Busting the Piggy Bank 
(under construction)

A short story by silicondog@earthlink.net

A cold grey dawn; downtown San Francisco. At the base of a large bank's 
headquarters, a small convoy of heavy vehicles is assembling.

An armored car is being loaded from the vault, its cargo sealed and doors locked 
shut. On the surface, two sleek black vehicles are filling with guards: a 
Lincoln town car and a Jeep Cherokee idling just outside the garage's closed 
gates in the twisting alleys behind the tower. One block away in a dead end, a 
third vehicle also sits. An Econoline van, its sides dinged and scraped and an 
almost legible logo and advertisement for a construction company in faded paint. 
With the turn of a finger, the driver turns over the engine; a strong, finely-
tuned purr sounds under the dented hull and the heavy new tires.

The driver turned to his passenger. "One of us does the cars, the other gets the 
piggy bank." "I want the piggy bank!" the front seat passenger said. Both men 
are cramped in the cab, the driver's huge body swelling around a one-piece 
painter's uniform that had never seen a drop of paint. The driver's huge torso 
stretches the fabric until it sweeps around and under his pecs, the stitches of 
the shoulder seams straining across his trapezius. Its front is partially open 
to expose his broad thick neck down to the beginnings of his shelf-like chest.

The tight fabric wrapping around his delts almost touch the bare left shoulder 
of the equally giant passenger, slightly younger.

He also wears a white painter's uniform but the sleeves of the top have been 
torn off, revealing tree-trunk sized limbs with gothic lettering tattooed around 
the biceps. The ropes and swells of muscle are so deep across his biceps and 
shoulders that the lettering is almost illegible. Even the shoulders have been 
torn, and the top is kept in one piece by connecting the back and the front, two 
knots over football-sized delts. Little more than two straps, his top is 
stretched more by the great plates of pec muscles, his nipples almost visible 
under the tattered cloth.

The driver glanced at the watch dangling by the dashboard, its band too short to 
fit on his wrist. "We'll toss a coin on it" A quarter flips up between them; a 
catchers-mitt sized hand clamps it against the sleeve. "Call it, little 
brother!" "Heads!" With a shake of his head and a flash of even thick white 
teeth against a brown face, the driver turns and shows the coin. "Bad luck!" And 
casually flipped the quarter into the air, the other man catching it in his 
fingers."  You get all the fun!" With that, his fingers close on the quarter.

Pencils and cables of tendons and muscle swell over the tatooed skin of his 
forearm as the coin is folded in half under the strength of his thumb and 
forefinger. Casually, he watches his fingers crush the metal further until it is 
no more than a spitball of metal rolling between his fingers. There are many 
more tons of steel where that came from, he vows to himself. The driver makes 
one last check of the watch. "Any second now."-

With the sleek long Lincoln leading the way, the two guard cars carefully 
negotiate the alleys between them and the armored car. Two guards in the Lincoln 
and four in the heavy Cherokee look out at the narrow walls as they make the 
last turn before crossing the street to rendezvous at the bank. The Lincoln 
straightens out and the driver has time to see a single figure standing in front 
of them -- he barely has time to register the great muscles swelling around 
ripped cloth -- before the single man strides towards the two cars. Like a 
defensive end, he swings one huge brown shoulder into the front of the Lincoln! 
The impact is so great that the airbag detonates in front of the driver, and the 
shock in the confines of the car rattle its occupants so that their guns fall 
forgotten to the floor. A split second later, there is second smaller crash as 
the Cherokee, with no time or warning to stop, drives its front fender into the 
Lincoln's rear. In an instant, these two cars have been stopped by the lone man, 
who leers at the Lincoln's driver over the hood, two arms writing in muscle 
reaching out to grasp the Lincoln's front end.

Broad long feet gripping the smooth concrete, the man extends his arms, legs 
braced, shoulders rippling and swelling with power, and the two cars are brought 
to a complete stop. Even though still in gear, their engines are now idling. To 
the engines there is a new quick cracking sound from the metal over the 
Lincoln's grill as the giant seems to grab the Lincoln's engine and front in a 
bear hug.

Until now, the Cherokee's driver can only see the Lincoln brought to a stop, and 
a huge shadow in front. But in the Lincoln, they see the predatory grin across a 
broad brown face -- and the driver hits the gas.

The Lincoln roars with power but the man roars back on braced legs and braced 
shoulders against the grill. Over the phone, the driver of the Cherokee receives 
the order, and he too slams his pedal into the floor and two sets of engines now 
bray in the tight confines of the alley. Eight wheels whistle and scream against 
the ground and a thin blue haze swirls up from their spinning shapes.

Naked from the broad waist to the shoulders as broad as the Lincoln, muscles 
grind and swell under thin brown skin as the Lincoln's hood begins to distend 
and warp under his arms. Hundreds of horsepower against the man -- and the cars 
go nowhere. Writhing against the man's power, the Cherokee's hood is grinding 
against the Lincoln's trunk, transmitting its great power forward against the 
man, but the two cars go nowhere. Their passengers can now barely see the 
alley's walls through the smoked rubber of tires as, inch by inch, they realize 
they are going backward!  

Pressing his shoulders against the hood, the latino extends his arms and the two 
cars skid slowly backwards against his muscles, inch by inch. By now the blood 
pressuring his great muscles and tendons is surging through his cock, swelling 
against the thin fabric of his uniform. He moans as it rubs against the steel 
bumper, challenging its strength as his arms begin to compress the Lincoln's 
engine compartment. Under his cock, he feels the bumper's metal dimple and 
distend against its great length and he shoves forward with his hips.

The two cars lurch back over a foot and now his cock is harder than it ever has 
been in his life, spearing the engine compartment of the Lincoln. A lion's growl 
roars over the grinding engines as he feels the pressure of his arms crushing 
the engine into his cock, the heated steel twisting and tearing under his 
shoulders and forearms, distending around his cock. Even his nuts are beginning 
to dent the hood. Eyes rolling back, feeling his mighty balls lock and load, he 
lifts the front end of the Lincoln to give his cock a deeper angle into the car 
and immediately the two screaming vehicles edge back faster, now only six tires 
on the ground. 

With nowhere to go but backwards, he starts to make one stride after the other, 
kegs of thighs splitting the seams of his shredded uniform, concrete and 
pavement chipping away under his iron toes. Another squeeze from his arms and 
the Lincoln's engine begins to choke, the flows of oil and air through steel 
tubes crushing closed under those arms as wide as a normal man's thighs. 
Paralyzed with fear, the car's passengers can only watch in fear as this monster 
shoves them back and back, one foot at a time, until the Cherokee's rear bumps 
against the dead end of the alley, the wall of another skyscraper. The Lincoln, 
its front tilted three feet in the air, begins to grind its rear bumper against 
the Cherokee's grillwork. 

The mass of the car's metal braced, the giant's lats sweep up and out even more 
and his arms grind into the Lincoln's front as if it was clay. Now his cock is 
embedded to the hilt in a solid compressed mass of superheated steel, and he can 
feel every surge of his great arms in his boner. Unconsciously, his hips start a 
pumping motion and there is an immediate creaking and grinding sound from the 
two trapped vehicles. In the Lincoln there is a steady creaking and twisting of 
the chassis distending under the assault, as the doors are warped shut. In the 
Cherokee the frame itself is beginning to slowly moan against the thunderbolts 
of power being crushed into the Cherokee's front as the Lincoln begins to 
compress under the quickening tempo of shoves. 

With a tiny "pop", the sunroof is popped from the top of the Cherokee. In a 
daze, the SUV's passengers look up at the empty frame of the sunroof. As they 
watch, the frame begins to distend and warm under the maniac's power.

The squealing of losing steel filling their ears, they all rush to climb out 
through the roof. In the Lincoln, the battering ram of the giant's hips against 
the engine is shoving it deeper into the car until the dashboard twists and 
distends. With one guard desperately banging a tire iron against the rear 
window, it instead bursts out under the muscular pressure. The two men clamber 
out of the smoke-filled Lincoln and desperately look for safety. One spots a 
fire ladder, dangling only a foot away. 

One by one, they jump off of the compressing steel and climb up like mice 
scampering up the bark of a tree away from a cat. Eyes glazing over with lust, 
the Latino giant smiles up at the escaping guards as his reserves of strength 
are committed through the great piledriver shoves of his hips and compressing 
squeezes of his arms. From their safety above, the guards can see their two cars 
crushed together, a twisted mass of steel welded together by human muscle, the 
giant moaning in pleasure as he squeezes his cock through the metal. 

Suddenly stars fill the giant's eyes and head -- and gives a howl that fills the 
smoky, exhaust-filled alley. As they watch, a huge white pool of sperm begins to 
form under the madman's feet, spreading away in all directions from the base of 
his cock embedded in what was the engine. Where the two car's fluids had been 
squeezed out of their engines by his muscles, engines crushed like grapes, there 
were now deep strips of white come pumping in an endless stream out of where his 
cock was still nailed to the engine, flowing down his huge sweaty legs. 

When he at last begins to pull out, there is one last screech of twisting steel 
as his hips pull the great boner through the steel hole it had made seconds ago. 
Leering up at the terrified guards, he aims his boner up at them -- and the last 
dregs of his balls empty into one firehose shot after the other that reach up to 
splatter them.

(to be continued)