HEY PUTO

By ChipMasterson

ChipMasterson@yahoo.com

PART 1

DON'T READ THIS IF YOU'RE OFFENDED BY QUEER SEX OR ARE UNDERAGE.

This actually happened to me.

I was driving home one afternoon and passed a house where some workers were 
remodeling.  As I passed by I saw a hunky guy in ragged cutoffs standing up on 
the roof, bent over.  There was a loud CRAAANK!  And he ripped this 4x4 off a 
2x4 with his bare hands!  The nails stuck out behind it.  All he did was grip 
it, and it looked from the street as if his fingers has pressed into the wood.  
I slowed my BMW to a halt, my jaw dropping.  His dark skin glistened with sweat 
that dripped off his pecs that stuck inches off his chest.  There were gang 
tattoos on his round shoulder and again on his brawny arm, those simple line 
tattoos.  A spiderweb stretched from the thick root of his triceps down his 
bowling-pin forearm.  Then he saw me staring. 

"Hey puto, what you staring at?  This?"

With that he raised the arm that held the chunk of 4x4 and flexed his bicep.  
The thing was monstrous, it filled his arm entirely, pressing against the cords 
of his forearm on one end and mounding up against the shoulder.  It's peak was a 
smooth hard ball.  But then it started to tremble.  I felt myself grow hard.  
Then there was a loud CRUUUNCH.  And his fingers squeezed through four inches of 
solid wood!  Just splintered the fucker.  The two halves dangled from loose 
splinters.  My cock raged in my pants.  I gulped.  

He jumped off the roof and landed on his feet.  His thighs spread out from the 
impact, driving the short denim up toward his crotch.  He rose again, not tall 
but thick and solid as a brick wall.=20 May more solid.

"Now it's your turn."  And he came at me.

His black eyes turned hard and he started running at me.  I floored it and took 
off down the street.=20 In my rear view mirror I saw him running after me so I 
gunned the motor and took the corner at speed.  He ran through the corner yard 
and leapt over a low hedge and fence, hitting the sidewalk so hard I think he 
cracked it.  There was a long stretch ahead without stop signs where I could 
outpace him so I roared on.  After a few blocks I looked back: he was just 
behind my bumper, legs still pumping.  I must have been going 50 and he kept up 
with me, his white teeth gritted beneath a hungry grin.  His nostrils flared 
with each hard breath and with a spurt he SLAMMED his fist down onto my rear 
fender.  

I heard the shocks and struts groan as the car bobbed nearly out of control.  
Through the mirror I could see he'd dented my car.  I was approaching the light 
at the boulevard and it was red so I had to turn down another street, which gave 
him time to cut through another yard a get beside me.  I floored it again and he 
butted me with his hip, sending me weaving for control.  He started to pull 
ahead of me-I had the gas pedal all the way down-so I panicked and aimed for 
him, hitting him with my right fender.  I heard the headlight bust out with a 
crunch of steel.

I may as well have hit a guard rail 'cause he kept moving and just knocked my 
car back.  The fender was eaten up where it had hit his pumping quads.  Then he 
jumped onto the hood.

I was still weaving but I couldn't shake him loose.  I'd heard after Terminator 
came out that if you hit a windshield with your hand the way Arnold did you'd 
just break your hand.  He must have heard the same story because of what he did 
next.

One hand gripped the car frame between the windshield and the side window, and I 
heard it squeak.  Then, he looked at me and wagged his tongue at me.  He reared 
back with his other hand, the lats mounding up like a tidal wave about to break, 
and he shoved it flat-palmed against the glass.

He twisted his body against the glass.  His anchoring hand pulled against the 
frame and I heard metal crack and moan as that cannonball bulged in his arm.  
Muscles writhed across his chest and across his wide shoulders has he straight-
armed the windshield.  That arm trembled and bulged with twisted steel cables of 
young Latin brawn. His work boots dug into my hood which creased with a 
crackling protest.  The end of the hood rose against its lock until with a 
WREENCH the still bent and the hood rose up behind him.  The engine started to 
smoke and chug with the downward pressure the hood couldn't stand.  A belt 
snapped and I realized with horror I had to stop.

Still that massive, swelling body grinned and torqued against the windshield, 
power traveling from one huge contracting bicep across the magnifying bulk of 
his back and chest and down through his throbbing shoulder into that girder arm 
that ground his calloused palm against the convex glass.  Suddenly a POP split 
the glass in two lines that radiated from his palm; tiny chips of glass fell 
onto the dashboard as I came to a halt in the street.  I just had time to bail 
out onto the asphalt as he yelled and burst the glass inward in a hundred tiny 
fragment.  

He stood on my broken car and laughed.  "You tried to hurt me with this-this 
toy?  I'll show you who hurts who."  Then with one hand on his hip he raised the 
other and brought it down on my roof at the top of the shattered windshield.  
The steel groaned as it crushed inward and actually collapsed an inch or two 
farther after his hand stopped!  I shit you not!

I was terrified and totally hard from this display of brutal manly power, a man 
beating up a car.=20 My hands were scraped where they hit the asphalt but when 
he jumped off the hood the blacktop broke under his pile-driving legs.  

But then a car came down the street and couldn't get past my fist-smashed 
beemer.  "Aw, shit," he said.  There were parked cars on both sides of the 
street so he got behind the car and pushed it parallel to a driveway.  Then he 
got beside it and pulling his hands back SHOVED.   The side of the car screeched 
inward but the car skidded sideways a few feet!  He bent his knee up and kicked 
it, caving in the side with a horrible CRUNCH of crumpling metal and the car 
teetered up on its wheels and tipped over on its side.  With a cavalier bow he 
waved the stunned motorist by.=20 Lucky for her she just kept driving.

He walked over and crouched down behind me.  His flaring body overshadowed me 
and I could smell the burger and onions he had for lunch.  "Now this house where 
your toy car is?  My brother's house.  You better find a way to get rid of it 
before he gets home.  He's the only one can kick my ass, puto."  And he chucked 
me under the chin and snorted.

I watched his walk down the street, now as wide as he was tall, his brown skin 
drinking in the late sun.  Then I turned to my muscle-wrecked car and wondered 
what I was going to do.


PART 2

I stood by the wreck of my Beemer and waited. The sun had nearly set and the tow 
truck still hadn't gotten here yet. I didn't explain how the car was standing on 
the driver's side across someone's driveway and that he'd have the winch the car 
over onto it's wheels before he could tow it. I thought we could cross that 
bridge when he got here. But the truck came down the street before that Latino 
kid's brother got home, if this was really his house. I shivered with relief.  
It was a huge truck that filled the street with surging power. It sat high on 
big wheels and had a winch that could tow a steamship. This'll work out just 
fine. But then the driver got out.

I blinked. It was a Hispanic guy who looked kind of like the kid who trashed my 
car. Only this guy was enormous.  He was well over six feet and had to take up 
most of the bench seat in that truck. I couldn't quite tell in the dim light but 
under his striped shirt his chest seemed set like sofa cushions above a thick 
waist. The brown arms that stuck out of those striped sleeves were hairless 
cones of smooth muscle that rose from hard greasy knuckles and just got bigger. 
And on those forearms I saw tattoos.

"When dispatch called I told 'em I was off-duty but when they told me it was at 
my house I knew little Ricky must have been up to his old tricks again. That was 
a nice car, bro.

"Th-thanks?" I muttered.

He smiled. "Don't worry. He told you I'd be upset? I am, but not at you. I'm 
gonna kick his ass this time so it'll stay kicked. But first I gotta get my rig 
in my driveway, these streets are too narrow even if there was a spot."  "Well, 
I think if you can set the hook right over here--" I started. But he just shook 
his head.

"Naw, man, that'll take too much time. I'll handle it." And he took of his 
shirt, folded it and set it on the hood of his truck.

He was built like a football player, or maybe a whole team. Smooth, round 
muscles seemed to float around his body in unbelievable thickness. Hoisting his 
jeans he walked over to the car and judged it.

"Might get a little scraped up but a paint job's the least of your worries. I'm 
gonna put it in back where we can work on it for awhile. You don't got somewhere 
to go?"

My dick was so hard just looking at him I couldn't think straight. "N--no."

"Good. I'll get you straightened out." And he leaned over.

His knees bent slightly as one hand felt under the roof and got a grip. The 
other hand reached up and grasped the other side of the roof. Then, without any 
preparation, he leaned back. The car scraped on the gravel and seemed to hover 
and shake. Then it rose in his hands like it was on a forklift. In one smooth, 
controlled motion he lifted that ton of mashed steel by the roof and then stood 
there, holding it above his fucking head. His back was monstrous, a huge heart-
shaped mass I didn't think I cold stretch my arms across. With careful steps he 
walked up his driveway and around the side of his house, the whole car bobbing 
above him like a tub of apples. I thought I would come right there but fear of 
this man, and no way to escape, was the perfect restraint. I followed him back 
into the darkness.

Floodlights came on and I saw him gently set the car down on its bent wheels. 
"Let's see what the real damage is. Wanna grab a beer? The door's open, I don't 
believe in locks."

I went inside and brought out a couple bottles of beer and a church key. He was 
walking back around the side of the house, having moved the tow-truck off the 
street. I hadn't heard an engine start, but then I was at the back of the house, 
too. Or so I told myself. "Bro, I'm gonna need more than that but it'll be a 
start," he said, dwarfing the bottle in his paw. "Hot today." He turned the cap 
against his palm (it wasn't a twist-off) and sucked half that baby down in a 
gulp. He walked to the front end where the hood was bent almost in half by his 
brother's boots. "Come over here."

As I walked around he hooked one arm under the bumper. A bicep muscle the size 
of my head bulged straight out, ran parallel to his forearm for inches before 
curving back in a perfect circle to meet the other perfect swell of his front 
delt. The side delt plunged down into his arm, separating that bicep from the 
half-moon of his tricep The bumper groaned but took the pressure and rose up. 
The tires stayed on the ground until the axle lifted them too into the air. When 
he'd curled the front end up about halfway, his neck like a bull's, he shifted 
his arm underneath and pushed it further. The back bumper scraped the cement 
patio and the back shocks croaked against the weight bearing down on them. 
Weight he could handle but they struggled to support.

"See, there's the problem." With his free hand he pointed underneath. "The 
frame's bent where he kicked it. And over there? The wheels buckled in too." He 
shook his head and looked at me, coal eyes glowing with commiserating kindness. 
"Look around."

For the first time I took my eyes off him and looked at the yard. A dozen wrecks 
were stacked on the grass along the fence, each a twisted heap of junk. "Ricky, 
he's got a hair trigger. Thought this construction job would teach him some 
responsibility but he's always got to show off. But look." 

He was still holding my car up at shoulder height. A throbbing vein ran across 
the peak of his bicep and his tricep arched under it like a child hanging onto a 
tree limb. "Yours isn't so bad. He must have been tired. Guess the construction 
job helped after all." And he set my sighing car down. 

He watched me in silence as I stared at that pumped arm that had to be the size 
of my leg, but much much stronger. Again, he smiled at me. "We're a big family. 
My grampa worked on the railroads. You know how the rails curve around corners 
and shit? He's the one bent 'em that way. It's a lost art." He stretched his arm 
out to his side and the swollen muscle throbbed along with his heartbeat. "But 
your car, the insurance would total it. I hate insurance companies, they're 
bloodsuckers. Let's see what I can do." He got down on his back and I could 
clearly see how huge his pecs were; they practically fell off his rib cage. His 
belly was thick and solid; no abs showed through but I wouldn't have wanted to 
hit it, not with a hammer. I'd break my wrist. Scooting himself back with his 
thick boots he reached up behind his head and again jacked that BMW up with his 
bare hand. "Gotta be careful of those bent wheels, thing could drop." Levering 
the car with that hand he worked his way under and grabbed the chassis where it 
was bent. I heard gravel grind into the concrete against his back as he began to 
work. Pressing back with one hand and pulling with the other. I got down on my 
belly to watch--and to hide my screaming cock. 

At first there was this popping groan, almost a cracking sound, as tempered 
steel fought against a pressure that tested, then over-stressed its strength. 
His back continued to make dust of the loose pebbles and his pecs rose into 
mounds of power. Striations began to peek out of skin so smooth it took 
everything I had not to touch it. I was humping the patio and couldn't stop. The 
steel groaned and then screeched under his biceps' double exertion and bent back 
into its original alignment. I creamed all over myself and the rough cement.But 
the passenger side wheels, already bent by Ricky's savage kick that sent the car 
skidding sideways across the street, couldn't take it the strain put on them by 
this muscle man's force and buckled under. The car crashed down on that side. 
"Shit!" 

He scooted out and dropped the car, got up and surveyed the tangled mess. "If it 
ain't one thing. I need another beer. You?"

I got up and tried to cover my stained pants and shirt. "S-sure." 

"Don't worry about that. I can clean that up too. We haven't actually met. I'm 
Hector." And instead of shaking my hand he patted my wet crotch, winked and 
walked into the house. 

					***

Half an hour later we were back in the yard by my car. Hector had had three more 
beers and they didn't seem to phase him. My second gave me a good buzz. That and 
Hector. Inside I stripped off my semen-soaked clothes while Hector watched. He 
walked over and took my shirt from me, and with it gently mopped up the come 
from my belly and genitals. My cock started to ache and harden despite itself. 
He looked up at me. "Let's finish the car first." 

He gave me some clothes that were ridiculously big. I had to roll up the ends of 
the jeans and short-sleeves came down past my elbows. I felt like a little boy 
playing dress-up. When I came out he had his hand under my hood and was gently 
pressing up against the crease. A quiet crackling, like someone unwrapping candy 
at a movie, was forced out of the metal as his arms pulled and pushed the bent 
metal back into shape. Once it was more or less flat again, he put his hand down 
over the straightened lock mechanism and covered it. His knuckles tightened, and 
he unwrapped his fingers it was bent into a hook. "That should hold it shut. Now 
for those wheels."

He walked around and squatted by the front tire. I followed to watch his display 
of mastery over immense weight and road-tested steel. Once again that big hand 
went under the car and the bowling-ball lodged under his skin bulged and the car 
groaned up into the air. He stuck his knee underneath to hold it and with both 
hands reached behind the collapsed tire and felt around. 

"You're in luck. It's just the wheel, not the axle. This shouldn't take a 
minute." Again I heard that bionic sound-effect of metal yielding to a greater 
strength and watched the wheel come true. "Tire's intact, you're lucky there." 
Then he did the same thing to the back wheel.

"I think I lost a belt." I said.

He reopened the hood and didn't like the sound the stressed hinges made so his 
thick fingers went to work making adjustments. He went back to his truck and 
returned with a belt. His fingers supplied all his wrench and plier needs. His 
forearms sprouted veins as they pumped up with the twisting and tightening. In 
no time he said "Start 'er up."

The car started, not perfectly tuned, but it would run enough to get it to the 
body shop. I turned it off and thanked him. He had a glint in his eye."You know, 
I've been meaning to teach Ricky a lesson for some time now. What do you say we 
go make an impression on him?"

"Well, I don't know--" I started, worried about how my human body would fare if 
these two freaks of nature lost control. "My car--"

"I'll get it out for you later. Go hop in the truck."

We rode in silence. I couldn't help staring at him, at the way those thighs 
spread out over the seat and left me with barely enough room to cling to the 
door. The heat from his body made me sweat and his tricep cast shadows as it 
twitched on his arm. We pulled up in front of a house with more cars in the 
yard. 

"Damn! I told him mama doesn't like him to keep cars in the yard. He just 
doesn't listen to her anymore but he sleeps in her house and eats her food. That 
does it." And he walked inside.

Moments later he came out carrying an unconscious Ricky over his shoulder. I 
hadn't heard a scuffle so he must have moved with extreme deftness. He went 
around back and pulled a chain off the truck and bound Ricky's wrists behind 
him. He attached the winch hook to the chain, lay Ricky in the truck and off we 
went.

"Mama doesn't need to see this. I know a deserted place where we can go."Not too 
far away an abandoned concrete plant stood behind an iron gate. The truck idling 
with power, Hector got out and put his hands atop the gate, and in one swift 
move pulled himself over. Moments later the gate swung open. As we drove 
through, I saw a lock that looked imploded, crushed. I started to get nervous.

We stopped in an open area and Hector said "Stay in the truck. I'll turn the 
winch on and you be ready to throttle it. I'm going to have a talk with Ricky."I 
watched through the back window. Ricky had climbed out of the truck and was 
standing as far away as the locked cable would let him go. His short, thick arms 
stretching behind him gathered his back in unbelievably thick mounds underneath 
his wife beater. The arm holes were pretty well stretched all to hell anyway, 
having been pulled in all directions by the riot of muscle. They were talking 
heatedly in Spanish. Then Hector slapped Ricky hard enough to turn his head on 
that triangular neck. Ricky's head turned back slowly and I heard Hector say 
clearly in English: "I told you when you found someone you call me. I have first 
rights. You can fuck him when I'm done with him. This is the last time you fuck 
with me." He started hitting Ricky in the stomach with pile-driver punches that 
caused that strong body to bend over.

Jesus, I thought, he's going to fuck me then turn me over to Ricky. I panicked, 
took the truck out of neutral and hit the gas. Ricky was pulled off his feet and 
dragged on his butt behind me. I didn't care, I just wanted to get away. The 
truck suddenly jerked backwards and the engine stalled. In the mirror I could 
see Hector holding on to the winch cable and Ricky getting to his feet--and 
tensing his arms. They knew if I kept going Ricky'd be dragged behind me, and 
they were determined not to let me go. While I tried to restart the engine I 
could hear the cable grudgingly give past it's braking point as they drew it 
out. I throttled up the power on the winch and it pulled back with enough power 
to haul a fully-loaded 18-wheeler. 

I turned and looked out the window, only to see the cable vibrating with 
tension. It wasn't reeling in, they were stopping it. Ricky straining forward, 
his triceps pulsing and his back writhing against the winch, and Hector facing 
me with pecs inches deep in the middle and arms bristling with raw power. I 
fired the winch to full power and heard a spinning sound in the housing. Against 
all the drawing force of the huge winch they were actually pulling cable OUT. 
The truck started to slide back on its braked wheels. I cursed myself for 
watching this heroic spectacle of masculine power and started the truck. It 
inched forward.

The whine of the motor accompanied sparks as Ricky's trunk-like legs split the 
seams of his jeans and he moved forward a step, and another. Hector moved his 
hand past the other, and pulled again. Cable wrenched out despite itself, the 
reel coerced against its own grinding pull. The engine of the truck rumbled as 
the wheels ground against the gravelly dirt but no matter how I revved the 
engine I couldn't manage more than half a mile an hour. I shifted low and mashed 
the pedal with my foot. Even as I crept forward I looked back. The cable 
struggled to wind but as long as these Latino studs used their biceps and pecs 
it couldn't gain an inch. 

The two of them and I were slowly spreading apart in a mammoth tug of war. The 
tow-truck's 1200 horsepower bucked and jerked against these immovable men, the 
thick wheels struggling to find purchase. No, not immovable, because they 
steadily moved away, step by step, wresting the cable to the end until it 
shivered, taut. I heard the sturdy winch arm suddenly bend down with a SCRUNCH! 
Smoke issued from the winch as its gears were stripped of their teeth and its 
parts bent and ripped apart. Pings sounded as the braided steel fibers popped 
under the strain. The truck leapt forward but THEY kept pulling. 

The thick cable went taut again and now the whole arm bent again toward the 
ground with a horrible crunch. Hector tugged and truck stopped and jerked 
forward. With a shout louder than the revving engine he pulled and Ricky sunk 
his feet into the hard-packed dirt. The bottom of the arm groaned up, the steel 
plate ballooning beneath the bolts. Hector tugged again, and again, Ricky 
standing firm, and each time the base plate puffed up until it tore loose, bolts 
and all. Hector let loose as Ricky started running and peeled the arm off the 
tortured metal truckbed. I spun out of control and braked, skidding around to 
face them. I watched in the dim light as Ricky hunkered down and tried to spread 
his arms apart. 

The heavy chain twisted around his wrists as the force mounted. I heard his 
shirt rip but it wasn't down the back so it must have shredded of his armor pecs 
as they pulled against the chain. Forged links trembled to hold against those 
seething arms but they couldn't outlast him: tempered links shattered and 
sprayed bits of metal across the vacant yard. He turned to face me.The two of 
them against 1200 horsepower and two tons of steel. I watched their swollen pecs 
heave under the lights as they clenched their fists and squatted down to face 
me. I barely had enough room to get up to speed. So I thought of a plan.

I took off my shoe and wedged it on the gas pedal, tying the steering wheel down 
with the rope Hector gave me to hold up his jeans. With a cry I launched the 
truck at them at full speed, leapt out and hit the ground rolling. I ran for the 
big cement-crushing tower that rose in the yard close enough for the fence for 
me to drop over. That street was busy enough for me to possibly get away while 
they wrangled the truck. 

I couldn't help turning around as I ran; and like Lot's wife, it doomed me. The 
truck raced to them and they bent down like football players, then charged IT. 
They hit it with their shoulders and it SMAAAASHED back, bouncing on its tires. 
The hood popped and the fenders crumpled under the impact. THEY stood up, their 
shoulders, pecs and arms cut where they had met metal with muscle. And won. Then 
they came after me.

I ran up inside the tower and didn't bother to bolt the door. But they didn't 
come in. I got a couple stories up and looked down. They were at one corner of 
the metal structure, their biceps working and pulling at the girder. Curled-up 
sheet metal littered the yard where they'd peeled away the walls. The structure 
trembled and a deep groan ran up through one corner as the thick girder took 
their force. Then took more. Then took even more. 

Their bodies rocked back and forth, getting wider and rounder with each thrust 
and pull. The inches-thick steel took their pressure and held, but groaned and 
issued a series of sharp grunts. The groaning rose in pitch and they bucked 
against it faster, harder, each pulling opposite the other, the pushing against 
each other, the shearing tension expanding and compressing the girder faster and 
faster than any engineer could ever plan for. Sheet metal rattled and the floor 
raised dust clouds and again, I couldn't tear my eyes from the Herculean scene 
of two men warping with their bare hands a steel support girder for an 
industrial concrete plant. The iron was stressing, the twisting pressure of 
those biceps and lats contorting inches of girder until the fluid steel of their 
muscles overpowered its solid steel and it buckled out with a tormented 
SCREEECH. The tower sank with a louder groan, then held. That's when they put 
their fists into it.

Pounding on top of the newly-created arc of distressed steel their sledgehammer 
blows rang out, raining power down on the ruptured steel. The metal seemed to 
soften, giving under their blows as if made of rubber. The structure creaked and 
tilted toward the buckling corner and still they pounded the steel into a giant 
paperclip shape. Their fists became a blur, the gonging a single rhythmic force 
until the over-stressed steel was bent too far and cracked in half. The tower, 
with me inside, crashed to the ground, pulling up out of its foundation under 
its own crippled weight. 

It hit with a tangled smash, trapping me inside the twisted debris. I coughed 
from the dust of pulverized concrete but no bones were broken. But I was 
helplessly trapped beneath tons of wrecked structure. I waited in dread for the 
sound of their hands tearing through the metal to get to me, but with a cold 
shiver I heard the tow-truck sputteringly start up and drive off, leaving me 
inside. Distantly I heard sirens responding to the sound of the crash, and I 
wondered how on earth I was going to explain this to the authorities.

PART 3

The sirens pulled into the abandoned lot and I heard voices gathering around.  I 
called out feebly for help.  I heard someone call out for the jaws of life and a 
welder.  A voice so deep it rumbled the ground spoke clearly, authoritatively.

"That may take too long.  He may be hurt."

I heard something screech, and something else grate.  I tried to pull myself up 
to see what was going on.  Huge long shadows seemed to writhe like giant 
squealing pythons.  A tall shape scraped over the broken ground and stopped, 
then seemed to compress with a sudden sharp SCRUUUNCH.  Something huge and 
square rose up, shook off some bits of stuff that clattered to the ground, then 
flew up into the air and landed with a smash some distance away.  Nearer by I 
saw a bracing pole bend back over itself with a piercing shriek.  There was a 
thick girder twisted over my legs which stood between me and the powerful engine 
clearing a path.  

I saw a face through the web of metal, handsome and glistening in the light.  
"Don't worry, I'll have you out of there in no time."  Two hands wrapped under 
the girder that trapped me and the man tried to stand up with it in his hands.

It was no engine, no device, but this huge man alone boring his way through the 
wreckage.  I saw biceps like logs of coal grow above the girder as it rose a 
couple inches and stopped.  "Hmm, caught on something.  No telling what."  With 
that he set his lips and stared straight ahead.  Air blasted in and out though 
his flaring nostrils and with a sudden bolt he rose a few inches more, a thick 
rasp coming out of the girder itself.  His arms and face trembled and he bared 
his teeth.  Something huge deep in the wreck scraped and popped and SCREECHED.  
Veins stood out in his widening neck and the ground beneath his boots fractured.  
His lips trembled and his eyes filled with fury.  He belted out a series of 
quick yelling grunts and the girder squealed and rose higher, bending into an 
wailing arc around his hands.  I got my feet out and curled up just in time, for 
the portion over them began to groan back down under some unseen weight it 
couldn't support.  Fabric ripped, the giant roared and tons of debris shifted 
and fell around me.  He stood above me, impossibly high, and with one last 
thrust curled the resisting girder up to his chest, wrenching an end loose.  
With both hands he reached over and bent that screaming bar high enough for me 
to walk out by ducking my head.  But he stopped me.

"You might be hurt."  He wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me up beside 
him.  Hard muscles ground into my side as he effortlessly carried me out of the 
steel carnage and set me down by a squad car as the paramedics arrived.  "How do 
you feel?"

I couldn't speak, that's what was wrong.  Even Hector and Ricky hadn't shown 
such immense power as this... this Officer Cole, I read.  Everybody walked 
around as if they hadn't witnessed anything special.  And maybe THEY hadn't.  A 
couple cops looked over and laughed.  "Another shirt, Cole?  How many so far 
this month?"  I looked up into his face; he must have been 6'10" or 6'11".  His 
dark eyes showed genuine concern.  Then hardened into parental disapproval.

"If you're alright, do you mind telling me what you were doing in there?"

Looking into his face I couldn't try to cover anything up, his eyes were like a 
searchlight, piercing me and compelling the truth.  "You won't believe me.  
There were these two guys and a tow truck-"

He tossed his head back and laughed.  "The Ortiz brothers.  I should've known 
this was there work.  They just love scaring the shit out of guys.  You must 
have made some impression if they went to all this trouble for your sorry ass."

"Well."  I didn't know what else to say.  

"I used to hang with them, growing up.  We got big together.  Haven't seen 'em 
in a while, though.  Heard they were making trouble.  Funny how things go."  He 
looked over at the jumble of broken, twisted steel.  "I want the medics to look 
you over and take care of those scratches, then you and I will pay them a little 
visit."  

As much as I hesitated to disagree with anything this man said, my fear of the 
brothers Ortiz compelled me.  "I-I don't think I want to do that.  Officer sir."

He looked at me with a measure of contempt.  "You don't think I can handle 
them?"  He put his hands on his waist and flexed his pecs, huge slabs of muscle 
pressing the plane of his shirt almost horizontal until it fell in gathered 
folds to his wasp-like waist.  He spread the wings of his lats and I heard small 
tears at the hole in his back.  Then he reared up in a double-biceps that 
crushed forced his short sleeves away and crushed them against his massive 
delts.  Striations danced across the full bellies and across the rising peaks 
the size of soccer balls.  "Don't worry about me.  Worry about THEM."

He left me with the paramedics and walked away.  I saw through the shredded hole 
in his shirt a network of thick muscle working in two huge glacial spreads down 
the crevice of his spine.  A high round ass capped legs that were beyond belief.  
He dwarfed the other cops not with height, for a lot of them were 6'6" or 6'7" 
even, but with the width of his body, which was like two of them together, and 
how far his shirt stretched the top of his pecs across those beefy arms to the 
top of his peaked back.  He leaned against a cruiser and it sagged under his 
weight.  He crossed his legs and they seemed easily as big around as the 
toughest cops there.

Yet for all his monstrous size he didn't appear unnatural, like some radioactive 
B-movie giant.  I've seen taller men playing basketball.  Officer Cole simply 
brought a treasure of genetic potential to the fore and realized every ounce of 
it.  He seemed as big as man of his size could possibly get.  The thought of his 
workouts started making me hard again, and I shook off the pasty medic as soon 
as I could and wandered back over to him.

He was laughing heartily at something, and I noted they were all ribbing him 
still about the shirt.  He seemed good natured and affable, which helped ease my 
mind; I'd started to get gun shy around big guys.  Then I noticed I was really 
hungry.  It was nearly 9 p.m.

"You know, officer, maybe this can wait a day.  I haven't been home yet and I'm 
starving and-"

The laughter died off and he turned slowly to me as if he'd forgotten I was 
there.  He looked me over like a specimen-a poor one-and said to cops over his 
shoulder, "Later."  Then he put his hand on my shoulder, or over my entire 
shoulder I should say, and guided me to his squad car.  "You'll have to sit in 
back.  There's only room for me in the front."  He locked me in.

When Cole got in the car it sank to receive him but not as far.  He must have 
adjusted it special to support the weight of all that muscle.  He sat in silence 
and checked some things, made sure the shotgun was secure, straightened up some 
papers.  My hunger was making me agitated but I didn't say anything.  He seemed 
to know what he was doing.

When all was in order he started the cruiser and pulled out.  We rode in silence 
for awhile.  We stopped at a light.  He turned around, the leather seat creaking 
beneath him.  His arm across the top of the seat was almost as thick as the 
headrest.  "I know you're hungry but I want to finish this now, while the iron 
is hot, as they say.  Then I'll take you home."

He drove surely and calmly to Hector's house and pulled in the driveway behind 
the battered tow truck.  Officer Cole got out and looked at the hole ripped out 
of the bed, and at the crumpled fenders and grill.  Fluids leaked out and there 
was still some steam hissing from he hood, which wasn't quite truly aligned.  I 
tapped on the glass.  He walked over with slow steps and leaned down.

"You sure you want to be out for this?"

"I sure as hell don't want to be trapped back here."

He grinned and released me.  Glancing over at the place where the power winch 
had been sheared off the truck by mere muscle power, he nodded.  "I see what you 
mean."

He didn't go to the front door but walked around back.  I followed, scared, and 
heard the two men laughing.  Officer Cole turned the corner and shouted, 
"Freeze, motherfuckers."  

I stood behind him, entirely hidden by a single leg, and peered around a square-
shaped lat.  They were drinking straight from a keg of beer and laughing their 
asses off.  

"Look who's come to party!" shouted Ricky with a whoop.  Hector asked, "Who's 
that behind you?"

Officer Cole's vice-like grip closed around my wrist and dragged me into the 
floodlights.  "I've brought a toy.  Don't break him."  And with a gentle but 
irresistible push he shoved me out into the light.  

I looked back at him in terror, saw a glint in his black eyes, and then he 
tossed his head and laughed.  "Don't worry, little man, I won't let them hurt 
you.  That your beemer?"

I gulped.  "Yes."

"Well, I always wanted to fuck a beemer.  Come on, guys, let's have some fun."

"You want some beer?" Ricky asked.

"Naw, man, I wanna do this raw."  He started unbuttoning his shirt.

Hector kicked the keg.  "It's empty anyhow."

Officer Cole wrapped the shirt around his shoulders and had a hard time 
squeezing it past his arms.  Huge pecs bunched and bounced as he worked.  He 
threw the ripped shirt to the ground and walked over to the car.  "You boys 
recycle that keg now."

Ricky grinned and lifted his boot.  With a SMASH he brought it down on the top 
of the keg.  The keg collapsed like an aluminum can, the sides crumpled in and 
out under the force of his foot.  "Hey, puto, come here."  I went over to Ricky.

"Naw, man, I need him to drive.  Get in the car."  Everyone obeyed Officer Cole.  
"Hector, get behind to push."

Not daring to think what would happen, I climbed into the car through the 
window.  The door was still caved in where Ricky had kicked it.  "Start 'er up."

I started the engine and it ran roughly.  Officer Cole unzipped his fly and 
popped out a half-hard boner the size of my forearm, the big reddish-black head 
cloven by viscous white precum.  His pants were stretched tight around his ass 
but a little loose where his rippling abs rose in a tight column to support the 
iron temple of his chest and back.  He squatted a bit until his knees contacted 
the bumper and his elephant's cock pressed against the grill.  His hands ran 
over the fenders and covered them.  "Floor it," he commanded.

Saying a silent prayer for my car I gunned the motor.  The car lurched forward 
and stopped against his knees and hands.  "More power!" he called out above the 
revving engine.  

My BMW could sail up to 145 mph on the open highway without rattling or raising 
a hum.  I floored the pedal again and the wheels chewed at the concrete-and 
started spinning.  The engine revved higher and the car began to rock violently 
as it tried to break through the resistance.  I heard something SCRUUNCH and 
watched his hands gather up pleats of fender as they gripped.  Paint flaked out 
between his knuckles.  

Black smoke poured off the tires as the wheels gnawed and spun.  His hips 
started to buck and thrust against the grill and his cock disappeared.  The RPM 
needle was off the scale and still the car couldn't move.  "It's not enough.  
Hec, give it a push!"

"Better get out, little puto," Hector called.  Ricky walked over with a brick 
for the gas pedal.  I lodged it in and Ricky pulled me out through the window 
with one hand and held me up, my feet dangling.  Hector planted his legs and 
with a snarl, shoved his hands into the back of the auto.

The trunk immediately CRAAACKLED inward.  He growled and shoved again.  The hood 
bent up.  He stood back and kicked at the bumper and demolished it.  The 
tailpipe came loose and clattered against the ground.  He put his hands waaaay 
back and shoved again, stepping into the crimping steel.  The hood creased up 
and blocked his view of Officer Cole's assault on the laboring engine so his 
hands wrapped around the crease and crackled it back into itself with the 
expanding knots of his forearms and wide punishing fingers.  The rear fenders 
curled in behind him like wings.  The car continued to toil and buck and Ricky 
carried me over to Officer Cole and set me down.  

Cole's calves had burst out of his pants and the spread out like Mercury's wings 
on either side of his shins.  Only a few threads of triple-sewn seam held the 
front of his pants leg to the back as his thighs bulged and thrust with 
unspeakable power.  I felt his calves and jerked my hand away from the heat.  I 
felt his back,  a flooding torrent of living iron with more muscles than I 
thought a human body could contain.  I felt his arms, stronger than steel and 
swollen with skin-popping veins as his hands pulled the fender into his palm 
like it was cloth.  The pulsating iron biceps and delts made me spurt a load of 
cum onto his thigh, which only made him grin and flex.  I couldn't reach those 
pecs as they bulged inches out from his chest but his traps swept in a straight 
line from his bowling-ball shoulders to the base of his skull.  If I'd put a 
finger into the opening and closing valley of muscle down his back I'd have lost 
it for good.  His cock had burst through the grill and was fucking the engine as 
it rammed its power uselessly against his.  

Smoke came out of the hood and Hector continued to crush the car before him.  
The spare tire, compacted within its shrinking metal well, blew with an 
explosion muffled by the shriek of contracting metal around it.  The side panels 
warped and popped; the passenger door sprung off its hinges as the back of the 
car rammed into the front.  "Yeah!  Yeah!  YEAH!" Officer Cole roared.  The car 
started to bend in two down the middle, the chassis couldn't hold between these 
two crushing forces.   Cole's clenching ass further shredded his pants.  I put 
my hands on those grinding tiger-striped globes and Ricky couldn't take it any 
more.  He was naked, his thick short body charging behind a 9" cock that 
couldn't possibly be meant for Cole's ass.  

It was meant for mine.  Bending me over and pressing my face into Cole's buns of 
tungsten steel, Ricky shoved his cock up my ass and kept time with Cole.  He 
pulled me around so I could watch the destruction of my car.  Hector's thighs 
continued to beat his body against the fracturing steel frame of the beemer.  
His own 12" cock was out and he shoved it into the ass of the car.  His pecs 
were now pressed against the rear windshield and the glass almost seemed to 
flatted beneath them before it shattered.  Now the back seat was crushing 
against the front.

His legs stayed clear of the spinning rear axle.  The tires were grinding down 
to the radial belts as they fought with all their power against this conquering 
force.  Officer Cole had pulled out and his huge cock now lay on top of the 
hood.  With a final scream of triumph Cole started coming across the hood of the 
car.  His arms swelled even bigger and the hood started to curl UNDER.  With 
each thrusting orgasm he squeezed the squealing car DOWN, his hands mercilessly 
bending the entire frame down and under, like a tube of toothpaste.  The engine 
block cracked under the unbelievable stress and exploded out through the 
crumpling sides.  Ricky whipped me around to shield me from the shrapnel which 
bounced off his back.  He continued to fuck me harder until I came in one 
unbelievable long and bone-rattling orgasm.  

The bumper and grill were now scraping the pavement full-on and still Cole 
curled it back up into the engine compartment.  We turned around again to 
witness Hector spewing his come all over the creased roof of the car.  He jerked 
one hand over his cock while the other crammed the back seat against the front.  
The sides of the trunk curled back behind him and he snapped the axle beneath 
his feet.  The car shivered and convulsed as if it were still running.  The two 
men worked their muscles through its battered hulk toward the middle.  Each 
finished staining the wreck with rivers of come and with a last battle cry 
stepped up onto the car, smashing it down with their feet.  Blood-engorged 
thighs drove shattering blows down as the metal ruptured and flattened beneath 
them, the wheels splayed under shredded rubber.  They tromped over it, their 
huge cocks still dripping come as Ricky spurted inside me so hard I thought I 
could taste it.

I hardly cared about my car.  The things in it could never be recovered.  I 
still saw stars as Ricky pulled out and cradled me in his thick biceps, petting 
my hair, whispering Spanish nothings in my ear, his pulsing cock drooling come 
against me.  Officer Cole and Hector were rubbing come over their each other's 
huge muscled bodies and continuing to milk straggling come out of their giant 
dicks, which started to harden again immediately.  In spite of shooting two 
loads back to back, so did mine, and I felt Ricky's start to knock against my 
leg.  I knew this incredible night was only beginning and I didn't care if they 
fucked me inside out, like that car.

THE END?