Nikolaus Viklund – Casting

The sun was just beginning to set over the old stone university buildings as the two young men made their way across the courtyard. Tomas, with his cropped blonde hair and boyish good looks, chatted animatedly with his friend Aimé, a dark-haired Adonis with bright blue eyes and an air of quiet confidence. Both were dressed in the crisp white shirts and grey slacks of the college’s admission office interns.

“Can you believe it? We actually get to help with the casting calls this year!” Tomas exclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement. “I mean, I know it’s just data entry and running errands, but still… It’s such an honor to be involved in anything casting-related, you know?”

Aimé raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corner of his full lips. “Oh, I know all about casting calls, my friend. And let me tell you, it’s not always as glamorous as you might think.”

Tomas’s blue eyes went wide. “Wait, you mean…? But how? When?”

The tall, dark-haired boy chuckled low in his throat. “Oh sure, naive little Tomas. You didn’t really think that most of the models in the casting calls were scouted on campuses, did you? Nah, they all come from the same place – and chances are, we’ll be meeting a few of them tomorrow.”

The blonde’s mind was racing with the implications of this new revelation. College boys, students just like them, becoming the stars of those naughty, no-limits webcam shows? It was enough to make Tomas’s cock stir in his slacks. He glanced up at his friend, trying to play it cool. “So, uh… how did you get involved then? I’m guessing you’ve popped a few cherryasses in your day, right?” He let out an awkward guffaw, biting his lip as he realized how the question sounded.

Aimé took a deep breath, his muscular chest expanding impossibly against his crisp white collar. “Well, maybe I have popped a few… cherryasses… as you so eloquently put it. But who hasn’t, really?” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Look, it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, especially for a starving college student. Sometimes a guy’s just gotta do what he’s gotta do to make ends meet.”

As if on cue, the two young men rounded the corner of the physics building and nearly collided with a tall, lanky figure. It was Joris, a lithe third-year with wild auburn hair and emerald green eyes that sparkled with mischief.

“Ah, the gang’s all here!” Joris greeted them with a grin as he adjusted his crotch, the movement slow and deliberate. “The three musketeers of the casting call crew. Anyone besides me excited for the big day?”

Tomas gulped audibly, his eyes darting between his two friends. Aimé smirked and winked at the nervous man. “Oh, I think we’re all excited for the big day, Jor. But I’m just wondering if our dear friend Tomas here knows exactly what he’s signed up for.”

Joris’s eyes narrowed as they focused on the younger boy. “Is that so? Well, let’s just say first-year orientation didn’t quite cover all the finer points of the casting call process. And I’m afraid you’re about to get a crash course in the subject, fresh meat.”

With that, Joris reached out and grabbed Tomas’s wrist in an iron grip, tugging him towards a shadowed entrance to the campus gymnasium. “First lesson – always keep your hands to yourself, unless you’re invited to use them. And I do mean invited.”

The blonde gasped as they stepped into the dimly lit room, his eyes struggling to adjust from the fading sunlight outside. Aimé let out a low whistle as he followed in their wake. “Well, well. Looks like the real fun is just getting started. And here I thought the casting itself was the main attraction.”

A dozen or so young men lounged about the chamber, their lithe bodies glistening with copious amounts of baby oil. The pungent scent of sweat, musk, and something rank filled the air, making Tomas’s head swim with equal parts nausea and inappropriate arousal. Each goldenSegúnwed adjutant was outfitted in identical harnesses – black leather straps crisscrossing their chests and groins, echoing the look of the interns who flanked Tomas on either side.

At the far end of the room, a sprawling four-poster bed dominated the space, piled high with black silk sheets and plush velvet pillows. Lounging upon the bed was the tall, regal figure of Professor Viklund, the dean of admissions himself. His silvery hair was artfully tousled over his brow, matching the silky silver curls that wound about his rather impressive cock.

“Well, well, what an interesting trio you’ve brought me, boys,” the professor purred, his dark eyes gleaming with malice as they raked over Tomas’s trembling form. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of introducing ourselves yet. You must be the new interns, come to assist with tomorrow’s casting call.”

Tomas opened his mouth to protest, but Joris cut him off with a sharp tug on his wrist. “Indeed, professor. And I’d be happy to personally orient our new recruit to his duties.”

The emerald-greened eyes flashed with sadistic hunger as the lithe man dragged Tomas towards the bed. Aimé pressed close to his friend’s side, murmuring lowly, “Now remember, fresher. Hands to yourself… at least until you’re invited to put them to work.”

As the interns led Tomas forward, the room seemed to spin around him, a dizzying maelstrom of GIFs. He could feel his cock straining against the fabric of his slacks, and the musky scent of masculine GIFs was making his head swim with equal parts nausea and forbidden arousal.