Undeclared Income
By silicondog@earthlink.net

"The dude should be here by now." Two men stood in front of their office, late 
at night, in the city. One checked his watch as the other stared down the 
street. 

"We wouldn't need this guy if you hadn't locked the blow in the safe," one said.

"We wouldn't need this guy if you hadn't lost the combination."

"And this guy can open the safe, right?"

"Yeah, and we can't use a locksmith for this, not with the goods and the dough 
in there." 

He grinned. "We cash out the web site, and by the time the rest of the jerks 
come in to work Monday morning we'll be long gone. In grad school under 
different names, and we can sell the shit to keep us rolling in the dough until 
we can get the dot com shit going again."

Now both were grinning. "All we gotta do is screw out of town tonight after the 
safe gets opened."

An Econovan had swung around the corner, and was maneuvering to park in front. 
"This better be him," one said. The driver got out. 

"Jezus" one whispered.

Walking towards them in the quiet street was a giant in a white t-shirt and 
jeans, his sandals crunching glass under what had to be 500 pounds of muscle. 
The jeans swelled and stitched around thighs that were thicker than his waist, 
and the shirt tucked into the beltless jeans stretched around a defined, veined 
belly and up around intercostals that looked like rope. Two shields of pecs 
joined over a row of cobblestone abs, but what stretched the seams of the T-
shirt was the breadth of his shoulders. The sleeves were hitched up over biceps 
that were almost as big as their heads. If his tight black beard and close-
cropped hair gave the impression of a bear, his body was that of a huge blade
of 
muscle. 

"You guys need a safe opened? Miguel asked.

"Yeah, dude, but where's your tools"?

"I won't need tools to open your safe."

"How the fuck are you gonna do that, dude, with your bare hands?"

Two thick eyebrows lifted. "Yeah, just with my hands."

"I'd like to see - "

He was cut off in mid-sneer by a sharp crack. Miguel has been resting his hand 
on a parking meter. With one move, a forearm that was as thick as their calves 
swelled and his fingers ground into the meter. There was a crunch like a 
styrofoam cup as the housing caved around and in under the squeeze, and long 
broad brown fingers crumpled the thick metal. With a quick twist of his paw, 
Miguel pried the meter off its stump and tossed it down at their feet. They
both 
looked down to see a softball-sized lump of metal, gouged by the pressure of 
those fingers. In the streetlight they could see it was studded with quarters, 
bent and mashed into the ball of metal.

Their gaze swung from the mashed meter back to Miguel. The tops of their heads 
were level with the tops of his delts.
"Uh, the safe is in here, second floor."

The three entered the building, Miguel following the two ascending the stairs. 
On the way up, he decided to nickname one Mook and the other Coconut. They 
walked into the offices, which to Miguel looked like a very expensive college 
dorm. 

"Uh, can you open it?" Mook asked.

Miguel looked to where he was pointing. In a cubicle stood a floor safe that
was waist high. It looked to be six inches thick. 

"Show me the money" Miguel said. The two jumped; they liked to show money for 
action. Coconut slapped down a pile of bills on the desk. Miguel insulted them 
both by not counting or even looking at it. His eyes were fixed on the   
mass of steel, and he unconsciously flexed and stretched his fingers. 

"Can you open it tonight?" Coconut said. 

"Absolutely" Miguel answered, thinking to himself, dinner is served. A thought 
occurred to him. "If you pay me double, I can open it in five minutes."

Coconut and Mook thought fast. If they had the blow in five minutes, then they 
could hit a party tonight and score big.

"You're on!"

Sliding his feet out of sandals, Miguel pinched the back of his neck and 
stretched the white T-shirt up over his torso. The two watched the   brown 
planes of muscle appear over the sausage-tight fabric. His muscles looked
pumped 
and tense, even if Miguel's own face appeared calm and even a little bored. His 
  arms stretched as easily as a cat, as he draped the T-shirt over a chair. 
He next began to carefully unbotton his jeans.

"Uh, what are you doing?"

"Getting out of my pants" Miguel answered, not looking up. He knew what the 
upcoming pump would do to his body and didn't want to lose any more clothes.

He folded the jeans over a chair, clad only in white jockey shorts, standing on 
the hardwood floor with big broad brown feet. Coconut stared at his crotch, not 
even pretending to be disinterested. The clean white fabric stretched over two 
  balls as big as oranges, over   kegs of fur-dusted muscle. His cock, 
thick as a coke can even soft, hung over to his thigh, the circumcised head 
visible through the fabric. They were so heavy that its weight actually lifted 
the elastic band of the jockey shorts off of his belly, where Coconut could see 
the hair on his cobblestone belly thicken into the pubic mass. 

"Uh, what did you say?" Coconut had missed this   giant's words.

"I said, I need to move it first." Even though Miguel had gotten used to guys 
checking his basket since he was fourteen, they were just about all more 
calculating than this college twerp, whose own basket was showing signs of life.

Miguel strode over to the safe and squatted down before it, his jockey shorts 
almost touching the teakwood floor. Stretching his   arms around it, he 
could barely grip the back of it with his fingers. It was enough. The wood
floor 
gave a moist creak as he stood up, the two gaping as the   cube of steel
was 
held in his arms as he stretched up. The ton of weight shifting from the floor 
under the safe to the floor under his size fourteen feet, Miguel carried the 
safe to the center of the office space, the metal bobbing in his arms as easily 
as it was made of cardboard. 

Placing the safe carefully on the floor, he changed his grip. Tilting the safe, 
he lifted it into the air once again with the door on top.   cables and 
slabs of muscle rolled over the sweating skin in the un-airconditioned office. 

Miguel looked over at Mook. "Count back from three" he commanded.

Mook's eyes wide open at Miguel, he said, "Uh, one, two-"

And then Miguel began to squeeze. The two gasped and Miguel snarled, and the 
next sound was a long creaking rasp from deep inside the safe. Pencils and
veins 
swelled over his forearms, and his fingers began to dig into the safe's side. 
Miguel could feel the cold mass of metal against the huge shields of his pecs.

Standing with the safe in his arms as firmly as a tree, rivets began to stretch 
from the pressure of his chest and arms. His   back swelled like a cobra's 
head and the slabs of steel wailed under his strength.

Miguel looked at the two fools, fixed as hopelessly as a deer in a car's 
headlights. He had a thought. "Get the rest of your money, and lick my back" he 
ordered Coconut, a deep baritone filling the room. To Mook, he said, "Same for 
you and clean the sweat off my arm."

"Uh, uh, we don't have any more cash." 

"Then get your laptops, put it on the cash, man." If Miguel was winded from his 
command of the ton of metal in his arms, his voice didn't show it. He looked 
over the top of the safe, which was on a level with his chin. Another burst of 
strength made the metal wail and it lost a few inches to the pressure of his 
arms. Welds that could withstand a dynamite blast were ripping open under the 
blast of power that was caving in the safe bobbing in the air. 

He next felt a tongue on the top of his tricep; he looked over and saw Mook's 
curly hair bobbing over his immense upper arm, lapping the oily sweat over the 
skin stretched over carbon steel muscles. Miguel then felt a kind of cat
lapping 
at the top of his back, and knew that Coconut had elected to suck the drops off 
the rolling pythons of muscle atop his back. Mook had stripped naked, and
Miguel 
could guess that the other fool was bare-ass too. 

Doubling the pressure with a growl for their benefit, he squeezed the safe 
harder. With a moan that was rarely heard outside a car wrecker, the metal 
buckled and warped. He felt the steel slab mold under the harder steel of his 
pecs and belly, his arms grinding into its sides. Mook's jaw was stretched by 
the swelling tricep head, his teeth lightly scraping over the brown muscle. He 
could feel the steel's crunching under Miguel's arms. Coconut had started to 
follow the trail of sweat down the canyon of Miguel's   back, crouching
down 
to slurp it off his torso. 

Miguel squeezed harder, and saw what he needed; as the safe warped under his 
arms, a corner of the safe's door was lifting off of the distorted frame. With 
renewed pressure, he saw the lip lift a few more inches away, to the sound of 
steel bolts popping. 

Coconut's own penis bobbing before him, he snuffled across Miguel's huge 
shoulders and back and was going down his back. Rubbing his nose back and forth 
across the salty riot of muscle, he crouched down to where the sweat had been 
absorbed by Miguel's jockey shorts. Running fingers across the fabric coating 
Miguel's marble glutes, he buried his nose in the stripe of sweaty fabric 
running between the cheeks of his ass. Coconut couldn't see Miguel frown.

Nor could he see Miguel clamp his huge right hand to secure the safe's weight. 
Continuing to squeeze with his right arm, he released his left hand and swung
it 
behind him. Coconut felt a huge paw slide across his head. Fingers that had
only 
a moment earlier ground into steel were lightly scratching Coconut's hair, and 
he found himself wrapping both arms around one of Miguel's   thighs. 
Absently looking at Mook's lips running back and forth across his upper arm, 
Miguel gently grasped Coconut's head as it bobbed against his butt.

Then Miguel shoved. Very lightly. For him.

For Coconut, it felt like two college linebackers had dropped onto his head. 
Miguel's   brown hand squeezing his own head against the cotton-covered 
buns, his breath was cut off against Miguel's ass. Coconut reached up to shove 
Miguel's arm away but it was planted against his head as securely as an 
elephant's foot. Writhing, he pounded his fists against Miguel's thigh, only 
bruising his hand against the muscle. Unable to breathe against Miguel's muscle 
pressure, Coconut reached around and up to yank on Miguel's balls. To his 
desperate fingers, they felt like oranges as heavy and hard as cannonballs. 
Tearing the fabric of his jockey shorts, Coconut then tried to yank Miguel's 
cock to release him. After only a few tugs, he felt a   spike of muscle 
under his desperate fingers, so big he could not get his hand around it all. 

Miguel gave his hips a light bump-and-grind, Coconut wriggling hopelessly under 
his paw. Feeling the warm air over his foot long cock swaying in the air,
jerked 
by a small hand, Miguel then felt a second set of hands as Mook reached down to 
yank Miguel's hand off of Coconut's face as it turned red. He tried to pry his 
little finger away from Coconut's head but Coconut couldn't even budge it 
against the tugs of both of his hands. He gave Mook a few more hopeless seconds 
of trying, and then dropped Coconut's head against his butt. Coconut's
exhausted 
body, starved for air, dropped to the wood floor and Mook dragged him away from 
Miguel. The torn slice of cotton which was all that was left of his jockey 
shorts fell to the floor. He stood planted in the room as securely as a   
redwood tree, the grey ton of steel floating in his arms, a puddle of precum 
drooling down from his spike spreading across the floor at his feet.

Coconut could not yet move off of the floor, so starved he was for air. They 
stared in terror as Miguel squatted down to put the dented safe down. His huge 
cock stiffly swinging over the dented door, he lifted his huge leg and planted 
one brown foot on the safe. Bracing himself with his left hand, he grabbed the 
corner of the safe's door with his right hand. Metal cracking under his
fingers, 
Miguel clamped his fingers into the corner. 

With one monstrous lat pull, against the cracking of tearing steel, his sweaty 
brown riot of muscle arched and the steel door peeled open in his hand. The 
hinges breaking against his power, with a popping of bolts and gears, the safe 
was pried open like a sardine can. A 2000 pound, six inch thick sardine can.

Mook and Coconut were frozen as they lay on the ground. Miguel stood beside the 
safe, its door ripped open, sides dented by his brown vises of hands. The
office 
stunk of Miguel's sweat as it dripped down across pumped riots of muscle on his 
torso. Their eyes were glued to his massive cock and the thick ribbon of precum 
connecting it to a pool on the floor. A flash of white teeth grinning on his 
face, Miguel took his right hand and nestled his pumped balls in them. With his 
left, with the same pressure that had only a minute earlier crushed steel, he 
squeezed his cock with every ounce of power his forearms could deliver. 

Pumped by the crushing of the safe, Miguel felt stars in his head swell and
fill his eyes. The floor coming up to hit his knees, he came under the pressure of 
his hands. Like an elephant, he roared, rattling the walls of the office with 
the power of his lungs. After a minute his vision slowly returned, and Miguel 
squatted down on the wooden floor gasping for air.

He grinned. His first shot had soared over the two jerks' heads and painted a 
thick white strip over the wall behind them. But the rest of his huge nuts had 
delivered right on; the two were lightly wrestling with each other as they were 
coated with the contents of his balls. They were oblivious to all as they 
slurped his cum off of each other's bodies. They didn't see Miguel jump to his 
feet, or see him wipe his still hard cock with the rag that had been his jockey 
shorts. They definitely didn't see the scowl on his face as he looked inside
the safe he had just ripped open.

Ten minutes later, a deserted city street. A homeless drunk maneuvers his way 
down the sidewalk to the corner. Under a streetlight, a shirtless muscular
giant is crouched over a subway grate. If the drunk could see clearly, he would see 
the small clear plastic envelopes of powder emptied down into the sewer. Next
to the bodybuilder, the drunk saw what first looked like a cardboard box. It was 
dented like cardboard, paw-sized dents in one end, deep trenches ground into
its sides. As he weaved closer, it is just as well he didn't recognize the box to
be made of tempered steel.

"Hey, buddy, gotta dollar?"

Miguel dropped the plastic down into the grate and wiped his hands off on the 
sausage-tight jeans. He thought of where that money had come from, and where it 
had been going.

"Sure, friend." Miguel crouched over the steel box, and grabbed the dented top. 
Already weakened by the blasts of power he had applied to it in the office, the 
door creaked open against its warped and broken hinges. Reaching down, Miguel 
peeled some of the bills off of the money and the laptop he had dropped into it 
after he had emptied the safe.

Miguel looked at the drunk closer, and instead of putting it in his weak hand, 
tucked a wad of bills into his dirty pocket and buttoned it tight. 

He looked down at the drunk from his two feet of additional height.

"Merry Christmas, mi hombre."