The Digital Confession
The blue glow of Jase's phone illuminated his face in the otherwise darkened apartment, casting sharp shadows across his features as he reclined on his sofa. Friday night had settled into a comfortable rhythm of mindless scrolling, his thumb moving in the practiced dance of social media consumption. Outside, rain tapped a gentle percussion against his windows, the soft patter creating a soothing backdrop to his digital exploration.
His feed consisted primarily of physique updates from fitness influencers, gym selfies from friends, and the occasional meme that momentarily lightened his expression. He paused occasionally to double-tap particularly impressive displays, adjusting his position as he continued through the endless stream of content.
Then his scrolling halted abruptly.
Byron Kelly's latest post filled his screen—an image that sent an immediate jolt of heat coursing through Jase's body. The Australian model stood proudly on the exhibition podium from Comicon, his Superman costume creating a silhouette that stopped scrolling thumbs worldwide. The blue material showcased his muscular build with perfect proportions and stunning development in key areas that commanded attention instantly.
The emblematic "S" shield sat against his firm chest, showcasing definition and symmetry that perfectly complemented his frame. Byron’s torso and arms reflected many hours of weightlifting in the gym, but it was legendary lower have that truly commanded attention—the red and blue stretched taut, providing minimal coverage over thighs, like polished marble columns, firm and powerful. The costume embraced his crowning glory—those glutes that had launched his career, two perfect hemispheres that seemed crafted by divine hands rather than developed through mere exercise. His posterior development was simply magnificent, creating an eye-catching feature that had made him famous among admirers of all genders.
Jase's eyes moved to the caption, his breath catching slightly as he read:
"Comicon was unlike anything I've experienced before. Learning things about myself I never knew were there. Some experiences change you forever—this was definitely one of them. Massive thanks to @harryschett @dylankincaid @jasethebuilder and @ethan_thomas for showing me a new side of myself. Your hospitality was... unforgettable. #NewExperiences #PersonalGrowth #MuscleWorship"
The tags at the end sent another wave of heat racing through Jase's system, settling low in his abdomen with unmistakable impact. Byron had essentially announced to his hundreds of thousands of followers—men and women who followed his every post with devoted attention—that something significant had transpired during his visit. Something transformative.
Without conscious thought, Jase's fingers moved to WhatsApp, quickly locating Byron's contact. He hesitated for only a moment before taking a screenshot of the post and sending it with a simple message:
"Hey stud, care to elaborate on this 'new side' you've discovered? Causing quite a stir with that post x"
He added a winking emoji, the small digital gesture carrying volumes of suggestive meaning. The message showed as delivered immediately, and to Jase's surprise, the response came almost instantly. Considering the time difference—it must be late morning in Australia—Byron was clearly active on his phone.
Three dots appeared, pulsed for a moment, then disappeared. Instead of a text reply, a voice note notification appeared. Jase quickly connected his Bluetooth earbuds, not wanting whatever Byron had to say to be overheard by his neighbors through the apartment's thin walls.
Byron's Australian accent filled his ears, the laid-back drawl carrying a warmth that seemed to transcend digital transmission:
"G'day mate. Yeah, about that post... been experimenting with some new ideas since I got back. Things you and Ethan introduced me to. Honestly, it's been a bit of a revelation. Got something I'd like to show you, but it's not exactly for public viewing. You somewhere private? x"
Jase's heartbeat quickened, his body responding to the suggestive tone with immediate enthusiasm. He quickly recorded his own voice note in reply:
"Home alone. Send away x"
The wait for Byron's response seemed interminable, though his phone showed it was merely seconds. When the notification finally appeared, it wasn't another voice note but a video. Jase's thumb hovered over the play button for a moment, anticipation building in his chest with nearly physical pressure, before he finally tapped the screen.
The video opened with Byron standing in what appeared to be his apartment, the modern, minimalist decor creating a stark backdrop that emphasized his striking silhouette. But it wasn't the setting that captured Jase's attention—it was Byron's outfit, possibly the most enticing ensemble Jase had seen yet.
Grey skinny jeans adhered to his lower body like a second skin, following every contour with devoted precision. The denim surrendered to the solid structures beneath—thighs that resembled polished oak trunks, firm and powerful. Each step Byron took caused the material to whisper secrets about what lay beneath, the fabric capturing light differently across the planes of his magnificent legs. The waistband struggled to accommodate the dramatic contrast between his trim waist and the impressive flare created by his athletic haunches.
As Byron strutted toward the camera with deliberate showmanship, turning to showcase his profile, Jase noticed the fly of the jeans slowly separating under the relentless pressure of the movement, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of neon green fabric beneath. The color created a shocking contrast against the grey denim, drawing the eye with magnetic inevitability.
His upper body was showcased in a black skin tight t-shirt that embraced his frame with perfect harmony. Byron's torso showed impeccable symmetry and conditioning, the fabric revealing the enticing architecture of his firm pectorals and cleanly etched abdominals. Across the back, bold white lettering spelled out "I HAVE A SECRET," the text riding the confident planes of his sculpted back.
Byron turned away from the camera, positioning his legendary glutes center-frame. Here was the true masterpiece—the jeans acting like mere wrapping paper for a gift that had made Byron famous across the internet. With deliberate showmanship, Byron reached for his waistband, slowly unfastening the button and lowering the zipper that had already begun giving way.
Jase's mouth began to water as the jeans inched downward, the fabric catching momentarily on the magnificent curve of Byron's rear before releasing with a subtle snap that sent a visible ripple through the densely packed hindquarters. The neon green boxer briefs beneath were revealed in their full glory—stretched across gluteal development that would make Renaissance sculptors weep with inadequacy.
Byron continued lowering the jeans down his solid thighs, each inch of exposed skin revealing more of the firm, polished quality that had placed him in a category of his own.
As Byron stepped free of the jeans completely, standing proudly in nothing but the t-shirt and neon green boxer briefs, a new figure entered the frame from the right side of the screen. This newcomer was almost childlike beside Byron's frame—standing at least a head shorter, with shoulders barely half the width, and arms that resembled twigs beside Byron's firm branches. The contrast between them was jarring—like seeing a thoroughbred racehorse next to a Shetland pony. Most notably, the stranger wore a ski mask that covered their entire face except for the eyes, rendering them completely anonymous.
The physical disparity was striking—Byron could have easily lifted this person with one arm, could have completely overwhelmed them with the merest exertion of his strength. Yet there was something in their posture, something in their confident approach, that suggested the power dynamic wasn't what physical appearances might indicate.
Byron approached the camera, his firm chest filling the frame as he leaned in to speak directly to the lens. "Stole these boxers and the ski mask from Dylan last weekend," he explained, his voice carrying that perfect blend of casual confidence and suggestive anticipation. "Thankfully, my friend here is going to help me make it right."
The video cut momentarily, then resumed with Byron arranging a coffee table in the center of the frame. He bent to position it with deliberate slowness, the movement causing his compression shirt to ride up slightly, revealing a strip of tanned lower back where it met the waistband of the neon green boxer briefs. Those legendary glutes shifted beneath the fabric with each subtle movement, the material straining to maintain its integrity against nature's most perfect posterior.
Once satisfied with the table's placement, Byron reclined across it, positioning himself so that his head hung back over the edge, his neck extended in a manner that emphasized the perfect definition of his jawline. The t-shirt rearranged itself across his chest with this new position, the fabric mapping the athletic landscape beneath.
The masked figure approached, standing beside the table where Byron lay. The size difference became even more pronounced—the stranger's entire torso appeared only slightly wider than Byron's thigh, their height barely reaching Byron's chest were he to be standing. What happened next was partially obscured by camera angle and the position of the stranger’s body, but it was clear what was happening: an intimate interaction between the two, with Byron in a position of willing submission while the anonymous figure forced his substantial endowment deep into Byron’s willing throat.
The audio captured unmistakable sounds—rhythmic, occasionally punctuated by muffled choking noises that left little doubt about the struggle occurring inside Byron’s welcoming mouth. Yet his hands remained relaxed at his sides, his body showing no resistance or discomfort. Instead, his form appeared completely at ease, willingly accepting this stranger with serene surrender.
Jase's mouth went suddenly dry, his heart hammering against his ribs with unprecedented force. This was beyond anything he had anticipated—Byron Kelly, world-famous model, straight-identified Instagram sensation coveted by women and men alike, having his throat fucked on camera.
The video continued for several minutes, the masked figure eventually withdrawing from Byron’s lips, who remained reclined on the table. What followed was remarkable—a shot erupting from the stranger so huge that it formed several puddles across the model’s sculptured torso, leaving a trail that gradually retreated back over Byron’s face, ending in his mouth. The front of the skin tight black t-shirt now bore visible evidence of his submission, damp patches of white that caught the light differently from the surrounding fabric.
After a moment, Byron rose from the table, approached the camera directly, and displayed the front of his shirt with obvious pride, a satisfied smile playing across his handsome features. He licked his lips to clean up the remnants of the stranger that were pasted around his modelesque face, with the t-shirt's condition also leaving little doubt about the nature of what had transpired.
In a jarring transition, the video cut to what appeared to be a public coffee shop. Byron sat casually at a small table, sipping from a white ceramic mug, wearing the same black compression shirt. The earlier evidence of his private activities was still clearly visible on the fabric, now dried but unmistakable to anyone who knew what they were seeing. He raised the mug toward the camera in a mock toast, his smile carrying that perfect blend of mischief and satisfaction.
"Cheers," he said simply, the single word containing volumes of meaning beneath its casual delivery.
The video ended there, screen fading to black before a final text message appeared beneath it:
"Should I post this online somewhere? Free of charge? Let me know what you think..."
Jase stared at his phone, momentarily unable to process what he had just witnessed. Byron Kelly—straight, famous, sought-after by admirers of all genders around the world—had just shared perhaps the most explicitly submissive evidence possible of the transformation that had begun during his weekend visit.
The implications were staggering. Whatever influence Jase and Ethan had exerted over Byron had not only continued across continents but had intensified to levels Jase hadn't dared imagine. The Australian model had taken their lessons in submission and transformed them into something even more extreme, embracing public display of private activities with enthusiasm that bordered on exhibitionism.
Jase's hand trembled slightly as he typed his response:
"Jesus Christ, Byron. That was... intense. Definitely DON'T post that anywhere public—your sponsors would drop you instantly. But... I'm not going to lie. That was incredibly hot. What's happening to you over there?"
Byron's reply came almost immediately:
"I can't stop thinking about that weekend. About being owned. About being used. It's like you unlocked something in me that I didn't know was there. I thought it was going to be a one-time experience, but since coming back to Australia, I can't stop craving more. I want to be seen. I want to be used. I want to be owned, even from half a world away."
Jase exhaled sharply, his mind racing with the implications. This wasn't just about physical admiration anymore—this was about psychological transformation, about complete surrender transcending physical proximity. Whatever power he and Ethan had discovered over these impressively built men, it wasn't diminishing with distance or time. If anything, it was intensifying, evolving into something neither of them had anticipated.
"We need to talk about this," Jase typed, his fingers moving with urgent precision across the glass screen. "Not just text. Video call. Tomorrow? Before I meet the Schetts?"
Byron's response was instant: "Name the time. I'm yours to command, after all."
Jase set his phone down, his heart still pounding with the aftermath of what he'd witnessed. The rain outside had intensified, drops hammering against the windows with increased urgency that matched his own heartbeat. He ran a hand over his face, trying to process the implications of this development.
What was this power they had discovered? What was it about him and Ethan that allowed them to exert such complete control over men whose bodies should have made them intimidating and dominant? Men like Max, Harry, Dylan, and now Byron—physical specimens who by all logic should command rather than submit.
Yet all of them had surrendered. All of them had discovered their desire to be controlled, to be owned, to be used. And not just accepted it—embraced it with enthusiasm that bordered on obsession.
Jase didn't know the full extent of what was happening, but he wasn't about to question it. The rush of controlling these physical gods, of owning and directing them, was too intoxicating to resist. As unsettling as this development might be in abstract consideration, the reality was too satisfying to reject.
His thumb moved back to his phone, opening Byron's Instagram post one more time. The image of the Australian model in his Superman costume, athletic and powerful yet completely owned, sent another wave of heat through Jase's system. The caption carried new significance now, the "new side" Byron had discovered clearly extending far beyond what any of his followers could have possibly imagined.
Jase smiled to himself, anticipation building for both tomorrow's video call with Byron and the meeting with the Schett brothers and their friends. The prospect of both encounters in a single day sent a thrill of excitement through him. His collection was growing, evolving, intensifying in ways he couldn't have anticipated.
