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 Final Revelation Part 1
The gym was nearly empty, bathed in the soft amber glow of early evening light filtering through the high windows. Max enjoyed these quiet Sunday sessions—the solitude allowed him to connect more deeply with his extraordinary physique, to appreciate the sensation of each muscle fiber engaging beneath his flawless skin. His skin-tight white compression top with silver stitching clung to his torso like it had been painted on, the material stretched to its absolute limits across the massive shelf of his pecs. Each breath caused the fabric to shift slightly, threatening structural failure with every expansion of his monumental chest.
His neon green shorts were equally provocative, hugging his lower body with such determination that they revealed rather than concealed. The material followed every curve and contour of his extraordinary development, molded to his thighs and glutes with devoted precision. Having chosen to forego underwear in the warm evening, the outline of his substantial endowment was impossible to ignore, creating a visual impact that demanded attention.
Max was acutely aware of the two young men who had been watching him for the past twenty minutes, their eyes following his every movement with undisguised fascination. They tried to maintain the pretense of their own workouts, but their form suffered each time Max performed another set, their attention completely captivated by his physical magnificence.
*Twinks*, Max thought with amusement, recalling the term Ethan had taught him. The word felt foreign in his mind, yet somehow appropriate for these slender admirers whose gazes consumed him with such intensity.
With deliberate showmanship, Max positioned himself near their bench, loading plates onto a barbell with languid movements that showcased the extraordinary development of his arms. Each plate added caused his biceps to flex and shift beneath his skin, the muscle bunching and releasing with hypnotic rhythm.
"Evening, boys," he said casually, his deep voice carrying just enough warmth to be friendly while remaining sufficiently ambiguous to invite further attention. "Beautiful night, isn't it?"
Their responses were stumbled and awkward, voices cracking slightly as they struggled to maintain composure in the face of such overwhelming physical presence. Max noticed with satisfaction how they shifted their positions, adjusting their baggy shorts in a futile attempt to conceal their body's instinctive response to his magnificent physique.
He turned away, smirking to himself as he settled into position for his next set. The attention was intoxicating, feeding something primal within him that had always existed but had only recently been acknowledged. Being desired, being admired, being consumed by others' gazes—it fulfilled him in ways he had denied for decades.
His phone vibrated against the bench, screen illuminating with a notification. Max completed his set before checking the message, muscles pumped to extraordinary proportions from the exertion, a light sheen of sweat making his skin glow under the gym's lighting.
The text was from Ethan: *Maxy Muscle Boy is required at The Velvet Stag this evening. Wear whatever clothing you have on right now. We're waiting x*
Max glanced down at his provocative attire, considering the public exposure such an outfit would create. The thought sent a pleasant shiver racing through his substantial frame—not apprehension, but anticipation. This was who he was now. This was what he craved. To be seen. To be used. To be owned.
He re-racked his weights with meticulous precision, the metal plates sliding into place with satisfying thuds. Grabbing his gym bag, he offered one final flex to his young admirers before striding toward the exit, his massive thighs creating an unmistakable rhythm as they brushed against each other with each step.
The drive to The Velvet Stag was brief, the evening traffic light as Max's black truck rumbled through town. He parked directly in front of the establishment, the prime spot a small perk of Sunday evening. Taking a deep breath, he emerged from the vehicle, his extraordinary physique immediately drawing attention from passersby.
The moment he stepped through the door, the atmosphere shifted. Conversations paused mid-sentence, glasses halted halfway to lips, eyes turned to absorb the visual impact of his entrance. His compression top seemed to have shrunk during his workout, clinging even more desperately to his torso, mapping every extraordinary contour with photographic precision. His shorts left absolutely nothing to the imagination, the neon green material creating a beacon that drew eyes downward with magnetic inevitability.
Through the crowd, Ethan appeared, pushing between bodies with determined purpose. Without hesitation, he reached for Max, pulling him down into a deep, passionate kiss that Max reciprocated automatically, his body responding to instructions that had become instinctual over months of conditioning.
"Close your eyes," Ethan commanded, his voice carrying the quiet authority that Max had come to crave.
Max complied immediately, darkness replacing the visual stimulation of the crowded bar. Ethan's hands guided him forward, positioning him with confident touches that communicated clear expectations. The sounds of the bar seemed to intensify in his self-imposed blindness—glasses clinking, excited murmurs, anticipatory breathing.
"Down," Ethan instructed, his palm pressing firmly against Max's shoulder. "All fours. Keep those eyes closed."
Max sank to the floor with fluid grace that belied his substantial mass, assuming the position without question or hesitation. The sensation of silk brushed against his skin-tight clothing, an unexpected texture that sent goosebumps racing across his flesh. Hands guided him sideways, positioning him with precise adjustments.
Then, an announcement—a voice that sent a jolt of recognition through Max's system, though he couldn't immediately place it.
"May I present the newest addition to our bar furnishings! Please, feel free to use him as you see fit."
The words hung in the air, charged with implication and promise. Max remained perfectly still, his extraordinary physique transformed into functional furniture, his identity subsumed by his purpose. The feeling was intoxicating—being reduced to an object, being used not for his personality or achievements but purely for his physical existence.
Warm breath tickled his ear as Jase leaned close, his voice an intimate whisper against Max's skin. "Look up, Maxy Muscle Boy."
Jase's hand guided his head sideways, allowing him to see around the obstruction. Max raised his gaze slowly, his vision traveling upward past an impossible expanse of black Lycra stretched across thighs so colossal they seemed to belong to a different species of human altogether. The fabric was pulled to transparency, revealing the separate heads of quadriceps beneath, each muscle fiber visible through the straining material. His breath caught as his eyes continued their journey, past a torso that mirrored his own extraordinary development, finally settling on a face that struck him with the force of physical recognition. His breath caught in his throat—platinum blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, features so similar to his own yet younger, more vibrant.
Harry.
