A Piece of Property

Master’s voice outside the door, greeting the familiar guard by name, drained the strength from Property’s legs. He went down to his knees, bracing on shaking arms. The knob turned and the door swung inward and his thighs.

Boots first, black with short block heels. Master’s favorite pair for shit-kicking a slave who had pissed him off. Property had known those boots many times over the twenty years since they’d first met. He had certainly angered Master this time, in a flash of selfish desire that had turned the entire world upside down for them both.

Property lifted his gaze too far, and saw Master’s eyes. Hard, black fury with a scowl to match. Death had come for him. His moment of final judgment had arrived and nothing would go in his favor. The same expression he’d seen that night their paths had first crossed.

An expression that caused Property to bolt for the nearest waste can and vomit his empty stomach. This time there would be no reprieve. He’d completely blown his second chance at life in his vulgar self-interest.

Master waited for him to be done and return to the appropriate spot two feet in front of him. In proper kneeling posture, head hanging low, again braced on his hands, Property waited in acceptance of his death.

“At least you understand how badly you screwed up.”

“I do—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Master cut him off in far too calm a tone. “I require no words from you. Anything you say will only make me angrier. That’s not a smart thing to do right now.”

The short snake whip was out of his pocket. One step around to the side and the red and black leather coil opened to hiss through the air and land a hard, striping slice across Property’s bare back. Three more and Master’s boot lifted to his ribs to shove him onto his side. The sharp corner of that block heel dug into flesh between the ribs to cause a pain that shot through Property like a spike. Property fell over, body curving together around that pain. The whip came down half a dozen more times, around his ribs to bite hard into his back. The boot heel kicked him over again, leaving a dent in his skin that would turn into a bruise if he lived long enough.

Property rolled in all directions on the floor, directed by the whip and Master’s relentless, demanding boot. He did not try to hide or escape, did not cover or attempt to protect any part of his body. There was no point to any of that, with the whip nailing him everywhere from feet to neck. If Master wanted to hit a specific area, he knew how to make his slave present that part of the body. One lightning fast, burning, slice after another, the twisted length at the tip drove home just how vehemently enraged Master was.

Property screamed with some, yelped or cried out with others. The one thing he knew not to do was beg. Or plead. No begging for mercy. No pleading “no”. Either would have made Master angrier, if that was possible. Certainly would have made him more vicious.

Powered by Master’s entire arm and back, follow-through ensured that every strike left a stripe of a welt or a weeping, bleeding cut. There was no such thing as mercy this time, as the whip bit and sliced him over a hundred times.

Normally, Property would have to count the strikes and say how many there had been. This time, the whip flew too fast to be counted. Once it began, there was no stopping until Master felt like it. Master had a tireless whipping arm and a bottomless well of fury. His wrath, especially today, was the unleashing of a demon straight from Parin’s Pit.

Today, Property realized, he could literally be whipped to death.

The thin whip curled around his arms and legs, wrapped around his ribs. Master landed the braided popper end to Property’s cock or balls every time they were presented, making sure to punish the greedy organs that had left Master’s wife vulnerable to kidnapping.

All through the punishment, Master said nothing, made not one single sound. Single-minded in his action, tightly focused on issuing this punishment, he had no need for words. When Master had no need for words, the slave knew he was in the most dangerous predicament of all.

As suddenly as it had begun it was done, and Master was standing over him. Cessation allowed Property to give in to his emotions and sob in repeated convulsions. Master waited a moment, to let him quiet enough to be able to hear what Master had to say.

“It’s as simple as this: If I find her and she is alive, you will live. You will suffer every single minute of every single day until I am no longer angry with you, however many years that may take. If she is dead, you will suffer a hundred times longer than she did before I finally end your life. Get up. Get dressed. We’re flying to catch up to Dohan’s ship. He’s following a vessel he thinks she’s being held on. I’ll issue the next round of castigation when we’re on his ship.”

Property had to crawl to his clothing. Even if he’d been permitted to walk, he’d have had to crawl. His limbs were jelly, not fully under his control. He was slow and stiff, testing to be sure his arms would hold his weight every time he moved them. He had to sit on the welts and slices on his ass, painful as it was, in order to put his shirt on. Had to sit there to pull his pants up to his knees and put his socks on his feet. Efficiency was the need of the moment, to conserve his energy. Had to lift a foot to bend the knee in order to put shoes on. Once standing on wobbly knees, he pulled up and closed his pants.

He took the handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from his face and blow the snot out of his nose before slowly making his way to his feet. He didn’t think to tuck his shirt in and Master didn’t tell him to do so.

He dared not raise his eyes to Master’s again, and Master waited for him no longer. Walking out, he expected Property would follow. Property kept up as best he could, limping with the pain of a stripe along the bottom of his foot and several others that had wrapped around the tops of both feet. In the restriction of stiff shoes, they hurt much more than if he’d been barefoot.

In the steel box of the elevator, he leaned heavily into a rear corner to catch his breath. His eyes caught Master’s reflection in the brass plate, watching him. Property lowered his gaze away. His head swam with the endorphins a whipping always brought out, a combination of dizzy and high he usually enjoyed. There was no pleasure in it today. He felt only resignation. This day had been coming for him for a long time. His own stupidity had brought him this moment.

About the Author

TylerRose. is known as Dame Tyler in the NYC public SM/Fetish scene. She is an award-winning author who has written two “lifestyle”, four cartoon, and twenty fiction books that you can find on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/TylerRose./e/B00HCPLSP2

Read the rest of “Property: Punishment of a Dead Man”: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07PHV3CC2

You can find more of her work in Fetlife: https://fetlife.com/users/305828

She enjoys crochet, coffee, and baking, and will no doubt die with a thesaurus open on her thigh.