It had been three weeks since his new mates had moved in, and Brandon was cleaning his room reflecting on how strangely his life had changed. He emptied his bin of accumulated cum tissues, he never normally masturbated this much. If he had been horny, he would have just picked a bird at a club, but there wasn’t room for that anymore and his home had become a maze of random erotic encounters. Several times he had walked in on Chloe stripping for Neil who was so into it he didn’t notice he was there. He didn’t really see the appeal of Chloe himself, tits that big usually did nothing for him but for a moment they were so fucking hot he had to tug one out right there. Must have been the lighting or summat.

His phone buzzed on the dresser, cutting through his reverie. He snatched it up, squinting at the screen. Another text from his agent: *“Best be bulking up mate, not sure they want you for the next series otherwise.”* The words sank into his gut like lead. He glanced at the weights stacked in the corner—dumbbells, a barbell, a bench—all gathering a thin film of dust. *Steroids fucked me last time,* he thought, flexing his arm absently. Landed him in hospital, puking his guts out, and now it was back to the grind—lift or lose. If he didn’t snag that contract, the mortgage on this place would bury him. *What’d Neil and the girls think if I tanked? Some mate I’d be, losing the roof over us all.*

He went to the kitchen to make himself a brew. Chloe and Neil were having a conversation by the fridge.

Brandon leaned against the kitchen counter, the cold marble biting into his palms as he stared at the kettle’s slow boil. The steam curled upward, blurring his reflection in the stainless steel—a face that had once landed him magazine covers, now creased with worry. *Three weeks with this lot, and I’m already losing my edge*. Neil and his girls had turned his mansion into some kind of fever dream, all sex and secrets, and he was just… what? The landlord? The sidekick? He didn’t even know anymore.

His fingers twitched toward his phone, itching to scroll through Instagram, to check the likes on his last gym selfie. Fifty thousand, last he looked—not bad, but not enough to keep the sponsors happy. *Lift or lose*, his agent’s voice echoed. He could almost feel the needle’s sting from the steroids that nearly killed him last year, the hospital’s sterile reek still sharp in his memory. No way he was going back to that. But the weights in his room weren’t enough either, not with the clock ticking on his contract.

“And you’re sure you won’t actually be doing it?” Neil was asking.

“No, it will be really on you I swear” Chloe replied

“hmmm, ok” ended Neil.

Neil came up to Brandon. “Look, err mate, we’ve been feeling guilty about how we’ve not really done anything together since we moved in so Chloe wants to give us a little show.”

“That’s not really needed, I’ve got to get to…”

“Nonsense, come on, I promise you’ll enjoy this”

So Brandon found himself perched on the sofa, the plush leather cool against his thighs, Neil plopped beside him radiating a jittery excitement. Chloe stood in front of them, her movements slow and deliberate, launching into what felt like a half-arsed striptease. She swayed her hips, the tight fabric of her top stretching over her curves, teasing the hem upward inch by inch. Neil leaned forward, practically vibrating, his eyes locked on her like she was the second coming. Every time she tugged at her bra strap, hinting at letting it drop, he edged closer to the cushion’s brink. Brandon swore he heard him mutter, “Fuck yeah, here it comes,” under his breath, voice thick with anticipation.

Then the bra fell, a soft thud on the hardwood floor, and Brandon flicked his gaze to Neil’s face. The bloke looked like he’d forgotten the world existed—eyes wide, jaw slack, nothing but Chloe’s tits in his universe. *They’re alright, I guess,* Brandon thought, shrugging inwardly. Big, sure, but not his thing—until he turned to look himself. *Fuck.* His cock twitched, hardening fast, and his mind fogged over like someone had flipped a switch. Suddenly, those tits were everything—round, heavy, perfect. His breath hitched, palms sweating against his knees.

Chloe’s voice cut through the haze, smooth and commanding as she clocked their tranced states. “Now boys, for the next hour, *I* am your bimbo goddess. You’re my worshippers. You know I can choose to suck the cock of a worshipper, and you desperately want that—more than anything. My body’s your temple, my tits your altar, my lips your goal, and my words your reality.”

She willed the hypnotic pull to fade, and Brandon’s head cleared, but the awe didn’t. He stared up at her, a goddess in flesh— hair cascading like a halo, curves exaggerated to divine proportions. “Oh, what’s this?” she purred, her tone dripping with mock surprise. “Two worshippers come to make sacrifices to their goddess. Too bad I only have time for one. Guess I’ll suck off whoever impresses me more.” She smirked, sarcasm lacing the last bit, clearly relishing the game. If Brandon weren’t so fixated, he might’ve caught the glint of glee in her eyes.

“Oh no,” she gasped, theatrically, “have you forgotten the first rule? Worshippers shouldn’t be clothed in the presence of their goddess.” The words barely hit the air before Neil was tearing at his shirt, buttons popping, pants yanked down like his life depended on it. *Fucking hell,* Brandon cursed himself, scrambling to catch up. He ripped off his tee, kicked off his shorts, leaving him bare and hard on the sofa. Neil beat him by a heartbeat, standing rigid, chest heaving.

“Looks like Neil, I mean, worshipper two won that,” Chloe said, her voice teasing. “I do like enthusiasm.” She stepped closer, her presence towering. “Rule two: worshippers should always have hard cocks in my presence, but with enough control not to blow it.”

She reached out, her hand cool and firm, brushing Brandon’s cock first. He bit back a groan, his erection straining, harder than he’d ever felt—like it could punch through steel. *Gotta win this,* he thought, jaw clenched. She moved to Neil, stroking him slow, and Brandon caught him biting his lip, eyes screwed shut, fighting the edge. Her touch lingered, then stopped, leaving them both twitching.

“That’s a draw,” she declared, stepping back with a grin. “You’re both honoring my beauty perfectly. Rule three: worshippers should be fine specimens. Let’s see you.”

The goddess stepped back and drank in their appearance. Brandon tried tensing his muscles in the way he had been trained to at the gym. She took her time, circling, her fingers occasionally grazing their skin—his abs, Neil’s chest—like they were slabs of meat on display.

“Both in fine shape—toned, cut,” she mused, then gestured at Brandon. “But this one’s a few inches taller. The goddess frowns upon manlets.” Neil’s face twisted, a flash of rage buried under his trance, but he stayed standing at attention.

“Well, we have a problem, it’s a draw. Hmm, what to do?” the goddess mused. “Why don’t you just worship at a tit each and I’ll pick whoever does a better job. But no touching yourself and no pushing the other guy away.”

So they moved to the object of their worship, like children being allowed to play with a special toy Brandon took the left tit and Neil the right. He kneaded it, he sucked and pinched the nipple, he did whatever he could remember the women in his life liking. Her hand slipped down to her crotch, a soft moan escaping her lips—someone was doing it right. Brandon doubled down, tongue swirling, feeling the bud harden against his mouth.

After one long groan she said “stop, sit down, show you cocks are still respectfully erect.”

They sank back, legs spread, both still painfully hard. Brandon’s throbbed, precum beading at the tip. Her gaze flicked to them, and for a split second, his mind tugged toward her tits again. “Remember,” she said, “*my* words are *your* reality.”

“*You* win, you are my best worshipper, you’ve been so patient, now receive your reward. I kneel between your legs, hold your cock, take it deep in my mouth. I engulf it, the world fades, and you feel ecstasy—you’ve reached your goal.”

It was all true, there she was between his legs, his cock deep in her mouth. He didn’t stop to think it was strange he could hear her voice in his head, all that mattered was the pleasure and the voice.

“Through my power your rival will believe he is receiving the same gift, but the reality is he is wanking his cock. Only you and I will know the truth.”

Brandon glanced at Neil—sure enough, he was pumping away, eyes locked on the imagined blowjob, oblivious. *Poor bastard,* Brandon thought, a flicker of pity drowned by the goddess’s mouth.

After what felt like unknowable time in bliss, he thought he heard “shit, time’s nearly up” but then the voice returned “you approach climax and sacrifice your sexual load into your goddess, your release, a gift from your goddess for good service. While your rival pathetically spills his seed on the ground in failure.”

He tensed, pleasure peaking, and erupted—thick, endless ropes flooding her throat. She gulped it down, hungrily, while Neil’s cum splattered the floor in a chaotic mess. Brandon’s head swam, stars bursting behind his eyes.

“Now gaze at your goddess one more time as the true reality sets in” Brandon’s thoughts briefly fogged and then there stood Chloe again.

“Sorry, I think we got a bit carried away with the role play there.” Neil said getting to his feet somewhat embarrassed but with a beaming smile. “Chloe can write great scenarios, can't she!” He kissed her on the forehead and said to Brandon “Do you want to go upstairs Bran? we’ll clean up here.”

As Brandon went upstairs, he overheard Chloe say “Yes, this is all his……. Of course it was you honey…. No, I don’t think you’re a manlet.”