After Chip had cooked dinner and waited on Hans, and had his own meal in the kitchen, cleaning up quickly, he got busy polishing Hans's shoes and boots.
But in the middle of polishing Master Hans's last set of boots, Hans interrupted Chip.
"Chip. How many times I must tell you? You have not written down your Stuhlgang, your poo-poo!."
Hans, who was a strict hygienist, required that his submissive weigh and record his bowel movements, using little plastic gloves and a small digital kitchen scale, something that Chip was somewhat uncomfortable with.
More unpleasant were the results of such a weigh-in, which often could result in Chip's being given a punitive rectal cleansing involving Hans's Vaseline covered finger exploring Chip's inner sanctum, and then inserting a douche nozzle connected to an enema bag.
Master Hans would then either give Chip a four quart boiling soapy water enema, or a freezing water one, and then plug Chip's rectum, and have him clean the house while plugged, which was extremely uncomfortable.
Sometimes Hans would tell Chip he was untrustworthy, and would make Chip wear adult diapers, usually Depends or Serenity brand, for several days, and weigh the fecal matter himself.
Sometimes Master Hans could be even more cruel, and catheterize Chip's penis, and not allow him to urinate for a day.
This often resulted in some quite amusing dancing on Chip's part, and sometimes for Master Hans's entertainment, he would make Chip wear tap shoes as the poor sub danced in agony, his bladder nearly killing him.
Hans would clap his hands and tap his feet and sometimes play polkas on the CD player as Chip danced miserably!
You'd think with all these punishments, Chip would not forget to record his bowel movements, but sometimes he still did.
Tonight, though, Master Hans only smiled beneficently, and waved his hand away. "You had a big day in town, and that disturbing fellow Q-Ball harassing us...I will forget it tonight."
"Thank you, Master Hans." Chip said humbly. But he had a question for Master Hans, and finally, Chip got up the nerve to approach him.
"Master Hans, why did we buy those odd things in town today?"
Chip was genuinely curious. Hans had purchased two miniskirts, three feminine blouses, a full makeup case, a wig and women's shoes and stockings, as well as breast forms. Was Master Hans a transvestite?
Hans looked up from Friedrich Hayek's "The Road to Serfdom" politely.
"They are for you, Chip, for your vocational training." He returned to his book, but this apparently was not enough for Chip.
"Wh-what do you mean, my vocational training?
Am I going to learn to sell women's clothes? What-what's that mean?"
Chip began feeling a bit of panic as he asked. He sat down at Master Hans's feet, so not to annoy him.
Hans looked very weary for such an energetic young man. But he finally dropped "The Road to Serfdom" on the floor.
"Chip. One of my concerns, and the concerns of others is that you have no job skills." Hans pronounced this Chop skeels, but Chip tried to listen.
"You are not much of use, eh Chip?
I hear you read, and you sound like a child of five. 'THE...CAT...RUNS..'"
Hans's eyes bugged out and he spoke slowly like an idiot trying to spell out a sentence.
"That is quite sad, and you barely can add and subtract--"
"But I'm intellectually challenged, mentally disabled--" Chip said "It's a learning difference--"
"It certainly is, and you should have been shot as an infant" Hans said cheerily. "However, I am doing the best I can for you as an adult.
You drop out of the ah, high school, and have spent many years wasting your father's money.
Other than your proclivities for theft, which are not much because of poor eye-hand coordination, you know how to do nothing...
I was concerned for you until I realize you have one skill. And I will help you to turn that to money making...perhaps a career!"
Chip looked at Hans, with his head cocked. It was true that Chip had spent the last decade doing as little productive as possible...it was probably time he had a job, but what kind of skills did Hans mean?
Hans, seeing the puzzlement on Chip's face, smiled.
"You were resistant to my efforts to teach you to suck on my eh, Schwanz" Hans patted his crotch," But you have become quite adept after further training and a bit of encouragement from the cane, eh?"
Hans smiled, and of course Chip winced.
"So you have a rather slight build and a pretty face, Chip, and I think you could be a paramour for perhaps a rich burgomaster...after some practice as a prostitute.
The pay is good, I understand as many men in Buttermilk Falls are dissatisfied with the female prostitutes who insist on using a prophylactic, which deadens the senses to the penis when they perform fellatio."
Hans smiled again, and lit a Dunhill cigarette.
"I believe" he said, as he puffed enthusiastically
"That you, although a stupid boy, could have quite a career using your mouth, and say your anus, provided you do not use the condom.
And so the clothes and makeup are for you, my boy. Tomorrow we will begin teaching you to walk and act like a woman, and then we will shave your legs and make you up, and then you can receive visitors."
Chip gasped. Sweet Jesus. He had not been much enthusiastic about sucking Hans's cock--Chip was as far as he knew, a committed heterosexual, and had been quite the cocksman in his day.
The first night in the cabin had been quite difficult. Hans had explained to Chip that he was to fellate, and Chip had certainly resisted, the way he'd once fought off an amorous cell mate in San Quentin...
But Hans had retaliated much more nimbly than Norville Grady, who'd wanted a little loving back in the hoosegow.
Hans had "trained" Chip...he'd hogtied Chip and stuffed a soap encrusted English cricket bat (where the hell had he gotten that?) into Chip's mouth for a night or two. it had really wedged painfully...
