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These stories are the artistic expression of the authors who wrote them. The Small Dick Club strongly believes in freedom of speech, and the right of artists to be heard, especially if what they say pushes the boundaries of what is acceptable in society. If you think you won’t like the content of this post, then don’t read it. It’s that simple. The Small Dick Club wishes to advise readers that any similarities in these stories to actual or real people or events is purely coincidental and unintended. That any story marked as a ‘true story’ shouldn’t be taken literally, as we have no way to verify if stories submitted to us are true. The Small Dick Club takes no responsibility for the imaginations and literary creations of authors who post their stories here.
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By growing_interest

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 weasel 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 of 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. His flaccid penis was undeniably a tiny little nub. When he got hard, his cock grew only to 4.5″. Thus, he overcompensated. He didn’t want these women to think of him as the man with a tiny 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 weasel 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 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 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 nub of a 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 weasel 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 nub of a penis in a cage and revelled in not letting him get a small hard on. 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.

Part 2 Coming Soon