This is my first full length story, so I hope you enjoy it! Please email me ([email protected]) any feedback. Enjoy!
All characters are entirely fictional besides Byron, whom has given me his express permission to include later in the book. Please follow him on Instagram (@byronrosekelly)!
Submission on Display
Ethan stepped back, arms folded, eyes glinting as he admired his work so far. Max and Dylan stood before him, clad in identical, ridiculously tight blue Lycra shorts that hugged every extraordinary contour of their massive legs, stretched taut across their quads and glutes with such determination that the fabric appeared to be fighting a losing battle against physics itself. The material clung so desperately to their lower bodies that it seemed to be pleading for mercy, yet Ethan had deliberately chosen a size smaller than their already extreme proportions required, ensuring they looked even more outrageous than their natural development already guaranteed.
The process of getting the shorts on had been an event worthy of documentation in itself. Ethan had first tossed the small garments toward his willing subjects, watching as they caught the minimal scraps of fabric in their enormous hands. A momentary hesitation had flickered across Max's face—perhaps the last vestige of resistance before complete surrender—before they turned to each other with silent understanding.
Max had gone first, standing perfectly still with arms hanging loosely at his sides as Dylan stepped in close, his massive frame dwarfing even Max's substantial development. With careful precision, Dylan had removed Max's boxer briefs, exposing thick, sculpted thighs that seemed to belong on a classical statue rather than a living man. The removal was performed with almost ceremonial reverence, Dylan's movements slow and deliberate as he revealed inch after inch of Max's extraordinary lower body.
Without speaking, Dylan knelt slightly, gripping the Lycra shorts and easing them up over Max's legs with painstaking care. The fabric fought against the sheer bulk of muscle at every stage of the journey, stretching to its absolute limits as it slid over his quads. Each fiber of the material seemed to groan in protest as it battled the inhuman circumference it was asked to contain. Then came the real challenge—Max's enormous, perfectly rounded glutes. Dylan had to adjust his grip, using both hands to slowly inch the fabric up, cupping the sheer mass of muscle as he worked the resistant material into place. Max had exhaled sharply as the waistband finally snapped into position, leaving him squeezed into a garment so revealing it made conventional underwear seem modest by comparison.
Then it was Max's turn to reciprocate. Dylan stood tall, placing his hands behind his back in a gesture of complete surrender, waiting for his turn to be dressed like a living doll. Max mirrored Dylan's earlier movements with surprising gentleness for someone so physically imposing, stripping him down with deliberate precision. The removal of Dylan's underwear revealed thighs so massively developed they forced his stance naturally wide, the separate muscle groups clearly visible beneath his golden skin. Max took his time pulling the Lycra over these extraordinary legs, the material protesting even more vigorously than it had with his own substantial development. When it came to Dylan's glutes—possibly even more spectacularly developed than Max's—Max instinctively gripped them with reverent appreciation, feeling their dense weight as he worked the shorts up, finally securing them in place with a snap of the waistband.
Both men now stood before Ethan, adjusting slightly to accommodate the extreme compression of the fabric against their most sensitive areas. Their massive packages were barely contained, creating unmistakable outlines against the straining material, while their extraordinary glutes threatened to burst from the back at any moment, the seams visibly strained to their structural limits. Neither would have chosen to wear something so revealing by their own volition, yet they had accepted it without question, their voluntary submission to Ethan's authority now extending to their public presentation.
Ethan studied them for a long moment, his eyes traveling over every magnificently compressed curve and bulge with proprietorial satisfaction. His next demand emerged with casual authority, as though asking for something entirely reasonable rather than extraordinary.
"Now, kiss again."
Max barely flinched this time. The first kiss had been an awakening, a forced dive into his deepest, long-buried desires. The act that should have felt alien instead resonated with some hidden part of himself he had spent decades denying. He had never kissed a man before today, never even considered it a possibility, but now, he found himself not just accepting but anticipating the opportunity to prove his submission further. Dylan had been an incredible kisser, powerful and dominant in his physical presence yet strangely tender in his execution. Max wanted to feel that again, wanted to sink deeper into this new reality where his imposing physique served someone else's pleasure rather than his own ego.
Dylan stepped forward first, taking the initiative despite his submissive role. He grabbed Max's face in his strong hands, palms warm against Max's jaw, before their lips met with unmistakable purpose. The kiss started slow, exploratory, then hungrier as they found their rhythm. Their mouths moved together in perfect synchronization, exploring, learning, submitting to what Ethan had orchestrated with such casual confidence.
Ethan watched, his breathing growing heavier, his own arousal evident in the flush spreading across his neck and the visible strain against his jeans. The sight of these two physical colossi—men who could easily overpower him individually, let alone together—obeying his every command with eager compliance sent waves of pleasure through his system. He let them continue for several minutes, drinking in the extraordinary spectacle of their submission, before deciding to claim his rightful place between them.
Without hesitation, Ethan reached up, gripping the back of each man's neck with proprietary confidence, and pulled himself into the kiss. He forced their tongues to meet in a three-way tangle of desire, inserting himself literally and figuratively into the center of their interaction. The height difference should have made this awkward, even comical, but somehow Ethan's sheer force of personality overcame the physical disparity, making the massive men bend to accommodate him rather than the reverse.
The passion grew, Ethan pressing himself between the two muscle giants, feeling their immense bodies shift and flex beneath his grasp. He ran his hands over their chests with possessive entitlement, feeling the heat of their skin, the way their pecs tensed as they kissed him back, no longer questioning, only obeying. His fingers explored the topography of their extraordinary development, tracing the deep separations between their pecs, moving over the granite hardness of their shoulders, trailing down the washboard ridges of their abs with appreciative precision.
Minutes passed, the air thick with heat and unspoken desire, before Ethan finally broke away, a satisfied smirk playing across his features. "That was... perfect," he declared, the simple praise carrying the weight of a formal commendation.
Max and Dylan stood there, lips slightly parted, their towering forms completely still, awaiting Ethan's next command with the patient obedience of well-trained animals. Their breathing was slightly elevated, the only outward sign of the effect this interaction had on them, their massive chests rising and falling in near-synchronization.
Ethan exhaled with satisfaction, then stepped back, glancing around the shop with calculating assessment. His gaze landed on the display podiums used for mannequins, and an idea crystallized in his mind with perfect clarity. "Right, both of you—up there," he instructed, pointing to the raised platforms with casual authority.
Max and Dylan complied without question or hesitation, stepping onto their respective podiums with the easy confidence of men accustomed to being looked at, even if the context was radically different from their usual experience. They adjusted their stances automatically, shoulders back, chests out, standing tall like the gods they resembled in form if not in agency. Ethan circled them with critical appreciation, drinking in the sight of their massive quads pressing against the Lycra, their pecs heaving slightly with each breath, their abs creating topographical maps of physical perfection across their midsections.
Satisfied with their positioning, Ethan reached out, running his hands over their bodies once more, indulging himself in the sheer power beneath his fingertips. His touch was worship and possession combined, squeezing, admiring, consuming every inch of them through tactile appreciation. Their submission was total, their acceptance of his touch a confirmation of his control. For the first time in his life, Ethan realized something undeniable.
He owned them.
And they loved it.
Ethan stepped back, arms crossed, a smug satisfaction spreading across his face as he admired the two muscle gods before him. Dylan and Max stood proudly on their podiums, their skin-tight Lycra shorts stretched to their absolute limit, hiding nothing from appreciative eyes. The heavy fabric molded around every ridge of their quads, straining to contain the mass of their monstrous glutes, the deep V taper of their obliques perfectly framed by the low-riding waistbands.
Their chests rose and fell with slow, measured breaths, their bodies gleaming under the store's lighting, highlighting every carved muscle group with photographic clarity. They weren't just standing there—they were presenting themselves, offering themselves, knowing their purpose was to be seen, admired, and controlled. Max, despite being new to this, had never felt so complete, so fulfilled. This wasn't just a game or a fantasy anymore. This was who he was meant to be, who he had always been beneath the carefully constructed facade of confident dominance.
The hunger in Ethan's eyes was unmistakable, and for the first time in his life, Max truly understood what it meant to be wanted. Not just for his body, but for his complete submission. The realization sent a fresh wave of exhilaration through him, and he felt his excitement growing, pressing insistently against the Lycra, trapped between his colossal thighs.
Dylan, the more experienced of the two, stood just as still, his own arousal equally evident beneath the straining fabric. For him, this was familiar, but no less thrilling. The control Ethan had over them, the ease with which he dictated their actions—it was intoxicating. He lived for this, for the transformation from physical dominance to complete submission.
Ethan, caught in the moment, pulled his phone from his pocket. He couldn't risk this moment ever fading from memory. He needed to capture it, to preserve this perfect display of submission for future appreciation.
"Stay exactly as you are," Ethan instructed, lifting his phone and framing the shot.
Click.
The first photo captured the two men standing tall, their matching shorts stretched to perfection, their bodies glistening under the shop lighting. Ethan took a moment to appreciate the sheer artistry of their forms before moving in for more detailed shots.
"Max, flex your chest," Ethan directed.
Max obeyed, bouncing his enormous pecs with practiced control, causing deep shadows to form beneath the slabs of muscle. The motion sent a ripple effect through his upper body, his delts and arms shifting slightly with the movement, emphasizing the interconnected nature of his extraordinary development.
Click.
"Dylan, on your knees in front of Max. Worship his glutes."
Without hesitation, Dylan dropped to his knees, his hands running reverently over the dense, round muscle of Max's backside. His fingers sank slightly into the Lycra, gripping, massaging, worshipping the extraordinary development with skilled appreciation.
Click.
"Switch places."
Max knelt now, mirroring Dylan's movements, his fingers exploring the sheer mass of Dylan's glutes, feeling the unbelievable density beneath his hands. The contrast between his tanned skin and the bright blue Lycra created a visual tableau of extraordinary impact.
Click.
The sight of them, mutual submission and mutual worship, sent a shiver down Ethan's spine. These men, these physical gods, were completely his to command, to position, to display for his pleasure.
But he wasn't finished.
Ethan's eyes scanned the store until he found what he needed—a set of black and white thermal ski masks, the kind that covered everything except for the eyes and mouth.
A devious smirk crossed his lips.
"Stay put," he said as he grabbed the masks. He returned, holding them up for both men to see. "Put these on."
Max hesitated for only a fraction of a second, his excitement skyrocketing at the realization of what was happening. This was dehumanizing him, stripping him of any individuality, reducing him to nothing but anonymous muscle for Ethan's use and display. He was becoming an object, a faceless exhibition of physical perfection to be used however Ethan desired.
Dylan took the white mask, slipping it over his head effortlessly, the cutouts revealing only his piercing eyes. Max took the black mask, pulling it over his own face, erasing any remaining sense of self or identity. They were no longer Max and Dylan—they were simply muscle, simply bodies, simply possessions.
Ethan groaned in satisfaction.
Click.
More photos followed. The faceless muscle giants, worshipping each other, kissing deeply through the masks, bending and posing as Ethan dictated. After a solid twenty minutes of photography, Ethan finally lowered his phone. He had more than enough material to enjoy later, to remind himself of his complete control over these physical specimens.
"Take the masks off and hand them to me," he ordered.
They obeyed instantly, removing the masks with careful movements and offering them to Ethan like precious artifacts.
Ethan exhaled slowly, eyes flickering between them. "Now, each of you—pick three full outfits for each other. These will be your public uniforms from now on."
Max and Dylan nodded, understanding the weight of this instruction. They moved through the store, selecting items with careful precision, knowing they were choosing what the other would be seen in for the foreseeable future. The significance wasn't lost on either of them—Ethan was extending his control beyond this moment, beyond this space, into their public lives and daily routines.
Once they had their selections, they returned to Ethan, kneeling before him, presenting their choices like devoted servants seeking approval from their master.
Ethan smirked, inspecting each piece in detail.
Max's Picks for Dylan:
Public Exhibitionist Look (For Day-to-Day Wear)
• Neon Blue Spray-On Jeans — Stretched to their absolute limits, denim sculpting itself around Dylan's thick thighs and bubble-like glutes. The waistband sat low, exposing the deep cut of his obliques.
• Bright Orange Lycra Compression T-Shirt — Skin-tight, squeezing his pecs like a second skin, the short sleeves barely covering his shoulders.
• White High-Top Sneakers — Simple, bold, and keeping the attention exactly where it belonged—his physique.
Gym Dominance Look (For Training and Showing Off)
• Fluorescent Yellow Ultra-Tight Gym Shorts — Ridiculously short and snug, ensuring every motion of his quads and glutes was magnified.
• Skin-Tight Black Compression Tank — Almost painted onto his torso, revealing the deep striations in his chest and shoulders.
• Black Compression Socks and Neon Green Trainers — The finishing touch to complete the perfect alpha-in-the-gym aesthetic.
Nightlife Showstopper Look (For Going Out)
• Black Ultra-Fitted Denim Shorts — Ending just above mid-thigh, impossibly snug, highlighting every muscle from waist to knee.
• Glossy Red Muscle Fit T-Shirt — The sheen in the fabric accentuated every ridge of his torso, reflecting light in a way that made his physique look even more godlike.
• White and Gold Sneakers — Adding a flashy touch to ensure no one could miss him.
Underwear Selections:
• Neon Pink Compression Boxer Briefs — So blindingly bright they would shine through his Lycra shorts at work.
• Jet Black Ultra-Tight Boxer Briefs — For nights out, keeping things sleek but no less provocative.
• Fluorescent Orange Spray-On Boxer Briefs — Designed for maximum impact under gym wear.
Dylan's Picks for Max:
Public Exhibitionist Look (For Day-to-Day Wear)
• Electric Purple Spray-On Jeans — Absurdly tight, forcing Max's massive legs into display mode at all times.
• Turquoise Lycra Muscle Fit T-Shirt — The contrast of color against his golden tan made his upper body pop even more.
• White Sneakers with Neon Blue Accents — Simple, but effective in completing the extreme aesthetic.
Gym Dominance Look (For Training and Showing Off)
• Blood Red Ultra-Tight Lycra Shorts — Aggressively snug, enhancing the depth of his cuts and highlighting every move of his ass and thighs.
• Skin-Tight Black Long-Sleeve Compression Shirt — Stretching against his broad chest, the sleeves painted onto his biceps.
• Black Compression Socks and Fire Red Gym Shoes — Ethan loved the dominance of the red-and-black contrast.
Nightlife Showstopper Look (For Going Out)
• White Denim Shorts — Fitted to perfection, with side zips designed to be undone for maximum exposure.
• Neon Green Sleeveless Compression Shirt — Molded to every muscle, making his pecs look even bigger.
• Silver and Black Sneakers — Keeping the look bold but stylish.
Underwear Selections:
• Neon Green Lycra Boxer Briefs — To ensure everyone knew what was underneath.
• Fire Red Ultra-Tight Boxer Briefs — Nothing subtle about them—designed to command attention.
• White Spray-On Boxer Briefs — For the clean, bold aesthetic that still screamed dominance.
Ethan nodded in approval. The selections were perfect—provocative, attention-grabbing, ensuring that his possessions would be noticed wherever they went. Each item was deliberately chosen to showcase their extraordinary physiques, to make it impossible for anyone to look anywhere else when they entered a room.
"Max, pay for everything."
Max rose to his feet. "Yes, sir."
Not a single hesitation. Not a flicker of resistance. Just complete, willing compliance.
Final Instructions
Before leaving, Ethan turned to Max, his voice smooth and commanding.
"Your work uniform is now the Lycra shorts you're wearing and your store polo."
Max swallowed hard, shame and excitement swirling together in a potent cocktail of emotion. His work involved customer interaction, staff management, visibility to the public. And now, he would be doing it in clothing so revealing it bordered on indecent.
He hesitated, only for a split second, before speaking. "Sir... am I permitted to wear boxer briefs underneath?" The question emerged with genuine uncertainty, a man accustomed to making decisions now seeking permission for the simplest aspects of his presentation.
Ethan's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Turn around."
Max obeyed. Ethan stepped forward, running his hands over the Lycra, gripping Max's exposed, muscular ass, pressing slightly to see just how sheer the material was under tension. He squeezed the extraordinary glutes, feeling their density, their perfect roundness, assessing their visual impact when compressed by the tight fabric.
Satisfied, he delivered his verdict. "You may... but only if they're bright enough to be seen through the fabric."
Max shuddered in pleasure, remaining on all fours like an obedient pet. "Thank you, sir."
Ethan straightened, adjusting his stance slightly to accommodate his own physical reaction to this display of submission. "Now stand up. Dylan—correct him."
Dylan's massive hands gripped Max's waist as he sat on a nearby bench, pulling the older hunk across his lap. Without warning, he spanked him hard, the sound echoing through the store like a gunshot.
Max gritted his teeth but didn't resist, didn't protest. He accepted the correction as his due for questioning Ethan's instructions.
Smack.
"That's for questioning my instructions without permission," Ethan said coolly.
Max, still draped over Dylan's lap, moaned softly in submission. "Thank you, sir."
Satisfied, Ethan stepped back, admiring his perfectly obedient muscle toys.
"Oh, and one more thing." He gestured toward the counter. "Max, make yourself a new name badge. Your store name is now Maxy Muscle Boy."
Max exhaled, nodding. "Yes, sir."
He turned, making his way to the counter to engrave his new identity, his exposed ass bouncing with each step, the blue Lycra stretched to transparency across the magnificent globes of muscle.
Ethan smirked. "I'll make sure you follow these rules... I have eyes everywhere."
A shiver ran through Max's spine. The thought of being watched, controlled, owned—it sent him into a spiral of bliss, of fulfillment so complete it transcended conventional understanding. He was finally becoming what he had always been meant to be.
Reopening the Store
With the windows uncovered and the doors unlocked, Max stood beside Dylan, both now outfitted in their new "uniforms"—Max in his polo and obscene Lycra shorts, Dylan in his neon compression shirt and spray-on jeans. They were ready to face the public, to be seen, to be displayed as Ethan's possessions.
Max turned back to Dylan, an unspoken understanding passing between them.
They kissed—deep, slow, hands roaming each other's bodies, feeling, exploring, worshipping the extraordinary development they had both achieved through years of dedicated training.
This time, Ethan didn't even have to order them, he had these muscle boys exactly where he wanted them.
