Bootlicker

I typically shy away from celebrities, but an exception had to be made

“What, did you really think that I was going to say yes to that?”

When Benedict had been invited over to speak to discuss some plot details, he didn’t expect to have been so blind-sided by the actor’s requests. At first it had been minor issues, but then the actor went into wanting to reformat the entire cast, bringing his own part from a supporting role to a lead. Benedict had been in the game for almost 30 years, becoming a well-known and well-respected producer. That often meant people followed his lead and bent to his will–not the other way around.

To be fair though, the conversation had started off a little rocky. 

“Hey, can we make this meeting quick?” Benedict had started, closing the door. “I got dinner with the wife and kids in an hour and a half. And if I’m late for something not work-related again, I might be the one served on the platter.”

Benedict wasn’t exactly friends with the actor. On set, the actor was rude, cocky, and had a noticeable temper if things weren’t delivered on time. But that was typical of most actors, thinking they were big hotshots because they had fans that would go to any length for them. But Benedict sensed there was something different about this particular one. Although he was about 15 years younger than the producer, the actor always wanted to prove he was in charge like some alpha male. 

“Fine,” the actor replied. “I’ll start with the small things and work our way up.”

And they did, little details that Benedict either shot down or explained how and why they would never work. Actors rarely get to work freely with the script: that’s what the writers were for. And in terms of the other points made, those were responsibilities of the director.

“Producers provide money, Penn,” Benjamin sighed. He lounged back into the seat he’d been reclining in, his larger frame filling out the entire cushion. “Shouldn’t you know this by now?”

“Yes,” Penn replied. “Don’t you get what I’m trying to say?”

Benedict ran a hand through his thinning scalp. He was beginning to think he was losing more hair from this particular actor than his own kids. “So you want me to blackmail? Hold off funding so you can move up to a higher billing?”

“I deserve it,” Penn affirmed, leaning in. Benedict felt his own anger bubbling within. This prick thought he could get away with anything because he was handsome. He didn’t even try to make an argument for committing such a moral crime, a LITERAL crime. No, it was because he “deserved it”.

Benedict shot back, but it only brought a coy smile to the actor’s face.

“No, I didn’t expect you to say yes right away.”

Benedict watched as Penn rearranged himself, bringing a leg up from his manspreading position to rest a foot on his knee. The actor seemed confident, too confident.

“Do you understand who you’re messing with?” Benedict snarled. He wasn’t about to become ensnared by some B-Lister. “There’s a reason I’m on top, boy. I’m not some bootlicker who will follow your every command.”

Penn’s eyes took a sudden dark sheen. Benedict suddenly felt weightless as he became captured by the actor’s glare.

“Not yet.”

Everything stopped. Time ceased to exist. It was almost like all the life had been taken out of the room the two men were sitting in. Benedict couldn’t move. He couldn’t drum his fingers hastily across his thigh, he couldn’t itch the part of his back that his thicker arm could never reach anyway. He couldn’t even think about moving. But it appeared that although everything else was still, the actor wasn’t.

“I don’t like your attitude, Benedict,” Penn spat. “And frankly, I don’t like you.”

Benedict wanted to curse him, respond with a threat nastier than one he’d ever given. But whatever held him in place kept him there. 

“Producers are supposed to want money, success, all of the cinematic financial glory.” The actor then slowly arose from his seat. “They rely on actors like me to bring that all in. Guarantee it even.”

He made his way around the coffee table, placing himself right in front of the older man. Benedict could have kicked the smug actor without even having to sit upright. He could’ve punched the man’s undersized package–or at least he would’ve made it that way. But no, he was still frozen.

“But see, I can’t help you if you don’t help me. So let’s change that.”

Benedict screamed inside his head, doing his best to fight against whatever was holding him back but to no avail. 

Penn licked his lips cockily before continuing, “What did you say earlier? You weren’t some ‘bootlicker who’d follow my every command’?” The actor shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe that’s what you should be then,” he finished with an innocent smile.

Instantly, the light sensation that had enveloped Benedict’s body sparked, causing a wave of energy to disperse across his body. It felt like someone had shocked him on every single available inch of skin. His exterior tingled with electricity, and his insides had their own little ecstatic party as well. Yet although every part of Benedict’s being felt like it was moving, he still had yet to do so.

The older male was helpless as the actor’s entrancement went underway. Being able to stand at an impressive 6’3, the helpless producer was brought down a few notches to a more suitable 5’10. The fat was drained away at once, revealing muscles that had not seen daylight in many years. Benedict’s frame lost its heftier nature to be replaced by a more standard athletic build. Firm pecs, a decent set of abs, sturdy legs to support a less-structured base. Benedict was going under a twunkification. And honestly, he couldn’t complain.

He couldn’t display it, but Benedict was surprised at how much he was tolerating the transformations. Dare he say appreciating them. Penn was giving him a healthier, more muscular body. He had biceps that were visible underneath his suit jacket, and a jaw (rather than two or three). His wife was surely going to enjoy his new look. But Benedict didn’t understand, why was the actor improving his body?

Suddenly, Benedict felt another flash of buoyancy embrace his system. Then another, then another. It was like how lights moved across a car while driving through a tunnel. But what he didn’t realize was each wave was erasing a year of his life. 51, 50, 49. Wrinkle after wrinkle was washed away. 42, 41, 40. Gray hairs recolored themselves as more grew in. 33, 32, 31. A decent amount of muscular tissue grew back onto his softened bones. And when it was finished, Benedict somehow knew he had turned 28 just a few months back. But he didn’t understand how; he had two kids that were in their twenties.

But that didn’t make sense? He’d been seeing a woman now for a while and he was thinking about getting married. But kids? Yeah, no. That would have to wait a couple of more years. Sure, he was getting a little older than the traditional childbearing age, but he’d been going steady with this girl and wasn’t quite ready to be… fully committed. Plus, the wedding process and the pregnancy would at least put the possibility of babies for another two years or so.

Yet Benedict still felt like that was actually much farther out. He had to be rational: this was the first time he’d been seeing a girl steady for over four months. The bachelor had spent his 20s as such–a bachelor. Benedict had flings every now and then as most up-and-coming producers do. With actresses, assistants, and once even a director. But all the women knew he wasn’t ready to set anything in stone. And even now, did he really want to create a solid long-term relationship with this chick?

If he was able to, Benedict would have shaken his head out of disgust. Long-term relationship? He would never do that. Benedict was all in it for the pussy and the boobs. Ok, and the occasional dick. He liked having sex whenever he could with whomever he could. If people wanted to please him, then by golly why should he be stopping them? Benedict was at that perfect age between being too young and naïve and being too old to attract all ages. Benedict was experienced and knew how to get what he wanted. He was in charge.

Well, in the studio that was. Sure, he was an otter, but he was typically the bottom for his male relationships. He’d always had a thing for men older than him, more adept than him. He liked the way they treated him, both as a producer and as a one-night stand. Or two-night stand. Or multiple-night stand. It just felt so good to Benedict knowing he was pleasing them with his producer’s notes and blowjobs. It was comforting being a big guy in the studio but being able to lie back and let someone else take charge in the bedroom.

Or anywhere really. Benedict was extremely submissive, especially to older men. No matter how many years separated them, any age gap proved for the other to have more knowledge, experience, and superiority. And Benedict was happy to oblige to any of their requests if it meant a chance of pleasuring them. A few extra lines for a chance of getting a kiss? Sure thing! Removing another actor so they could get more screen time and in return he’d get a load out of their girthy cock? By all means! Promoting the actor from a supporting role to a main billing for a chance of having the actor call Benedict over to his personal residence to worship his feet for an hour? Of course!

Knowing the producer was near, the actor leaned forward and grabbed the other man’s hard-rock dick. He was glad he’d shrunk it down from its previous size, helping further establish the producer’s new place on the ladder.

“So what do you say, Benny?” Penn sneered. “Do you want to obey my every word?”

Benedict couldn’t speak, but in his mind he screamed a triumphant “YES.”

“Are you begging to be my loyal servant?”

“YES.”

Penn chuckled, fondling the pouch. “Will you serve me like the king I am?”

“Yes, Mr. Badgely!” the producer exclaimed aloud as a rush of ecstasy flew across his body. Except this time, it all centered down into one spot, causing him to cum right into his running shorts. The actor rubbed the access across the producer’s blue tank

“So eager, are we?” the actor grinned. “A boy like you can never hold his load when he’s excited.”

“You’re right, Mr. Badgely,” Bennet blushed, running a hand through his thick, shorter trim.

Mr. Badgely stood and returned to his former seat. “Let’s get to what I promised if you got me that mainbilling, bootlicker.”

Bennet arose immediately, the twunk rushing over to his spot on the ground. The producer always obliged to all of Mr. Badgely’s needs, but when he’d asked Bennet for a larger role with the promise of being able to worship his godly feet, he immediately got to work. It had been difficult, but the sight of those godly soles descending upon his face made everything worth it.