Brandon sprawled in his recliner, the mansion’s air conditioning humming as he thumbed through his phone. A text from his agent flashed up: “Congrats, mate! Lust Island Series 4 is yours—contract’s in the post. They’re buzzing for the new you” A grin split his face, fierce and smug. Fucking nailed it. The house was secure, his spot on Lust Island locked, and he felt like a bloody legend.

Downstairs, Neil’s low chuckle mixed with Denise’s softer laugh. Once Brandon’s sponsors had started rolling in and Neil had proven he could stop thinking with his penis long enough to do something productive Denise started to cut Neil some slack. She hadn’t warmed much to Brandon himself, she still treated him more like a necessary guest in *her* house– but Neil was a different story. He’d been treating him with much more respect, he clearly couldn’t remember making a prat of himself with the circlet, kneeling, begging, far as he was concerned he had a cracking good time.

Chloe strutted past, iced tea in her grip, that tank top plastered to her mad tits. Brandon’s eyes latched on, a jolt kicking him low. He never used to give a toss—too big, too plastic. Now? Every glance had his dick twitching. All those trances she’d pulled must’ve done a number on him,  thing is, it had all felt brilliant, and fuck if he didn’t love those nonsensically huge tits now. With all this success buzzing through him, he was wound tight—yeah, a quick one would definitely take the edge off.

Chloe leaned against the doorway, iced tea dangling from her fingers, that tank top clinging to her mad tits like it was painted on. She caught Brandon’s stare, her smirk curling into something wicked and deliberate. “Oi, Bran, Series 4’s yours, yeah?” she purred, stepping closer, her voice dropping low and sultry. “Reckon you’ve earned a proper treat for that. Let’s celebrate, just you and me.” She arched her back, tugging the tank top down slowly, letting those wild tits spill out, round and heavy, catching the light just right. Brandon’s breath hitched, his cock already stirring—he knew what was coming.

His eyes locked on them, and Chloe willed the trance to kick in, and fuck, it hit like a sledgehammer. His mind fogged, the room shrinking to just her—those tits filling his vision, pulling him under. “Look at you, Bran,” she cooed, sliding a hand into his shorts, fingers wrapping around his shaft, already rock-hard from the sight alone. “Nailed series 4, got the fans hyped.” She started stroking, slow and firm, her grip perfect, sending shivers ripping up his spine. “Keeping this place ours. You’re the fucking man, and these—” she jiggled her tits with her free hand, “—are all yours for it.”

Brandon groaned, head tipping back, lost in the haze of her voice and the rhythm of her hand. The pleasure was unreal—sharp, electric. Those trances had fucked with his head, sure, but Christ, he loved it—loved her tits, loved how she could melt him like this. “Shit, Chloe,” he rasped, hips bucking into her fist as she sped up, praising him still. “Biggest win yet, Bran—the fame’s yours. I’m proud as fuck.” Her strokes tightened, pushing him over the edge, and he erupted—hot, messy, a roar tearing out as the high crashed through him. He slumped back, panting—fuck she still looked ridiculously fake, but she was good.

His phone buzzed again. Phil: “My house later? Gotta talk about something.” Brandon’s jaw tightened. Phil was his friend down the street and was a keyed-in sort of guy. “There in 15 min,” he texted, hauling himself up and tugging on a hoodie. “Gotta step out,” he told Chloe. “Catch you later.”

“Tell the street hi from me,” she teased, sipping her drink. He smirked and headed out, gravel crunching under his boots as he made for Phil’s place.

Phil’s house was much like the others on the street, but while most of the men who lived here were wealthy influencers or celebrities, Phil himself looked far more average. He was a TV producer, kept his ear out for the latest trends and tried to keep on everyone’s good side. He was on the porch, cracking a beer, his plain frame slouched in a cheap chair. “Mate,” he said, tossing Brandon a can, a shy edge in his voice. “You’re a bloody tank now. Must be signing you up for series 4, yeah?”

“Just got word,” Brandon said, popping the tab and taking a swig. The cold bite steadied him. “What’s the talk?”

Phil leaned in, eyes flicking nervously. “Lads are yapping, Bran—your setup’s got ‘em going. Single bloke shacked up with a guy and two birds? They’re calling it odd. And Chloe—” His voice softened, a crush slipping through. “They’re tearing into her. ‘Slutty slag,’ ‘tits out too much,’ that sort. Some reckon she’s shagging you and Neil, with Denise just watching, while others are whispering she’s a smokescreen—covering for you and Neil being, y’know, *cosy* behind the scenes. It’s pure tabloid catnip, mate.

Brandon’s grip creased the can, a sharp snap cutting through. “That’s bollocks. They’re just my mates and it’s a huge house,” he paused thinking about his reputation “What am I going to do?”

Phil started “Word is the press are going to do some expose on you, Lust Island star with some bisexual harem—sounds mad, right? Chloe’s… fuck, she’s unreal. Can’t fault ‘em for looking.” He coughed, awkward.

“Fuck’s sake,” Brandon muttered, draining the beer. His chest tightened—not at the sleaze, but the optics. Series 4 was his lifeline, and *Lust Island* loved a bad boy, not a laughingstock. If the lads turned on him, if this hit the papers…  “They’re talking shit. Neil’s just a mate, Chloe’s just Chloe. What do I do?”

Phil shrugged, lingering on thoughts of Chloe . “Dunno, mate. Keep it low? Move ‘em out? Gossip dies if you starve it. Wouldn’t mind her sticking around, though—she’s… yeah.” He trailed off, flustered. “Of course, if no one talks to the press or everyone’s on your side then they wouldn’t dare print it. Course, once word of your success gets out there’ll be more reason to pull you down, you know how jealous the guys are.”

Brandon crushed the can and stormed back, mind churning. Phil had done him a solid, not sure if it was more being his mate or because he was clearly crushing on Chloe. But the lads’ respect mattered, that was his world and his meal ticket.

Brandon dropped into the armchair, the leather groaning under his weight, and fixed Neil with a stare that could’ve cracked stone. “Mate, listen up,” he said, voice low and rough, leaning forward so Neil couldn’t dodge it. “The street’s talking—say I’m some weirdo for having you lot here, and it’s not just idle shit. These lads, my peers, their respect’s everything to me. It’s not just about Series 4 or the house—it’s the looks in the gym, the ‘nice one, Bran’ from blokes who’d shank me for my spot. I’ve scrapped my way up from fuck-all, and that acceptance – that’s my lifeline. I’m not letting it go up in smoke because you can’t keep your dick in line.”

Neil shifted, the circlet glinting in his hands, but Brandon barreled on, cutting off any quip. “You’re a mate, yeah—bloody solid one, dragged me through when I was low. But this is my name, my world, and I won’t have you screwing it up. Phil says the press is sniffing, ready to paint me as some bi-harem nutcase, and if the lads turn on me I dunno what I’ll do. You wanna live here?” He gestured around. “Fine, but you don’t torch my rep in the process. I need them onside, not sniggering behind my back, and if you cross that line, friend or not, I’ll sort you myself.”

Neil’s grin faltered, eyes narrowing as he clocked the steel in Brandon’s tone. Brandon leaned back, folding his arms, chest tight with the weight of it—loyalty to Neil clashing with the raw need to hold his ground. “We kill this gossip, get ‘em all on our team,” he added, softer but firm. “But it’s gotta work for me too, mate. I’m not here to be your fallout guy.” The room hung heavy, the circlet between them like a loaded gun, waiting for Neil’s next move.

Neil’s eyes lit up, he leaned in closer, twirling the circlet like he was eager to wear it. “Think about it, mate,” he said, voice smooth and eager. “Chloe’s got her tits—blokes can’t look away, right? She’ll have the lads in the palm of her hand, tranced out, singing our praises. No more whispers, no more side-eyes—just pure, solid respect. And me? I’ll work the women—charm ‘em, bed ‘em, lock ‘em down so they’re loyal and too smitten to gossip to the press. Trust me, you won’t regret it.”

Brandon stifled a grin, keeping his expression steady. Trust, huh? But then it clicked, sharp and clear. Once that circlet’s on Neil’s head, he’s mine. Submissive as a pup, agreeing to whatever I say. Neil’s begging me, trusting me to follow his plan, and when he’s under, I can tweak the plan—hell, tweak him—if I wanted. I mean, he wants to sleep with every woman himself while I twiddle my thumbs? He expects me to just go along with that?  
“Alright, mate,” Brandon said, voice steady, leaning back like he was mulling it over when he’d already decided. “We’ll do it your way. It worked a treat last time, didn’t it?” He almost let his smirk break free.

In one swift move, he slid the circlet onto Neil’s head. For a heartbeat, Neil’s face contorted in panic, as if all those buried memories—kneeling, begging, choking on Brandon’s cock—slammed back into him. Then he crumpled, dropping to his knees before Brandon, who loomed over him, no longer hiding the smug grin. Brandon mulled it over—Neil’s plan was mad as hell, but the bloke had dragged him this far, hadn’t he? Maybe, just maybe, this crazy bastard could pull it off. “Other Neil is back, eh?” he asked, voice dripping with smugness. “You reckon this plan of yours’ll fly?”

“Yes, if it pleases you master,” submissive Neil murmured looking up, his eyes drawn to Brandon’s crotch.

Brandon smirked, grabbing his bulge. “You want this, don’t you? Alright, we’ll roll with your mad scheme—few tweaks, mind. I don’t see why you should have all the fun. Let’s take it to the gym, though. Don’t fancy Denise walking in on you with my pants round my ankles, not when she’s just warming up to you again.”

They headed for the gym, Neil trailing behind like a loyal pup, eyes still glued to Brandon’s every move.