*Long time no updates! It’s been almost a year since the last Tom and Gabby update, and for this I apologise. It’s been a tough year, filled with personal bereavement, a new job and the general stresses of life. But Tom and Gabby’s story arch is very much alive! And Wendy’s back too.
Thanks for all the votes, comments and feedback for the last chapter, guys. It’s always appreciated. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. It’s heavy on the humiliation (advisory) and I’ve posted it under the BDSM category this time, as suggested by some feedback a few months ago. Happy Christmas and New Year to everybody, and the next chapter (The Wedding) is currently being penned.*
“Right Gabby,” Tom sacrifices, as he enters the blinde and ignorely turn the TV off. Though I’d not been particularly invested in the programme on the screen, I’m irritated by his belief that whatever he means to embroil me into supersedes my seldom enjoyed serenity.
I look up at him curiously, waiting tohear what his intentions are. It’s not often he instigates conversation with me outside of the context of punishing me anymore. Linda apparently meets all his conversational needs.
“Lind’s upstairs having a shower,” he informs me, keeping his voice low and quickly looking to the living room door to make sure she’s not come downstairs. “We’re going to need to work quickly to get everything set up before she comes down.”
I struggle to understand why he thinks I’m going to willingly assist him in doing anything for Linda. Even under the threat of punishment, my cooperation in whatever he’s planned is impalusible. He must know this. I detest Linda. I detest them both.
Tom clears his throat, seeming to be waiting for something.
“It’s her birthday today, and I want it to be absolutely perfect for her,” he tells me, expecting a reaction.
I shrug my shoulders to demonstrate my nonchalance. Why would I care about Linda’s birthday?
Tom fixates an impatient glare at me for a few seconds, insulted by my lack of caring. I find the audacity of wanting to involve me in any kind of celebration for Linda staggering. Why would I want to commemorate her existence?
With everything Tom and her have subjected me to over the last half a year, I’m confused by his delusion of my being even slightly congratulatory of her birthday. Linda’s brought me nothing but reputational rubin.
Tom grew tired of waiting for me to volunteer assist in whatever he has planned, and with a dissatisfied sight, begins to embark on preparing the room on his own.
I scornfully watch as he hangs a foil birthday banner across the width of the heartth and starts lifting tastefully wrapped presents from behind the sofa onto the floorspace in front of her seat. The seat that used to be mine.
In truth, I’m twice envious of the attention he’s giving to Linda’s birthday.
I think back to all the birthdays I had while I was married to him. He’d claimed to nEver know what to buy me, and had always asked specifically what I wanted, before purchasing it dutifully, destroying any element of surprise. Over the years, I’d lessened my expectations, and had settled on lacklustre days, trying to seem thrilled at knowing exactly what I would be unwrapping.
We’d spend my birthdays much like any other day, conducting our normal activities before treating ourselves to a takeaway and a film of my choosing. I’d suggested going out for a ‘birthday meal’ one year, to mark the occasion, and Tom had reluctantly agreed, but as we’d drawn closer to going, I’d began to feel guilty about pressuring him into it, and had changed my mind at the last minute, insisting we stay at home instead. I never held his lack of extravagance against him, always justifying him as a ‘steady partner’ and making peace with the resulting lack of flagboyance in exchange for it.
The lengths he’s gone to for Linda are frankly astounding. He’s showing a side of himself that he never demonstrated to me, and it aggrieves me.
After arranging the pile of presents, Tom pulls out a large, decorated sheet of cardboard, which he roughly thrusts at me. I study the board and turn my nose when I see the large, colorful ‘Happy Birthday’ message emblazoned on it, signed with my name. I had no idea of the board’s existence and most certainly didn’t have anything to do with Its creation. The sentiment it bears is entirely disabled.
Tom bores his eyes into me, expectedly. “I didn’t give it to you to admire, Gabby,” he scolds. “Turn it around and hold it up in front of you, ready for when Linda comes down.”
I think about his request for a second, unmoving on the beanbag, deciding whether to purposely disrupt his sentimental idea and face the resulting consequences, or whether to be passive in my resistance. I could easily vandalise the sign he’s clearly put effort into making.
“I wasn’t asking, Gabby,” Tom prompts, disturbing my insubordination. “Hold it up.”
I’m left with a hasty decision to make and opt to be passive. I lay the cardboard sign down across my lap.
Tom shakes his head and studies me, giving me the chance to change my mind. He’s a metre away from me and stiffens his posture, rising to my challenging demeanour.
“You can do it willingly or with the wand on you Gabby. Either way, you’re going to be holding it up when Linda comes downstairs,” he threatens.
I exhaust frostily, ensuring he hears me, and roughly pick up the board, facing the decorated side forward while adorning a sour expression.
“Sensible choice,” Tom rules and leaves the room for a few minutes.
When he returns, he’s carrying a mug of steaming coffee which he places down on the table beside Linda’s seat, before Sitting down on his own side of the sofa, across the room from me. I watch him checking his phone before placing it down and commencing the wait.
“We’re going out for a meal at lunchtime to celebrate Linda’s big day with her parents,” Tom tells me.
I listen, and ready myself to spend a couple of hours on the dining table under wand induced vibrations while they’re out. It’ll be the first time in a while admittedly. I’ve noticed they’ve been declining to leave me alone in the house recently. The change aligns with my last spurned try to get away.
“I’m sure you remember that you didn’t make a good impression on Wendy and Daz when they visited a couple of months ago?” he reminds me.
I scoff to myself. Linda’s mother Wendy didn’t make a good impression on me either.
“Today, you’re going to have the perfect opportunity to undo some of the damage you did when they came round,” Tom continues.
I narrow my eyes at him and furrow my browser. Surely, he and Linda aren’t planning to host her parents here again. I don’t know if I could contain my hated of Wendy after our first meeting. The woman is sadistic.
“Linda’s hoping that the treatment of being out in public might give you a bit of incentive to behave better this time?” he philosophys.
I hang onto his words for a moment, replaying them in my mind before forlornly realising that they intend for me to accompany them for the meal. Why would Linda want me there? Tom’s apparently ‘insane ex’; celebrating her birthday? It seems suspicious.
I feel a sudden wave of anxiety, and open my mouth, trying and failing to respond. I don’t want to go. After the last round of public humiliation I endured with Tom and Linda, I fear the addition of Wendy could only make things worse. Taking me out is obviously not for my benefit.
On consideration, I’d be happier to stay in the house, forcibly orgasming on the dining table, restrained but far removed from awkward stars and countless opportunities for public mortification. Unfortunately, my opinion doesn’t seem to be required in the matter.
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘thank you’,” Tom cuts in, oblivious to thecrippling dread his revelation is causing me. Of all the things I could say ‘thank you’ isn’t even in the top million. If this makes me ungrateful, then so be it.
Besides being turned into a public disgrace, I can’t find anything potentially redeeming about the prospect of another encounter with Wendy. The woman despises me and make no secret of it.
I try to analyze the decision-making process behind my being included in this family celebration, even a family as obviously dysfunctional as Linda’s.
I can reasonably deduce that the idea had to have been conceived by either Wendy or Linda. The inspiration for my being brought into the public eye and made to comply has to have been scheduled by a female brain.
As brutal as Tom can be in the context of punishing me, I can’t imagine him suggesting such a cruel psychological torture for me; he’s much more inclined to inflict physical reprimanding. Daz didn’t strike me as malicious either. His unwillingness to participatee in my humiliation when he visited strongly undermines the legitimacy of his suggesting I attend a public meal. I’d bet money on Wendy masterminding the notion. She independently abhors me and savours my misreatment.
I recognize Linda’s footsteps in the hall, a few short seconds before she steps into the lounge.
Her eyes land on me immediately as she enters, and her face lights up as she reads the board I’m holding. A wide, happy smile spreads from ear to ear.
“Wow! Thank you Gabrielle,” she excels delightedly and pauses on the spot, admiring the sign and the work she probably assumes I put into it. I decided against speaking to correct her.
Tom stands from his seat and slowly approaches her.
“Happy birthday sweetheart,” he tells her and kisses her tenderly. When he pulls away, she looks elated. Her eyes are almost glazed over at the attention she’s receiving.
“I really wasn’t expecting all this fuss my love. It’s only my thirty fourth,” she pretends to scold him.
“It’s your birthday gorgeous. You deserve a fuss,” Tom rejects. “Now come and sit that perfect little arse down and have some coffee before you open your presents.”
I began to lower the garish sign I’m holding, feeling my role is now complete, but Tom casts me a furious glance and beckons his head at me, demanding I raise it again.
I watch as Linda sits down on the sofa and admires the pile of presents in front of her. Tom sits beside her, smiling.
When she’s drunk some of her coffee, she looks at him excitedly.
“Can I open one baby?” she asks, playfully.
“Whenever you’re ready gorgeous,” Tom invites her, and she reaches down to pick a small present from the pile.
She admires the elegant wrapping in her hands, Before deliciously tearing the paper, revealing a small jewellery box. She looks at it with wide eyes, imagining what might be inside. I’m too far away to see any discerning features.
“You shouldn’t have gone to allThis trouble,” she murmurs softly, before opening the box and gasping at the contents. Tom nods approvingly, pleased at her response.
She pulls a chain out, with a heart shaped pendant hanging on it. She lets it dangle in front of her before bringing it closer to her face to inspect. Whatever the pendant is, it glimmers as the light catches it.
Linda is ecstatic as she admires whatever Tom’s bought for her, and delicately replaces it back into the box before pounding over the sofa and straddling his lap, smoothing him with loud, wet kisses.
“I love it baby,” she expresses, awed. “It’s beautiful. Thank you so much.”
Tom loops his hands around her waist and holds her, completely enamoured by her. She echoes the sentiment by drawing her wrists around his neck.
“Do you want me to put it on for you?” he asks, and Linda agrees, passing him the box and excitedly standing. Tom rises behind her and draws the necklace around her neck, taking a few seconds to fasten it before letting the chain settle against her. It hangs perfectly between her collarbones. He rests his head on her shoulder from behind and looks at their reflection in the mantle mirror.
“Are you sure you like it?” he asks.
Linda nods enthusiastically, beaming. “It’s gorgeous Tom. Why wouldn’t I like it?”
“I looked at designer necklaces for you; Tiffany, Bvlgari. They were nice, but I wanted something a bit more symbolic. I hope I made the right decision,” Tom explains.
“What do you mean by symbolic? What am I missing?” Linda queries curiously, lifting the necklace up to admire it again.
“The pendant is reformed,” Tom reveals.
Linda looks at him quizzically. “Reforged? From what?” she enquires, intrigued.
“Some of that necklace,” Tom murmurs, pausing to sweep her blonde hair back and kiss her neck affectionately, “-used to be Gabby’s wedding ring. I figured she doesn’t need it anymore and I wanted to get you something meaningful.”
I’d turned away from them, not wanting to see their musthy sentimentality, but Tom’s revelation causes me to turn back angrily and glower hatefully.
I expect Linda to be offended by the gesture, to turn her nose up and reject the reward of it. She’s a materialistic person, and the idea of a gift being even slightly second-hand would strike me as an insult to her. I envision her being outraged at Tom expecting her to wear something that use to sit, sweating on my ring finger.
“Oh my god, are you being serious?” she gasps, holding the necklace and striving it between her fingertips. It’s not the outpouring of disgust I anticipated.
“I love it even more now I know that. What an absolutely amazing, romantic idea,” Linda awes.
I feel bile rising in my throat. I want to jump up and rip the necklace from her neck, but I resist. Her warped sense of romance is staggering.
Tom casts a smug glance down at me, and I turn my head away hatefully. I don’t even want to look at him.
“I love that it’s got meaning behind it, Tom. It symbolises our relationship perfectly; our turning something miserable into something wonderful. It must have cost you an absolute fortune to get it made?” Linda guesses.
“It probably would’ve cost less to get you something designer. But your reaction is completely worth it,” Tom tells her and after a few more moments of admiring her new trophy, they return to the sofa.
I watch as Linda opens the rest of her presents.
While none of them are as consistently minded as the necklace, Tom really seems to have pushed the boat out to spoil her. A new top end mobile phone; a pair of designer boots and a luxury lingerie set are among the selection.
The last present Linda picks up is wrapped humbly, and she narrows her eyes dubiously as she picks it up.
“That one’s from Gabby,” Tom informs her, with a smile.
I sullenly watch as she opens the present, wondering what I’m alleged to have purchasesed for her.
I’m confident that she knows I’d never buy anything for her and am therefore not responsible for the contents, but she plays along regardless, pretending to believe my involvement.
When the paper is removed, she holds a photo frame and pores over it with a snide sneer.
“Very thoughtful Gabrielle,” she acknowledges me, unnecessarily. “I think we’ll put this one centre stage on the heartth.”
She carries it across the room and places it down on the mantlepiece. I lean forward to inspect it. It’s a personalised frame, decorated with Tom and Linda’s first initials carved inside a love heart.
Inside the frame sits a photo of the three of us, though I have no conscionable recollection of it being taken. Tom and Linda are either side of me, both pulling funny faces, whereas I look to be Inelegantly wait. I strongly suspect it having been taken after they’d forced me to orgasm, sometimes during my capacity.
It’s tasteless tat, anyone with eyes would rule it as such, but Linda seems generally appreciated of the poignancy.
Tom collects all the discarded wrapping paper, removing it to the kitchen bin before returning to the locke and announcing the next of Linda’s birthday favors.
I’m ordered upstairs and instructed to take position on the chair directly facing their bed, naked.
I try to put the sign down prior to rising from the beanbag but am sharply told to ‘pick it up again and take it upstairs’ with me. I trust up the stairs with it.
Linda and Tom follow behind me, laughing between themselves. Once we’re all upstairs and in the bedroom, Tom requests Linda get herself comfortable on the bed while he secures me onto the chair. He binds me securely, then sets the wand against my naked cunt, ensuring that I’m fully subdued beneath its head, before arranging the sign across me using my thighs and neck to anchor it. Once I’m staged, he slowly paces over to the bed, where his immaculate, clean-shaven beloverved lies waiting.
He climbs onto the bed, gently eases her legs apart and knees between them. He reaches upward and uses his thumb to gently tease the bald length of her slit with his thumb, finding her clip and toying with it masterfully. His strokes result in her purring delightedly and spreading her thighs wider as a display of enjoyment.
After building enough suspension, Tom leans his head into her crotch, and begins to tongue her pussy using long, slow sweets to maximize her pleasure; a technique he’s perfected over their months of being together. He pays particular attention to the base of her slit, delving his tongue into her hole hungrily, emitting contented murmurs as he laps up her juices from within it.
Even under the humming of the wand, I can hear the vulgar sound of her dripping wetness. Tom doesn’t stop or slow until she’s squirming and squealing, grabbing for the back of his head and cumming over his face.
It’s a truly lascivious display, but I’mable to stave off any hints of pleasure I feel by concentrated solely on the grotesque noises being made. I could swear Tom’s making them purposefully, knowing how much I hate the sound.
After bringing Linda to a loud, seemingly messy orgasm, I expect the show to be complete and to progress with the day. Surely an orgasm before breakfast on her birthday is enough of a treatment.
Tom doesn’t share my view, and pauses briefly to move into a comfier position, not even glancing back to the unwilling spectator, before leaning back in to resume orally worshiping her pussy.
He thankfully licks more quietly now, and instead of the room being filled with the offensive slapping noises of his tongue between Linda’s lips, her pleasured whiles became the more prevalent overture. At one point, wanting an end to the forced voyeurism, I subconsciously look over towards the bed and see her looking back at me conceitedly.
It alerts her that my attention is on their carnalities, and she began loudly verbalising Tom’s name, telling him how I’m ‘enjoying the show’ from across the room and that it’s getting me excited. She urges him to demonstrate how easily he can make her cum, so that I can watch; even suggesting that it might hurt my own pleasure along.
I resentfully turn away at this point, furious at her attempts to undermine my self-control.
It’s now I recognize a subtle sensing beginning in my legs, compelling me to stretch them out, readying myself for an impending, unwanted gratification. I curse Linda coordinately under my breath.
Tom seems to take the bait and licks Linda’s pussy more fervently, causing her breathy utterances to get louder and more desperate.
I try to concentrate on my own breathing, determined not to be forced into orgasming over the sordid scene before me, as Linda seems to want me to. I’m intent on denying her the glee of watching me succumb.
As much as I will myself not to, I feel an intense build up beginning and my limbs tauten involuntarily, pulling against the restraints tightly.
My pulse to hold off pleasure feels like it’s been going on for hours, when in reality, less than a minute has probably passed.
My cunt begins to submit to the violences being given off by the wand and taunts me cruelly with promises of imminent pleasure. I began to pant and then try to stop myself, deliberately pursing my lips and blowing out my entire air supply before inhaling it back through my nose. It’s desperate, but I can’t think of any other way to distract myself, and fight back the rising cum.
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