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)!
The Ultimate Submission
The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting golden bars across Harry's sweat-slicked torso as he entered Jase's apartment. His chest heaved with each breath, the aftermath of his punishing training session still sending tremors through his magnificent frame. The pump was extraordinary—his pecs swollen to dimensions that seemed to defy anatomical possibility, each fiber engorged with blood, creating a topography of power that strained against the inadequate fabric attempting to contain it.
His outfit—chosen by Ethan the previous night—left virtually nothing to the imagination. The black shorts might have been loose-fitting on an average man, but on Harry's colossal thighs and impossibly developed glutes, they clung like desperate lovers, the fabric stretched so completely that individual muscle fibers were visible beneath the straining material. They rode high on his legs, exposing vast expanses of golden skin and cutting so brazenly across his posterior that the perfect hemispheres of his glutes seemed to be actively fighting against their confinement.
The white v-neck t-shirt was equally provocative, the neckline plunging so dramatically low that it barely concealed his nipples, offering tantalizing glimpses of the deep valley between his pectoral masses with each movement. The fabric, already translucent from his workout, clung to his torso like a second skin, mapping every extraordinary contour of his development with photographic precision. His shoulders stretched the material to its absolute limits, the seams visibly straining against the breadth of his upper body.
"Christ, Haz," Jase said, looking up from his laptop with appreciative eyes. "Did you walk through town like that?"
Harry grinned, his perfect teeth flashing against tanned skin. "Yeah. Got a few looks." The understatement hung in the air between them, both knowing that Harry's appearance would have caused near-accidents as passersby forgot to watch where they were going, too entranced by the physical spectacle before them.
Jase set his laptop aside, patting the sofa beside him. "Come here. Got some news."
Harry crossed the room, the floorboards creaking beneath his substantial weight. Each step sent ripples of movement through his extraordinary musculature, his thighs brushing against each other with audible friction, creating a hypnotic rhythm that demanded attention. He lowered himself onto the sofa, the furniture groaning in protest beneath his mass, the cushions compressing dramatically under the concentrated weight of his development.
"What's up?" Harry asked, casually bouncing his pecs, making them dance beneath the wet fabric—a habit that had become second nature, a physical punctuation to his speech that he performed without conscious thought.
Jase's eyes tracked the movement with undisguised appreciation before returning to Harry's face. "It's Comicon weekend," he announced, his tone carrying more excitement than such an event might typically warrant. "And guess what? You and Dylan are going to be exhibits."
Harry's brow furrowed slightly, perfect features arranging themselves into an expression of curious interest. "Exhibits?"
Jase nodded, satisfaction radiating from him in waves. "You'll be Batman. Dylan's going to be Spiderman." He paused, clearly saving the best for last. "And you'll both be on podiums in the entrance of the exhibition center, alongside Byron Kelly as Superman."
Harry blinked, the name not registering immediate recognition. "Byron Kelly?"
Jase's eyes widened in theatrical disbelief. "Mate, you don't know Byron Kelly?" He grabbed his phone, fingers navigating with practiced efficiency to Byron's Instagram page. "Prepare to have your mind blown."
He passed the phone to Harry, the screen displaying a high-resolution image that commanded immediate attention.
Harry's breath caught in his throat.
The photo showcased Byron in a tailored blue suit that seemed to be engaged in a losing battle with his extraordinary physique. The jacket strained across shoulders that rivaled Harry's own in width, the buttons of the waistcoat visibly stressed as they attempted to contain what lay beneath. But it was the trousers that truly captured the eye—the fabric stretched across thighs that suggested immense power, and glutes so perfectly developed they created an entire landscape across his lower half.
Harry scrolled slowly, taking in image after image of Byron in various states of formal dress, each garment struggling to contain a physique that seemed designed to be displayed rather than concealed. Byron had the perfect blend of mass and aesthetics, his development suggesting both raw power and artistic precision, as though crafted by a sculptor with an eye for both beauty and function.
"Bloody hell," Harry murmured, voice thick with appreciation. His body responded to the visual stimulation with immediate enthusiasm, the evidence of his reaction becoming increasingly difficult to conceal within the already inadequate confines of his shorts. A flush spread across his chest, rising up his neck to color his cheeks with heat that had nothing to do with his recent workout.
Jase smirked, noting Harry's reaction with satisfaction. "Good, right?"
Harry could only nod, still scrolling through the images with mesmerized focus.
"Here's the best part," Jase continued, his voice dropping to a register that vibrated with anticipation. "People will be invited to have their photos taken with all three of you. And if they want..." He paused deliberately, ensuring Harry's full attention. "They'll be invited to touch, grip, and enjoy all three exhibits however and wherever they please."
The words sent an electric current racing through Harry's system, settling low in his abdomen with undeniable weight. His breath quickened, chest rising and falling with increasing tempo, the already strained fabric of his shirt threatening to surrender completely under the pressure. The physical evidence of his excitement became even more pronounced, pressing insistently against his shorts with such obvious enthusiasm that concealment was no longer possible.
"Fuck," Harry whispered, the single word emerging rough and unsteady.
Something shifted inside him—a recognition of desire so powerful it transcended conscious thought, a need that went beyond mere physical appreciation into something primal and overwhelming.
Without instruction, without prompting, Harry slid to his knees on the floor before Jase, the movement fluid despite his substantial mass. He looked up, his perfect face arranged in an expression of such genuine gratitude that it transformed his handsome features into something almost unbearably vulnerable.
"Thank you," he said, voice thick with emotion, "for arranging this for me. I'm truly lucky to be owned by my best friend." His massive chest expanded with a deep breath, pecs swelling further beneath the translucent fabric. "I hope you know I'm willing to do anything to show my appreciation."
The words hung between them, heavy with implication and unspoken desire.
Jase leaned forward, his expression shifting to something darker, more possessive. His eyes tracked over Harry's kneeling form with calculated assessment, taking in the extraordinary development on display before him—the massive shoulders, the swollen pecs still pumped from training, the carved obliques visible where his shirt had ridden up slightly.
"Anything?" Jase echoed, the question carrying layers of meaning beneath its simplicity.
Harry nodded, his throat working visibly as he swallowed. "Anything, sir."
Jase's lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile. "Well, since you're in such a convenient position..." His gaze dropped significantly. "Open your mouth."
Harry froze, the command registering with physical impact. A violent shudder ran through his substantial frame, a tremor that began at his core and radiated outward through his magnificent musculature. His pupils dilated dramatically, black eclipsing blue as his body responded to the implications of what Jase was suggesting.
This was different than being used as furniture, different than being worshipped, different than even being displayed for others' appreciation. This was something more intimate, more complete in its surrender. The ultimate submission for a man like Harry.
Fear and excitement warred within him, creating a cocktail of emotion so potent it manifested physically—his skin flushed with heat, his breathing grew shallow and rapid, his heart hammered against his ribs with such force it seemed to shake his entire frame. The substantial evidence of his conflicted response strained even more desperately against the inadequate confines of his shorts, betraying his body's enthusiasm despite his mind's uncertainty.
For a moment, he hesitated—hovering on the precipice of a decision that would irrevocably change their dynamic, that would represent a complete surrender of the last vestige of resistance he had maintained.
Then, with deliberate slowness, Harry parted his lips.
Jase reached forward, one hand gripping the back of Harry's head, fingers threading through platinum blonde hair with possessive intent. He guided Harry forward with firm pressure, allowing no retreat, no reconsideration.
"That's it," Jase murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Show me how grateful you are."
What followed was an act of complete submission—Harry yielding the final boundary he had maintained, surrendering to Jase's control in the most intimate way possible. His magnificent body, built through years of dedicated effort to project power and dominance, now knelt in perfect acquiescence.
Jase controlled the rhythm, the depth, the pace—his hand firm against the back of Harry's head, guiding him with unwavering authority. The sounds that emerged from Harry's throat—choked, desperate, overwhelmed—filled the apartment, physical evidence of the depth of this submission.
When the moment of culmination arrived, Jase held him in place, ensuring Harry received the full measure of his appreciation. The taste was unfamiliar, shocking in its foreignness—yet Harry accepted it completely, this final token of his absolute surrender.
Afterward, he remained on his knees, breathing heavily, his extraordinary chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. A strange peace settled over him, a tranquility born of complete acceptance. He had crossed the final threshold, had abandoned himself entirely to Jase's ownership.
And in that surrender, he had found a freedom he had never known existed.
Jase looked down at him, satisfaction radiating from every line of his body. He reached out, stroking Harry's hair with unexpected tenderness, the gesture both reward and acknowledgment.
"Good boy," he murmured, the praise settling over Harry like a warm blanket. "That's what you needed, wasn't it?"
Harry nodded, unable to speak, emotions too complex for verbalization swirling through him. In this moment of absolute vulnerability, he had discovered something profound about himself—a truth that had always existed beneath the carefully constructed facade of confidence and control.
He wasn't just owned.
He was free.
Jase stood, stretching languidly, looking down at Harry's kneeling form with proprietary satisfaction. "Get some rest. You'll need your energy for Comicon." He smirked, running a thumb across Harry's lower lip in a gesture that was both possessive and affectionate. "Superman's waiting for you."
Harry smiled—a genuine expression that transformed his handsome features into something approaching innocence despite what had just transpired between them.
"Yes, sir," he whispered, the words emerging with perfect sincerity.
The journey was complete. The transformation absolute.
Harry Schett, the town's golden god, had found his true place at last.
