Date: Sat, 29 Nov 2014 20:48:48 +0000
From: growing_interest@lycos.com
Subject: Chase Becomes Chaste

Chase Becomes Chaste


Chapter 1 - A Good Deed Is Its Own Reward

Disclaimer: This is fantasy.

Chapter synopsis: Chase, a narcissistic cheater and sadistic rapist, has a
life-changing run-in with a man who has a penchant for mind control,
fitting punishments, and long-term chastity.



A smartly-dressed, middle-aged woman walked into my office. She seemed
familiar, although I didn't know where I recognized her from. She had an
air of Hilary Clinton about her, although this woman was certainly
prettier. Still, she had that businesslike, no-nonsense exterior about her
which called to mind the former first lady.

She introduced herself as Vivian Warren. That's when I made the connection.
She was one of "the" Warrens, a wealthy local family. The Warrens were
well-known philanthropists and Vivian Warren was known in particular for
her involvement with numerous different charities, most especially her NGO
for beaten and battered women.

Though her reputation was as a self-sacrificing saint, I'd read enough
minds to know that people were not always what they seemed. Still, it takes
a lot of effort to read the mind of a total stranger and this was not a
time when expending such effort was necessary. Instead, I stuck to my
standard script for new clients.

"My services aren't cheap," I informed her.

"Do you think I would be here if I couldn't afford them?"

She was right, of course. My business is recommended only by word of mouth
and, in general, only the wealthy few who can afford my services know about
them in the first place.

"Mrs. Warren," I began, "I am, of course, aware of your family's
wealth. But perhaps you are not aware of the range of services I
offer. Some are relatively inexpensive and you could no doubt write a
cheque for them without blinking an eye. However, there are others that
even someone with your means might hesitate to spend that much on."

This was not exactly the truth. I had no prices set in advance for specific
kinds of services and I worked instead on more on a sliding scale. I
usually charged according to the worthiness of the request. For example,
something I enjoy doing, I charge relatively little for. But, when it comes
to those tasks I don't fully agree with, I name a high price either to make
it worth my while or to dissuade the client from making the request at all.

"What is it you need from me?" I inquired.

"My husband. Chase. I'm divorcing him..." She paused, considering what to
say next. "I was a fool and didn't get him to sign a prenup before we were
married last year. Now Chase expects to get half of everything. That
cheating, lying bastard doesn't deserve a dime... I want you to convince
him of this."

I was uncertain as to how much I should charge for this, or if I should
even take on the request. While I had been offering my services in general
for several years now, this was the first time I'd gotten a request like
this.

I gave Vivian's mind a cursory reading. Nothing too deep or too
difficult. I could tell that what motivated this request was not greed. She
didn't care about the money on its own. It was not some vindictive desire
to get even or get revenge, either. I sensed instead a deep hurt in
her. This man had wounded her heart deeply and she could not accept that he
could possibly benefit from this financially.

I hesitated. I felt sorry for her, but also didn't know if I wanted to
introduce my powers to a lover's quarrel. I had in the past avoided dealing
with matters of the heart because they often run so deep. Although you
might think it would be simple to change Chase's mind and get him to
relinquish his claim to half of Vivian's assets, this would be no easy task
if he was also as emotionally invested in it as Vivian evidently was. Did
he still feel love for her? Hate? Was he remorseful for his actions? Hiding
his shame and guilt for cheating behind the standard antagonism of divorce
proceedings? Navigating through these feelings would be difficult, even for
someone with my powers.

Let me explain my "powers" to you. I am certainly not the only person in
the world with these abilities. In fact, a good number of people have them,
albeit only to a small degree.

We all know people who seem to be able to convince almost anyone to do
almost anything. Some of them might just be persuasive, but I have
discovered that the vast majority of these "convincing" people have
low-level telepathic abilities. However, because their abilities operate at
such a low level, they themselves often don't even realize it and don't
truly know how to turn it on and off. But they nonetheless go through life
finding that people almost always do as they ask, never quite sure as to
exactly why.

My abilities are more developed and also considerably rarer. Unlike those
with low-level abilities, people like me with well-developed telepathic
powers can make others do things that they would never choose to do. I can
lay suggestions at a very deep level, changing fundamental thoughts and
behaviours in those I target.

However, this isn't something I do often. This isn't an easy thing to
do. The deeper the suggestion, the more mental strength it requires.

Some people come to me requesting changes in their own behaviour. For
example, one man — a wealthy CEO — came to me so that he could
finally quit smoking. This sounded simple at first, but when I entered his
mind, I realized why he needed someone like me. His love of smoking —
the taste, the smell, the feeling — ran very deep. He had a true passion
for smoking; that first puff of a cigarette always gave him a relief and
comfort he could get from no other thing. The thoughts, desires, and
behaviours were so deeply laid, I almost passed out from exhaustion when I
targeted them. It gave me one hell of a nose bleed. But I changed them, as
promised. After that, he never touched a cigarette again.

More often my clients are somehow tied to politics. I have, therefore,
convinced politicians to do things quite contrary to their usual modus
operandi. But, don't get me wrong. I am a principled man: in general, I
only make changes that coincide with my own values. So, I've never agreed
to make a liberal politician suddenly believe that gay marriage is wrong,
but I've made many a conservative suddenly "realize" that gays are
deserving of full rights and equality, for example.

This is because I am a gay man myself. Which leads me back to the issue of
lover's quarrels. Not only does love make mind control difficult in
general, but my own lost love has left a lasting effect on me. Since Bryan
left me, I can't explore the love in other people's minds without feeling
weakened by it. It saddens me and brings up hurtful memories, often
stopping my telepathic abilities in their tracks.

I had tried to control Bryan too much. I have very kinky predilections and
consider myself a Dom. Although Bryan was naturally submissive, I pushed
him too far. Where at first he was excited by the control I had over him,
eventually he came to feel violated. I changed things in him that he didn't
want to lose. I knew I was hurting him, but I couldn't stop myself. I was
drunk on power.

Then one day I came home to find this:

"I am sorry that I have to say this to you in a letter, Sir. But you and I
both know this is the only way. If I tried to say it to you in person, you
would stop me. You would make me forget that I was going to say this at
all. You would scatter the thoughts in my mind and I might never again be
able to say what I need to say. It's exactly that control of my true
thoughts about us which has destroyed the love we once had. I loved you and
chose to obey you. But when I could no longer choose, when my very thoughts
and desires were dictated by you, I lost a part of myself. I have to leave
now while I still remember who I am. I hope one day you find the boy you
really need, because we both know now that I'm not him."

I chose not to pursue him. Although I can place long-lasting suggestions in
the minds of others, new suggestions require me to be right in the room
with the person whose mind I'm entering. For example, wherever Bryan is
today, the instructions I implanted deep in his mind so long ago are no
doubt still there: I'm certain that when someone spanks him now, he still
automatically says, "Please Sir, may I have another?" just as I programmed
him to do. But if I wanted to change anything else about him or implant any
new thoughts, I would have to be right where he is.

I could have tracked him down, forced him to come back. But I knew he was
right. I took things too far. I was heartbroken and ashamed of what I'd
done to him. Since then, I feel so weak when I see affairs of the heart in
the minds of others.

Still, when Vivian came to me, this was a new request. I admit, I was
intrigued. Perhaps enough time had passed and I could once again change
deep feelings, if those were indeed what motivated Chase's actions. I was
growing tired of always dealing with politicians and CEOs. A wife seeking
justice in the face of her cheating husband's attempts to rob her, this
sounded interesting.

However, I didn't commit to anything right there and then. I wasn't sure if
I wanted to do this or not. Despite Vivian's insistence that she would pay
whatever I asked, I stood firm and told her I would need to meet with her
(soon-to-be ex) husband before I named a price.

It was surprisingly easy to get Chase to come to me later that day. It
seemed he fancied himself an "actor" now. I made a few calls and, through
his agent, got him to come to my office for a "potential casting."

When I met Chase, I immediately understood several things. He was a great
deal younger than Vivian Warren. Where Vivian was a gracefully aging
middle-aged woman, Chase was a devilishly handsome and clearly fit
twenty-something. Obviously he started out as Vivian's boy toy and seduced
and weaselled his way into a marriage with her.

His good looks, his winning smile, his confident swagger: these things also
explained to me why he was an "actor" now. He didn't need the money, but
clearly thought he deserved to be in front of the camera. He knew he was
looker and he wanted everyone else to know, too.

While I got that from looking at him, I got a lot more from reading his
mind.

Chase's handshake was firm. He clearly thought of himself an assertive,
alpha type. I speculated even then that this was overcompensation for his
short stature, since he only stood about 5'6".

I told him the casting was for a reality dating show. I made up the
details. What I specified was that the show would be partially scripted and
he would be playing a version of himself. So, the casting would involve me
asking several questions about him and his life.

I set up a camera, although it wasn't really on. In fact, I didn't care how
Chase even responded to these questions verbally. The point wasn't to hear
what he said, but to read his mind as he turned it to these various
subjects.

What I realized very quickly was that Chase was pretty on the outside, but
monstrous on the inside.

"Are you single?" was my first question.

He prattled on about "dumping some chick" who was holding him back. I could
see his relationship with Vivian as he said this. I could see how he
seduced her, played her, manipulated her, and finally exploited her
vulnerabilities and insecurities to get her money. He had never felt any
love for her. He had used her without compunction or regret.

"Okay, great. And what kind of woman do you usually go for?"

His thoughts turned to dozens of women he had been fucking for last year
while he was married to Vivian. Again, he blabbed some inane answer,
talking about how he liked busty, slutty Latinas.

I saw all the cheating. But I wasn't prepared for exactly what I saw there.

Some of it was what I expected: picking up floozies here and there and
bedding them in sleazy motels.

What I didn't expect were the rapes he committed. I saw how this cocky
bastard had forced himself on the hired help at the Warren family's
estate. Whenever a pretty new girl came into the Warren household to work,
Chase would not take "no" for an answer. He forced himself on dozens of
girls, fucking them in brutal and humiliating ways. He threatened to fire
them if they told. And then he found some way to get rid of them even if
they did keep his secret.

The worst was what he did to a girl named Juanita. Not even 19 years old
yet, she lost her virginity to Chase. It was rape; Chase had no doubts
about that when he did it. Even after Juanita had realized there was no way
to stop him from fucking her that first time, she pleaded for him to put on
a condom. He had laughed derisively, told her that he needed to really feel
her. He needed to feel her from the inside, he said. And he wanted to mark
her. He was going to fuck her and she would never forget how he laid his
claim to her cunt.

To make matters worse, she became pregnant after he forced himself on
her. When Juanita told Chase, he forced her to have an abortion and then
planted one of Vivian's necklaces in her pocket next time she came to their
household. Vivian discovered this and fired Juanita for "trying to steal
from her," not realizing how they had both been used and manipulated by
Chase.

I tried not to let it show on my face how shocked I was. Thankfully, even
if I did show it, Chase was so self-involved that he didn't notice. I could
tell all his thoughts were on how he looked at that moment, not really
caring to study my face in the least.

I wanted to get to the root of Chase's behaviour. I asked a bold question
to uncover the motivation behind his manipulations and his rapes.

I smiled warmly at him. "Well, I'm sure we can set you up with a busty
Latina girl if that's what you're into. But I don't know if I can promise
you a `slutty' one!" I chuckled, feigning camaraderie. Chase smiled at
this, evidently pleased that I understood he intended to fuck any woman he
was going to date on this "reality show."

"If I can set you up with a `slutty one,' we obviously can't show too much
on TV. But if you fuck her, we'll need to get a couple shots of
something. Can you give me a sense of what kind of sex it would be?"

Chase, unrepentant narcissist that he is, was more than pleased to tell me
all about his sadistic sexual tastes. What I gathered from both his very
graphic descriptions and from reading his mind was this:

Chase knew how to seduce a woman. And he knew how to be gentle and
loving. But that was all an act, a far cry from his true desires. The
gentle and loving sex was what he did with Vivian to pull the wool over her
eyes. But what he did with all those other women was brutal.

Chase liked to fuck rough. He didn't just get "blow jobs," but rather
fucked women's mouths and throats, not caring whether or not they enjoyed
it. In fact, my mind-reading suggested he wanted them to hate it and he
wanted it to hurt them. He always fucked women roughly, both in their cunts
and up their asses. He never wore a condom and almost always came inside
the women he fucked. I wondered how many other women aside from Juanita he
had gotten pregnant, but I didn't dig into his mind to find out.

While Chase was singly focused on shooting his load into these women, he
cared not one bit for their pleasure. He preferred their screams to their
moans. All he cared about was his own pleasure.

By reading his mind, I realized what the motivation was. It all came down
to a shockingly disproportionate love for his own cock. He thought it was
God's gift to the world. He thought he fucked like a superstar.

But in that love, there was also a deep-seated insecurity. He was ashamed
of a particular "shortcoming." The biggest issue for Chase in the size
department was that he was a "grower," and not a "show-er" in the
least. His flaccid penis was undeniably a tiny little nub. When he got
hard, his cock grew to a fair 6". Thus, he overcompensated. He didn't want
these women to think of him as the man with a tiny, flaccid penis. He
wouldn't let anyone think he was that kind of sub-par man. Instead, he was
the man with the powerful cock that destroyed women's cunts, mouths, and
asses.

He compensated for this concern over possible inferiority by making himself
a "superior" in every other way. The confident, assertive swagger he walked
with. The dominant, aggressive fucking. All the time he spent at the gym to
give himself a strong, muscular body. Owning the cunts of these women by
shooting his loads deep inside. Making his cock the thing which destroyed
their bodies and ruined their lives.

I was appalled. A rage boiled inside me. This self-absorbed man-child used
women like tissues, ruined lives without a second thought. And to top this
all off, he thought he deserved half the assets of the wealthy woman he had
tricked into loving him!

This was unjust.

Someone had to do something about it. No, not just "someone." I had to do
something about it. Chase needed to be taught a lesson and I was going to
do it.

So many ideas came into my mind. But I couldn't act now, I would need time
to prepare to make sure this punishment would fit the crime. I would gather
what I needed and I would make sure justice would be done.

Again, I feigned camaraderie to finish the "casting." I wanted to get Chase
out of there now so I could start preparing to deliver the punishment he so
deserved. As much as I wanted to tell Chase then and there that he was the
scum of the earth and that I would make him feel that because he deserved
to feel that, I stuck to the script I had prepared.

"Okay, well, thank you for coming in, Chase. I think this audition went
really well. I'll be in touch soon. I can safely say that I know exactly
who to pair you with. As I explained before, it's a reality show, but
you'll be playing a different version of yourself. I've got lots of ideas
and I think I know exactly how I'm going to cast you."

Chase seemed elated. Finally, he'd be on TV! And audiences nationwide would
see what a handsome, manly stud he was.

Chase would, of course, never be on TV, but he will have an audience in due
time. And they'll see a very different side of him. He's going to be cast
in exactly the role he deserves for the rest of his life.

We shook hands again and he departed. The first thing I did was call
Vivian.

"I can name a price."

I explained to her what I knew now. I told her that he wasn't simply
cheating on her, but that he was raping countless women. And then I told
her what I was going to do to him. She readily agreed to my price and told
me to let her know if I wanted anything else at all.

I headed home to get what I needed. I opened the box of things Bryan had
left behind. I no longer felt pain when I looked at them. I was no longer
weakened by thoughts of lost love. Instead, I was empowered by a sense of
justice. I felt stronger than I ever had before. I seriously wondered how
much I could do with my powers when I felt such strength in me. I would
find out shortly.

I made my way to Chase's building. He had written his address on the
"casting forms." I had no doubt that his condo was expensive. After all,
one of the Warrens had been living there before Chase weaselled his way
in. Chase himself had been living there — in luxury, no doubt — since
Vivian kicked him out of the family estate.

I buzzed the intercom. Although he was surprised that the "casting
director" was here, I made up some excuse about being in the neighbourhood
and wanting to discuss his "future role" with him. He buzzed me right in,
likely having no idea how his life was about to change forever.

I greeted him warmly as he let me. I was pleased to see that he was wearing
very little, even though the jogging pants he had on at that moment were a
lot more than he would wear ever again.

I was right about him being fit. No doubt he answered the door in this
state of undress because he wanted me to see the "manly, muscular body"
that he was so keen to show audiences worldwide.

I was right about the condo being nice. Even I, with all the funds I had
accumulated from offering my pricy services over the last few years, did
not yet live in such a nice place. The view was especially something. When
families like the Warrens get properties like this, they hold on to them
for generations.

As soon as he closed the door, I dropped all the pretences.

All the warmth gone from my voice: "Take off those pants, you fucking
rapist piece of shit."

Chase was taken aback. "Dude, what the f—"

And then I felt the power surge in me. I bore my thoughts into his
mind. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up. And. Strip."

Surprise, shock, and confusion ran across his face as his mouth immediately
snapped shut and his hands went for the waistband of his jogging pants.

He tried to cover his cock as he lower his pants but I stopped him before
he could do this.

My voice in his mind once more: "Hands. On. Your. Head."

Pants fell to the floor, hands shot up to his head.

Even having told him to shut his fucking mouth, I couldn't silence the
irritating whining inside his head. Panic, confusion, rage: "What is
happening? Why? How? I'm gonna kill this fucker. Goddamn faggot, stay away
from me!"

His indignation only strengthened me more. I walked right up to him,
staring him down. I didn't have to say out loud what I wanted him to
know. My voice boomed inside his head.

"Think. Of. The. Women. You. Raped."

The images came up and as they did I kneed him hard in the balls. He
started to keel over but I commanded him to stay exactly as he was.

"Spread. Your. Legs. Apart."

I pulled up all those feelings of shame he buried so deep. The fear of
inferiority that motivated his abusive behaviour.

I grabbed his tiny, flaccid penis and balls and pulled hard, digging my
nails in at the same time.

"THIS is what you used to seduce and trick Vivian. THIS is what you used to
impregnate Juanita. THIS is what you used to rape all those women. And you
know deep down that THIS is the most pathetic excuse for a cock any of
those women have ever seen."

This wasn't a thought I was implanting. It was his thought. His deep
fear. His shame. I just made him hear it.

He was terrified. Humiliated. Panicking. No words anymore, from either his
mouth or from inside his head. My voice boomed in there and he had no power
of speech which could combat it. His mind was animal emotion, basic
fear. No longer a "fight" response, now he wanted so badly to flee. To
escape. And yet he couldn't move.

"And now, you're never going to use THIS again."

Not fear now. Concern. Worry. Words formed in his mind: "Is this guy
serious?"

I didn't answer. I let go of his cock and balls and went to my bag, pleased
to see that I had left red marks on him from the pulling and nail-digging.

I rummaged in my bag and I brought out Chase's new friend for life: a
chastity device.

When Bryan had left, he had been wearing a chastity device. I'm sure he got
it off somehow. Maybe he even took the key. But he had left behind several
others. I so enjoyed my control over his orgasms, I bought him many devices
to choose from. When I finally released him from one and allow him to have
the orgasm he had coveted for weeks or months, I would always let him
choose which device to wear next. I was a good Master like that.

I brought a classic for Chase: a CB-3000.

He knew what it was. He had fantasized many times of keeping women in
chastity and fucking only their mouths, denying them all pleasure. And in
researching this fantasy online, he had also seen the devices for men. Of
course, at the time, he hadn't given them a second thought. Certainly, he
never in a million years would have imagined that he would wear one.

"Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit," like a broken record in his mind.

I liked this refrain, so I continued to speak verbally, allowing him to
continue his train of thought in his mind without interruption. "Now,
Chase. Can't you see that I'm letting you off easy? Normally rapists get
locked up in prison. You're not going anywhere! I'm doing you a favour by
only locking up your dick."

I made my way over and started slipping on the device.

"And can't you see what a good deed I'm doing? I'm doing a public service!
I'm protecting the women of the world."

The device now in place, I finally picked up the lock.

"And, Chase," I said, looking him in the eye, feigning compassion, "You
should know I'm not a monster. I'm not like you. You used those women and
never gave a second thought to their pleasure, to their own orgasms. In
fact, you avoid their pleasure entirely and caused only pain. But as long
as you're a good boy, I'll still let you cum. Maybe even once a month, if
I'm feeling generous."

Chase was flabbergasted. His face had gone white. This was hell, he was
sure. His cock meant everything to him. And now "this faggot" was going to
control it, rob him of his orgasms for weeks at a time. Worse yet, rob him
of his erections altogether. He was going to have that tiny, flaccid penis
24/7 with no hope of his cock growing to its full size.

I beamed widely. "That's right, Chase! You've got it. No orgasms! No
erections! Just the tiny little nub you deserve." I said, confirming his
worst fears.

I snapped the lock in place and gave the device a hard tug to make sure it
was on firmly. I probably tugged much harder than I had to, but no doubt
you agree with me that Chase clearly deserves a lot of pain. I planned to
be rough in everything I do to him.

The device firmly in place physically, I knew it was time to lock it there
mentally.

I held up the key, dangling it in front of him on a thin, gold chain. I
taunted him with it, waved it in front of his face, knowing he still
couldn't move a muscle. His hands stayed firmly planted on his head despite
his wanting so much to reach out and grab the key.

I slipped the gold chain around my neck. I want him to see this key every
time he looks at me.

I was still going strong. My powers had never been so great before. It felt
like nothing at all to keep him in place, to enter his mind. And I knew it
would feel just as easy to implant thoughts. Deep thoughts.

I gave my next trick a verbal introduction: "Chase, I know you want to take
that off your cock. But I'm afraid you can't do that. In fact, you have no
idea how to."

I drilled that thought into him. I sensed his surprise at his sudden
realization that he couldn't conceive of any way to take it off. As soon as
he turned his mind toward the lock, toward the idea of removing the device,
his thoughts scattered like dust in the wind. It would be completely and
entirely impossible from now on for him to remove it on his own.

He knew the key had something to do with it. He eyed the key. I laughed out
loud as I read his thoughts. No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on
it, he could not conceive of how the key would work with the device, of how
he could use it to free himself from chastity.

And then he came to the conclusion I wanted him to: as he looked at the key
around my neck and realized that he had no idea how to use it, he also
realized that I really did control his orgasms. I controlled his cock. I
controlled the most important thing in his life. I had the key and I knew
how to use it.

I was overjoyed.

Never had I felt such a rush of power with any of the other men I had
controlled. It was clear why. As I have said, I am principled man. My other
boys, they were subs. They had openly wanted control. Although I didn't
always respect all their boundaries and sometimes went too far, I had
always required basic consent before I started to control them. But now,
this was different. I controlled this man who did not want to be
controlled, who had never once been controlled before. And I knew it was
the right thing to do.

This was justice.

I relaxed my hold over him. He felt it immediately and knew he was in
control of his body again.

The first thing he did was take his hands from his head down to the
chastity device. But when his hands got there, they stopped short. He
realized he didn't know what to do with it. The thoughts of yanking at it,
of trying to pull it off — they scattered away as quickly as they
formed. He looked blankly at the prison around his cock for a moment, his
thoughts lost.

Then rage. The realization once more that it was true: that he could not
think of how to take it off.

"You sick motherfucker! I'm gonna fucking kill if you don't take this
fucking thing off my cock right this second!"

He was all daggers-with-the-eyes, shoulders up, fists pumping, ready to
strike me any moment.

I just laughed at him. "Now, Chase, if you kill me, who's going to take it
off you?"

He eyed the key around my neck again. He understood the power I had over
him. I didn't really need to use any more deep mind control if I didn't
want to: the scene was set. Even if he did hit me — hell, even if he
killed me, he wouldn't know what to do with the key, wouldn't be able to
conceive of a way of taking off the device on his own. I almost literally
had him by the balls.

I could tell he understood.

"Welcome to your new life, Chase!" I said happily.

Realizing that his aggression was as futile as his attempt to remove the
device, he turned then to shame, realizing he was still stark naked in
front of a stranger. Not only that, but a stranger who was happily looking
at his fully exposed, permanently flaccid cock trapped in a cage.

As he had tried to do when I first made him strip, his hands now
successfully rushed in front of his shame.

"Hey, you've got the right idea, Chase! But don't worry, you don't have to
keep your hands there."

I rummaged through my bag once more and pulled out a bright red jockstrap.

"See, problem solved! I've thought of everything already. Just put this on
and, not only will your hands be free for other things, but I won't have to
look at your ridiculous excuse for a cock anymore."

Chase stayed where he was, hands where they were, stone-cold look on his
face. Evidently, he wasn't yet persuaded as to how good an idea this was.

"Well, don't worry about me! If I need a laugh at some point, you have my
permission to take this off and show me your tiny, caged cock."

Aggression again: "Fuck you! Fuck this! Get the fuck out my home!"

Just the set up I was hoping for.

"Actually, Chase. This is my home."

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"I guess I forgot to tell you. Silly me! I was just so focused on punishing
you for being a narcissistic rapist pig that I forgot about your punishment
for being a thieving, cheating husband too."

Chase's eyes widened at this comment. The pieces were starting to fall into
place.

"Now, don't go thinking bad thoughts about Viv. She really is every bit the
saint that people make her out to be. And I guess you knew that, huh?
That's how you weaselled your way into her life, made her fall in love with
you. You abused her trusting nature, Chase. But even after you broke her
heart, she didn't come to me for vengeance. All she asked was that I stop
you from taking half her assets in the divorce."

I rummaged through my bag again and pulled out some forms, perusing them
and holding them up for Chase to see as I explained the rest.

"Of course, when she made that request, she had no idea you were an
abusive, rapist pig too. When I explained this to her, she was happy to
agree to my terms."

I let these words hang for a moment.

"You're not going to get a dime from her. And in exchange for my services,
the Warren family has generously agreed to give me a condo with a great
view, along with all its contents."

Another pause. No reaction from Chase yet. He was not sure how to respond,
vacillating between incredulity, a desire to lash out, and a question as to
whether he should be begging for forgiveness.

A wicked smile crept across my face as I dealt the last blow: "By the way,
you're included in those contents."

Rage was his choice again. "Enough! This isn't fucking happening!" His
hands now moved away from covering his shame. I guess throwing up fists was
more important at that moment. "Get out of here, you motherfucker! This is
MY HOME!"

I noted that I didn't feel tired at all, still very powerful. But I was
getting tired of his refrain. Best just to force the last step in
obliterating his old life and welcoming him into his new one instead of
trying to persuade him to be reasonable.

I set down the forms and picked up the jock strap once more. I walked up
close again and held out the jock, totally unfazed by Chase's pugilistic
stance.

I entered his mind: "Put. It. On."

Chase watched as his arms moved seemingly on their own, no longer fists and
instead carefully handling the jock as his legs stepped into it.

"Come. With. Me."

Chase followed me to the bathroom. Just as I had hoped, it was extremely
well-lit and there were mirrors everywhere. Narcissistic Chase no doubt
spent many hours looking at himself in there.

He blushed now when he saw himself. He hadn't noticed before, but along the
top of the jock were two words written in big black letters. On the back,
above exposed his ass: CHASE. On the front, above the pouch that held his
the now useless, caged cock: CHASTE.

How lucky I was that Chase was roughly the same size Bryan had been. I only
regretted that I didn't have time to get this professionally done, having
had to write the words on there myself. I made a mental note to get him
other jockstraps with bigger, darker, clearer labels: CHASE / CHASTE.

I didn't particularly care if the jock had been too tight, but I didn't
want it to be loose. It was, of course, a little loose in the pouch. No
doubt if Chase could get hard, his cock would strain against the small
pouch. But I much preferred his useless flaccid penis in a cage and
revelled in the fact that Chase was a grower and not a show-er. Anyone
looking at him in this state would either assume he had a tiny package or —
hopefully — be able to tell that his cock locked up in a cage that made
it almost permanently useless.

While all these things were great, what mattered to me most was how his ass
looked. Hot damn! I certainly hit the jackpot. The jock perfectly framed
his glutes. You could, as the saying goes, "bounce a quarter off that ass."

Chase may have thought earlier today that his body deserved to be ogled,
and he wasn't wrong in thinking that. But I could see now that his perky
ass is really the body part that stands out above the others. And now,
thanks to me, it would be permanently exposed and ogled by countless
numbers of people for the rest of his life.

I stood right behind him and whispered into his ear: "Get used to this
look. You're never gonna wear anything but a jockstrap ever again."

I almost laughed at how quickly Chase's face went from a blushing red to a
terrified, pale white.

"Follow. Me."

Now we went to Chase's bedroom.

"Go on, now. Embrace your new life. Make what I said a reality." I opened
the drawers on his dressers, the doors on his closet. Into his mind, I
placed another instruction: "Throw. Them. Off. The. Balcony."

I was briefly surprised at the mental resistance Chase put up against this
instruction. Perhaps my telepathic powers were finally reaching their
limits? I admit, I had never used them so much in such a short time
before. The amount of mind control I had used on Chase since arriving at
his apartment is normally something spread over days, not minutes.

But also, though my powers might have been finally reaching their limit for
the day, I didn't expect how attached Chase would be to these clothes or
how deep his affection for them ran.

I glanced at them again. Brand names, everywhere. Clearly, he had spent a
lot of his wife's money on these garments. But it was ill-gotten money. He
deserved none of them.

I was acting as a force of justice and I would not be stopped before I was
finished.

I strained to issue a stronger, deeper, more powerful instruction:
"DO. IT. NOW."

That did it. Like a marionette, he was set in motion, again watching
himself move.

He gathered up the clothes in large piles and carried them outside,
throwing them over as I had instructed. He was deeply embarrassed to be
going outside in nothing but this bright red jockstrap. I hoped that all
the clothes he was throwing over the edge would attract attention below and
many people would turn upwards to see Chase's "new look."

As much as I enjoyed watching Chase throwing away his highly-prized
wardrobe and risking some public humiliation by standing outside in nothing
but his bright red jock, I needed to make sure things were finalized before
my powers were exhausted. I was now starting to feel truly drained.

I headed back out the main room while Chase was throwing his old life off
the balcony. I noticed then that my nose was bleeding. I picked up Chase's
discarded jogging pants and used them to wipe away the blood. I took them
to another window and threw them out on my own, hoping that Chase would not
notice. I did not want him to see the nose bleed or its aftereffects, as I
wasn't yet ready for him to discover that there were limits to my
powers. Although the fact that I had the key to his chastity device
guaranteed me some ongoing control over him, I still needed him to believe
I could mentally force him to do absolutely anything I wanted.

I gathered up my other things and looked over the forms once more. When
Chase had finished throwing all his many-loved garments over the edge of
his balcony, he regained control of his body.

He felt defeated. The loss of all his tailored suits and silk boxer shorts
left a sinking feeling inside him. Where he may have never loved his wife
or any woman at all, he had loved his possessions.

He walked out into the main room. He looked bewildered. He was lost. He
didn't know what to do. It seemed like the walls were closing in.

"This can't be happening... This can't be happening..." he muttered.

"It is happening, Chase. This isn't a nightmare. You're not going to wake
up. You never deserved all those clothes. You bought them with the money
you got from manipulating a good woman. You're a bad person, Chase. All you
deserve is punishment."

Still, a lost look on his face. He knew he couldn't fight. He knew he was
losing.

"Come. Here." I boomed in his mind.

He approached, resigned now to how his body could move without his willing
it to. He looked at the forms I'd laid out.

"What are these?" he asked, starting to read them.

"Sign. Them."

Swiftly, he lifted the pen and signed everywhere that was marked with an X.

"Chase, that was the first good deed you've ever done. You just
relinquished your claim to any of Vivian Warren's assets or anything
belonging to the Warren family."

He scanned the pages he had just signed.

"But that alone doesn't make it a good deed. I mean, all you've done on
that page is let the Warrens keep what's rightfully theirs. Your truly good
deed is the donations you've just made to Vivian Warren's NGO for beaten
and battered women."

He spotted that page.

"All your worldly belongings. All your money. You're giving it all to
charity." I smiled wickedly.

"No! No way, man! That's not money I took from Viv! That's MY money!" He
looked at me imploringly.

"And those women you raped? The ones you got fired from their jobs? Those
were THEIR bodies. THEIR jobs. THEIR lives you ruined. You owe them your
measly savings. And that's just for starters."

"No fucking way!" He tired to tear up the forms.

"STOP."

He froze, unable to move a muscle.

"Where's your phone, Chase?"

"On my nightstand," he replied automatically.

I found an iPhone 6 there. I was pleased with this as I'd wanted an upgrade
from my 5, anyway.

I returned. "Okay, Chase. The two forms with your signatures. Hold them up
for me."

He remained frozen. I forgot to issue the instruction mentally. I was
definitely reaching my limits. "NOW" I commanded into his mind.

He was caught off-guard by the flash, but still kept the pose I had
instructed him to hold as I took several more pictures.

"Great pic!" I walked over and showed it to him. He blushed, again seeing
himself in his humiliating "CHASTE" jockstrap.

I found Vivian in his contacts and sent her the pic.

She had probably been waiting for that text all night. I got an immediate
reply: "PERFECT! :-) :-) :-)"

I texted back: "Will drop off the forms tomorrow. Anything else you need?"

Vivian replied: "This is everything I need & more. Thank you from the
bottom of my heart. Giving you the condo is hardly enough to repay you."

I looked up at Chase, still in the same pose. "SHOW. ME. YOUR. SHAME."

He carefully set down the forms and took off his jock
strap. "HANDS. ON. HEAD."

I went to take a pic, then added a final instruction: "SMILE."

I took a few shots to get one that looked just right. Chase looked
ridiculous, smiling stupidly with his caged cock on full display.

I sent that to Vivian and added, "A good deed is its own reward."

Her reply: "Enjoy your reward. Both you and he should get what you
deserve."

I turned off the phone and slipped it into my bag. I didn't know how much
longer I could use my powers for. I felt another nose bleed coming
on. Better make this quick.

"JOCK. BACK. ON."

Chase slipped on his outfit once more and, with that, I released my control
and Chase's body relaxed.

"What was with those pictures?!" he asked, furious.

"Oh, just thought the wife you cheated on and tried to steal from should
know that things went according to plan. Sounds like she's most pleased
with your chastity. She knows now that the women of the world are finally
safe from you."

Of course, Vivian would never have said that. But I knew that's what she
thought, even without reading her mind. She had consented to my plans to
enslave, humiliate, and chasten Chase, even if she never told me how much
she must have enjoyed the idea.

Chase blushed. He covered his face. This was a reaction I had not yet seen:
he was tearing up. But he stopped short of crying.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

I walked up close, stared him down, looking him dead in the eye. "Because
you deserve it."

It's a good thing I caught him off-guard with what I did next, because I
was too weak to control him with my mind right then. I grabbed the back of
his head with one hand, grabbed his bare ass with the other, and forced a
kiss on him. His mouth had been open, he didn't expect this. I raped his
mouth with my tongue, forced his body against me, groped his ass, held his
head in place. But only very briefly. He reacted, pushed me off, backed
away.

"I'm not a fucking faggot!"

I licked my lips, enjoying the taste of him that lingered in my mouth. "Oh,
I know. That's why our life together is going to be so much fun for me."

"`Our life together'?! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!"

"Chase, I'm too tired to explain tonight. If you can't figure it out, I'll
spell out the details for you when I come back tomorrow. Anyway, you need
to remember, this is my home now and you're my property."

He glared at me, but didn't protest any more. I could tell he was just
waiting for me to leave, as if my departure would change the reality of the
situation. I collected the forms on the table, looked around quickly to
make sure I wasn't forgetting anything important.

"The movers will be here at noon. I'll try to be here then, but if not, can
you be a dear and let them in?"

"You expect me to let a bunch of strangers see me in this?" He motioned to
his jockstrap.

"You better get used to it. That's how everyone is going to see you from
now on. And, Chase, you should really thank me. There's a chance they won't
notice your chastity cage if you've got that jockstrap on."

"Fuck you!"

This irritated me. I wanted to punish him for his ingratitude. I tried to
will another command forcing him to greet the movers tomorrow naked,
without even a jockstrap to prevent those big, strong, burly men from
seeing that Chase was no man at all anymore. But I was just too weak. I
needed to leave before Chase realized that I couldn't control his mind or
implant any new instructions tonight.

"Good night, Chase" I blew him a kiss, to which he reacted with a look of
revulsion. Then I held up the key to his chastity device, taunting him one
final time before I left. "Sleep tight," I added, with a wink.

I got in the elevator, reflecting on the evening. I was happier than I'd
been in a long time. I was going to enjoy this.

A good deed really is its own reward.

**********

Author's Note: This is the first chapter in what will be a much longer
story. Feedback is welcomed and encouraged.