Crash Course - 1

WARNING - NO HOOVES

The halls of Canterlot High are full to the brim of students. The final lesson of the day has ended. Most student pour outside to await a bus or car, or to walk home with their friends. You however, stand with a crumpled flier in your clenched hands. The doors to the gym taunt you, daring you to enter.

You rub the bruise above your left eye. A parting gift from Brad. He was a total cockbag, but you couldn’t do much about it. Somehow he was the most popular guy in school, but you can’t stand him. He’s abrasive, irritating and doesn’t know when to quit. It boiled over today when things got a little heated between you both.

It wasn’t much of a fight, the principal dragging Brad away by the ear for picking on a younger student. One trip to the nurse’s office later and you were back out into lessons. Most people snickered at the shiner you were given, but you didn’t care. You wanted revenge.

So when you spotted a flyer for self-defense lessons you jumped at the chance, eagerly ripping away the poster from the notice board before somebody else could get it. Now you’re here, that confidence has wavered. Your scrawny body is thin in all the wrong places, and flabby in more than one. Thin arms and spare tires do not a fighter make.

The rumors about who was running this little class weren’t much better. She was an exchange student from Gryphonia, who according to Snips and Snails; “Eats grit for breakfast and shits iron, with a temper to match.”

Not the most reassuring words to student who wasn’t even a sophomore, the high octane poster featuring muscled men kicking the crap out of each other being a stark contrast to your, less than desirable self-image. You toss it into the rubbish.

Yet here you are, about to open the doors to your potential doom. You swallow your fear and slowly open the green double doors into the gym. The battered mats are already set out in the centre of the room, a bag full of gloves and pads poured out next to them.

You’re the only one here.

You frown and wander over to the mats, confused at how nobody else has decided to show up. Even the trainer isn’t showing their face. You won’t be picked up for another hour or so. You sigh and wander over to the bleachers, your sensible shoes slapping against the wooden floor. Guess you have to wait. You went to all the effort of putting your gym clothes on too!

Maybe it was because you took the poster? That was only an hour ago. Somebody else must have seen it, so why aren’t they here? Did everybody else chicken out? You sit there and mope, wondering when the damn teacher was going to show up, eventually drifting off into a daydream about beating up Flash.

You jolt from your daydream as the metal door slams loudly from the other end of the gym, furious footfalls announcing the arrival of somebody else. You look up and see a tall woman power walking towards you with a scowl on her face. She has dark tanned skin, feathered, punkish white hair with purple tips and an excessive amount of purple eye shadow.

She stops in front of you, eyeing you like a bird of prey. You rise to your feet and hobble closer to her. She easily towers over you by a head, and you’re a pretty tall guy. She sweeps around the gym, looking for something.

“Where is everybody?” She asks. You mutely shrug in response, she kinda’ scares you. “Speak up dweeb!” She snaps.

“I don’t know; I must be the only guy interested.” You mumble. She sighs and facepalms, wiping down her eyes and smudging her makeup slightly. “Uh. Snips and Snails might have spread a few nasty rumors.” You admit.

“Like what?”

“Apparently you eat grit and shit iron.” She smiles and begins to chuckle, slapping your shoulder with much more force than you were expecting. You stagger forwards before she catches you by the collar.

“So everybody’s scared of me huh?” She teases. “I guess it isn’t too far from the truth.”

To be honest, she is terrifying. Her small sports top exposes her midriff, complete with a full six pack that put some body builders to shame. Her black yoga pants failed to hide the extreme muscle that had built up around her expansive thighs, stretching to the very limit. He arms are similar, twitching with barley restrained power that could probably decapitate you with enough effort.

“Don’t look so shaken dweeb, I’m not gonna’ kill ya’.” She releases your collar and escorts you to the equipment scattered on the floor. “Looks like this is gonna’ be a good old one on one lesson, alright shrimp?” You don’t find the courage to protest the nickname, so you just nod along.

She sweeps up a pair of red boxing pads, placing one of each hand. You pick up a pair of smelly gloves and jam them onto your small hands. The hard leather is pretty uncomfortable, and you’re pretty sure they’ve never been cleaned before.

“Alright small fry, I know you ain’t much to look at, but I need to see how much potential you have. Not much point in running into this if you haven’t got a chance right? I want you to try and hit these pads as hard as you can, don’t worry about hurting me.” You square up to one another of the mats.

“Go!”

You begin slowly, attempting to catch the pads with some weak jabs but the more experienced woman manages to deftly avoid them.  “Gotta’ try harder than that dweeb!” she taunted. You grew frustrated, throwing your weight behind the punches. One sidestep later and you find yourself wobbling for balance as the girl laughs at you. When you do land a hit, she barley flinches.

This continued for five minutes, every attempt at hitting the pad being thwarted by the hot footed trainer. Soon you find yourself out of breath, resigned to panting on the floor.

“Giving up already? Jeeze.” She groans, nudging your defeated body with a sweaty foot. An evil glint flashed in her eyes. Quick as lightning she swept down and pulled your shirt up and away from your body, unable to put up a fight you lay there and moan.

“Gross.” She comments, poking your flabby stomach. “You’re gonna’ need a lot of work. I’m not sure I can do this.”
“D-do you see… anybody else you could teach?” You pant.

“Well… I’m being paid for how long I run the course, not how many losers I coach.”

“So you’re going to sit around and do jack shit for a few months?” The coach stops to consider your point while you scramble to put your shirt back on.

“Hmmm. It’d be a big time investment, not for me but for you. I expect you here every weekday night, same time, okay?”

“A-alright.” She snorted in amusement as she looked at your sweat soaked body, shaking her head. “You never told me your name.” You point out.

“I don’t normally tell my name to total dweebs.” She commented, inspecting her nails. “Tell ya’ what, you manage to make some improvement, or at least put in the effort. I’ll tell you my name alright? From now on I’m your coach.” She added, crouching to ruffle your matted hair. She frowns in disgust at her sweat covered hand, wiping it on her pants.

“Wow, that really knocked you out didn’t it? Ugh, I guess we have to do some cardio too.” In a sense she was complaining, but there is a teasing undercurrent to everything she says, like it was one big act to mess with you.
From your position on the ground, her black sports top does nothing to hide her large breasts and the proximity to her incredibly muscular thighs is getting you hot under the collar. You get a nice shot of her underboob; they have to be at least double D’s. Gilda kneels there for a few more moments, before breaking into a grin and standing.
“Lookin’ a little red there dweeb, you caught something?” She asks, stretching her arm around her head. It causes her muscles to tense and flex, giving you another fantastic view of hew firm abs and amazonian thighs.

“N-no!” You squeak, sitting up so she doesn’t see the tent you were pitching. You pull your legs into your chest in a futile attempt to hide your arousal, but from the smirk on her face, she’s probably already spotted your little friend.

Think un-arousing thoughts! Mr. Pinkman, algebra, Grandma!

“If you say so. Look, I don’t have the right gear to try this today. All I have are the pads. Considering how you’re the only one here, you can call this lesson over. I was expecting a few more.” She gathered the equipment back into the bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Same time, tomorrow, got it?” She growls, you nod.

“Catch you later kid.” As she walks away, you can’t help but stare at her huge, firm ass, stretching the thin fabric of the black yoga pants. No! Bad penis, down boy!


The next morning you groan in pain. The short time you spent actually fighting have played hell with your muscles, your joints ache and your muscles throb due to your sub-standard punches. Getting out of bed is agony, never mind getting dressed and brushing your teeth. Today is a Friday, meaning that after the next lesson you get two days to recover.

You chomp down breakfast and take off to school before your parents can catch you again, they were a bit mythed about you having one on one lessons with a “violent miscreant”. Being the overprotective nuts they are, they had looked up your new coach on the school website and discovered that “Gilda Kuznetsov” was a bit of a punk. Of course this was mainly based on her appearance and you scolded them accordingly, so far she was perfectly fine, if a bit callous.

You are adamant about doing her program, not just because she scares the crap out of you, but because it also might give you a fighting chance against all those bullies. Mom wasn’t so sure about fighting fire with fire but they eventually relented and allowed you to continue. They want you to tell them in anything bad happens, you simply laughed at them. She’s a teacher (or one in training at least.) so there isn’t much she can do to you.

School is average. The usual rounds of confrontation, name calling and scolding are followed by boring lessons with people you don’t like. Mr. Pinkman decided it would be hilarious to pair everyone up in woodwork, meaning you were stuck with Fluttershy again! You’ve never even heard her speak, making co-ordination a damn nightmare.

You both parted at the end of the lesson without a simple goodbye. You’ve been trying to avoid Brad after your little confrontation, so you sit in the dining hall with all the other students. You grab a small, empty table near the back in an attempt to avoid his gaze. He’s too busy chatting up Sunset to notice you, so you smile in relief and eat you chicken sandwich in peace.

The peace is interrupted by a scratchy voice. “Hey squirt.” You jump slightly and look to your left, where a smiling Gilda stands, dressed in the same uniform from yesterday. “Don’t forget about tonight.” She warns.
“Hey coach.” You greet sheepishly, conscious of the attention she was attracting. Several eyes were trained on you, even more on the new teacher. You nearly object to her presence as Brad looks over and begins to swagger towards you. You assume what’s supposed to be a reassuring hand is slapped down onto your scalp. The pressure on your neck is uncomfortable, but you’re more worried about the presence of Brad.

“Hey squirt.” He leers, readjusting his dumb jacket and slicking back his ugly hair. He laughs at his own insult while Gilda raises an eyebrow. “I see you’ve finally made a friend, too bad she’s like ten years older than you.” Gilda’s hand grips your head a bit tighter; you wince but don’t speak up.

“I’m only nineteen.” She objects. “Who’re you dweeb?” She fires back.

“Brad. You should already know by now. I am the hottest guy in school after all.” He gloats, flexing his arms.
“Sorry noodles, I don’t think she’s interested.” You add as you see Gilda’s expression of disbelief, she chuckles at the insult causing Brad to scowl. The three of you have attracted quite a crowd.

He snaps his fingers. “I remember now! You’re that new teach right? Doing self-defense classes?”

“What about it?”

“Just saying, must be embarrassing for your only student to be this fat fuck.” He jeers. The onlookers gasp at his foul language. “Did you scare everybody else off? With a face like that I’m not surprised; I bet you’re a wimp anyway.”

Wrong move, you think. Gilda doesn’t even bat an eyelid. With Gilda here you can throw all the insults you want without getting hit.

“So why weren’t you there last night then?” You ask with curiosity. “Surely the big, strong Brad can handle a few self-defense classes.” He balks for a moment before scowling. He looks around at the crowd with a small measure of embarrassment, you were right after all. The students begin sending hushed whispers around the circle, not exactly flattering ones.

“Says the kid with the black eye.”

“Tough words from a sophomore.” You prod. “Didn’t realize you enjoyed child abuse.”  The whispers only intensify, restrained snickers emerging from the crowd. You were sweating bullets, unsure of whether they were talking about him or you.

“Fine!” He shouts, silencing them. “I’ll come to your little classes, and when you two lovebirds are done making kissy faces at each other I’ll kick your ass!” He storms off, slamming the cafeteria door. The other students giggle and chant obscene lyrics in response before dispersing.

“What a drama queen.” Gilda finally speaks. “Is he always like that?”

“You don’t know the half of it. You’re not gonna’ teach him are you?” You plead.

“It’s my job, doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it though.” She grumbled. “That’s assuming he shows up. Dorks like him don’t have much motivation.” She takes a seat next to you. “He’s the reason you’re doing’ this isn’t he?” You reluctantly nod. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not gonna’ judge. In the end you really need to find another reason to go on rather than revenge.”

She pats you on the back and stands up. “See you later.”

“Later.”

You don’t see Brad for the rest of the day.


The gym is all set up, but once again you found yourself to be the first present. In addition to the pads from yesterday, several small weights and a few inflatable dummies and placed around the gym. You expect Brad to arrive first; you’re pleasantly surprised when Gilda slams the door again. She walked over to the bleachers, looking around.

“Isn’t he here yet?” she asked with bewilderment. “From all that tough guy talk earlier I thought he’d be here already.”

“Nope, it’s just me.”

“Alright then, no sense waiting for him. Get over here!” You jogged over as she picked up two of the smaller weights. “Those punches were weak as fly shit. You’re going to build your arm strength, you don’t throw all your weight behind a-“

SLAM

You both jumped slightly and looked over to the door. A very angry looking Brad stomping towards you, dressed in grey track pants and a white tank top. It exposed his arms, and while they were well defined they were still thin and weedy.

“Nice of you to show up Princess.” Gilda jabbed. “I thought you’d bailed on us for a while there.”

“As if.” He scoffed. “I’m not scared of you.”

Gilda looked to you. “Go ahead and do some reps for me.” She commanded. You nearly lost balance as she handed the deceptively heavy weights to you. Initially you have no shortage of trouble, but soon you find a rhythm and begin to pump your arms ignoring their aches of protest.

She spun towards Brad. “Alright dweeb, show me what you can do. I’m expecting a little more from you than newbie over there.” She put on a pair of pads.

“Why? Because I’m stronger?” He gloated.

“No, because I expect you to be tougher than somebody who’s younger than you. Alright chicken shit? Try to hit me.” She smacked them together. “Go!”

What followed was rather pathetic, for all his appearances brad doesn’t do much better than you did. Frequently missing the mark and losing balance, or simply hitting them with no technique. He looks more like an orangutan than a boxer, arcing his arms out wide in an attempt to gather more momentum.

He lasted slightly longer than you, but ended up wiping out on the mat after Gilda counter punched him. It came from nowhere, letting out a loud smack as sweat flew from his face. Even with the soft protection of the pad he went down like a sack of bricks. She stood on either side of his head, leaning down and giving him a nice view of her cleavage.

“Jesus Christ! I had low expectations and I’m still disappointed! Shorty over there did better than you!” She complains, slapping his chest with a padded hand. He seemed too engrossed in looking at her sweaty tits to listen. (To be honest you were kinda’ staring too.) She slapped him around the face. “Wake up dork! If you’re just gonna’ ogle me for a few weeks you can get the hell out of this gym!”

“Hey!” He yelped rubbing his cheek. “I am a good fighter, lay off!”

“Who’s the expert here, me or you? Shut your damn mouth and pick up those weights, you can follow along with the kid who actually cares.” Her tone left no room for debate; he sulked his way over to you and joins in on your impromptu weight lifting session. He stared at you for a while, before snorting and turning his back to you.
Gilda shook her head in annoyance.

She watched the pair of you like a hawk, yelling out tips and technique while your arms slowly ripped themselves apart. You won’t be shown up by this asshole again, so you worked harder. Gilda seems impressed with your determination, and annoyed and Brad for his reluctance to do the same. It was evident what Brad was here for, to show you up and sleep with Gilda. His plan wasn’t working. Gilda eventually told you both to stop.

“Alright ladies, you can stop now.” She paced in front of you both. You were run ragged from the weights, but Brad didn’t even look winded. “Say Brad, do you think you put as much work in to that as you could?” She asked innocently.

“Sure I guess.” He shrugs, looking at the far wall.

“Bullshit.” She yelled. “You don’t even look tired. You’re not here to hit on chicks asshole, you’re here to work, to take part in my little exercise program and to learn how to beat the shit out of any asshole who dares pick on you. If you put in the effort in you’d be like squirt here.” She affirmed pointing to you. “He looks wasted. And that’s exactly how you should look after some intense exercise! You don’t put some effort in, or a little effort in, you put all the effort in!”

The sudden change in mood shocks you, going from normal to livid in moments. Gilda was really getting passionate about this. Brad looked unfazed. Gilda’s eye twitched.

“Get out.” She stated moving her finger to the door. “You didn’t even listen to what I just said, so get out!” Yet Brad stood there stoically, but a look of disbelief soon crossed across his face.
“What! You can’t just kick me out like that!”

“It’s my course; I can do what the damn well I please. Why should I waste my time having a lecherous, annoying waste of space interrupting the coaching of others? Will you take anything away from this except a case of blue balls? Probably not.” She said with a wavering voice.

“I want to stay.” He said resolutely.

“Alright… one more chance. I don’t do rule of three.” She huffed, rapidly cooling her temper. “You blow it, you’re out. No more flirting or ogling, no more picking on shrimp and at the very least, I expect you to take this seriously.”

“Fine.” She smiled at him and patted his cheek condescendingly. Her extra height adding another layer of humor, he was about neck level with her.

“Good boy.” She stepped backwards, twirling to face you. She walked over and handed you a laminated list of activities and foods. “Shrimp, if you wanna’ make any progress with this, you need to put in the extra time. Here’s some shit you can do at home, go out for a jog and stuff.”

She gave a copy to Brad. “I expect you to do the same.” She warned. Brad grunted in response, apparently it was good enough for Gilda, who began to pack her things. “Alright, I’ll see you two next Monday.” Brad took off like a rocket while you followed lamely behind. He jumped into his shitty Camaro and sped away from the school, leaving you to wait for your parents.


You stand, sighing in relaxation under the hot stream of water running down your back. It runs over the stretched muscles in your body and sends waves of relief to your brain. You reflect on the day, Brad’s inclusion to the training, the confrontation at dinner and the argument with Gilda.

You can’t help but ponder Brad’s motivation for following you in joining the course. He’s already popular and attractive and has a car. What else could he want?

Now that you think about it, you remember his not so subtle harassment of Gilda. Unlike yesterday where your embarrassing arousal was met with joking and teasing, his was rejected with anger and criticism. It’s fairly obvious she favors you over Brad, which is a weight of your shoulders. This is the last thing you want Brad to shoehorn himself into.

You sigh and think back to the peace and quiet you got from the one on one lesson before it. That was much better. Just you and Gilda. You hate to admit that a pang of jealousy ran through you when Brad tried to make his move, and the joy you felt when she blasted him for it.

Flashes of Gilda run through your head; her domineering personality, cheeky teasing and incredible body cause arousal to course through your body. Your penis slowly begins to swell with thoughts of Gilda mounting your face, trapping your head between her insane thighs, rubbing her soaked pants across your face, using you to get her rocks off. Nothing more than a submissive little toy for her to take pleasure from.

She’d make fun of your tubby body. Degrading you and talking about how much of a worthless dweeb you are, she’d jack off your “sub-average” penis, purposefully using a gentle touch to ensure you never came before she wanted you to. She’d make you beg for mercy, to let you come like the weak willed boy you are.

Sometimes during training she’d grope you, fondling your flaccid cock and balls and whispering sweet nothings about how she owns you. She’d put on increasingly risqué outfits, showing off her incredible, muscled body. Bending over in front of you and giggling and your tent became sandwiched between her incredible ass cheeks.

When nobody else was in school, you’d find yourself pulled into the janitorial closet. Into the thick amazonian lap of the coach. She’d coddle you like a small child, casually playing with your genitals, cooing in your ear as she begins to jack you off. You’d squirm helplessly in her lap as you beg to come. She’d keep you on edge for as long as possible, after half an hour later Gilda would pick up the pace. Your cum would splatter against the floor and dribble down her yoga pants. She’d scold you for getting her so messy and force you to clean it off, before licking the thick juices seeping from her enflamed pussy.

“F-fuck!” You stammer, hitting the tiled wall. Your breath is heavy as you are pulled from the fantasy. You watch with a frown as your cum is washed down the drain. “God damn it.” You mutter, next week is going to be painful.