From: lewj99@yahoo.com ON THE JOB (BANNISTER, PART 2) by JL The past year had been extrememly productive for the man at the head of the Bannister Demolition Company. In that short period of time, Drew Bannister had all but cornered the demolition market citywide, building an amazing reputation for working ahead of schedule and under budget. Word-of-mouth was all he needed to rack up one job after another; in fact, over the last six months, the workload had pretty much been non-stop. Not that Drew was complaining. With the company's spartan offices, skeleton staff (mostly involved in adminstrative work), and lack of equipment costs, he had personally cleared close to half a million dollars over the past twelve months. Drew had long ago ditched the beat-up van, literally wrapping it around an oak tree, in favor of a shiny black Lexus SUV. A bit of an indulgence for such a young man, but Drew had earned every one of those dollars through the proverbial blood, sweat, and tears. And now, he'd just gotten word about his biggest project yet, the demolition of an old arena that had fallen into disrepair. Because of the project's sheer size, Drew stood to pull down a hefty chunk of change, enough to push his bank account well over the million dollar mark. Not bad for a 23- year-old with no business training. ------- Drew bounded into his office at exactly 6:30 AM, chugging a large black coffee. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of excitement as he pulled out the blueprints for the arena, which had just arrived. This was the day. Drew rolled up his sleeves over the mammoth trunks he called forearms. They alone looked powerful enough to cause serious damage, without even mentioning the craggy biceps and horseshoe triceps that bulged against the seams of his custom-made shirt. Drew took his position as a businessman very seriously, and he made sure to look the part. Gone was the surfer-dude look, in favor of short dark hair and a neatly-trimmed beard that perfectly framed his square jaw. His beige shirt, marked with the company logo, was buttoned up as far as the monstrous bulk of his chest and neck would allow. Drew casually rolled a ball bearing between his right thumb and forefinger, flattening it as he looked over the blueprint. The arena was a huge structure, built in the 1940's - back when structures were actually built to last, not like the pre-fab shit they throw up today, Drew thought. It used to hold 6,000 people, and was often filled to capacity for hockey games, circuses, boxing matches, and the like. But in the age of jumbotrons and luxury boxes, the old arena couldn't compete, and the city had decided to demolish it. That was were Drew came in. He felt a stirring in his cock as he looked over the specs for the roof - 1,500 tons of steel. "Fifteen hundred," he whistled, a tiny but unmistakable smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Christ, that fucker's built strong. This is gonna be better'n I thought." He pored over the blueprint for over an hour, deep in concentration, until he could learn no more. Now it was time for action. Hopping in the Lexus, Drew gunned it down the interstate, flying through traffic like an Indy driver. Soon he was back on the surface streets; the traffic thinned out considerably as he neared the arena, which was on the edge of a bleak, bombed-out industrial area. He guided the Lexus into a parking area across from the arena - far enough away to avoid any damage - and stepped out. The huge structure loomed over Drew, tall enough to contain a 10-story building, hundreds upon hundreds of tons of steel, concrete and brick. It had stood in that spot for nearly sixty years, a monument of engineering. But no engineer could have ever foreseen the threat posed by the young man who stood in the building's shadow. Drew paused for a moment, wondering aloud what the men who designed and constructed the arena would think if they were here today. "Oh well," he muttered, "if any of 'em are still alive, they'd be too old to care. Prob'ly for the best." The front doors had been boarded up, but Drew took care of that with one quick punch, splintering the cheap plywood. Walking through the decrepit lobby, he looked out onto the arena floor to see if everything was in place. It was. For the past few weeks, a salvage crew had been going through the arena, removing the scoreboard, seats, concessions, anything of value. Drew had made a rather strange request of them - to install three heavy-duty chains hanging down from the ceiling, wrapped in looping patterns around the support beams. One of the chains hung straight down over what was once center ice. The other two were attached at opposing ends of the arena, but trailed down diagonally to center ice as well, held in place at the bottom by huge cinderblocks. The crew leader had given Drew a hard time on the phone, but shut up pretty quick when Drew promised him a bonus. Money had a funny way of making people do things they didn't want to do. Drew swaggered down the stairs and onto the arena floor, the roof soaring above him, empty risers climbing up into the darkness. He felt like a gladiator, standing in the middle of the arena, ready to do battle. Only in this case, there would be no lions, no swords, no spectators. Just one man pitting his muscle against the arena itself. Drew was once again struck by the fact that he was actually getting paid to do this, to test the limits he knew he must have but had never truly discovered. He would have gladly done it for nothing...but the three-quarters of a million was a nice touch. Stretching out his six-foot-six frame, Drew reached up and grabbed the chain that dangled over center ice, carefully wrapping the thick links around his left hand. He then closed his big right paw over the chain, just above the left, and gave it a couple of light tugs, just enough to pull it taut. "Time to unload, motherfucker," Drew sneered, taunting the massive structure overhead. "Think you can stand up to some REAL muscle?" Baring his teeth, Drew pulled hard on the chain. Biceps hardened and rose, twin volcanoes ready to erupt, veins writhing down his forearms like molten magma. The heavy links flattened under his immense grip, but held. Drew could feel the steel beams' fierce resistance through the chain, holding firmly in place against the savage arms pulling against them. Drawing in a sharp breath, Drew leaned back, putting his shoulders and back into the battle. Pumpkin-sized shoulders tightened into bands of hardened granite, while his back resembled a series of continental plates shifting outward. Seams blew open all over his upper body, the custom- made shirt unable to contain all that surging muscle. Digging in his heels, Drew tugged down with a continuing assault of mind-blowing force. He could tell the interlocking beams above were weakening, struggling to stay in place...the arena was suddenly filled with the sound of groaning steel, echoing, multiplying. It was matched by the exuberant cries of a young man, whooping for joy. "Aw YEAH, cocksucker, I got'cha now!" Drew bellowed, as his ridged triceps pulled apart what was left of his shirt sleeve. Thick I-beams bent completely out of shape, snapping rivets and bending some of the smaller connecting girders back upon themselves. Drew leaned back even more, his ass mere inches off the ground, barrel-sized quads bulging through burst-open pant seams. The entire roof was noticeably sagging in the middle, really feeling the fury of the musclebound monster 120 feet below. Satisfied that the center portion was weakened enough, Drew let go of the middle chain and grabbed the outside ones, kicking away the cinderblocks that held them to the floor. The chains were far enough apart that his arms were held out horizontally - but they wouldn't be for long. Doing some insane version of a chest fly, Drew started pulling his arms in, tighening the chains which ran up to opposite ends of the roof. Forged-iron pecs mounded and bulged, separating into a series of thick striations, popping the shirt buttons off in quick succession. Drew's back absolutely rippled iwth muscle, fighting for space with his surging lats. "ARRRGGGHHH..." he grunted, sweat dripping off his brow, battling to contract his writhing, vein-covered arms. Drew muscled the chains toward each other, a half-inch, then one, then two. Steel girders creaked and sighed on both ends, and small but noticeable tremors shook the entire arena. The insane power generated by Drew's arms travelled through the interlocking beams, steadily twisting and warping them. He could feel them weaken, 1,500 tons of solid steel unable to withstand his might. Within minutes, Drew had his arms locked out in front of him, surging biceps meeting up with mountainous pecs. A booming crack opened up in the north wall, sending huge concrete slabs tumbling inside and out. One final YANK and Drew brought his fists together, wrenching the roof downward at both ends. The roof groaned, shifted slightly, but held on. That was his plan all along though; he didn't doubt his ability to bring it down, but even HE wasn't too crazy about the idea of 1,500 tons of steel plummeting on top of him from a height of 120 feet. But with the roof crippled by his muscle, Drew could now do the rest of the work from outside. He just had one more matter to attend to. Reaching up with one swollen arm, he once again grabbed the center chain, jerking it downward. The overstressed chain finally snapped, but not before disloding a six-foot section of I-beam. Drew reached up and caught the one ton girder effortlessly, his outstretched hands indenting the steel's surface. It wasn't quite perfect though - the beam was bent into a shallow v-shape. "Better straighten this sonuvabitch out," Drew said, draping the bent beam over his shoulders. After the superhuman effort of damn near pulling the roof off, straightening the girder was a rather mundane task. Drew pulled down on either end, forcing the screeching steel into a more or less straight line. Turning toward the front door, Drew held the beam against his shoulder, ax-style, in his left hand, while he used the right to rip off the tattered clothes which hung limply over his bulging musculature. Emerging in the bright sunlight, Drew sported only his work boots and a pair of briefs, the outline of his huge basket clearly evident. Standing in front of the damaged arena, Drew paused, debating what course of action to take. A smile crept across his bearded face. "Fuck it, let's go for broke," he said, tossing the one-ton girder aside and striding over to the building's southwest corner. Bending down, he drove his fists into either side of the thick concrete, deep enough to form secure handholds. "Here goes nothin'," Drew mumbled. Tightening his colossal arms and legs, the superhuman 23-year-old grunted and let loose with everything his pumped body could give. Deep grooves formed in his double lobed biceps, matched by the phenomenal striations bursting forth in his quads. Jagged cracks opened up throughout the concrete, first horizontally, then vertically, halfway up the length of the arena. Heels digging inches into the asphalt, Drew snarled and contracted his arms, preparing to do the impossible. Fire burned through every muscle fiber as he poured on brute power that no machine could ever hope to match. The cracks along the base widened into gaping maws, stretching longer and longer, like fault lines opening up. Vibrations echoed throughout the structure. Drew was actually ripping the arena - or at least one section of it - clear off its foundation. Hundreds of tons of steel and concrete lifted grudingly from their once-solid base. The realization of what he was doing, the extent of the force contained in his 400 pound frame, was almost overwhelming. Blood surged to Drew's cock, tenting the briefs nearly to the point of breaking. The freakish display of power lasted a few seconds more, with Drew curling the southwest section off its foundations inch by torturous inch, until the structure reached its breaking point. Slabs of concrete and brick broke loose and plunged earthward. Dropping the section of arena back on its foundation (it landed with an almost painful THUD), Drew dealt with the falling slabs, smashing them to pieces with piledriving fists. Stepping back, panting, Drew pumped his overstressed biceps at the cracks, wounded building. "Right off the motherfuckin' foundation! Yeah! YEAH!" he roared, loud enough to crack any windows not boarded up. His ten-incher was now hard as a rock. Hyped up like he hadn't been in years, Drew reached down and grabbed the steel beam, wielding it like a baseball bat. Taking a few steps back, he ran at the arena and swung the beam, connecting with a force that musclebound sluggers like Mark McGwire or Jeff Bagwell could only dream of. Concrete and brick shattered; the beam twisted, but stayed intact. Drew kept up his assault, smashing the I- beam into the outer wall, targeting the external support girders. Cracks spiderwebbed across the wall, sending bricks and mortar raining down, but Drew scarcely noticed. At one point during the rampage, his surging cock actually ripped through the tight briefs, pointing out like a spear. Soon the I-beam was mangled beyond all use, so Drew went after the building with his fists. The arena shook with each blow landed. A couple more minutes of this brutal muscle assault, and that was it. The north wall caved in, taking that section of roof with it. Girders bent and screamed as they were pulled downward, knocking over huge sections of wall, which in turn sent more girders tumbling...Drew jumped back as the arena collapsed inward with an ear-splitting crash, sending up an enourmous cloud of dust. The sight of what his young muscle had wrought was too much to bear. A couple of quick tugs on his massive tool and his balls locked and loaded, pumping out enourmous quantities of cum, shot after shot, some of which landed on the wreckage. 'See what the salvage boys make of THAT,' Drew thought with a wicked smile. 'Best goddam load I ever shot.' Squeezing the last gobs out, Drew stepped back and assessed the situation. The dust had settled enough for him to clearly see what was left of the arena, the twisted steel which poked through the roof, the enormous, cracked slabs of concrete, the broken piles of brick. He could only shake his head in amazement. "Un-fuckin'-REAL,' he said. "Guess I didn't know my own strength." With that, he turned and walked back to the Lexus, where he kept a spare change of clothes. Even so, he'd still have to wait a while til his enormous pump died down. Drew's entire body was a wall of iron-hard muscle, rippling as he walked, each individual muscle expanded to near-inhuman proportions, all covered in thick veins and deep striations that any bodybuilder would kill for. Looking back over his shoulder, Drew couldn't resist cracking a grin. "Not too fuckin' bad for a day's work" It was only 11 AM. Drew decided to take the rest of the day off. END To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: StrengthFantasies- unsubscribe@egroups.com