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)!
Like Father, Like Son
Max had barely looked up from the stock list when the bell above the shop door chimed, announcing a customer's arrival. His eyes lifted to find his colossal son stepping inside, the doorframe barely containing Harry's extraordinary width.
Harry was wearing only shorts.
Not just any shorts.
Bright red, low-rise, skin-tight chinos that clung to his massive thighs with desperate determination, the fabric stretched so completely across his quadriceps that individual muscle groups were visible beneath the straining material. A brown belt cinched around his narrow waist created a dramatic contrast with his upper body's impossible breadth, the V-taper of his torso defying conventional human proportions. Neon-orange boxer briefs peeked brazenly above the waistband, the vibrant fabric forming a visual exclamation point that drew attention to his lower half. The seams along the back visibly strained against the absurdly developed curves of his glutes, the stitching engaged in a constant battle to contain what seemed like two perfect hemispheres attached to a human frame.
Max blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sheer visual impact of his son's appearance.
"Jesus, son," he muttered, shaking his head with a mixture of disbelief and reluctant admiration. "You're gonna cause a bloody accident dressed like that."
Harry grinned, his perfect white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. With deliberate showmanship, he bounced his immense pectoral muscles, making them dance beneath his bare skin, the extraordinary slabs of muscle moving independently under his complete control. His eyes twinkled with mischief, fully aware of the effect his physique created.
"Can't help it, Dad," he replied with practiced nonchalance, as though his appearance was merely an unfortunate side effect of genetics rather than a carefully cultivated display.
Max rolled his eyes, but deep down, he understood. More than understood. The need for attention, for appreciation, for being seen—it ran in the family, passed down like the genetic blueprint for their extraordinary development.
Harry leaned against the counter, his huge arms crossed over his bare chest. The position caused his biceps to bulge impressively, the muscle peak rising like a mountain range beneath golden skin. His substantial frame made the sturdy counter look almost delicate by comparison, the wood creaking softly under his weight.
"I actually came to talk to you about something," he said, his voice dropping to a more serious register that contrasted with his usual confident banter. "Something I saw a while back."
Max frowned slightly, his expression shifting to one of guarded curiosity. "Go on."
Harry exhaled, his massive chest rising and falling with the movement. Then he pushed ahead, committed to the conversation he'd been rehearsing in his mind for days.
"A few months back, I saw a photo on Instagram," he said slowly, measuring each word. "It was Dylan Kincaid and... you."
Max froze, his substantial frame suddenly going completely still, like a statue coming to rest after brief animation. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the only visible reaction to Harry's words.
"It wasn't a normal photo," Harry continued, eyeing his dad carefully, watching for any reaction that might confirm his suspicions. "Looked like some kind of private session."
Max swallowed, his throat working visibly beneath his perfectly defined jawline. "And?" The single word emerged with forced casualness that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"And I was just wondering..." Harry rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture making his deltoids bunch and shift beneath his skin. "If you're, like... short of cash?"
Max blinked, momentarily confused by the unexpected direction of the conversation.
"Mate, what?"
Harry shrugged, looking sheepish, his massive shoulders rising and falling with the movement. "I dunno, Dad, I thought maybe... I mean, are you on OnlyFans or something?"
For a second, Max just stared at him, processing the absurdity of the question.
Then—he burst out laughing, the sound rich and genuine, echoing through the shop.
Harry scowled, his perfect features contorting with mild irritation. "Oi, I'm being serious!"
Max wiped his eyes, still chuckling as the tension drained from his body. "Nah, son, no OnlyFans. Not yet anyway." The joke slipped out easily, a defense mechanism against the real discussion looming before them.
Harry let out a breath, his massive chest deflating slightly with evident relief. "Okay, good. Just wanted to make sure you weren't secretly flogging gym thirst traps to pay the rent."
Max smirked, his expression shifting to something more playful. "Wouldn't be the worst idea, mind you." The observation carried a hint of truth beneath its humor.
Harry chuckled, but his eyes were still searching, probing for answers. "So what was it, then? What was that photo?"
Max hesitated.
He could lie. He should lie. Preserve the carefully constructed facade he'd maintained for decades, the image of strength and conventional masculinity he'd projected to the world, especially to his son.
But then—Jase's voice echoed in his mind, clear as if he were standing right beside him.
You and Harry have more in common than you realize.
Max took a slow breath, his massive chest expanding with the intake of air, the decision crystallizing in his mind with unexpected clarity.
"Let's sit."
They walked to the small wooden bench outside the shop, the same innocuous piece of furniture where Ethan had first broken Max months ago, where his transformation had begun. The memory sent an involuntary shiver through Max's substantial frame, a physical reaction to emotional recollection.
It was still too small.
Their immense thighs pressed together as they sat, muscle packed against muscle, their combined mass making the bench seem like children's furniture. The wood creaked ominously beneath them, protesting the extraordinary weight it was asked to support.
Max glanced at Harry—his perfect, sculpted son, glowing under the afternoon sun, completely at ease in his half-dressed state. Harry's thighs were enormous, stretching the red fabric to its absolute limit, each separate muscle group visible beneath the straining material. His pecs were swollen with youth and power, projecting outward from his frame with an almost architectural impossibility, casting shadows onto his deeply etched abdominal region.
Max knew.
He had always known.
Slowly, he exhaled, gathering courage for what he was about to reveal.
"I see how you are, Haz," Max said carefully, his voice low and intimate despite the public setting. "How you love being... admired. How you love being touched. I've seen it—plenty of times."
Harry stiffened, his tan cheeks darkening with a flush that spread down his neck. Every muscle in his body tensed simultaneously, his extraordinary development suddenly rigid with apprehension.
Max saw the flash of panic cross his son's features, the moment Harry thought he was being judged, being told off for desires he'd never verbalized even to himself.
Gently, Max rested a massive hand on Harry's colossal thigh, the gesture both reassuring and understanding. The muscle beneath his palm was warm and solid, barely yielding to pressure.
"It's okay, son," Max murmured, his voice carrying a tenderness that belied his imposing physical presence. "Like father, like son."
Harry's jaw dropped, his expression transforming from apprehension to dawning comprehension.
Max grinned, watching understanding bloom across his son's features.
And then—everything clicked into place, puzzle pieces falling into perfect alignment.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke, the revelation hanging in the air between them, too significant for immediate verbalization.
Then, Max started talking.
About himself. About what he had discovered in these past months. About what he had surrendered to, what he had embraced about his deepest desires.
He told Harry everything—how he had always craved being controlled despite his dominant appearance, how he had found liberation in submission, how his extraordinary physical development had become a vehicle for a different kind of fulfillment than he had ever anticipated.
Except for Jase's involvement.
That was too much too soon, too complex to introduce in this initial confession.
Harry listened in stunned silence, his expression cycling through disbelief, recognition, and finally, profound relief. The realization that he wasn't alone, that his father—his physical idol—shared the same hidden desires, was overwhelming.
Then, he opened up too.
Slowly, hesitantly, he admitted what he had always known deep down—that he needed more than mere admiration. That he needed direction, control, structure. That he had been exploring these desires with Ethan, with Dylan... even with Jase, though he didn't elaborate on the details.
Max's eyebrows shot up at the final name.
"Jase?"
Harry nodded, watching his father's reaction carefully.
Max hesitated for a moment, then smirked, a knowing expression spreading across his handsome features. "Well, I guess that's something else we have in common."
Harry's expression froze, his brain momentarily short-circuiting at the implication.
What?
For a second, he didn't know whether to be furious or intrigued. His mind raced, trying to process this unexpected information, this new connection between his father and his best friend.
Max, with his best mate?
Harry blinked hard, trying to clear the confusion from his mind, but the realization had already taken root, impossible to dislodge.
Max chuckled at his son's conflicted expression, shaking his head with fond amusement.
"It's not like that," he said simply, neither confirming nor denying the exact nature of his relationship with Jase.
Harry exhaled slowly, staring at him with renewed curiosity, reassessing everything he thought he knew about his father.
Then Max dropped the final bombshell.
"Jase and Ethan... they don't just use me. They own me. Jointly."
Harry went still, the words landing with physical impact.
Own.
The word hit something deep inside him, resonating with a part of himself he hadn't fully acknowledged, a place where his deepest desires had been carefully locked away. The concept of surrendering so completely, of being possessed rather than merely admired, struck a chord that vibrated through his entire being.
Something snapped.
Something surrendered.
Before he could even stop himself, the words tumbled out of his mouth with unfiltered honesty.
"Okay, I have no idea if I'm furious or turned on right now."
Max raised an eyebrow, caught between amusement and concern at his son's reaction.
Harry gulped, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of his own response, by the realization of what this conversation was awakening within him.
And then, suddenly, he had to get out of there, had to process this information away from his father's knowing gaze.
"I should go," he muttered, already standing up, the bench creaking with relief as his substantial weight lifted from it.
Max watched him carefully, recognizing the signs of emotional overload. "You okay?"
Harry's thighs tensed visibly, the massive muscle groups shifting beneath the tight fabric of his shorts. A subtle but unmistakable reaction manifested beneath the straining material, physical evidence of his conflicted emotional state.
"Yeah," Harry murmured, distracted, his focus clearly elsewhere. "Just... need to see Jase."
And then—he was gone, his massive frame moving with surprising speed despite its extraordinary proportions, leaving Max alone on the bench with the knowledge that everything had changed between them.
The Park: Comicon and an Unexpected Surprise
Jase popped the tab on his Coke, the carbonation hissing as the pressure released. He stretched lazily in the afternoon sun, his athletic frame extending to its full length as he reclined on the park bench. The warmth seeped into his skin, relaxing muscles that had been worked hard during his morning training session.
Ethan sat beside him, his smaller frame nearly dwarfed by Jase's more substantial development. He was scrolling through his phone with practiced nonchalance, but there was that familiar mischievous glint in his eye, the one that signaled he was plotting something.
Jase noticed it immediately, recognizing the signs after months of partnership. "What?" he asked, curiosity piqued by Ethan's barely suppressed enthusiasm.
Ethan smirked, the expression perfectly calculated. "Oh, nothing. Just planning something spectacular."
Jase raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the promise in Ethan's tone. "Go on..."
Ethan tapped his screen with deliberate casualness. "There's a Comicon convention next weekend. I reckon we should go."
Jase snorted, the suggestion unexpected from someone who had never expressed interest in comic culture before. "You? At Comicon?"
Ethan shrugged, his expression innocent yet somehow calculating. "Don't get me wrong, I do actually really like the comics and nerd shit, but..." He smirked, revealing his true motivation. "I care more about all the insanely jacked hunks in Lycra."
Jase perked up immediately, his interest visibly ignited by this new perspective. "Okay, now you're speaking my language."
Ethan grinned, pleased by Jase's reaction. "It gets better. Byron Rose Kelly is flying in."
Jase frowned, the name unfamiliar despite his extensive knowledge of the fitness world. "Who?"
Ethan's jaw dropped in theatrical disbelief. "Oh, mate. You're in for a treat."
He flipped his phone, revealing an Instagram profile with an absurdly high follower count—numbers that suggested this wasn't just another fitness influencer but someone with genuine cultural impact.
Jase leaned closer, curiosity overriding his earlier skepticism.
The bio simply read:
"Byron Rose Kelly | Athlete | Model | Suit Destroyer."
Jase's eyes narrowed at the unusual designation. "Suit Destroyer?"
Ethan chuckled, enjoying his role as guide to this new discovery. "Oh, you'll see."
He clicked the latest post, opening a high-resolution image that filled the screen.
Jase froze, his breath catching in his throat.
The photo was a masterpiece of physical display—a close-up shot of Byron's posterior development stretching a pair of blue suit trousers to near destruction as he bent forward. The fabric was pulled so taut over two stunningly developed gluteal muscles that the stitching was visibly straining, white threads of tension highlighting the extraordinary mass they struggled to contain. The tailoring, expensive and precise, was nonetheless fighting a losing battle against physical development that defied conventional expectations.
Byron had the perfect blend of size and aesthetics, his rugby player thighs thick enough to suggest immense power while maintaining perfect proportion. His upper body, partially visible in the shot, revealed pecs that projected proudly from his frame, perfectly balanced with his lower development—but it was his glutes that were the undeniable masterpiece, the feature around which his brand had clearly been built.
It was the kind of physical development that made you rethink everything you thought you knew about what was possible for the human form.
Jase choked on his Coke, the carbonated liquid going down the wrong way in his moment of surprise.
"FUCK," he exclaimed when he could finally speak, the single word conveying volumes about his reaction.
Ethan smirked, satisfaction radiating from him. "Told you."
Jase stared at the screen, completely hypnotized by the physical spectacle on display.
"This is insane," he murmured, his tone conveying both disbelief and appreciation.
Ethan grinned, knowing he had Jase's complete attention. "Mate, you haven't even seen him in motion."
He swiped to the next post—a slow-motion video of Byron walking towards the camera, wearing an obscenely tight pair of brown trousers that appeared painted directly onto his extraordinary lower body. His white shirt, equally fitted to his impressive upper development, highlighted a physique that seemed designed for display rather than function.
Every single step sent shockwaves rippling through his thick thighs, the fabric shifting and hugging the muscle like it was barely containing a force of nature. His movement was fluid despite the substantial mass he carried, suggesting an athlete's coordination that enhanced rather than hindered his physical presence.
Jase exhaled sharply, the video confirming everything the still image had suggested and more.
"Okay, now I get the whole 'suit destroyer' thing," he acknowledged, understanding how conventional clothing would be no match for such extreme development.
Ethan nodded, satisfied with Jase's reaction. "Told you."
Jase shook his head in disbelief. "Fuck, the things I'd give to have a feel of that hunk. Those thighs are insane! Do you reckon he'd—"
"I'm way ahead of you," Ethan interrupted, his casual tone belied by the gleam in his eyes.
Jase snapped his gaze up, momentarily distracted from the screen. "What?"
Ethan smirked, taking a deliberate sip of his Coke, dragging out the moment.
"I already asked."
Jase's eyes widened, not quite believing what he was hearing. "Asked what, exactly?"
Ethan grinned, his expression suggesting he'd achieved something extraordinary.
"If he'd give us a private show."
Jase choked again, this time on air alone. "YOU WHAT?"
Ethan nodded, maintaining his casual demeanor despite the bombshell he'd just dropped. "Yep. And guess what?"
Jase couldn't even speak, his mind racing with possibilities.
Ethan took another sip, eyes twinkling with mischief and triumph.
"He said yes."
Jase dropped his can, the aluminum clattering against the park bench. "No. Fucking. Way."
Ethan just grinned, basking in Jase's stunned disbelief.
Jase stared at him, struggling to process what he'd just heard.
"Mate, HOW?!" The question emerged with genuine bewilderment, unable to comprehend how Ethan had managed such a feat.
Ethan shrugged, playing off his achievement with calculated modesty. "I just messaged him. Told him we were huge fans of his 'work' and that we'd love a little one-on-one experience."
Jase was gobsmacked, his expression cycling through disbelief, shock, and finally, admiration.
"Holy shit," he muttered, shaking his head in wonderment.
Ethan smirked, enjoying Jase's reaction. "Oh, and that's not all."
Jase exhaled sharply, unable to imagine what could possibly top this revelation. "There's more?"
Ethan wiggled his phone with theatrical flourish. "Byron asked if there were any particular outfits we'd like him to bring with him."
Jase blinked, momentarily speechless.
Ethan beamed, the smile of someone who had achieved everything they'd set out to accomplish.
"I already sent him a list."
Jase's jaw hit the floor, his expression one of pure awe.
"You legend," he declared, genuine admiration coloring his tone.
Ethan winked, accepting the compliment as his due. "Mate, never turn down an opportunity to worship hunks in tight clothing."
Jase exhaled sharply, still processing the magnitude of what Ethan had arranged. "You are so right."
He lifted his drink in a toast, the gesture almost reverential.
"Cheers to Byron... and his magnificent physique."
Ethan held his can in the air in reply, the afternoon sun glinting off the aluminum. "To getting our hands on that magnificent development you mean! Now, who's your favorite superhero? We may need to go shopping for Mr. Kelly, before he arrives."
