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An Openly Transgressed Custom


This is a work of adult fiction and should be read only by
adults. It is also my work. Although I receive no compensation
other than your comments, it is still my work. Please respect
this and do not repost it somewhere else without talking to me
first about it. If you are not allowed to read works with sexual
content, either due to your age or by virtue of the laws in the
geographical location in which you reside, please do not

The title of this piece is taken from Mark Twain's "The Gorky
Incident." The complete quote is, "laws are sand, customs are
rock. Laws can be evaded and punishment escaped, but an openly
transgressed custom brings sure punishment."

Enjoy, and if you're so inclined, please let me know what you

Alexis (

An Openly Transgressed Custom (MF Mdom bd)

The rough leather ropes, doubled, struck her pale skin, over and
over, mercilessly. She struggled to remain silent during his
administration of the beating. He warned her that if he were
forced to gag her, he would redouble his efforts to stripe her
tender hide. Her humiliation was increased by the very fact
that he remained clothed throughout his punishment of her. She
wasn't even worth being used for his physical pleasure. She had
disappointed him, and she would have to again earn the privilege
of being used by him as a vessel to receive his cock.


Earlier in the day he had confronted her. He met her at the door
as she came home from work. At first she had assumed that this
was a pleasant surprise. After all, how often is he home when
she arrives? However, the cold glint in his eyes stopped her joy
before it threatened to bubble over. Without speaking, without
actually looking at her, he grasped her wrist and pulled her into
the living room. She trailed along behind him, rushing to keep
up with his long strides, taking two steps to his every one.

He unceremoniously, but not roughly, dumped her in the living
room chair and stood before her. His voice was steady,
controlled, unwavering, and it terrified her. There seemed to be
a complete lack of emotion in his tone, an almost mechanical
quality. But she knew him better than to be fooled by what one
could merely hear. His voice screamed silently to her that he
was holding himself together with all the will he could muster.
This was his fuming.

She begged him silently with her eyes to rant, to rave, to pace,
to break something, to scream, to do anything. Anything other
than this. But he stopped moving completely, and the air around
him seemed to shimmer with the heat emanating from his fury as he
stood before her.

He began to speak. "My requests, my requirements, are not
difficult ones, Katherine. All this time, I've asked only that
you remain honest with me. How difficult is that, Katherine?
How hard is it really, to be honest? Isn't it harder, Katherine,
to keep secrets?"

"I, I don't understand," was the only reply she could muster.

"That's not really an answer to my question, Katherine. I asked
you if it wasn't harder to keep secrets than it is to be open and
honest with me. Never mind. I know the answer, Katherine."

He took a breath and continued, although he now began to walk
slowly around her chair as he spoke. "Imagine something for me,
Katherine. Imagine that I'm at work. It's a quiet day, nothing
spectacular happening, just your average day at the office. I
turn around in my chair to look out the window, across the street
to your office. I didn't expect to see you there, after all, you
told me that you were having salads at Margo's today with the
girls. So, Katherine, imagine my surprise when I saw you sitting
at your desk. Eating. Talking. To someone sitting across from

Her brain frantically scrambled to come up with an answer, an
explanation. She wished with all her heart that she could say
she had no idea what he was talking about, but she knew. It
seemed so innocuous at the time. How quickly things got out of
control. Yes, she knew, and now, so did he.

"I..." she began, but her voice stumbled. She swallowed and
started over. An almost silent "I'm sorry," was all she could
muster from her dry mouth.

"Katherine, Katherine," he continued. She was slightly
encouraged by his response. He voice was not unkind, although he
spoke slowly to her as one would speak to a child who had
difficulty understanding. "Please don't interrupt me, Katherine.
When I'm ready for you to answer, I'll ask you a question."

Each time he spoke her name, her full name (oh god, when was the
last time he used her full name?) her stomach lurched higher into
her throat. She was sure she'd lose control and start crying.
But it wasn't time. She knew she'd end the evening begging, but
not until he wanted her to be begging.

"Now, Katherine, I'm not an unreasonable man. I can understand a
change of plans, and I certainly don't require you to phone me
with an itinerary each time you make a minor adjustment in your
day. However, I did think that your choice of a dining companion
was an interesting one. I wasn't exactly surprised to see Holly
there, but the other participant in this little luncheon? I've
met him, haven't I? Russell, I think. His office is next to
yours, and if I recall, he's rather fond of you. We've discussed
him, Katherine, and you agreed that it would be best if you
didn't spend time with him that wasn't strictly work-related.
He's never been exactly subtle in his attraction to you."

"Then, imagine my further surprise, Katherine, when he reached
out to stroke your hand."

There it was again; she tried desperately to will her heart to
slow down. It was beating so fast, so loud; she was surprised it
wasn't echoing throughout the room. She wanted to protest, to
defend herself. It wasn't her fault, her rational brain screamed
silently at him, she couldn't be rude when he showed up and
joined Holly in her office. But, she knew that it was her fault,
and she really should have done something. It hadn't gone past
that one touch on her hand. Okay, to be honest he had ever so
delicately used the napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth. She
hadn't realized until that moment just how presumptuous that was
of him, and how that must have appeared.

"Katherine, I'm guessing that you found his attention flattering.
After all, who doesn't want to be admired and sought after? I'm
also guessing that you simply got caught up in the attention and
didn't think of the consequences."

Yes! Yes! She silently agreed, her eyes searching his face for
the forgiveness and understanding she craved. That was it, she
just got caught up...

But he wasn't finished. "Katherine, you're a beautiful woman.
You're smart, charming, witty. Basically you're everything that
a man, or a woman, could want in a companion. However, you're
something else, aren't you?"

He paused briefly, now standing behind her. Her eyes were glued
to a spot in her lap, her fingers twisted around the scarf she
held. He bent down to speak directly into her ear, his voice
reverberating through her body.

"You're mine."

"Katherine, to whom do you belong?"

She forced herself to answer, begging her body not to betray her.
"To you, Sir."

Now standing in front of her, "Yes, to me, Katherine. Don't ever
forget that. You belong to me, and that carries with it some
measure of responsibility. You have a responsibility, Katherine,
to ensure that all other interested parties know that you're
spoken for. To ensure that all other interested parties
understand that your overtures of friendship are merely that,
friendship. You've always been such a lady. You've always
maintained such a proper demeanor. A lady, Katherine, knows that
it's proper to immediately, yet kindly respond to such an
unwanted overture. Katherine, you didn't make such a response to
him this afternoon at lunch, did you?"

After a brief pause, "No, Sir."

"No, you didn't. What you did do, however, was laugh. That
charming, flirty laugh of yours, Katherine, that drew me to you
in the first place. The laugh you save for me. You encouraged
him, Katherine. He was admiring you, you were enjoying it, and
you encouraged him."

She hung her head, unable to look in his face. He was right, and
she knew it. She was flattered by Russell's attention. For so
long now everyone at the office had known of and respected her
total devotion to Jonathan, although no one outside of her best
friend Holly knew the true level on which their relationship
rested. She had always done such a good job of deflecting even
the most playful of flirtations and in time the flirtations had
mellowed into comfortable working relationships, friendships but
nothing more. She hadn't realized until that moment that Russell
hadn't truly taken the hint.

"Perhaps the fault is mine, Katherine. Perhaps I haven't been
attentive enough. Is that it? Have I neglected your pride, or
is the devotion of one man not enough for you anymore?"

Katherine couldn't answer, couldn't find the words to explain.
To tell him it was a momentary lapse, a solitary incident of ego,
sounded trite and unconvincing, even in her own thoughts. She
instead stayed silent and waited for him to continue, but his
next words sent a chill through her center.

"I can only assume, from watching this exchange this afternoon,
that you desire your freedom." He continued without pausing to
gauge her reaction. "I can only assume that being here, that
being mine, is no longer enough for you. Therefore, Katherine,
I'm opening the door for you. There is a bag packed with your
bankbook and enough cash to get you through the weekend. I've
pre-paid a weekend reservation for you at the Hilton, and I'll
send the rest of your things when you're settled. You have a
choice to make Katherine. I love you, but I've never hidden the
fact that you're either mine completely or you're not mine at
all. If you wish to go, I'll mourn my loss, but I'll harbor no
ill will and I'll do everything I can to make your transition a
smooth one. Make your decision, Katherine, and let's not waste
any more of our time."

With this, he turned his back to her and left. She could hear
him, moving about in the next room. She suspected he was fixing
himself a drink, and she could imagine his hands wrapped around
the glass. The soft light from the fire would catch the amber
glow from the liquid in his glass. He would stand there, she
knew, his hand on the leather desk pad on the mahogany desk, and
hold the drink still, letting the aroma of the scotch fill his
nostrils before he brought the glass to his lips.

She didn't move. Her insides shook and trembled, but she didn't
move. Her hands remained clenched in her lap, her knuckles white
with the strain, and her nails dug into her palms, but she didn't
move. The tears began to flow down her cheeks. Single tears
from each eye, leaving a small trail through her perfect makeup.
But she waited.

She couldn't leave, she didn't want to leave but she couldn't
leave even if she had. Her body was ignoring the signals from
her brain. She did belong to him.

It must have only been minutes, fifteen, perhaps twenty, but it
felt like hours. He walked through the room, pausing to glance
at her as he passed her chair. She sat just as she had been when
he left her. One curt nod of his head at her, before he passed
through the door to the kitchen. She could hear him opening the
refrigerator, letting it fall closed. He came back into the room
and handed her the bottled water. "Here. Drink."

Katherine took the bottle gratefully, but her trembling hands
betrayed her quiet demeanor. The water splashed slightly over
his lips as she drank the cool liquid. She held the bottle
between her hands in her lap as she waited for his next words.

After a pause, Jonathan took a deep breath and again spoke. "You
want to stay?" She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Not good
enough, Katherine. Do you wish to remain here with me?"

She forced the sound from her clenched throat. "Please, please
Sir." She hated the way her voice sounded, tight, trembling,

"So, be it. Unpack your bag, undress, and come back to this
chair. Your punishment begins in exactly fifteen minutes."

So now, here they were. She had sat before him, her skin glowing
in the soft light of the room. He could see her pulse pounding
at her collarbone and her breasts heaved slightly with each of
her breaths. She had managed to unpack and rehang the clothes in
her bag, strip and put away her clothes from today, let down and
brush her hair, and be seated back in the chair with two minutes
to spare. While she was preparing, Jonathan had made a few
adjustments of his own.

No longer was her chair in the middle of the room. He had pushed
it against the wall and put his own chair about three feet away
facing hers. Although her chair was a comfortable one with
padded arms and a wide back, his was substantially more
utilitarian. It had a low back, shallow seat, and sturdy legs.
Simple, heavy and functional. There was a small round tea table
placed to the side of their chairs and on it Jonathan had placed
numerous toys, instruments for use during the administration of
her correction. As Katherine sat waiting, her eyes were drawn to
the table despite her efforts to remain still. Jonathan was a
firm believer in the power of anticipation.

He checked his watch and nodded. Then, with both hands he
grasped her ankles and lifted her legs, draping each over an arm
of her chair. She blushed furiously at this position, her body
so lewdly displayed, and he immediately noticed her discomfort.
"Hmmm, Katherine. Perhaps you're bothered by this unladylike
display?" She didn't trust herself to respond. "Well, then
perhaps this will help you remember what it is to be a lady when
you're in mixed company."

Her hands rested on her thighs, and she could feel her
fingernails dig into the tender flesh. Her head was pressed
against the back of the chair. Her eyes closed as his voice
surrounded her. She could feel him move around her chair,
stopping when he was directly behind her. His hands pushed on
her elbows until her fingers her hands were between her legs. He
bent down to talk to her. "Open you eyes, Katherine. I want to
watch you." Her eyes opened, lashes still slightly damp, and her
gaze met his.

"Touch yourself, Katherine. cum quickly for me."

She hesitated only briefly. This had never been easy for her;
she was raised to believe that it was disrespectful to
masturbate. If one must resort to such a release, it was done
only in the strictest of privacy. She had never been able to let
this go enough to enjoy masturbating in front of him. In the
past he had always respected the distaste she had for this act
and had never asked her to perform for him. But tonight was
different. She had proven herself not quite the lady she held
out to be, and he was going to remind her just why she felt most
secure when she followed rules of etiquette most people felt were

Her fingers began to probe her lips, parting them. At first they
were dry, almost painfully dry, and she could feel her nails
scrape over the delicate skin. He watched her face, saw the
little lines form at the corners of her eyes, and he smiled at
her obvious discomfort. He moved and sat in the chair across
from her. He reached out his hand and rested it on her inner
thigh, inches from her labia. He began to stroke the back of her
hand with his thumb. His touch on her hand relaxed her minutely,
and she could feel the muscles in her thigh ease. Her fingertips
were suddenly moist as she felt her juices being to flow. He
pushed against her thumb with his, rubbing her clit in small,
quick circles. Her breath began to come in gasps, and her teeth
clenched. He leaned in closer to her and whispered, "now,
Katherine, cum now, quietly." Her body stiffened as he quickly
thrust two fingers into her wetness. The muscles tightened
around his fingers and her head dropped back heavily against the
chair. She shuddered around his hand and let a small yelp escape
her throat.

He paused for a few moments to let her catch her breath. As her
eyes fluttered open, he reached for her hand, bringing her to her
feet. Without a word, he pulled her forward so that the low back
of his chair was resting against her hips. Her back bent forward
over the chair, and she grasped the chair legs for support. Her
hair fell over her face as she rested her forehead on the velvet

She forced herself to breath deeply, to focus her thoughts on the
rest of the evening ahead. She was sufficiently familiar with
the bindings he preferred, his favorite restraints had quickly
become her favorites as well, but until this time they had almost
always been used almost as reminders rather than restrictions.
The bindings had always allowed her to let go of much of her
puritanical upbringing and enjoy what her mind attempted to rebel
against. In a way, the bindings were almost more for her benefit
than for his, and she had always assumed (however misguided that
assumption had been, she now realized) that had she expressed a
preference he would have abandoned the restrains altogether. He
had beat her before, although always in a semi-playful manner,
never as a punishment. Although, forcing herself to be honest,
she had never acted in such a way as to deserve anything more
than a minor correction. This had always been held out as a
possibility, and absolute obedience had always been the standard.
Katherine just never dreamed she would push things to this point.
She never dreamed that she would do anything to anger him.

He knelt by the legs of the chair and caressed her fingers. She
held the legs in such a tight grip he could see the veins throb
beneath her skin as he traced their paths across the back of her
hands. With a few deft motions, he secured her wrists and
forearms to the legs of the sturdy chair. He reached under her
shoulder and suddenly grasped her nipple between his thumb and
forefinger. As she gasped he pulled her nipple away from her
breast, twisting as he tugged, and he smiled as he felt the
increased hardening of the nub.

Without releasing her swollen nipple, he moved around the chair
behind her, his other hand coming to rest on her hip, stroking
her thigh and buttocks as one would a prize show horse. Almost
instinctively she shuffled her feet out further, spreading
herself for his fingers as he traced the line between her tight
cheeks. He tugged on her lower lips, which were still engorged
from her quick self-induced orgasm. Patting her sex gently
elicited a small moan, and he quickly withdrew his hand, wiping
the moisture on her inner thigh.

He leaned over her to whisper firmly in her ear. "Not yet,
Katherine. There will be plenty of time for that later. First,
we have some corrective measures to take."

Without further words, Jonathan wrapped the bindings around her
thighs and the legs back legs of the chair, and informed her that
he was ready to proceed.


The rough leather ropes, doubled, struck her pale skin, over and
over, mercilessly. She struggled to remain silent during his
administration of the beating. He warned her that if he were
forced to gag her, he would redouble his efforts to stripe her
tender hide. Her humiliation was increased by the very fact
that he remained clothed throughout his punishment of her. She
wasn't even worth being used for his physical pleasure. She had
disappointed him, and she would have to again earn the privilege
of being used by him as a vessel to receive his cock.

When he deemed that her backside was sufficiently striped and
that she would have difficulty sitting for quite some time, he
untied her arms and ankles from the chair (at this point, she
wasn't even worth breaking out the real bindings). He ordered
her to kneel before him, up on her parted knees, sitting
straight. Standing behind her, and in one quick motion, he
forced a medium sized plug into her tender ass. Although he had
applied a thin coat of lubricant to its tip and widest part, she
had to suppress a scream as he twisted it into her, forcing it
past the tight ring of muscle. He pushed relentlessly until it
was completely inside of her and her smallest hole tightened
around the tapered end. He pushed on her shoulder until she
sat, legs tucked under her sore cheeks, resting on her ankles
with her arms held behind her back. Quickly she obeyed, although
her ass screamed at her for causing further torture to the broken
skin. She sat rod-straight, trembling as he refastened her
collar around her throat--a small concession to her obedience
during her punishment. At least he was again claiming her as his
possession. With vice-like fingers, he pulled her small nipple
away from her body, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger
until it had hardened even further. It was already slightly raw
from scraping against the seat of the chair during her beating,
and His ministrations caused it to feel as though it had been
rubbed with sandpaper.

When he deemed it to be sufficiently elongated and hardened, he
slowly snapped on a plastic clothespin, the slightly serrated
teeth digging viciously into her delicate breast. Smirking at
her obvious pain, he quickly applied a second clamp to her other
nipple and backed away, admiring his handiwork as he watched her
squirm from the various reminders he had placed upon her body.

Bending down, he ran a finger between her parted thighs and
laughed when he felt the wetness beginning to seep from her
opening. Shaking his head at her wantonness, he turned his back
to her, leaving her to think about his ownership of her and what
it means. She didn't realize it, but he was bringing her to a
heightened sense of her own submission, readying her for his next

Although she had not yet earned her place back in his home, for
his personal attentions, she had shown that she could be
receptive to the attentions of others. He was proud of his
possessions, and he enjoyed showing her off. Tonight, she was to
be loaned out to his friends, several of them in fact, and she
would be punished afterwards for her enjoyment of them. It was
an unwinnable situation from her standing; he trained her to be
obedient, and he would then punish her for that very obedience.
It would serve only to make her more his.


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