Tom and Gabby Ch. 05 - Life Plans

"Oh do be quiet Gabrielle," Linda scolds.

While my voice is enough to provoke her, Tom seems more disconcerted by my choice of words.

"Your house?" he questions. "Do you want to reconsider that wording?"

I glare at him.

Linda jumps in, trying to diffuse the issue. "People without jobs can't afford houses Gabrielle," she states simply.

"I have a job," I retort.

"Not for much longer you don't," she corrects me. "In your 'fragile state', it'd be unwise for you to keep working."

I try to demand explanation but am rudely interrupted.

"Don't get confused between a house and a home Gabrielle. This is Tom's house. He'll be the one earning money paying for everything. Him and me both. But you'll always have a home here with us. Ownership won't affect that."

I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. What the hell is she talking about?

Linda lets her gaze linger on me, observing the confusion her words cause, before turning back to Tom.

"I'm guessing she's against the idea then?" she says. "I'm not concerned by that, we talked about this being a possibility, but we'll have to perhaps put a bit more thought into some of the finer details. Make minor adjustments to accommodate her...unwilling."

Tom looks down at me, disappointedly, though I'm not sure at what, shaking his head. He looks back to Linda. "If it's still what you want?" he offers.

They now return to talking about me as if I'm not in the room. It's maddening.

"Definitely," Linda confirms. "Nothing's changed from my point of view. I'm an 'eye for an eye' kind of woman. Always have been."

"Even though it takes what we've been discussing into kidnap territory?" Tom checks.

Linda beams, mischievously. "Kidnap makes it sound like we're blackmailing someone for money for her safe return. Let's face it, if that were the case, whoever we'd demanded money from to release her would pay us to keep her. Would you have paid anything to get her back?" she jests.

Tom laughs. "No Lind, I wouldn't have."

"So it's not kidnap, is it?" Linda insists. "We're not taking her away from anything or anyone that's going to miss her. A few...minor embellishments in what we say... will convince people that she's better off with us. Words like 'kidnap' and 'unlawful imprisonment' will be the furthest things from anyone's mind. We're going to convince everyone that she needs to be here, that there's no alternative," she elaborates. "She'll be safe here with us. With a roof over her head. Kept fed and clean and clothed. Her health won't suffer. We'll even ensure she's given regular orgasms. The only negative she'll incur is not living the same life she's been used to, with the same freedoms she used to have."

I look dumbfoundedly at them both, from one to the other. They can't be serious, surely?

"And that'll be the part of it she's unhappy about. I guarantee it," Tom adds.

Linda shrugs. "That life you talk about involved her getting everything she wanted, despite not deserving it. And, might I add, giving nothing back. The only person to blame for what happens to her now is herself," she says.

She speaks slowly, ensuring I don't mishear a syllable of what she means. I sit in stunned silence.

"And by keeping her here with us, she'll learn what being happily married to you actually involves," she adds.

"That is not happening," I choke.

"When we want your opinion, we'll ask for it, Gabrielle," Linda advises.

"No," I argue. "You can do whatever you want together, but it's got nothing to do with me. I want no part of it," I demand.

"That's exactly right Gabby," Tom answers, appearing to defend Linda. "You won't have any part of it. The only thing you'll be able to do is watch as it happens."

I'm dumbfounded by the idea of being made to stay with them, held against my will, forced to witness their deluded version of a relationship together.

Who is this man I married; to encourage such rampant insanity?

"This is not happening," I repeat.

"I'm afraid that decision has already been made. And you didn't get a vote," Linda corrects. "It might take a while but someday you'll realise that this is happening for your own good. You've got a lot of fight in you, but Tom and I are committed to expunging it. For your own good of course. You can argue and protest as much as you want. It won't change anything. Tom and I are together now. And each time you try to challenge that, it'll be no problem for us to put you back in your place with a good long session under the wand," she threatens, looking to Tom to agree.

"It turns me on when you start plotting Lind," he encourages.

Linda smiles and turns to look at him. "I'm relieved to hear that. Because Gabrielle's looking at me like I'm crazy," she laughs, not wrong in her observation.

Tom laughs. "You're my kind of crazy," he compliments her. "You have a compulsive need to do anything and everything to get what you want. You're determined to overcome every obstacle and solve every problem until you achieve your goal," Tom rationalises.

Tom is likening Linda's relentless pursuit of a relationship with him to the way he transformed himself from overweight, to his current physique.

Between the ages of twenty and twenty-three, before I'd met him, he'd shed over ten stone of weight and metamorphosed into a bodybuilder.

I've always found his stories of dedication inspiring, of course, but I find myself unable to see the similarities between his physical changes and Linda's own wants.

"You've described it exactly," Linda gushes delightedly. "The way I see it, our happiness is the goal. Gabrielle has the potential to be an obstacle to it. Time and hard work will help us extinguish her potential to become a problem. And if we add a mains powered wand to the mix, success is inevitable."

"Contorted, grunting success," Tom accedes.

"Only in Gabrielle's case," Linda snickers and impersonates me again, screwing her face up and pretending to contort her body. Tom snorts with laughter.

I resent the way my involuntary bodily reactions have become a joke to them both.

"Gabby doesn't look impressed, Lind," Tom comments when he's finished laughing.

It occurs to me that this might all be some sort of joke to them. They both share a sick sense of humour. Perhaps their talk of keeping me here is some kind of poor-tasted windup?

Linda slows her laughing to speak.

"She'd laugh if she'd ever seen her own face when she orgasms," she casts. "Or not. You never spoke highly of her sense of humour on our dates, did you? Yet another thing you'll gain from being with me, not her," she says.

She hasn't got a clue what she's talking about. One of the foundations of Tom and my marriage had always been humour. I'm just not amused by being the subject of it.

"We can do this, can't we Tom? Like we talked about? You're not going to wake up one day, thinking you've made a huge mistake and break my heart by going back to her, are you?" Linda says, suddenly serious.

I'm intrigued by the question. Obviously, I'd have a say in whether this would happen and would decline to reconcile with him. But I want to hear his answer.

"Who? Gabby?" Tom confirms. "That will never happen Lind. Nothing would convince me to go back to her, in a physical sense or any other. There'd be no point in going backwards," he insists.

"I'm not saying you'd mean it to happen," Linda presses, "But she's not going anywhere, is she? You'll still be seeing her every day. Even if it is in a different context. We've made all these amazing, exciting plans together and it's going to be a big change. It won't all be easy, and you might," she pauses. "I don't know. Miss the familiarity of what you know. That simple, unfulfilled life you had with her before me? Letting her make all the decisions? Her tiny tits?" Linda tries to make light of the idea, disguising her insecurities, but Tom intercedes.

"You think I'll miss her tiny tits...? Y'know what? Stand up," he instructs, trying not to be offended by her suggestion.

Linda looks at him, confusedly.

"Stand in the middle of the room," Tom says, softer in tone and Linda stands.

"Gabby?" he demands. "Get on your feet."

I startle. "Now!" he snaps.

I clamber up to my feet clumsily, unsure of what's about to happen.

"Strip," Tom says, with no further explanation.

"Fuck off," I reply, flatly.

"You can either do it yourself, or we'll do it for you?" Tom offers, giving me a choice.

"Fuck...off," I repeat.

My noncompliance seems to annoy him, and he stands from the sofa abruptly before pacing over to me. I'm unable to anticipate or defend myself as he wrenches my arms forward in front of me.

"Shall we show Gabby what's going to happen when she doesn't do what she's told Lind? This is a prime example of some of that fight we're going to break," he says, and Linda practically skips over to assist him.

"Stop," I shriek. It does nothing to deter them.

With Tom holding me, and Linda pulling at my clothes, they have me undressed within a minute, and I stand naked, trying to conceal myself.

Neither of them spends any time looking at me. My bare body appears to be of no interest to either of them.

"Can you take my t-shirt off Lind? As much as it suits you, I want to see that gorgeous body of yours," Tom requests.

Linda makes a show of pulling the t-shirt off and delicately folds it, placing it onto the arm of the sofa.

"Look Gabby, she even folds my clothes properly," he makes a dig at me as he observes her. "Get yourself over here," he tells me. "Stand next to Linda. And keep still when you're there."

I take a step, positioning myself beside her. I hold myself properly, trying to tense my stomach, not wanting my slightly above average weight to become the subject of ridicule next.

I intend to do everything I can to ruin the great schemes they have together, however this is not the moment for it.

I firmly believe that if I am to be successful in correcting this situation, and ridding them both from my life, I can't simply act on impulse.

Linda looks sideways at me disapprovingly. I cast a few subtle glances back, not wanting to be seen to be doing it. This is the first time we've been naked in a comparable situation, and it allows me to see how starkly different we are in ways that I haven't before. I feel inadequate beside her, completely outshone and in a totally different league.

Tom takes stance in front of us both. The differences between us must be obvious to him.

"Let's compare, shall we?" he teases.

Though I've turned from Linda, I can sense her smiling beside me.

"Let's turn it into a bit of a game," Tom suggests. "A competition," he speaks directly to me.

"We'll call it 'The Battle to be with Tom'. Whoever wins will earn the right to be with me," he booms, changing his voice. It's so ridiculous, I shake my head.

I have no intention of engaging with any game, but on hearing of the 'prize' at the end, am even less interested.

"Our studio audience are on tenterhooks," he acts out, gesturing at the empty sofa. "I'll expect you both to put your best foot forward. The audience are waiting to be impressed," he continues.

"The game consists of three main rounds, all scored individually, and the winner will be whoever scores highest overall. If the scores are equal after the third round, there'll be a bonus tie breaking round," Tom enthuses.

"Contestant number one," he says, his voice loud, still roleplaying. "Please introduce yourself and tell the audience why you're here," he addresses Linda.

She's grinning, seeming to be having fun.

"Hi everyone. I'm Linda. I'm thirty-three, and I'm a manager at an HR company. In my spare time I love going to the gym, running and cooking. I'm here today because I know I'm the right match for Tom and that I can make him blissfully happy," Linda presents her case, pretending to be speaking to a crowd that isn't there.

"Fantastic. What a great contestant. Thanks for being here Linda. And now for contestant number two. Do you want to introduce yourself and tell us why you're here?" Tom asks me.

I scowl up at him and shake my head. I want no part in this stupid game.

"Contestant?" Tom challenges. "Don't you want to plead your case and explain why you're here today?" he rewords it. I'm unimpressed by his performance.

"I'm not pleading for anything. I don't want to be here and I'm not playing your idiot game," I reply, talking directly to him.

"Well okay then," Tom laughs, with a sparkle in his eye, determined to seem unoffended, then turns to the sofa. "Contestant number two has made her feelings clear. Maybe she's trying not to seem too keen? Or perhaps she's quietly confident that she's going to perform well?" he theorises; wrong on both tries.

I don't respond, uninterested.

Tom leans into my ear. "Participation isn't optional Gabby. Play along, or we'll take it that you need another session with the wand. Does that sound like more fun to you?"

He pulls away and looks at me, waiting for an answer.

"I'm..." I start but he cuts me off.

"Sorry contestant number two. You had the opportunity to speak, and you blew it. We need to start the first round now," Tom says, smirking, clearly having planned to not let me speak.

"In this first round, the audience will watch as I assess the quality of our contestants' tits," he says.

'Of course', I mouth to myself silently.

"Linda, you already seem to have the crowd's support," he cups his ear, listening to imaginary cheering. "As the first contestant, I'll be fondling...I mean, assessing your tits first," Tom tells her, winking. "Could you tell the audience what bra size you are?" he requests.

"I'm a 34DD," Linda divulges, proudly.

"Yes you are, aren't you?" Tom practically salivates.

I watch as Linda arches her back, pushing her chest out; not that she needs to. Her heaving bosom needs no amplification.

Tom breathes on his hands, to warm them and steps in front of her, cupping each of her voluptuous tits in his palms. I exhale loudly, sounding my disapproval and turn away.

I feel him cast me a furious look.

"These beauties are nothing less than perfect," I hear him say and shake my head in disgust at them. "I'd ask Linda, and our audience to ignore contestant two over there. She's obviously going to do better when it's her turn..." he warns me before resuming.

"I'm blown away here. You should be proud of owning such a perfect pair of tits Linda. They're well weighted, and despite their impressive size, there isn't even a hint of sagging. I'm also noticing the way your nipples are responding to my hands. It'd be a crime for me to score them anything less than a ten out of ten," he flatters her shamelessly and applauds, theatrically. Linda takes a bow.

I sense him moving across to me.

"Now, we'll move over to contestant two and her more... humble offerings. The audience might recall that she was less than gracious during Linda's turn," he says, and I hear Linda begin to boo.

Tom adjusts his stance, trying and failing to hide his plans to lampoon me. I turn my head to face him, wanting to look him in the eye and invoke some guilt at the absurdity of this exercise.

"What bra size do you wear contestant two?" he asks.

"Fuck you," I reply, uncooperatively.

"Wow," Tom sounds. "You're definitely not trying to win the audience over with personality, are you, contestant two?" I don't dignify him with an answer.

"Fun fact for you Linda. When Gabby...sorry, contestant two was younger, she used to tell people her bra size was two sizes bigger than what it was. Seeing as she's not freely giving away this information, as her opposition, would you like to have a guess at her bra size?" he proposes.

"Hmm," Linda says, stepping forward to see my chest properly. "I'm going to have to say...an A cup? And she's quite broad...so maybe a 36A?"

Tom pretends to be listening to an earpiece. "Spot on Linda. 36A. Good guess." He winks at her. Linda beams back and resumes her place.

Tom reaches in and with exaggerated, pincer like motions, grips my own petite bust. There isn't much to grab, everyone in the room knows this, even before Linda's assumption of my bra size.

He pinches my nipples firmly, commanding them to harden by adding a little pain into his assessment. He now weighs each of my tits individually, frowning and tutting audibly. "I'm not a sizeist; there's a lot to be said about small tits, but these A cups are doing nothing for me. I thought with the way you scoffed at Linda's tits; you were quietly confident about your own. If that was the case, it was misplaced confidence. Obviously, I'm bound by competition rules, and needing to stay...professional, but your tits aren't a patch on hers. They lack the roundness and are sort of...pointy? They're too small and don't generate the same physical reaction that Linda's do. I'm going to award you a generous two out of ten. Just ignore the audience's booing contestant two. You haven't tried to get them to like you, after all."

Linda begins to heckle, acting like a complete idiot.

"At the end of round one, Linda leads with ten points for her perfectly proportioned, round and might I add, completely natural tits. Well done, Linda. I'm sure you'll have a better attitude and score better in the next round contestant two," Tom announces, maintaining the character of a gameshow host.

"Round two will get a feel for our contestants' hips and waists. Linda, could you step forward so contestant two can clearly see me admiring and feeling your hips and waist?" he invites her.

"Of course," Linda agrees and moves herself forward, wanting to be fondled.

Tom wastes no time in running his hands down her sides, moaning to himself as he reaches her hips.

He lets his fingertips trace across her flat stomach.

"You've got a fucking gorgeous figure Linda. Oh shit, we can edit that out, can't we?" he mimics panicking while speaking to an imaginary cameraperson, then smiles at Linda.

"You mentioned your love of the gym and from what I'm feeling, you're obviously a fan of weight training. I have a bit of experience in that area, if you hadn't already noticed. Everything I put my hands on is exquisitely toned. I'm struggling to find an inch of unwanted fat on you. What a divine specimen of femininity. I'm going to have to give you another ten out of ten," Tom rules. "Now, for contestant two," he says and leans into Linda. "Don't worry Lind, you've already won this one," he whispers.

He steps over to me and begins his much brusquer examination of my own hips. The strokes he used for Linda were tender and gentle, whereas he adopts a thuggish rough approach with me.

He spends a prolonged moment squeezing my stomach before slapping his hands onto my hips, making me feel wholly undesirable. He tweaks at my plumpness, shaking his head.

"I think it's fair to assume that you're not as...physically inclined as your opposition," he asks, and I look at him through narrowed eyes.

"I knew the answer before I asked, of course. You've got wide hips, yes and normally, I'd commend this quality, however a probably decent bone structure has been completely lost under your years of neglecting the gym and overindulging on food," he rules. "Has nobody ever suggested you try working out to try and shift some of this weight? I'm sure they must have."

I hate him in this moment.

"Maybe if you'd accepted a bit of advice, you could have scored more than three out of ten in this round?"

I'm hurt by his assessment. His callous criticism of my body; the body he's never complained about in our eleven years feels like a brutal betrayal. Linda's jumping around and delighted clapping only adds to it.

"If we look at the scores now," Tom tells an invisible audience, "Linda is miles ahead with twenty points, while contestant two is on five. There's one round left, but contestant two is so far behind, she'll be unable to score enough points now to get back into the game. In a competition first, we'll let the winner decide if she wants to continue by going to the next round or allow a mercy ruling to spare contestant two some embarrassment."