Disposal

"Where have you been this time?" Jason asked. "And what got broken?" "Nothing that wasn't supposed to break" I responded. "Come on babe, don't be so mysterious, you know I hate when you do that. Besides, I know you love showing off, so tell me." His hand was slowly moving over my stomach, softly stroking it. "You know me to well" I responded.

"Well, there was this guy, he had a little problem disposing of his trash..." Jason interrupted "So you're a garbage girl now?" "I am when all of it is so-called 'hard' and 'strong' iron and steel. Now stop interrupting." I put a finger over his lips, but pulled it back when he tried to lick it. "At least skip ahead to the good bit?"

"Alright. You see, a lot of the metal was in pretty small bits, already ground up or just in cans or other tiny things. So I had to do something with that first. First, I noticed that the giant steel press wasn't actually broken, it was just the massive hydraulic pistons that didn't work. Well, thousands of horsepowers could easily be replaced by one girlpower."

"Ohh, interest..." Jason tried to say, before I covered his mouth with my hand. "Shut up, honey, or do you want me to convince you?" He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. "Good."

"So, as I was about to say... First, I had to get the pile of metal into the crusher. Now, it was all separated out into neat piles, one for each type of metal I guess. I didn't much feel like picking up every bit one by one, so I looked around a bit for something to make it easier. I spotted some old girders laying around, those would be perfect. I softly grabbed the beam, pressing my fingers into the steel, and pulled it out underneath a pile of other metal. The stack stayed up, which was a little boring, but hey, I can't have everything." I smiled, so did Jason, knowing that if I wanted to, I actually could have everything.

"Well, I had to be really careful, it was only a steel beam, not anything really strong. So, holding it in my hands, I slowly pulled it apart, turning the thick steel beam, just like this." I demonstrated, by hooking my fingers together and pulling on my arms. My shoulders and triceps bulged to three times their regular size and Jason's hands moved to cover a tiny bit of them. "When I had it split about halfway, having pulled 10ft of steel construction beam apart with my fingers..."I drove on of those pretty fingers through a rock on the beach, just to illustrate "I picked up the whole thing and walked to the first stack of metal."

"I put the girder to the ground, using it like a 25 tonne broom. I dug my feet into the ground, shoving the whole 50ft mountain of scrap metal forward. Some pieces were falling off, but I got most of it." "You know" said Jason, having moved his hands to my biceps, which I started flexing for him, making them shoot up to 42 inches. "It would be a lot easier if you had superbreath, you know, like superman. "What? I'm not good enough for you?" I asked teasingly, lifting him off the ground with just my little finger. "I never said tha..." Jason said defensively, before I put my hand over his mouth again. "Shut up honey."

"Well, I shovelled one of the piles of metal into the next, and the next, pushing them all into the gaping hole of the press." "Does this mean you're g..." Jason tried interrupting again, so I decided it was time for more serious matters. I pushed my biceps into his mouth and, very softly, flexed my arms. "As I was saying... I shovelled the metal into the press, then I tossed in my improvised broom as well and threw the lid closed."

"With the hydraulic press out of order, I had to improvise. First, I grabbed the left piston, the one that was broken and pulled it off. My arms were bulging with muscle, my back widening with bulges and grooves...." I could see Jason's reaction at my graphic description. Good, just what I was going for. "Without any effort, I tore away the hardened steel. Then, I switched on the right piston. As it started compressing, I put my fingers on the point where the left piston used to be. I easily kept pace with the hydraulics, even though all the force of the machine was focussed into a single piston.

After a while, the two sides of the press were about halfway closed, the one remaining cylinder burst apart, I guess the pressure was to much for it. That was a little annoying, but not really that much of a problem." I flexed the arm Jason was licking just a little extra, to show him why it wasn't a problem. "It's to bad I had to use both arms, you know how I love showing off, but the metal was just to weak; I had to spread out the force. After a little more squeezing, I realized I'd already bent the meter thick press out of shape. It probably wasn't going to work again anyway." Jason seperated from my arm. "You broke it, didn't you?" "Only a little." I pouted. "You broke it a little? Amanda, you never do 'just a little' of anything. So, what happened."

"Well, when I saw it was already wrecked, I decided that made it scrap. Scrap I could get rid off. So when I was done pushing the not-so-hydraulic ram in, I moved on to the sides and started pushing those inwards as well." "Was it supposed to do that?" Jason asked. "Does it matter?" "I guess not, so what did you do with it?" "Oh" I said "you want to see?"

We walked around the beach, coming around a bend in the bay. "What is THAT!?" Jason said, his mouth hanging open. "Oh that?" I gestured to the thing on the beach. It looked like a barbell, but the bar was over a meter thick, the weights each the size two cars on top of each other. "This is just my little souvenir." I walked towards it, putting one hand underneath, then, without any effort, I stood up, curling the massive weight in one hand. I smiled at Jason, while I kissed biceps that rose up as high as my head. "You like?" 

Fighting words

So, I'd just sent out a dozen or so letters and sets of pictures, but I still wanted a little pocket money. I loved your suggestion about trying for sporting events, but I didn't want to go through all the effort and time of going through competitions, rankings, championships and such.

Instead I did a little exploring in one of the shadier parts of town. I'd changed into my new stiletto heels, a pair of latex pants that were stretched to their limits and a crop top of dark green nylon. Now, I would have never tried this before my change, but of course I had nothing to be afraid of now.

I was a little disappointed that nobody tried anything on my walk, but you can't always be lucky I guess. Still, once I arrived at the old port district, and particularly, an 'abandoned' warehouse that had quite a bit of shouting and noise coming from it for an empty building. I knocked on the door, rather loudly, making small dents in the thin metal. A small slider opened that I hadn't noticed before, a rather ugly man asked what I was doing here. "I'm here for the fight", I answered, making sure he had a good view of my assets. He must have assumed I meant that I wanted to watch, because he wanted to charge me three thousand pounds. I didn't have that much, so I had to improvise.

With one hand, I quickly pulled the door open, tearing the lock through the weak wooden doorframe, while my other hand closed around his mouth. I softly squeezed his windpipe shut, being careful not to cause any permanent damage. "Sorry about this, sleep tight" I whispered in his ear, before lifting his unconscious body and putting it somewhere out of the way.

I had a look around the place first. There was one large boxing ring, surrounded by a circle of crude benches, packed with people. Off to the side, there was a large blackboard, someone writing numbers and taking money from the visitors. I had no idea how it worked, but I did know it had something to do with better, and when there's betting, I could make some money. Next, I walked to another man; a grubby looking guy in a poorly fitting suit, surrounded by what I guessed must have been the 'contestants'. I walked up the man, he checked me out, looking up and... well, he seemed to get stuck somewhere in the middle. 

"Hi" I said, as cheerfully as I could, "I'd like to join." With one of the worst accents I'd ever heard, he informed that they had enough ring girls, but I was welcome to his room afterwards. Fighting back the urge to snap him in half, I told him I was there for the fight. He just laughed and turned away. I was considering how to persuade him, when someone else barged in "Boss", he panted "Vinnie the Crusher still ain't found anyone ta fight 'im, says they's all scared". "Excuse me" I said, again as cheerful as I could manage "I'll fight Vincent if everyone else is scared". "If it'll shut you up" he replied, "it's your funeral, but tell you what dolly. If you last more than one round, I'll pay you 5000 quid." Now that was more like it. "Deal", I said, as I extended a hand. As I shook his hand, I squeezed to tight enough until I could feel his bones were about to snap, let go and walked away. The next thing I did was place a bet, on myself, for 200 pounds, the last money in my wallet.



An hour and half later, wishing I had brought a change of clothes, or at least a towel or something, I stepped into the ring. The crowd cheered, and I waved happily, I was rather enjoying myself, until the cheers turned to booing and insults. That's when I noticed a man climbing in the ring. Well, I say man, but he looked more like a bear mated with a rhino. He had to walk through door sideways, and his face looked like more than one person had broken his hand on his nose. This must be Vinnie.

I extended my hands, I hadn't been given gloves, not that I needed any, but he opened up straight away with a fist to my face. I easily dodged it, stepping back two steps. "So much for not hitting girls" I said to myself. Now, you've got to realize, despite what I'd done the whole week, I was still new to those and a bit scared inside, so when I threw my first punch, it was probably a little harder than it should have been. As my small fist struck his abs, it pushed deep inside, bending him over like a twig, he staggered all the way back into the ropes. Making sure the crowd got a good show; I looked at my hand and wiped it on my shirt. He was getting the a few blows for free, I decided.

When he came back, he looked even more like a rhino, charging straight for me. I played with him a bit, getting a little workout which only served to make me look better, but I had to be careful, as I'd only just bought my clothes and didn't want to ruin them in front of hundreds of people. After I'd dodged five or six punches, I let him have a hit. I flexed my abs hard as his glove connected. It felt... well, it felt good. Not soft, but it felt rather pleasant, not to mention I loved knowing that however hard he hit me, I could take much, much more. I hoped he'd follow up with more, but he clenched his hand, screaming. I just smiled and stood there, hands in my sides.

His next punch was an uppercut to my face. I decided not to brace for this one, I didn't want to hurt his other hand as well. It turned out that it didn't matter at all, even though I rolled my head with the blow, I could still hear a loud snap from inside the boxing glove. My chin was, of course, completely unharmed and I was feeling better and better. I wasn't the only one enjoying myself; the crowd was either staring openmouthed, or laughing loudly at the big man. "What's the matter, did you hurt your little hand?" I taunted, which made him throw another punch, straight at my chest.

Not wanting him to ruin my shirt, I stood on my toes, leaning back a bit, allowing his hand to connect to my bare flesh. It felt wonderful, having his hard blow press into my breast just a little, before sliding off, right inside my cleavage. Instinctually, I tightened my pectorals, which resulted into a loud scream from Vinnie. Letting go and stepping back, I saw a trickle of blood coming out of his oddly-shaped glove. I must have crushed his hand with just a small twitch of my chest muscles.

I had to end the fight soon, not because I was tired, but because Vinnie might kill himself trying to hurt me. The second punch I threw that game was a lot more gentle than my first, but it had to be, I was aiming for his head. He tried to block it, but he might as well have tried to block a speeding car with his hands (something I'm sure I would have no trouble with). I hit his head just hard enough to put him down. He'd wake up with the mother of all headaches, but he would wake up.

The match was over within two minutes and within five minutes, I'd collected my pay and my earning from the little bet I made. At 60 to 1, I'd earned a total of 17.000 pounds, not bad for a few hours of very enjoyable work. I left a thousand pounds with Vinnie, feeling a little sorry for him and decided that a dance club sounded like the best place to celebrate my new little hobby.

Making money

You'd think a super strong wouldn't have money problems, but I don't want to rob a bank just yet. Not because it would be dangerous or something, I could rob fort Knox without getting my hair messed up, but that would draw a lot of attention and the innocent owners of the money certainly wouldn't like it.

So, I'm stuck trying other things. With all respect to Volupia, I don't think I'm placing any coal anywhere inside my body unless I'm really desperate (or bored). 

I like the modeling suggestion though, so I got out my camera, a tripod and put on one of the smaller bikinis. At first, I wanted to do some shots at my biggest, but that might not be the smartest thing to do. So, instead of getting fully pumped up, I just did some squats holding my three-seat sofa, a few curls with the a crumpled up lamppost I "found" outside, and finally a few thousand sit-ups holding the same improvised weight. (I really should get some real weights).

When I was done, my bikini was stretched to it's limits, my pectorals pushing my breasts out at least a cup size more than it was designed for. My pumped up shoulders were stretching the shoulder straps to their limits. The small triangles of fabric were strained by my breasts, my now steel-hard nipples making it even worse, but it still held on. A bit lower, my stomach had hardened to an eight-pack, each block pushing half an inch out of my perfectly tanned skin. The bikini panties were having an equally hard time, my round butt closing completely around the rear, with the front stretching tight because of my pumped up muscles. It's a good thing I wasn't wearing any pants, because my thick, hard thigh would have torn them apart like wet tissue paper.

I put the camera on automatic, one picture every second for about five minutes. I did a series of poses, from flexing my large muscles, to cute smiles, to classic modeling poses. I showed of every part of my new body, knowing that while I was incredibly muscular now, it was still quite small compared to what I could achieve, and even that paled compared to my strength. I rather enjoyed the little posing session in my room and backyard, far more than selecting the best pictures, but that had to be done to. 

I sorted them out, wrote a nice letter including a training schedule that I thought would be good enough for someone of this size, my measurements and some general friendliness. I printed out five sets of pictures and letters, stuffed them in an envelope and mailed them to several well-known modeling agencies, both regular and for muscular women. Then I repeated everything for my "small" size, taking care only to mail those to regular modeling agencies.

When I was done, it was only 6 am and I didn't need much sleep now. The other suggestions you all made were constantly on my mind, so I decided to find a quicker supply of money...