells me that this is my room now if I want it. I was being offered a probationary spot with Team Beast. My apartment would be packed up and moved to storage. I would live here and train full time. My dream had come true but I was just too beat to celebrate. Mr. Chambers understood and simply said training would start at 6 AM tomorrow.