THANK YOU, MASTER HANS

There was the weird German dude with the close cropped blond hair. "Oh, hey man." Chip said in a friendly voice, though his stomach was feeling a bit queasy. "You're Hans, right? I met you when I came by the house last year to get Dad to lend me a couple hundred."

 

"Are you ready to go Chip?" Hans said calmly. ". Do you have a bag? It is immaterial, as those clothes are inappropriate anyway. Come with me now, please."

 

"Well, I have to say goodbye to my Dad." Chip said, "I have to let my psychiatrist and my parole officer know before I go anywhere--and I have to get a supply from the Methadone clinic...And I have tickets to AC/DC tonight, so I was hoping we could go tomorrow--"

 

Suddenly, Chip felt his nipple being grasped, and he was being pulled off the porch. Ow! He tried to pull away, but he was now walking along with the German dude, who would NOT let go of his fucking chest.

 

"We must be punctual, I do not want to get to the cabin after dark. I have inspected the cabin and it is disgraceful. You will have to tidy it up. You and your slovenly father have much in common." Master Hans did not let go of Chip's nipple until they reached the taxicab, driven by an irate black man. "Into the back seat, immediately, Chip."

 

Chip was insulted. What the fuck's going on with this dude? "Look, Hans" he said, rubbing his nipple,which felt like it had been twisted with a pliers,"You can't push me around like this, I'm a gangster, baby, I used to rumble with the Hell's Angels--"

 

Suddenly Hans's knee shot out between Chip's legs, and he saw stars, oh God, he was falling, his balls felt like they'd been assaulted with a goddam sledgehammer. Chip fell to the ground and lay there dizzily.

 

Then Chip felt this grasp on his Mohawk, and Hans was pulling up as if he were lifting a heavy suitcase, and so Chip rose with the pull so his Mohawk wouldn't be pulled out of his head. "Now you will get in the taxicab." Hans said patiently. "Goodness you are more of a trial to me than your father was, dummkopf."

 

Chip knew he should kick this guy's ass, after all, he WAS a brown belt and had been in prisons and motorcycle gangs, but it was just too much. He got in the taxicab, and Hans got in beside him.

 

"Kraut kicked your ass, huh, punk rock boy?" The taxi driver was a mouthy nigger. He didn't understand who Chip was. Chip was the head of the Aryans back in Lompoc. But he didn't say anything. Hans shut the cab door. "Please on to 932 Wilberforce Lane..."

 

"Dude, I just can't go there right now...you've assaulted me, and it's illegal" Chip said firmly. "I'm twenty-three years old, you can't..." What was this? Hans's right hand was unzipping Chip's fly, and pulling Chip's dick out, and--was he giving Chip a fucking HAND JOB?

 

"Could you give me your car cigarette lighter please? Yes, push it in and hand it to me" Hans was saying to the driver.

 

"Whachoo want with mah cigarette lighter?" the black driver was asking suspiciously. "What going--"

 

"Please, no more talk" Hans said patiently. "Give me the lighter, there will be a one hundred dollar tip. Thank you."

 

Hans pulled up Chip's now hard cock, and took the little metal car cigarette lighter, the kind that is glowing red at the end, and you push in, and he pressed it to the side of Chip's cock, and the burning pain was so severe that Chip passed out.

ONE MONTH LATER
"Chip?" Master Hans knocked on the door. "You are taking an awfully long tim in the lavatory. I hope you are not doing something regrettable in there..." Master Hans knocked again.

 

Hans hoped that Chip was not committing the sins of onanism. Hans had whipped Chip's palms thirty times with the razor strop just the other day for this...but Chip was so incorrigible!

 

Hans knocked on the door again sharply.

 

"I'm just, uh, washing my hands." came the voice. "Please-I'm twenty-three and I need my privacy. It's a boundary issue." But Hans could hear the skin against skin...

 

Hans pulled the door open. No locked doors in this house. And there he was! Chip had one hand on his penis, the other holding a copy of "Hustler" Magazine. Hans clicked his tongue across his teeth. Goodness.

 

Hans took Chip by the ear and dragged him out of the bathroom, the boy stumbling in his underpants. "P-please, Master Hans, it's not what you think!" Hans slapped the magazine out of Chip's hand, tossing it in the fire. He grabbed his trusty rattan and swung it against Chip's buttock, the boy still struggling to extricate his ear from Master Hans's sure grasp.

 

Yes! A lovely red line had appeared across Chip's buttocks. Hans swung again.Hans had discovered in his career as a Master that short strokes left less sting, longer strokes gave a better, harsher, stinging feeling. He swung again,and then let go of Chip's ear. "I am very displeased with you, young man!" But there had been much progress in the long run, Hans thought.

 

One month had passed, and Hans was not displeased with his progress. There had been grotesque unplesantness,with vomiting and much snivelling as Chip had gone through withdrawals from heroin,cocaine,amphetamines, Dilaudid, Demerol, Oxycontin, Vicodin, barbituates, tobacco and alcohol...

 

The repugnant Mohawk haircut had grown out, Hans's cane had persuaded Chip not to make efforts to maintain it, and his leather pants and concert T-shirts had been burned in the back yard...and Chip's goatee was gone too...as well as his pubic hair. In fact, Hans ensured that Chip shaved his entire body daily, and any hairs left were painfully plucked with Hans's pliers!

 

Now Chip was dressed regularly in a nice velvet Eton suit, with short pants and high knee socks, and girl's saddle shoes... and  he had a broad starched collar over the jacket...and a little black cap.

 

But presently, Chip was naked, except for his underwear, pink panties, hanging round one ankle. He was crying,and Hans had no patience for this. Hans was astonished at what spoiled creatures American men were. Like large, articulate pigs.

 

"This is enough struggling, Chip. Grab your ankles. Let us get this out of the way. You are no longer grotesquely overweight, and you can touch your toes, the calisthentics have certainly helped with that. Grab your ankles, you are getting fifty."

 

Chip looked truculent. "Master Hans, I know we argeed I wouldn't masturbate...but you get off! I suck your dick four times a goddamn day! And you just let me jerk off  once a week. It's not really fair and--"

 

 Suddenly Master Hans's cane slashed neatly across Chip's nipples, and he fell to the floor, weeping. Hans was so bored by this. It seemed like Chip had spent half the month on the floor weeping.

 

Hans sighed. He kicked Chip in the stomach, not too gently. "Arise, Chip. I am weary of your tantrums." Chip began attempting the fetal position, and Hans kicked him again, just a bit harder, and Chip arose rather quickly. Now the panties were off, and the young man was rubbing his stomach and looking at Hans reproachfully.

 

Hans was pleased at the young man's body. The operation to remove the tattoos that had virtually swirled Chip's arms and chest was painful, but life was pain, ja?

 

Muscles were starting to appear on Chip's chest and arms, thanks to Hans's campaign to get Chip to cut wood and do manual labor around the place...and then of course Chip was taught to run and further exert himself as Hans had chased Chip, slashing his bare buttocks with the Kangaroo Hide English Blacksnake Whip. Fortunately the area around the cabin was at least six acres, and there were no neighbors about.

 

Yes, Chip was quite attractive now. Hans enjoyed having Chip crawl to his bed, licking Hans's own body from head to foot, before giving Hans a wonderful slurpiing blowjob, if not two or three. Chip was quite adamant about his heterosexuality, but Hans had noticed that Chip's penis was a bit hard when he was performing his ministrations.

 

Hans had actually asked Chip, after a week, if he wanted to leave, and Chip had said he would stay...under whatever Hans thought was best...sometimes he looked a bit doubtful,but he was staying on...

 

Now, Hans reached over and began massaging Chip's penis gently, and the younger man's cock became hard. "I know you enjoy toying with your little liebchen, but when Master instructs you to abstain from touching yourself, you must abstain."

 

Chip's dick became quite erect. Hans noticed Chip's eyes closing, and his mouth breathing sensually. Silently, Hans raised his cane and slapped it down on Chip's erect penis. SMACK! Before Chip even opened his eyes, Hans slashed Chip's penis twice more.

 

Chip, of course grabbed his penis and began whining.  Hans was amazed at the young man's capacity to whine. His ineffective parents had raised him on psychology or some such rot, and of course since his tenth year when he'd been sent to Juvenile Hall for trying to pass Xeroxed one hundred dollar bills, Chip had spent most of his time in prison...or causing all sorts of trouble.

 

Hans could not understand why young men in the US were so fond of seeking trouble and darkness. He had had a joyous youth playing soccer and studying Calculus; he would've had no other life! Hans had read the story of how Annie Sullivan had had to take Helen Keller to an abandoned cabin to re-train her; to get her away from her spoiling family...and he had followed suit with Chip,who was not deaf or blind,but just obtuse...so obtuse.

 

Now Hans once again, patiently asked Chip to grab his ankles. "Quickly, it will be over soon, and we can move on with our day. You have one thousand punishment lines to write for yesterdays profanity, and then we will polish the windows. Let us not have any more nonsense, Chip."

 

But Chip was in a rebellious mood, apparently. "I havent' done anything WRONG, Master Hans...I need my space! Masturbating once a week isn't enough! It's not..." Hans clicked his tongue against his teeth, and waded in once more with the cane, and all was agony for some time!

 

LATER

Hans and Chip walked the road into Buttermilk Falls, Chip not moving terribly comfortably. Hans had caned Chip extensively for his masturbation sins, and then of course Chip had offered up some lip concerning having to wear his Eton suit complete with short pants, high collar and high knee socks, and Hans had had to bring out the razor strop to quell this new disturbance!

 

Oh fuck, Chip thought, as his butt was so goddamned sore! Master Hans had caned him with intense rapidity and energy. It was like nothing Chip had ever gone through before. Chip had really fought it, having to wear these weird-ass boarding school clothes. I mean, okay, he couldn't wear punk rock shit anymore,but why did he have to dress like Donald Duck?  Hans, though, could really whale with that strop. Chip had gritted his teeth...he could take it, couldn' t he? But Chip had finally broken down...shit, Hans could have him go into town in a ballerina tutu if he wanted, Chip was worn out.

 

Now Chip was in his Eton suit, the cap placed smartly on his head, but he was moving rather disjointedly, as his hips,buttocks and thighs were in quite a lot of pain. Hans's right arm was feeling a bit numb as well...it had been quite a time with the correction. But it was a fine day, and Hans did enjoy looking at the flora and fauna as they walked.

 

"Look at the yellow and shiny black  goldfinch, Chip, there in the maple tree. The Goldfinch usually eats plants such as thistles and asters, I don't know why it is in the maple tree...perhaps it is just resting. "

 

Goddamn, I wish he'd shut up, Chip thought. Who gives a good goddamn about some fucking bird in a tree? And look at the dumb-ass expression on Hans's face as he stared around the woods...but Chip dared not say anything. The slim German had incredible strength,and Chip knew Hans wasn't just carrying the diamond willow walking stick for show.

 

And Hans went on. "Ah, and what a tree. There are thirteen native maple species in North America, you know. That tree is a Bigleaf Maple, you know...there is also a Sugar Maple near our cabin though usually those trees are natural to the northeast United States and Southern Canada." Hans paused for a moment. "How I miss the trees back home ! The Eiche, the Birke, the Fichte..."

 

But now they were in the village. A couple of kids, dressed much as Chip had once done, in baggy jeans, obscene T-shirts and facial piercings, lounged with their skateboards in the town square. They looked curiously at the trim German youth in his turtleneck and khakis, and the odd duck next to him wearing the schoolboy outfit reminiscent of Angus Young of "AC/DC".

 

"What're you dressed like that for, faggot?" One of the young men shouted this out, while massaging his crotch area. "This ain't London, man..."

 

"Ignore them, Chip, they are merely street urchins" Hans said calmly as they went on. Chip was mortified, however; he couldn't believe this was happening to him,though he would've behaved the same way towards oddly dressed strangers just six weeks ago. Indeed, a year before he had beaten the shit out of a couple of Amish youths who had come to town for chicken feed.

 

But one of the boys came up close. "I'm talking to you queers...you from around here?" Chip thought of himself as a tough guy,but he was really a coward without his switchblade and nun-chucks, which Hans had disposed of his first day at the cabin. But Hans, easily four inches shorter than the thug, was completely at  his ease.

 

"I advise you to move on, lad." Hans said, smiling slightly. "I have not been paid to train you...and do not wish to waste my time!" But this produced a bellow of laughter from the young guy, who shoved Hans back...

 

Then, as Chip stared, Hans grabbed the "urchin" by his arm, and twisted it round his back, and forced him onto his knees. "What the fuck's goin' on man...Norbert! Skeeter, help me out, man!" But his friends were as cowardly as Chip, and they stood, shaking, at a safe distance away. "Hey you oughta leave Q-Ball alone, dude." Skeeter said, hesitantly.

 

Hans fiddled with the Q-Ball's trousers, and they came open...and Hans pulled them down to Q-Ball's ankles. The diamond willow walking stick came down twelve times on Q-Ball's buttocks, one cheek of which was tattooed with a swastika. Q-Ball screamed and struggled, but Hans lashed again and again...and then finally stopped.

 

A uniformed cop came striding up. "Constable Kastanakis help me out here, man" Q-Ball screamed. Chip hoped Kastanakis didn't recognize him...he'd spraypainted the good officer's face during a ruckus after Chip was caught vandalizing police cars a few months ago.

 

"What's going on here?" Constable Kastanakis looked with some disgust at Q-Ball,but he had his duty to do. "Unhand that boy!" But, as Hans continued to shake Q-Ball like a dog shakes a rat, Kastanakis stepped closer.

 

"I am almost finished with this...youth." Hans said slowly. "He can pull up his pants after he kisses my boot and apologizes for shoving me, here in your street...or I will give him a few more strokes with my walking stick."

 

Constable Kastanakis looked shrewdly at Q-Ball's well marked buttocks, and glanced at his retreating friends. "You've been harassin' tourists again, Q-Ball?"

 

"Goodness, is that his Christian name?" wondered Hans aloud. "What is this nation coming to?" Suddenly Hans shook his head. "Never mind. I will, as you say 'let this one go' and move on. Good day, Constable Kastanakis."

 

Hans then let go of Q-Ball's arm and patted Chip's arm gently. "Come, Chip, it is time to walk on..." and they did!

 

And Chip was proud to be with him!