Tom and Gabby Ch. 04 - Complicity

Hi all. Thanks for the kind upvotes and feedback on Ch. 03. I wanted to take this opportunity to remind readers that this is a work of fiction, and has never claimed to be otherwise. As much as I (and maybe a few others) might find it enjoyable for it to happen in real life, it's not means tested. Please feel free to comment/add suggestions but don't expect that this fantasy will meet real-world reality. It's seldom the case.

When I arrive home, I pull into the driveway beside Tom's car. I've spent the ten-minute journey trying to compose myself and plan how to confront him. I don't enjoy confrontation but this one is unavoidable.

I storm into the house angrily, letting the handle of the front door smack against the wall.

The house is quiet.

"Tom?" I yell furiously, putting my bag down and closing the door. No answer.

"Tom!" I shout again. Wherever he is in the house, he must be able to hear me.

I hear a cup being put down in the kitchen and storm down the hallway to find him.

Tom's face twists into a smirk when he lays eyes on me. "What happened to your dress?" he asks.

His reaction confirms his willing complicity.

"I'm surprised Linda hasn't already told you!" I snap back, my voice warbling with anger and upset.

I'm determined not to cry; tears have never acted as a deterrent for him.

"She did. She couldn't stop laughing when she told me. Now I'm seeing you for myself, I can see why," he laughs cruelly.

His reaction vexes me, I can feel my emotions rising at the back of my throat.

I scramble to grab something from the countertop and my hand lands on a mug.

I'm not a volatile person, but anger gets the better of me, forcing a physical response and I launch it at him. In that moment I want the mug to hit him, but he swerves his head, and it misses by a few inches.

He watches it land and smash noisily on the tiled floor and looks back at me with dangerous eyes.

He briskly paces towards me. He's my husband, but I find it intimidating, nonetheless.

I bring my hands up defensively and begin frantically slapping out at him when he gets close enough.

We've never been an argumentative couple. We rarely exchange cross words and prefer to deal with disagreements through silence until one or the other of us backs down. Tom has never raised a hand to me in our marriage, and staunchly condemns violence against women. I've always quietly known that if he ever changed his position on this, he's strong enough to seriously hurt me.

I'm subtly relieved that my outburst doesn't force his hand.

He instead remains calm, not retaliating. He dodges my uncoordinated strikes and secures my wrists firmly, restraining me.

"You're going to hurt yourself," he insists, not allowing me to provoke him.

He pulls me toward him and spins me round brusquely, so my back is pressed against him, then crosses my arms up and over my chest before steering me out of the kitchen, up the hall and towards the stairs.

I curse him and struggle the whole way, only stopping when he starts pushing me up the steps and only because I'm determined not to lose my footing as we ascend them.

Tom continues to force me along the landing and into our bedroom, where he releases me.

He used to manhandle me like this all the time, and I used to love it. This time is starkly different.

I pull forward, out of his grip, not anticipating him to allow it, and trip straight over a dining chair.

I go down to the floor hard and immediately swear in frustration.

The dining chair has no place in the room. It isn't a normal bedroom fixture, and it certainly wasn't there when I left this morning. I think about it for a second, questioning why a dining chair has suddenly decided to relocate up here.

As I clamber back to standing, I turn to look for some significance in the chairs' placing and notice the addition of ropes to the wooden frame of it.

I turn my attention back to Tom and he's standing, blocking the door and watching me, relishing my confusion.

He steps forward and snatches one of my wrists, roughly pulling me to the chair and physically making me sit onto it.

"Get off me Tom," I shout. "Why the fuck have you brought a chair upstairs?"

My question goes unanswered.

I desperately try to stand, but he forces me back down by pressing firm on my shoulder and begins to drag a length of rope around my body. I repeatedly move, trying to make securing me as difficult as possible, but he pulls the rope tight, making the task of tying me up seem easy. One of the things I had initially been attracted to about Tom was his uncompromising ability to overpower me. Over the years, he has remained committed to being strong and conditioning his body. I never imagined a day when I'd feel victimised by his strength.

He loops the rope around my body twice before tying it, and then coerces my arms behind me. I feel him pull cord around them and it digs into my wrists uncomfortably.

I strain frantically, trying to find a weak point to loosen, but Tom appears to have already planned for this.

Each time I pull to free myself, my binds seem to tighten more.

Tom moves in front of me again and I try to kick him. My attempts are pathetic, I know it and so does he.

"Are you finished now?" he asks, looking more amused than intimidated and crouches down to affix my ankles to the chair legs.

I decide to change strategy, knowing I'm getting nowhere with hostility.

"Tom?" I appeal. "Please. I don't like this. Please stop. We've been married for eleven years. We love each other. This is insane."

He seems to have anticipated my change in demeanour and shakes his head, not fooled.

"Whatever Linda has promised is bullshit. She's a cunt," I insist, breathlessly.

Tom flashes a warning glance at me, appearing to take great offence to my description of his paramour.

"Mind your manners Gabby," he tells me.

"Why?" I challenge him. "What are you going to do?"

Tom shakes his head at me, pityingly. "Me? Absolutely nothing. But I'm sure Linda will think of something when I tell her."

His sudden wanting to share things with Linda infuriates me. A conversation between my husband and me is none of her concern.

"Fuck you," I snap. "If you wanted to end our marriage, why not just tell me it was over and leave? Why do all this? Why make things complicated?"

Tom laughs. "I'm not going anywhere Gabby. And you think this is complicated?" he asks belligerently. "This is the simple part. Linda and me are still working on plans for all the complicated stuff."

I don't know what his statement means.

"Why are you doing this?" I plead.

"Don't pretend to be a victim here Gabby," Tom answers, somewhat sharper in tone. "I hate the way our life has become all about you. I had a career. I had prospects. And I threw them all away because you were bored of the life and wanted to come home. Our entire universe revolves around you. And that'd be fine if you made it habitable for me too, but you don't. We don't fuck anymore. We don't go out anywhere. We barely talk. There's no excitement. We work and then we watch TV. It's all we ever do, and you're totally happy with it."

I wanted an answer, but I'm dissatisfied with the one he gives.

"I don't have a clue what you mean. Nothing revolves around me," I chirp back.

"Bullshit. When we got together, you'd have done anything to please me. You worshipped me," Tom retorts. "Our whole life was about having a good time together. Mutual happiness. Things went downhill after we got married but I always hoped you'd change back. I can't remember the last time you made me feel like you wanted me," he laments.

I try to speak, to argue my side, but he doesn't let me.

"And no, before you try to say anything, yesterday doesn't count, we both know why you tried so hard yesterday.

It's been years since things were good between us. You've forgotten your place. Maybe it's my fault? Maybe I should've stamped it out when I first saw it happening. What I want hasn't changed Gabby. I just don't ask you anymore because I'm sick of your excuses. You're too tired. You've had a shit day at work. You need to go shopping," he lists.

I can't deny having used each of these reasons to avoid talking or prioritising his needs before now, but Tom had always been understanding and had never pushed the issue.

I don't have the same sex drive as I'd used to have and felt it better to be honest about not wanting sex than to go along with it for an easy life. Perhaps he would've preferred me to do the latter?

"Everyone on the planet is tired. Everyone has shit days at work. They don't use those things to justify not wanting to fuck. Or talk. Or do anything as a couple," he sighs.

"I think, if you were to really think about it, things were better when you knew who was in charge. It wasn't until you started thinking you controlled things that everything went to hell. Your decisions have ruined everything. You wanted me to leave the army? I left, but I miss it every day. You wanted a calmer pace of life? I gave it to you but now we don't do anything anymore. You didn't want crazy sex like we used to have? I didn't pester but I've spent every day since, wondering what would happen if things ever went back to how they used to be," he insists.

I listen intently.

"How do you go from doubting my decisions to conspiring with my boss?" I retort, playing down his feelings.

Tom scoffs. "Doubting your decisions? Is that what I'm doing? Everything that we once were is gone Gabby. You've been steering this ship for far too long. When I spoke to Linda and she told me what her plans were, told me what she'd done to you, things felt right for the first time in years. She asked if I objected to any of it and I said no. The plans she made, the ones we now share are going to be good for you," he muses.

"Good for me?" I repeat, almost speechless.

"I was tied to her desk for hours. With a magic fucking wand pressed between my legs. While she fluttered her eyelashes at you and convinced you that you'd be better off with her. What part of that is good for me?" I balk.

"How many orgasms did you have while you were on her desk Gabby? I waited for you to talk to me about it all weekend, but you didn't. Are you refusing to take responsibility for the state of our marriage?" Tom demands. "Do you really think that if we were happy, any amount of batting her eyelashes would work on me?"

His words hurt. I'd used to think my husband knew everything. He'd always been wise, logical and an excellent judge of character, but I don't recognise him now.

"You knew what Linda was doing to me all along," I clamour, shocked by his blaming me. "Why didn't you bring it up?" He casts me a disbelieving look. How can he have the audacity to look at me this way?

"You're a flight of fancy for her," I retaliate. "The novelty will wear off when she's had her fun. And wherever I am when it happens, I'll laugh at you."

I'm cruelly blunt, trying to make him realise the mistake he's making.

Tom sighs. "You're not going anywhere," he replies firmly. "You'll be here."

"No I fucking won't be," I insist.

"Believe me Gabby, you will," he corrects.

I suddenly hear the front door slamming downstairs and look alarmedly to the bedroom door. Someone is in the house.

"Tom? Where are you?" Linda calls.

My blood pressure immediately rises to hear her voice. What the hell is she doing here?

Tom doesn't take his eyes off me. "We're up here Lind," he replies to her.

Lind? They're shortening each other's names now?

I hear her climbing the stairs and try again to pull at my binds.

A few seconds pass before she bursts through the door, looking flustered.

She doesn't even look at me, heading straight for my husband, dropping her handbag and a brown paper bag onto the carpet on her way to him. She throws her arms around him, in a tight embrace. He doesn't struggle, instead holding her close.

She kisses him on the lips and my eyes widen.

"I'm sorry it took a while," Linda says, breathlessly. "I would've come straight after her, but I had to go and speak with management. I knew she'd come back here."

I look at them both, back and forth, not believing what I'm hearing.

"Thanks for the heads up," Tom expresses, gratefully.

Linda pulls away from him and turns to face me. She slowly walks over, entirely self-satisfied.

"Your little tantrum back at the office was a big mistake, Gabrielle," she murmurs and leans down, close to my face. "I had no choice but to go and speak to management about the situation."

She looks thoroughly smug as she speaks.

"When I explained how I found you in my office on Friday and how strange you were acting when you walked out of work this afternoon, without any explanation, they decided to put you on an immediate, indefinite suspension. For your own good of course. It wouldn't be appropriate for you to be working in your current state of mind," she reveals, evidently determined to ruin my credibility.

"Some of your co-workers were asking after you," Linda continues. "They seemed genuinely worried about you. I could've sworn I'd heard the words 'nervous breakdown' being thrown around."

My lip curls.

"You're fucking insane," I snarl.

"No Gabrielle, if you were to ask anyone, you're the insane one," Linda grins. "I'm just the concerned boss, who was worried about the distressed state her employee left in."

Linda straightens and paces back to Tom. She stands beside him and snakes her arm around his back. They both look at me.

"How was she when she got back here baby?" she asks. "Did she kick off?"

Tom shrugs. "She tried to. She stomped her feet. A mug got thrown; but I managed to get her up here and safe before she went too crazy. She didn't manage to hit me," he depicts.

"But she tried?" Linda schmoozes, feigning shock.

Tom laughs. "I don't think my life was in jeopardy," he jokes.

Linda tuts and shakes her head at me.

"Lind," Tom reassures her. "She's fine. She's secure on that chair. She's probably not as comfy as she was on your desk, but we can talk about that later."

Linda nuzzles into his shoulder. My stomach turns, but I'm unable to look away.

"Can you help me with my coat?" Linda asks Tom, sweetly.

He slowly pulls the garment from her and hangs it on the hooks behind the bedroom door.

"What did you think of the clothes I picked out for her?" Linda smirks.

Tom laughs. "I could barely keep my hands off her," he jests, sarcastically.

Linda giggles. "Do you want me to go then, and leave you to it?"

"No," Tom answers. "I want you to take those clothes off and show me what a woman is supposed to look like."

She smiles teasingly and begins to unbutton her blouse. The fabric is stretched over her huge bust and unfastens easily. She slips it from her body and drops it to the floor. Tom verbalises as her tits become more visible.

She reaches for the zip to her skirt and slowly loosens it, before peeling it down her legs.

She's wearing red, lace lingerie; a matching bra and thong, something I'd never feel confident enough to wear.

Her stomach is completely flat and unblemished. I hate her.

Tom steps into her and cups her tits in his hands. They're too big to fully fit into his palms and he squeezes them together, creating an enviable cleavage. He moves his hands down her body, over her hips and grips her arsecheeks firmly. I watch as he fondles them.

Linda busies herself with lifting his t-shirt up and pulling it over his head. His toned muscular upper body is revealed, and she presses herself against it, feeling each one of his abs, solid against her slight frame.

Tom leans down to her and kisses her, sweeping a loose strand of her long blonde hair from her face in the process.

The sound of their lips smacking together offends me.

After a few moments of being subjected to their obnoxious noises, I watch as Linda leads Tom over to the bed; my bed; by the hand.

When they reach it, she wrestles his trousers down. His boxers do very little to disguise his arousal. His cock looks as though it wants to free itself by tearing through the material.

Linda reaches down and cups it, with a little smile.

"Did your wife's outfit do that to you?" she jokes.

"Yeah," Tom murmurs. "I've got a thing for frumpy cardigans."

They laugh together at my expense.

Linda coaxes Tom onto the bed and then climbs up herself, stepping out of her heels.

She straddles him, and begins to grind on his clothed cock, letting out little murmurs. Tom puts his hands to use, reaching behind her and unclasping her bra.

Her tits spring free and Tom paws at them, teasing her nipples. He's never paid such attention to my tits.

Linda spins her head to look at me, making sure I'm watching them then slides down his body and eases his boxers down his thighs, bringing his cock into view for both of us. Now, seeing it for the first time, Linda marvels at it in awe, licking her lips, clearly impressed by its stature.

It's painfully hard and the veins up and down his shaft are bulging. Linda lets me admire it jealously before bringing her mouth down and engulfing inch after inch of him down her throat.

Tom moans out loudly and she begins rhythmically sliding up and down, alternating between deepthroating and teasing his tip.

Her throat doesn't seem to have a limit for how much of him she can take. She sucks him like a professional.

I bitterly stare over, observing how much he's enjoying it. He never moans like this when I give him blowjobs.

She keeps going for about seven or eight minutes before replacing her mouth with her tits.

She squeezes Tom's length between them and looks up at him as she uses them to wank him. Despite having tried, I've never been able to do this for him; my tits are too small.

"When you were admiring my tits at the Christmas party, could you have imagined that a few short months later, I'd be using them to tease your cock?" Linda enquires.

"A man can dream," Tom groans.

He lets her pleasure him for a while before pulling her up, making her seem weightless.

He slips his fingers into the waist of her thong and pries it down. Linda lifts to allow him to take it off her and then after an inaudible dialogue between them, Tom turns her round, facing her towards me. He has her lower down to sit her pussy on his face.

The glee on Linda's face pains me. I see Tom crane his neck up, using a hand to spread her open, and lustfully admiring her perfect pussy. Her face morphs into closed eyed, open-mouthed pleasure as his tongue dips in, and begins to lap at her delicately.

Tom's always liked eating pussy, but I've never been particularly interested in him going down on mine, favouring him using his hands or toys on me instead. Linda is the opposite apparently.

She moans out delightedly as he sets to work on her, casting another smug look over at me before bending to put his cock back into her mouth.

They put on a real show for their involuntary audience, and I narcissistically wonder if they're doing it for effect, rather than for enjoyment.

After a few moments, Linda spits his cock out to moan loudly.

"Oh fuck, Tom," she cries. "You're going to make me... oh fuck..."

Tom continues, holding her hips firm and grinding her over his face before she orgasms dramatically, almost screaming. I could swear to hearing her splattering cum over my husband's face. He murmurs delightedly, and resumes; hungrily devouring her secretions. I can hear how wet she is from the sounds of his tongue delving into her hole.

Linda climbs off his face and sidles up him, positioning herself under his arm, staging herself. I see his face, glistening with her juices.

She peers up to him and he kisses her, letting her taste herself on his lips.