Author's Note: Hey there! If you haven't read the first four installments, start there, if you have, Welcome Back and apologies for the delay! I tried a new approach at this part, and the ones following it, where rather than try to type out one volume at a time, I just enjoyed the writing process and then went back later to divide it up into bite sized chunks. I edited/added to this one several times, I also have the next two parts already written but I don't really like them. I might post them anyway as part of the series if they can be edited to a point where I can stand, if not, I'll just start over. In the previous episode, Dennis added another night's worth of writing about Sal and his trip to rehab, leaving it on a bit of a cliffhanger. This chunk is going to focus solely on Dennis and Amy, and their evolving dive into lifestyle kink play. Disclaimer- This chapter is going to have a bit more bondage, light CNC, and humiliation play as Dennis and Amy take their new hobby on the road. Once again, thanks for all the feedback in the comments! Feel free to PM me or email me if you have any suggestions!
Dennis retrieved a big fluffy bath towel from the shelf, and let it unfurl between his arms. In the few steps it took him to cross the bathroom he realized how silly it was to even expect Amy to dry herself off. He was becoming more and more comfortable with the arrangement that his wife had crafted, and it showed in his movements. Less and less was he caught by surprise, not because he could predict the future, but because he'd surrendered completely to his wife's will and desires. He draped the towel over her shoulders and massaged it into her arms and back, then reversed it and did the same to the front of her body. He then ran it down each leg making sure to collect every stray drop of water left on her skin. With the vibrator in his ass still buzzing at full speed, his motions were twitchy and inconsistent and when he kneeled to dry Amy's feet, the toy pressed firmly against his prostate and a moan slithered past his lips in a hoarse, breathy whisper. Amy drank in every second of this, often having to restrain her indulgence, and it took every ounce of self control to maintain her chiseled, stoic, expression. Each moan that escaped his lips, each disjointed movement, stoked the inferno of lust within her. The arousal generated by Dennis' suffering was so intense that she lingered long after she was completely dry. Like a marble statue sculpted by some long forgotten master artisan, she gazed down at him expectantly until he began the ritual a second, then a third time.
Dominance over Dennis had become a drug, a wild and addictive stimulant coursing through her veins that elevated her heart rate to staggering heights and sent the hair-raising sensation of electricity through every nerve in her body. Unlike the benign feelings brought on by a good wine, this intoxication felt malicious and demanding, before the thrill of one small sip had the chance to dissipate, her mind was consumed by the cravings for the next. It was reminiscent of the handful of times in college that she'd been goaded into trying cocaine; fundamentally more powerful both in its euphoria and appetite, yet lacking the jaw clenching side effects that left her tossing and turning through the night. She felt bright and warm and the world around her along with time itself seemed to grind to a halt in her presence. She saw, felt and perceived everything in a way she never knew possible. As Dennis finished his second round with the towel, Amy was already formulating her designs to satisfy her sinful urges. With her plans all but decided, she gave into the urge for one more morsel of humiliating power and made Dennis present, then offered each of her soles for Dennis to kiss. She left him there, kneeling on the hard tile of the bathroom floor wracked with barely insufficient pleasure and closed the door behind her.
She rushed over to the closet to pull out one of the corsets and the attached panties and thigh high stockings. She separated the clothes from the hanger and returned it to the rack, then laid out the lingerie set on the bed. For a brief moment, she debated on whether or not to make Dennis dress her, but looking over the items, decided against it. The shocked look on his face would be far more thrilling than giving him another chore. She sat down on the edge of the bed and rolled the bright red lace top thigh highs into delicate rings, then gently slipped them over her feet and unrolled them up her leg. With the greatest care, she twisted and adjusted them so the seam ran in a straight line up the back of her legs, then let the lace tops snap into place at mid thigh.
Rising to her feet, she picked the corset up and held it in her hands. Her fingers traced the intricate lace designs and the hard boning underneath, then separated the hook and eye closures along the right side and laid the garment flat on the bed. A soft sigh escaped her as she paused for a moment to ponder the inseparable bond between beauty and suffering. It was an epiphany of sorts, holding the corset, imagining the pain and restriction it would soon impose on her in exchange for the elegance it would provide. It was a gift given of herself, to herself, yet its true majesty could only be seen by others. Her thoughts wandered back to Dennis and she immediately fell upon the connection; His suffering was the same.
Starting from the top, she pulled the laces through the first eyelid making sure to leave enough space between the two pieces, then she threaded the laces through until about the midway point where she left two wide loops before continuing down to the bottom. A quiet giggle escaped her lips as she thought about Dennis still kneeling in the bathroom while she took her time threading the laces up the back of the corset in an elegant crisscross pattern. She tied the two ends together to complete the lacing, then using her forearm, held the corset against her chest and used her other hand to refasten the hook and eye closures along the side. With the corset holding itself in place, she reached behind her and grasped the two loops in the middle and pulled them as tight as she could while exhaling deeply. She held the strings tight and repeated the process several times until her torso was bound tightly in the unyielding fabric. With elegant grace, she looped the strings and tied them, forming a perfect bow that would both fit the aesthetic and be easy to untie later.
Amy chased the attached garter straps with her fingers to find the clasps on each end, and attached them to her thigh highs. The last piece of the ensemble was a pair of red lace hipster panties. Amy stepped into them and pulled them up over the garters. She paused to look in the mirror, but instead continued on back to the closet believing that shoes were needed to complete the look before the big reveal. She tried on several pairs before settling on a set of black stilettos. The dangerously high heel and sleek black leather straps added to the thrill as well as her own beauty. With pleased finality, she took her place in front of the mirror, phone in hand, and drank in every inch of her deliciously sexy figure.
Her fingers traced the bust of the full cup corset and her eyes were drawn to the way it squeezed her breasts into rotund bronze orbs that peeked over the horizon of the corset like two rising suns. She let her gaze drift along with her hands down the rigid bones as she admired the feeling of soft lace thread work, captivated by the way it shattered the light reflecting off the satin into tiny floral shards. The flare of her hips was exaggerated by the tight confines of the corset and her panties lended aid to the illusion by allowing their complex lace inlays to be warped and distorted by her ample curves. Her hands followed the lines of her garters and then broke off at the hem of her stockings. They floated up, and she turned her hips to strike a seductive pose. One pose transformed into another, each presenting a new angle of beauty incarnate.
