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The Hollywood Agency Book -1-
Chapter 3: "Beware Greeks bearing gifts!"
Mr. Meyers must have felt some of the boy's happiness, because he dropped his hand to Callum's naked thigh and gave it a good squeeze. Callum probably wouldn't have thought too much about this gesture if he didn't happen to glance down and notice, to his shock and horror, that his penis was fully erect. He was throwing a goddamned bone, right there, right in front of Mr. Meyers. And of course Mr. Meyers would take that moment to glance down and see his new model's big nine-inch rod shooting straight up from his pubes. Callum thought he was going to die.
But the Agent quickly laughed it off. "No need to be embarrassed, Callum. A young stud like you probably gets hard twenty times a day. Happens to all of my younger male models now and then and I'm sure this won't be the last time it happens to you, so don't worry about it. We're just two guys here. Besides, I'm glad to see you weren't exaggerating – it looks to be at least nine inches."
While Meyers was clearly seeking to reassure Callum that there was nothing to be embarrassed about in his sudden tumescence, Callum found the continued focus on his hard dick profoundly unsettling. Here he was at probably the most consequential moment of his life to date, having just launched himself on the path to what he was sure would be a successful career, and he was flashing a big boner like he was some high-school junior who'd been having dirty dreams during a boring chemistry lecture. He wanted nothing more than to cover himself up but he was afraid that
Mr. Meyers would consider his reaction childish.
So Callum tried to shrug it off. "Yeah," he responded quietly, "I guess it is about nine inches like I said."
"You guess?" Meyers immediately replied in a tone of surprise. “Haven't you ever measured it?"
"No," Callum answered meekly, surprised by the turn the conversation had taken. "Not recently, anyway."
"Well, we can take care of that right now," Mr. Meyers declared. Before Callum had even a chance to react, he had opened the drawer of his desk and took a ruler in his hand. Callum's mind was just beginning to process what was happening when Mr. Meyers reached out with his right hand and grabbed a firm hold of Callum's erect penis.
Holding it straight into the air, the man brought the ruler up next to Callum's cock with his other hand and then leaned down so that his face was just inches from the boy's crotch.
"Nine and a half inches," Meyers declared. "It's actually nine and a half inches."
Callum sat there in shock. Never in his entire life had he let another dude touch his cock. Well, maybe a doctor had handled it a couple of times during a physical examination, but that had just been a momentary thing. And his cock had been flaccid at the time. Not the rigid rocket that now stood up so proudly from his groin. No guy would have ever dared to touch his hard cock before. And Mr. Meyers hadn't just touched his cock, he had grabbed it and then held on to it. And he was still holding on to it. Another man was holding on to his fully engorged cock and Callum was just sitting there, watching him do it.
But what was most upsetting for Callum was that his cock was acting as if it enjoyed it. Callum could feel it throbbing and pulsing, just like it did when he plowed some bitch.
It felt so good, so very good, and so wrong, so very wrong, all at the same time. He shouldn't be getting hot while some dude held on to his cock. No fucking way.
But he was – Callum could feel his sexual excitement rising.
Then, just to make his humiliation total, he saw his slit open and a large dollop of pre-cum bubble its way to the head of his cock. Callum was completely mortified and embarrassed.
Mr. Meyers noticed Callum's distress.
"What's the matter, Callum?" he asked, concern obvious in his voice.
Callum was simply too embarrassed to even try to answer but Mr. Meyers managed to guess the problem. "Are you still embarrassed because you're throwing a rod, Callum? Is that it?"
"It's...it's not just that," Callum eventually managed to stammer out.
"What then?" Mr. Meyers pressed. "Is it because I'm holding your cock? Is that it?"
Mr. Meyers added with a glance down at Callum's throbbing boner:
“Or is it because you're leaking so much pre-cum?"
Callum followed Mr. Meyers' glance down to his cock and was abashed to see that his cock-head was now completely coated with pre and more was continuously leaking out of his hard tube.
"Oh, God, Sir," Callum moaned. "I'm so sorry. I'm really not that way. Really. I'm not a faggot. I'm really not. I don't know what's happening to me."
Looking at Callum, John Meyers could tell that the boy was on the verge of tears. He could only imagine how Callum would react if he were to experience an orgasm right now, with John not only watching but actually holding on to his hard cock. It would be a real hoot to bring him off, get him to shoot a full load right there, right now, but the man didn't want to hurry things.
He glanced up at the hidden ceiling cameras and gave a wink.
Then, slowly, he removed his hand from Callum's cock. He placed his hand on the boy's thigh and squeezed it paternally. He knew something the boy had no idea about, the fact that his coffee and water had been heavily drugged, the coffee with some pills to make him relaxed and easy to handle, and the water with Viagra and a sex drug, designed to arouse even the meekest boy.
"Really, Callum," Mr. Meyers soothed. "It's nothing to be upset about. It's totally natural for a young stud like you to be easily aroused. It's nothing to be ashamed about. Hell, you should be proud you have such a sensitive cock – and such a big one, too. I bet the bitches love you in bed. I bet you're a real stud in the sack," he told the aroused boy in a false fatherly tone, while he held to the thick piece of meat and manipulated the cock with the slightest touch.
The words he used were carefully considered and added to the sexual arousal of his naive new client.
"Well," Callum slowly managed to answer, "I haven't had any complaints in that department, that's for sure."
He was so relieved about the way Mr. Meyers was handling the situation. The man was such a professional. Callum knew that he made a real smart decision in signing him on as his agent and personal manager.
Seeing that Callum was calming down, Mr. Meyers removed his hand from the boy's leg and suggested that he get up and stand in front of the desk.
"Now that we're in business together," he explained, "I want to give you some guidance on how we're going to proceed."
"Yes, sir," Callum readily agreed. He eased himself off the chair, moved it back to its place along the wall and returned to his place in front of Mr. Meyers' desk. His hard cock was still sticking straight out from his groin but at least it had stopped leaking ball-cream.
Meyers looked at Callum for a long moment and then asked him to assume various poses that emphasized different muscle groups. In truth, Callum had frequently used some of these poses before, but he'd done them in front of a mirror, in the privacy of his bedroom. It felt much
different to be striking the same poses in front of another person, particularly since he was not only naked but had a fully erect cock jutting straight into the air.
Callum couldn't push the vague feeling aside that he was displaying himself slightly obscenely.
The positions he was taking, being prompted by Mr. Meyers, seemed to emphasize not only his muscular development but also the hard cock bobbing between his legs.
He tried hard to will his dick down, thinking off the most un-sexy things he could, but it did not work. His cock stayed harder than ever and even his nuts were so swollen they almost hurt. But he was sure Mr. Meyers knew what he was doing and he simply complied with every request that the man made.
He was just glad that no pictures were being taken of him as he assumed some of the more lewd poses. Meyers knew perfectly well where the hidden cameras were, and he made the most of them, directing Callum into all kinds of poses.
After at least fifteen minutes of posing, Mr. Meyers told him he could stop. Callum was really thirsty by then and grateful that his manager was observant enough to notice and suggest to have some water. After Callum was finished, Meyers asked him to take a few steps back from the desk, spread his legs apart and raise his arms and place his hands behind his neck and lock his fingers together.
Callum did as directed and even spread his elbows apart following Mr. Meyers’ further suggestion, until they were parallel to his torso. His body was fully displayed in a vulnerable pose, but Callum did not even realize it. His body looked like it was tied against an invisible cross, a pose with a certain air of BDSM submission.
"That's a great pose for you, Callum," Mr. Meyers observed after the young muscled man had complied with his directions. "It shows your muscles off really well. I think we'll use it as a baseline to judge how your physical development is progressing. So, if you don't mind, from now on I'd like you to assume that pose whenever you're just standing in front of me."
Meyers mind wandered. He was aching to let his hands roam over Callum’s torso, tease his nipples, use tight clamps and little weights to make the model grunt and moan in sexual pleasure and exquisite pain.
He snapped back into reality as Callum immediately agreed: "Yes, Sir,"
Callum wasn't sure if this was the most comfortable position to be standing in for any length of time, but he did have to agree that it fully displayed his entire body.
"Now," Meyers continued, assuming a more serious air, "let's get down to brass tacks. You have a very nicely developed body, particularly your upper body. However, your thighs and calves are a little less well-developed so we are going to have to work on them.”
He looked at Callum as if he was appraising a piece of cattle, maybe a prize bull.
“Furthermore, your total body-fat looks to be around ten to eleven percent. This is fine for swimsuit and underwear modeling. However, the standards for physique models are somewhat lower, around seven or eight percent.”
He spoke in short sentences, as if he wanted Callum to take notes.
“I'd think it'd be best to aim for that level of body-fat to give you the greatest range of options for future work.”
He carefully felt up the models skin-tone, while he carefully considered:
“Yes. Seven percent. We go for seven percent!”
He looked at Callum, and the model quickly nodded affirmatively.
Meyers smiled like a coach: “We need to show those veins in your arms, and your abs should show even deeper cleaves. We don't want you to need any make up to emphasize your muscles, you don’t want to look flabby when a camera catches you while you relax."
"Yes, sir," Callum readily concurred. He really liked the idea of becoming a physique model – it seemed so masculine and manly. The mere thought made his dick grow again.
"It's obvious from looking at your body, Callum, that you work out. Just how often do you do it?"
"For about an hour and a half every day, Mr. Meyers. I try to work it in around my class schedule."
Callum saw Mr. Meyers frown. "Is there a problem, Sir?" he asked.
"Well”, the man answered slowly, as if he was carefully selecting his words:
"I certainly agree that education is important – very important. But it seems to me that in order to achieve your full potential you'd have to be working out about at least four hours every day – split into morning and afternoon sessions, of course. That would probably be hard to do if you're carrying a full schedule of classes. I don't know, Callum," Mr. Meyers mused, "maybe it would be wiser if we slow-tracked your modeling career for now and let you concentrate on your school-work."
Meyers set a trap just in case the new client really wanted to complete his education. He did not feel the need to mention that the drugs would slow down Callum's brain as well, and to understand his syllabus would be more difficult day by day.
"Oh, no, Sir," Callum objected.
Now that the boy had managed to sign up with an Agency, the last thing in the world was to 'slow-track' his modeling career. What he wanted to do was speed it up.
He saw Mr. Meyers smile broad and reassuringly, so he went on:
"Don't worry about my classes. If you think I should start working out four hours a day, that's what I'll do. I'll just arrange my class schedule around my work-outs. Really," he added, terrified that this was going to throw a monkey-wrench into everything, "it's not a problem, sir."
Mr. Meyers looked at Callum and then slowly smiled.
This meeting was running more smoothly than he would have imagined, the boy was hungry and compliant. He would be fun to work with, to manipulate and exploit any way Meyers wanted. His cock was again harder than steel, ready to burst out of his trousers, and his imagination ran wild again. He had to concentrate on the task at hand, while he envisioned Callum’s soft lips around his cock, the boy on his knees, looking up at him with wide eyes, waiting for orders.
"I'm glad to hear how committed you are to your new career. I just hope you're not sacrificing your education at the same time. But you seem like a very intelligent young man and I'm sure you'll be able to juggle the demands of both school and modeling appropriately."
Callum stood in front of the man, virtually beaming with pleasure as he absorbed the compliment.
He couldn't remember anyone ever calling him 'very intelligent' and he was so grateful that Mr. Meyers had done that. He was going to do everything he could to make sure that he made this man proud of him.
"Okay, then, Callum," Mr. Meyers continued. "Here's what I want you to do."
And then Meyers laid out the vigorous training schedule he wanted Callum to follow. Generally, it called for less weight and more repetitions for the upper body, and slowly increasing weights for his thighs and calves, which Mr. Meyers wanted to build up. It also involved a rigorous running regimen to help to lower Callum's body-fat percentages, together with a tightly controlled diet. In addition the boy should swim at least 45 minutes a day. Meyers wanted him ripped, and he wanted him to be to busy to think, at least for now.
"The one thing I want to emphasize, Callum," Mr. Meyers concluded, "is the importance of maintaining hydration and body energy levels. As far as hydration is concerned, obviously that means you must maintain a high-level of water intake. And, with respect to the maintenance of energy levels, over the years we've developed a formula that seems to work exceptionally well. We've contracted with a local bottled water company and they provide us with bottles of water with the appropriate doses of energy supplement already mixed in."
"I'll be happy to use the supplement, sir," Callum dutifully replied. But then, his awkwardness obvious, he asked, "How much does it cost?"
Meyers smiled indulgently at him. "Actually, it is somewhat expensive to formulate but you don't have to worry about that. You're our client, Callum. We'll provide you with the supplement for free. Troy will give you a couple dozen bottles before you leave. You should drink two or three bottles every day."
"Oh, thank you, Sir," Callum responded, his relief palpable. He had scarcely twenty dollars to his name right then and he knew his tight-wad of a Father sure as hell wouldn't give him any more just to buy an energy supplement.
Meyers nodded his head and then stood up. "Well," he said, obviously bringing the meeting to a close, "I think we're done here. You can get dressed Callum. On your way out, have Troy schedule you for a three-hour photo session next Tuesday and a standard two hour session on Friday. And also tell him that I want him to give you some of our energy supplement – enough to last you until Tuesday."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," Callum replied, lowering his arms and turning to put on his clothes. He was just about to pull up his boxers, when Mr. Meyers spoke up again.
"One last suggestion, Callum."
"Yes, Sir?" Callum replied, turning back to face the man.
"It would be better if you stopped wearing underwear from now on."
Seeing the surprised look in Callum's eyes, Mr. Meyers explained:
"A model will occasionally have to attend a casting call on very short notice. I've found that it can be very off-putting to the hiring agent if the model shows up wearing Calvin Klein briefs to a Hugo Boss shoot. We might call you on your mobile phone and give you an address to go to on a moments notice. If you're not wearing any underwear, there's nothing for a hiring agent to take exception to."
He gave the model a long look while Callum took his boxers off and stood naked again.
Meyers did not point out that a model might get called to a shoot for a jeans company, and if he showed up wearing the wrong brand it would be the same as if he showed up in the wrong underwear, but he was interested in Callum's reaction.
"That makes a lot of sense, Sir," Callum replied. "Thank you for mentioning it. It's not something I would have thought of on my own." The naive boy had not seen the manipulation.
"That's one of the advantages of having an Agent, Callum," Meyers explained. "To help you avoid pitfalls that you might not be aware of."
"Yes, Sir," Callum agreed. And then added, "I'm glad you're my Agent, Mr. Meyers."
"Why thank you, Callum," Mr. Meyers replied, clearly pleased by the boy's last declaration.
"I'm sure we're going to have a very fruitful partnership."
He did not allow himself a satisfied smirk before the boy had left the office and closed the door. Callum was a real godsend, an archetypal dumb jock in the body of a young Greek god.
Having decided to accept Mr. Meyers' recommendation and go commando from now on, Callum was uncertain what he should do with the boxers he'd worn to the office. Seeing his indecision, Mr. Meyers told him to just leave the boxers on the chair and he'd dispose of them for him.
Callum completed getting dressed and then turned back to face Mr. Meyers, trying to ignore the fact that his still-erect cock was tenting out the fabric of his jeans. The tube his fat cock formed was almost obscene and could not be hidden.
"Thank you so much, sir, for taking me on as a client. I won't let you down."
"I'm sure you won't, Callum," Mr. Meyers replied, still maintaining his straight face.
"I'm sure you won't."
They shook hands and Callum turned around and exited the office, a noticeable swagger in his step. As the door closed behind him, a broad smile appeared on John Meyers face.
"A fucking gold-mine," he said to the air, "a fucking gold-mine."
Meyers was leaning back in his chair, his feet on the desk, fingering Callum's freshly discarded boxers when he heard a knocking on the door. "Come on in, Troy," he shouted.
The door quickly opened and Troy strode into the room.
"Jesus H. Christ," he exclaimed. "What a fucking find!"
The change in John Meyers' secretary was startling. Gone was the swishy, mincing walk, the high voice with a hint of a lisp. In its place was a confident, masculine young stud, grinning from ear to ear, with a confident strut and a masculine, deep voice.
"I didn't overdo it with the nelly queen shit, did I?" he asked John.
"No, Troy," the man assured him. "You were perfect. That dumb fuck just ate it up. Keep it up for the next couple weeks and then you can slowly ease out of it."
Troy pulled up a chair and sat down. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
"Mind if I smoke," he asked, almost perfunctorily.
"No. Go ahead, Troy. But you know that it's just going to kill you eventually."
"Yeah," Troy agreed, as he lit one, "if the sex doesn't kill me first." He looked up and saw what his Boss was holding in his hand.
"Are those his boxers," he asked. When Meyers replied "Yes," Troy asked if he could see them. John tossed them across the desk. Troy crumbled them in a fist and then held them up to his nose. "God, they even smell sexy."
"Oh yes, he's perfect, Troy. Nice sexy face, absolutely beautiful body, an incredible ass. Fuck, he's even got some major meat between his legs -not that that's going to see a lot of action in the future."
"Yeah," Troy readily agreed, "but still it's nice to have on the package. Lots of guys like fucking a pretty straight boy who's well-hung. It kind of adds to the thrill. And they're going to be lined up to fuck Callum's ass. I don't think his cock will go down soon” Troy smirked, “I might have accidentally overdosed the Viagra”
“Well that line's going to form behind me," Meyers responded with conviction.
"That's one cherry I'm planning on popping myself. One way or the other," he added with a chuckle.
Troy, who obviously knew what John meant, laughed out loud.
"That would be fun. Maybe we could do him together. We haven't broken in a new boy's fresh meat like that in a long time."
John was sitting there, just looking into space, musing on the vicissitudes of chance.
"A fucking walk-in," he said aloud. "We bust our asses combing the bars and clubs looking for likely targets and then the hottest prospect we've had in at least a year just walks into our office off the street. No finagling, no hard sell. He fucking wants to work for us. I mean, he really wants to work for us."
Troy looked up with a grin. "Well, he's going get his wish. We're going to put his ass to work for us all over the goddamn city."
John looked at his some-time secretary, full-time partner in the JM Modeling Agency. They'd been working together for seven years, since Troy turned eighteen. He'd been worried at first about taking on a partner, particularly Troy, but he had to admit it had been one of the smartest moves he'd ever made.
Troy was a phenomenal recruiter, he had a real instinct for ferreting out just the type of straight guy who would be susceptible to their pitch. He'd even recommended Callum just on the basis of his original phone call. He'd told John that there was just something about the guy's manner on the phone, a self-assured arrogance, that made Troy feel Callum was both hot and ripe for the picking.
John could see that Callum was smoking hot as he walked through the door. It didn't take him much longer to realize that Callum possessed just the right combination of traits to make him the perfect patsy for their scheme – a huge ego, an abiding desire to make it big, and an all-enveloping ignorance of what modeling was really all about. Pretty and dumb, you just couldn't ask for a better combination.
To top it all off, like icing on a cake, Callum was a raging homophobic, something else that Troy had picked up during that first phone call. That was always the most fun – turning a random straight homophobic hunk into a willing fuck-boy for gay men. Well, maybe not that willing, but that merely added to the pleasure he'd feel when he watched Callum spread those gorgeous buns and take a big hard cock up an already well-used and leaking boy pussy.
Every time Callum took a load, every time some total stranger bent him over and fucked him like a sleazy whore, John Meyers would be making money. After all, Callum had just agreed to pay JM Modeling Agency half of all the money he made in the entertainment business over the next two years.
If things worked out as they should, Callum was going to be doing a lot of 'entertaining' during the next two years and John and JM Modeling Agency figured to make a lot of money off his efforts. And they did not plan to let him go even after those two years, if he still was popular.
Right now, though, he and Troy faced the delicate task of turning Callum out, a step-by- step process that was going to take an incipient gay-basher and turn him into a placid receptacle for load after load of hot steamy man-cum.
John didn't want to hurry things.
He wanted to take it slow, savoring every step of Callum's metamorphosis from a straight stud to any rich gay man's boy-bitch. And he didn't want to fuck things up, either. They were going to be careful with Callum – he was just too valuable to risk scaring off by moving too quickly.
Meyers brought his attention back to the present and saw that Troy was still sniffing Callum's boxers. He had to smile. Troy had a thing for smelling underwear. He always had. Well, Troy could keep Callum's boxers – he'd earned at least that for his performance today. John was sure he'd shoot a load into them later that night but right now he wanted to focus on the matter at hand - how to proceed with Callum.
"Troy," he said, trying to jar the boy out of his sexual revelry.
"Yeah, Dad," his Son responded, not removing the musky boxers from his nose. Not many knew the secretary was in fact the agents own son. And Meyers did not plan to reveal the little secret.
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