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 Public Exhibition
Sunday evening cast a warm amber glow across the town, the setting sun painting the horizon in fiery hues that seemed a fitting conclusion to the extraordinary weekend. Comicon had officially ended, the exhibition hall emptying of its costumed attendees and enthusiastic fans, leaving behind only memories of the spectacular displays that had dominated the previous days.
In the private suite that had become their sanctuary, Byron stood before the mirror, admiring how the Superman costume continued to showcase his physique despite three days of continuous wear. The blue material hugged his extraordinary thighs with unwavering dedication, the fabric stretched taut across his legendarily developed glutes—those perfect hemispheres that had launched his career and earned him worldwide fame. The red cape draped elegantly from his broad shoulders, adding dramatic flair to his already commanding presence.
"I can't thank you lads enough for this weekend," Byron said, his Australian accent more pronounced after a day of relaxation. "Best Comicon experience I've ever had, by a country mile." His eyes met Ethan's in the mirror, a knowing smirk playing across his handsome features. "Seems only right I return the favor before I fly out tomorrow."
Harry and Dylan stood nearby, still in their Batman and Spiderman costumes respectively, though Harry's showed considerably more wear. The black material had succumbed to the relentless pressure of his extraordinary development in several places, creating small tears along the seams that revealed tantalizing glimpses of the smooth, golden skin beneath. His pecs strained against the bat emblem with such force that the symbol appeared distorted, stretched beyond recognition by the massive slabs of muscle it attempted to contain.
"What did you have in mind?" Jase asked, perched casually on the edge of the platform that had been the stage for their private exhibition the previous night.
Byron turned, the movement causing the material of his costume to pull tighter across his glutes, highlighting their perfect roundness beneath the stretched fabric. "Dinner and drinks on me," he proposed. "But on one condition." His lips curled into a mischievous smile. "The suits stay on wherever we go."
Dylan laughed, the sound slightly muffled by his Spiderman mask. The red and blue material of his costume rippled with the movement, stretching across his substantial chest with dramatic tension. "In public? People will lose their minds."
"Precisely," Byron replied, adjusting the Superman emblem across his firm pectorals. "It's my last night in town. Let's make it memorable."
Ethan's eyes lit up with immediate enthusiasm. "I know exactly where we should go," he declared, exchanging a knowing glance with Jase. "The Velvet Stag."
"Where Harry and Dylan were used as a human bar?" Byron's eyebrows rose with interest, his perfect features arranging themselves into an expression of intrigued curiosity. "You mentioned that place. Sounds absolutely amazing."
Harry shifted his weight, the movement causing the damaged seams of his costume to protest further. His massive thighs pressed against each other with each subtle adjustment, the material stretched to its absolute limits across their extraordinary development. "Mike will have a heart attack when all three of us walk in," he observed, a hint of eagerness beneath his affected nonchalance.
"Then it's settled," Jase announced, clapping his hands together with decisive finality. "One last exhibition for the road."
The journey to The Velvet Stag created a spectacle that would be discussed in hushed, reverent tones throughout the town for weeks to come. Three superheroes—Batman, Superman, and Spiderman—walking side by side down the main street, their extraordinary physiques straining against iconic costumes, creating a visual impact that stopped traffic and pedestrians alike.
Harry walked with the confident swagger that had become his signature, each step a deliberate display of his magnificent development. The Batman costume, already compromised by the relentless pressure of containing his massive frame, revealed tantalizing glimpses of smooth skin through tears along the seams. His thighs brushed against each other with every movement, the material stretched to transparency across their extraordinary bulk.
Byron matched his stride with easy grace, the Superman costume gleaming under the street lights as dusk descended. His cape billowed dramatically behind him, framing the perfect development of his legendary glutes—twin hemispheres so perfectly round, so extraordinarily developed that they seemed to exist in a different physical realm from the rest of his proportionate physique.
Dylan completed the trinity, his Spiderman costume clinging to every extraordinary contour of his nineteen-year-old frame with devoted precision. The iconic red and blue material mapped every ridge and valley of his muscular development, creating a visual roadmap of physical perfection that drew gasps from onlookers who couldn't believe their eyes.
When they finally reached The Velvet Stag, the reaction was immediate and electric. Conversations halted mid-sentence, glasses froze halfway to lips, music seemed to recede into the background as all attention focused on the three superheroes entering the establishment. The collective intake of breath was audible, a symphony of astonishment that rippled through the crowded space.
Mike, the owner, emerged from behind the bar, his usual composed demeanor momentarily shattered by the sight before him. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, eyes widening as he took in the three extraordinary physiques displayed in iconic costumes. "Now I've seen everything."
Ethan stepped forward, a satisfied smirk playing across his features. "Table for five?" he requested, though the question carried more command than inquiry. "Something spacious, if you've got it."
Mike nodded, still visibly processing the visual impact of the three muscle gods standing in his establishment. "Right this way," he managed, leading them to a corner table designed for eight that still seemed inadequate for the sheer physical presence it was asked to accommodate.
As they settled into their seats, the material of their costumes protesting audibly against the movement, Ethan leaned close to Mike, whispering something in his ear that made the owner's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Whatever was communicated, Mike's response was a slow smile of agreement before he returned to the bar, throwing occasional glances over his shoulder as if to confirm he wasn't hallucinating.
Throughout dinner, the three muscle specimens discussed their training regimens with passionate enthusiasm, comparing notes on exercises that had contributed to their extraordinary development. Byron detailed his specialized routine for glute development, the feature that had made him famous worldwide. Harry shared his chest-focused approach, explaining how he'd achieved the massive, shelf-like pectoral development that strained against his Batman costume. Dylan, youngest but no less knowledgeable, described his balanced program targeting overall symmetry and proportion.
"The secret to my glutes," Byron explained, turning slightly to showcase the development in question, the costume stretching dangerously tight across the perfect hemispheres, "is Bulgarian split squats. Four sets of twenty, twice a week, with progressive overload."
Harry nodded appreciatively, the Batman cowl shifting slightly with the movement. "For chest, it's all about the decline press for me. Gets that lower section really popping." He bounced his pecs deliberately, making them dance beneath the strained costume, the tears in the seams expanding slightly with the controlled flexion.
Throughout this technical discussion, Ethan and Jase moved around the table with casual confidence, their hands exploring, squeezing, appreciating the extraordinary physiques on display. They handled the muscle specimens with proprietary familiarity, touching without asking, positioning without explanation, their ownership a silent but undeniable presence in every interaction.
The other patrons watched with undisguised fascination, conversations abandoned in favor of observing this unprecedented display. Phones appeared discreetly, capturing images that would be shared with expressions of disbelief, accompanying stories that would sound like exaggeration but were, if anything, understatements of the reality.
As they finished their meals, Ethan caught Mike's eye across the room. "Is it ready?" he called out, his voice carrying a note of anticipation that sent a visible shiver through the three muscle gods.
Mike nodded, emerging from the back room. "All set," he confirmed, gesturing toward the bar where a space had been cleared, drinks and patrons temporarily relocated to accommodate whatever was about to unfold.
Ethan turned to his three muscle specimens, his expression shifting from casual to commanding in an instant. "Harry, Dylan—stand," he instructed, the simple word carrying unmistakable authority.
They obeyed without hesitation, rising from their seats with fluid grace that belied their substantial mass. The costumes strained further with their movement, fabric fighting a losing battle against the extraordinary development it struggled to contain. Harry's tears had expanded, more of his flawless skin now visible through the compromised material, while Dylan's costume pulled so tight across his chest that the webbing pattern appeared stretched beyond recognition.
With precise instructions, Ethan positioned them facing each other near the bar, standing approximately six feet apart. "Arms folded," he commanded, his voice carrying just enough edge to ensure immediate compliance.
They complied, crossing their massive arms across their chests, the position causing their pectoral development to swell further, rising above their forearms like continental shelves, creating deep shadows beneath their substantial overhang.
Mike emerged from the back room, carrying a long timber board approximately six feet in length and three feet wide. With Ethan's direction, he positioned it carefully atop Harry and Dylan's folded arms, creating a human shelf using their extraordinary pectoral development as support brackets. The wood settled into place, tested carefully to ensure stability before Ethan turned his attention to Byron.
"Your turn, Superman," he said, a smile playing across his features as he positioned a sturdy stool beside the makeshift shelf. "Up you go."
Byron understood immediately, a grin spreading across his handsome features as he climbed onto the stool and carefully positioned himself on the timber board. He lay face-up, his magnificent physique displayed in all its Superman glory, his red cape hanging dramatically on either side of the human shelf, creating a visual spectacle of unprecedented impact.
The entire bar fell silent, patrons staring in disbelief at the tableau before them—two superheroes acting as human shelf brackets, supporting a third who had transformed into a living display surface. The collective recognition of what they were witnessing seemed to ripple through the space, a wave of astonishment that manifested in wide eyes and dropped jaws.
Jase, ever practical, quickly positioned several stools beneath Byron, completing the transformation of superhero into functional bar space. Mike, recognizing his cue, stepped forward with theatrical flourish.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he announced, his voice carrying through the stunned silence, "the new bar is officially open. Who's first?"
For the next two hours, the extraordinary exhibition continued. Customers approached with varying degrees of hesitation and boldness, ordering drinks that were served across Byron's magnificent torso. They marveled at the solidity of Harry and Dylan's support, how their massive pecs didn't waver despite the weight they bore. They conversed with the three muscle specimens with growing comfort, asking questions about Comicon, about their training, about the experience of being living furniture.
Byron, ever the professional, engaged effortlessly with curious patrons, explaining his career while lying perfectly still on his wooden platform. "This is honestly a first for me," he admitted to a particularly bold woman who'd ventured a question. "But I think I could get used to it. The view's spectacular." His Australian charm remained undiminished despite his unusual position, his natural charisma transcending the extraordinary circumstances.
Through it all, Ethan and Jase watched with satisfied smiles, pride and possessiveness radiating from them in equal measure. Their collection was complete, their exhibition perfect, their ownership absolute.
Three extraordinary physiques, transformed from mere muscle into living art, serving not just as visual spectacle but as functional objects for others' pleasure.
As the night progressed, the realization settled over all of them—this wasn't just an exhibition anymore. This was who they were. Who they were meant to be.
And none of them would have it any other way.
