Cruel Master Hans

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Hans Kochmeier got out of the taxicab, brushing himself. Americans were so dirty! He paid the driver with a near grimace, and surveyed the house. “Cyrus Thibodeau, aged forty-four, journalist but with independent income from family trust.”

Hans smiled and shook his head. Another lazy, fat American. And from what Fanchon had told him, this man lived in a filthy, unkempt house even with a weekly maid service, and he also had a filthy masturbation habit. An obese hausfrau waddled by, gazing curiously at the young, immaculate German, in his blond crewcut and white turtleneck sweater.

The woman resembled Hans’s last case, a slovenly district attorney, named Angela Scifres…Hans had broken several canes on her lard-filled buttocks before Ms. Scifres had shown much improvement at all…Hans was confident that now he’d left her care, Angela Scifres was once again stuffing Twinkies and other grotesqueries in her mouth, undoing all his good work. Alas.

Hans walked to the house, climbed the unkempt, badly kept steps and rang the doorbell. Hans waited. He heard some scuffling from the inside, and curses. Cyrus Thibodeau will pay for that…making me wait on the porch, cursing. Ach, much work to do here. Hans’s fingers longed to grip a cane again…Fanchon promised that she’d sent some implements to this dummkopf’s house…

The door finally opened, and Hans looked in mild revulsion at a balding man clad in a T-shirt proclaiming a membership in the “Buttermilk State Chuggers Club” and Bermuda shorts. He was shoeless . “Yeah?” The balding man peered at the trim twenty-eight year old German. “Are you selling something? Bibles, perhaps? Not here, man.” The door was about to close when Hans, holding back his desire to gag at the smell of stale beer, spoke.

“You are Cyrus Thibodeau, I believe? I am Hans, your new Master. You may call me Master Hans.” Hans’s nose wrinkled, but he soldiered on. “Step back from the door and let me in, young man. We have much work to do.”

“Huh? I don’t think so.” Cyrus Thibodeau shook his head. “I think you got the wrong dude…perhaps you’re looking for an embassy or something—“

Suddenly Hans’s right hand shot out and grabbed Cyrus Thibodeau’s left nipple, and he twisted it violently. “I believe I told you to step back and allow me to enter…you are not starting your relationship with your new Master well, Cyrus. Fanchon will not be pleased.”

Cyrus Thibodeau screamed until Hans let go of his nipple, and then he stood back,and Hans entered the house. Yes, it was disgusting. Cigarette butts everywhere, abandoned pizza delivery boxes, beer cans…Yankee disorder.

“Look,no, you–ow, that hurt. Shit! I–” SMACK! Han’s hand crashed across Cyrus’s face.

“I do not allow profanity. Where are my canes?” The crew cut spun around, surveying the repulsive pig sty that was this rich American’s house.”Fanchon told you to leave them in the living room, I believe?”

“No, no…Jesus, my nose is bleeding. Fanchon said she was sending someone to live here, but I asked for a Mistress, not a Master. You balıkesir escort got it wrong, man.” Cyrus was not quick on the uptake, in Hans’s opinion. Ah! but there were the canes.

Hans pivoted and walked into the living room, and picked up a nice long bamboo cane from the coffee table. He bent it, smiling. Yes, very good. “You will remove your shorts, Cyrus. In fact, remove all your clothes. I may burn them after your punishment.”

But the American was not finished talking. Quite, quite unfortunate. He babbled something else about having wanted a female Master, and Hans decided to wade right in. He swung the cane, catching Cyrus Thibodeau smartly across the shoulders.

Cyrus Thibodeau began backing up, and screaming about the police, and Hans caught him by the ear and shook Cyrus’s head until his eyes were rolling about in it. “You are going to be a difficult case, I assume. If Fanchon had not given me your cashiers check for twenty thousand dollars for your first month, I would leave now…but I am committed. I have signed a contract.”

Cyrus’s mouth was slack. “Sh-she gave YOU my check? I’m not going to get a hot little dominatrix? What kind of–Oh no!” For the young German was quite strong. Hans grabbed Cyrus and threw him across the couch, and ripped down his shorts.

WHACK! WHACK! THWACK! CRACK! Hans had been a Dominant Master for nine years and he never got sick of the feeling of a cane in his grip, and the satisfying look of welts being raised on a fat, pale buttock.

Cyrus Thibodeau struggled for a bit, and then relaxed and just screamed, which was of no consequence to Master Hans….he could cane all day, and ignore the wails of a spoiled 44 year old child.

About an hour later, after Cyrus had obediently stood in the corner, weeping, Master Hans summoned him. Cyrus was now naked and covered with marks from his shoulders to his upper thighs, but it seemed to have been therapeutic, as he was quite subdued.

Cyrus came over to where Hans was sitting, and opened his mouth. But Hans noticed that Cyrus’s penis was erect. This would not do, so early in the relationship.

“Make your penis small, Cyrus,before you address me. I do not want to see a hard penis just now.” Hans said, with a look of displeasure.

Cyrus looked at his dick, and bit his lip. “I don’t understand it, either, Master Hans. I’m not gay, but–but I–“

“You cannot help it? Please bring me the cane. No buts, just bring it.”

Cyrus brought the cane and handed it to Master Hans reluctantly.

Hans stood up, and took the cane, swinging it against Cyrus’s nipples…right across them, hard. SMACK!

Predictably, Cyrus fell on his face, grabbing his chest. Hans was revolted. Like every good Master, Hans had a Master of his own, and could take numerous hits to the chest without even wincing. Some Spartans these Americans were.

“Rise, immediately, Cyrus.” Hans took the cane, and this time swung it hard against Cyrus’s still erect penis. SNAP! Yess! The penis went down obediently…though of course Cyrus bartın escort fell on the floor again, crying…this was getting rather tiresome.

But Hans put the cane down and sat back down, waiting for Cyrus Thibodeau to arise once again.

Finally Cyrus arose, looking plaintively at his Master.

“You have learned something from your time in the corner, Cyrus?” Master Hans asked. “There will be no more tantrums, I assume? Fanchon did not tell you she was going to send you a female Master. She sent me, and I am here. I hope that is understood.”

“I-I’m sorry, Master Hans.” Cyrus said, as he stood in front of where his young German Master was sitting. “When you came here I-I didn’t mean-um–“

“You did not mean to be inhospitable?” Master Hans asked, permitting himself a small smile. “It is all right. I understand that you were crying out for a bit of correction a bit of Abgestraft? It is fine. Now you will clean this house. Where is your vacuum cleaner? Your mop and bucket?”

“No, the maid is coming on Tuesday, don’t worry about it–” Cyrus once again was cut off, as Hans hopped up and grabbed Cy’s ear with one hand, and boxed the other ear with his fist. Cyrus burst into tears.

“I said you are to clean this house. And I mean now. You do not have cleaning supplies? Of course not, you are slovenly and lazy. You will get a pad and paper, and I will dictate what you will need. You will go to the supermarket and purchase the cleaning supplies, and be back in half an hour. For every minute over thirty minutes that you are gone, I will give you five strokes with the cane…” “Wait,before you go, I must void.” Hans said to Cyrus Thibodeau. “Just a moment on your knees, and then you are off to the supermarket.”

“What? You have to void–pee? You can use the toilet, it’s right there.” Cyrus gesture to the toilet. “I’m not into pee or scat–not me, man.” Cyrus smiled. “I’m really getting turned on by this whole Master thing…but I can’t let someone pee in my mouth…it’s unsanitary. But no offense to you.”

Hans sighed. It was difficult to keep one’s temper. “You will kneel and I will void in your mouth, and then you will go to the supermarket. Kneel, immediately.”

But, remarkably, it was much too much work. Cyrus Thibodeau had dressed, and so Hans had had to once again, grab him by the ear, throw him across the sofa and pull his pants down, and let the cane do its dance. FINALLY, after about ten thrashes, Cyrus Thibodeau had knelt, his face wet with tears, and his pants around his ankles.

Goodness, Americans were stubborn, thought Master Hans as he unzipped his pants. Why all the complication? Angela had taken even more caning than this to take in his urine.

“That is right. Now open your mouth–do not touch my penis with your teeth, I will knock them out, Cyrus…that’s right…don’t choke, just let the penis lodge in your throat, and I will release the urine. Do NOT cough or spit, just hold your head back, please.”

Finally, Cyrus Thibodeau had drunk all of Hans’s urine, and considerately batıkent escort (without being prompted, actually) licked around Hans’s crotch to ensure there was no remaining drops!

“Now you may dress and go to the supermarket. Remember, Cyrus, five strokes for every minute after one half hour.”

Hans was pleased with Cyrus’s efforts! He returned only five minutes after the half hour limit, but with all the sponges, mops, cleansers and dishcloths and other things. He obediently grabbed his ankles for his twenty-five strokes, without making ridiculous excuses.

And then he cleaned! Hans, of course gave instruction. “Mop from the top of the room to the bottom, so that you are always standing on unmopped floor. This will prevent tracking…” Several times, Cyrus Thibodeau was distracted, and wanted to tell a little story, and Hans was quick with the cane, just a few helpful swats, and it was amazing how the American began to understand who was in charge!

Every room was scoured, and Cyrus didn’t even question Hans’s suggestion that he use a toothbrush to clean the tiles in the kitchen and bathroom! Cyrus did make some objection to scrubbing the windows with newspaper and ammonia when he was still naked,but Master Hans used the cane to poke him in the scrotum once, and Cyrus scrubbed in silence.

Twice during that time (Because Hans had consumed much too much iced tea on the flight) Cyrus had had to consume Hans’s urine, but he had obediently dropped his mop or his sponge and had gone through his good work like a trooper, as the Americans said.

Hans at one point did have to defecate, but felt it was too much to push on Cyrus at this time…he just sighed and went to use the toilet. Time enough for Cyrus to learn later, eh?

Finally, at midnight, Cyrus Thibodeau was exhausted, and Hans allowed him to put the supplies away.

“But now you will show your Master some appreciation before you go to bed, no?” Cyrus looked puzzled. “Cyrus, come. You have been using your big, stupid mouth for excuses and complaints all evening, can you do nothing useful with it?”

Cyrus Thibodeau was not a natural cocksucker, but Hans gave him a B minus…and after Hans came in Cyrus’s throat, of course Cyrus wanted to spit it out. Hans tried not to feel hurt at this caustic response to taking his precioius seed. He just grabbed Cyrus by the scalp, and held his head back, so he could not move, and Cyrus coughed, he swallowed, and smiled somewhat sickly…improvement would come, Hans thought.

However, Hans was still a bit tense. Angela had not been much of a sexual partner, especially since she was really not of the gender that interested Hans…So Hans bound Cyrus’s hands and feet and took him from behind, wearing a prophylactic, of course. One never knew how clean these Americans were!

After Hans had orgasmed into Cyrus’s buttocks (which needed tightening up, Hans considered….he must arrange a thorough exercise program) Cyrus made some noise about being released. But he didn’t even moan as Hans rolled him off the bed to spend the night tied on the floor. This was not going to be a whining case, Hans thought It would work out!

“Thank you, Master Hans” came Cyrus Thibodeau’s voice. “Good night, Sir.”

“Yes, and good night to you too, dummkopff.” came Master’s voice, and they slept!

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