Tom and Gabby Ch. 06 - Settling In

She'd kept me on the table for a further four hours, inflicting three insufferably long, drawn out orgasms on me.

I'd been a quivering wreck by the time she'd finished with me, not related to the intensity, more because she'd made me have three. When she'd finally released me, I'd made the decision to hold my tongue.

If anyone is owed an apology for this morning, it definitely isn't Linda.

"I'm sorry about how she spoke to you, Lind. She's taking longer than I thought she would to adapt to this new lifestyle," Tom says, looping his arm round her.

She nestles into him. "You don't need to apologise for her. It was her choice to be vile to me, not yours. Your days of making excuses for her are over," she says.

"They are, thanks to you. I still feel bad when she gives you attitude. We've clearly still got a lot of work to do with her," Tom says, disappointedly.

"She's obviously a slow learner," Linda insists.

"You've got to give yourself credit where it's due though," he adds. "She behaved properly once you pulled her off the table, didn't she? Something you did worked."

"What mattered to me was getting an apology," Linda retorts. "She was determined that she wasn't going to give me one. But I persuaded her to reconsider. And by the time she'd had her third orgasm, she was out cold, twitching for about an hour. You'd have been proud of me," she elicits.

"I'm already proud of you Lind. You're fucking brilliant. She might be taking longer than I expected to get used to this new set up, but you're the total opposite. I'm constantly being impressed by your flair for what we're doing. Now, what can I do to help you forget about your bad morning with Gabby?" he offers.

Linda looks up at him, her eyes wide, batting her eyelashes flirtingly and poking her tongue out like some kind of lizard.

"Oh," Tom recognises. "You want me to...?" he teases, pretending to be reluctant. "Will it make you feel better?" he asks her.

"Maybe a bit," she simpers.

Tom lifts from the sofa and moves round in front of her, without another word.

He reaches down and grabs her legs, pulling them up in the air towards him and then wrangling her trousers up and off her. Linda's failure to wear any underwear signifies to me that she'd been planning for intimacies of some sort.

Tom lowers down to his knees. He keeps her legs up in the air, using himself as an obstacle to their closing by wedging his shoulders underneath her thighs. I watch him reach in and open her pussy with a thumb and finger.

He surveys the view before slowly leaning his head in and pressing his face into her slit.

I hear as his tongue starts to lap at her adeptly, knowing exactly what kind of strokes she's wanting.

She feebly whines out every time he graces her with a brush across her clit, communicating that she likes it, never once questioning his technique.

Tom has become very accustomed to going down on Linda now. He's always willing. I wouldn't like to wager on who between them enjoys it more.

I know well from having been married to him for eleven years that Tom takes pride in being able to sexually satisfy his partner. He'd perfected the art of pleasuring me, and now he is doing the same, albeit in different ways, with Linda. He has devoted himself to knowing everything about her sexual needs and desires and she has made the same commitment to him.

I'm scornful as I observe him pleasuring her.

He alternates between circling her clit, and plunging his tongue into her sodden hole, feasting on her juices.

She wraps her legs around the back of his neck, almost locking him in position to prevent him from stopping.

It takes about six minutes for her moans to change, morphing from desperate begs into unchaste swearing and breathy utterances. When he's teased her enough, she announces her impending cum to everyone in the room.

She holds Tom's head and secures him against her cunt, before squealing loudly and audibly squirting over his face.

Tom's back is towards me. I can't see his face as she cums over it, but I can see hers.

Her cheeks flush pink, and when she opens her eyes, they're glazed over, sparkling. I know the look well. I'd pulled the same one some eleven years ago. Whether it just happened or has been developing for some time. Whether she knows it or has yet to work it out. It's been the motivation behind countless songs and poems through history.

Linda is undeniably falling in love with my husband. I wonder if she's told him yet?

Tom pulls backwards and she frees him from her grip. He smiles widely at her, and licks his lips, savouring the lingering taste of her.

Linda leans in and kisses him.

She doesn't seem put off by the taste of her own secretions.

"I need you inside me," she whispers and rises from the sofa, bending awkwardly to continue kissing him.

Tom stands slowly, allowing her to straighten. When he's stood, he's a full head and shoulders taller and wider than she is and has to bend to kiss her.

I watch as their hands begin to explore, and she passionately pulls his t-shirt off. He reciprocates with hers, freeing her tits. They don't stop kissing as they pull at each other's clothes.

Linda guides Tom's trousers down his legs, and he kicks them from his feet. They land near to where I'm sitting.

His underwear does nothing to conceal his hardness.

"What are we going to do with Gab..." he pants, remembering my presence suddenly.

"I want her here on the sofa, right next to us as we fuck," Linda moans, cutting him off, then slipping his boxers down.

His cock is solid. The veins up and down his shaft are bulging visibly, as is normal when he's about to fuck Linda.

I can't help but look at it ruefully.

"Gabby," Tom growls, annoyed that their throes of their passion are being interrupted by me. I immediately worry that my wayward glances have been detected.

"Get over here," he tells me, his voice sounding almost primal.

I nervously rise from the floor and stand on the spot, unsure and nervous of what my role is going to be in this scenario.

"Gabrielle," Linda reiterates testily, not even gracing me by looking at me. "Come over here to us. Now."

Ignoring Tom is an insult. Ignoring Linda in Tom's presence might as well be a declaration of war.

I take a couple of slow steps towards them.

"Get those clothes off," Linda instructs, gazing adoringly at Tom.

"I don't want to," I say.

"Nobody gives a shit what you want Gabby. Do what Linda told you. Hurry up," Tom moans, holding her hair roughly, and kissing her neck.

When he sees that I'm not obeying their orders he looks up. "Would you rather go back on the dining table?"

I think about my choices.

Neither of them seems great, however one seems obviously worse.

I make my choice quickly, to prevent another monstrously sized dildo being pushed up inside me. I begrudgingly begin pull my top off, and hold it outstretched, waiting for Linda to take it from me.

When she glances over, she sighs. "And the rest Gabrielle. Come on now."

I drop my top to the floor, before lowering my ugly, unflattering trousers down and stepping out of them, hoping that my failure to remove my underwear will go unnoticed in the midst of their desire for each other.

As is usual now, my hopes go unanswered.

"Nice try!" Linda exclaims. "I'd have told you to keep your knickers on if that's what we'd wanted. What's the matter with you? Tom isn't slightly interested in what's between your legs under all that hair. Not when he's busy with what's between mine," she taunts.

"Linda's right Gabby, I have no interest in that wild seventies bush she's making you sport now..." Tom confirms, lowering his hands to Linda's pussy, and beginning to tease her with a finger.

I peel my knickers down, trying to disguise my offendedness, and modestly position a hand over my mound. Maybe I subconsciously do it to distract them away from their passions?

Whatever my motives, my provocation attracts Linda's attention.

"Don't flatter yourself Gabrielle," Linda laughs.

"Get yourself onto the sofa, in my seat, then turn round to face Tom's side..." she demands.

I haven't been allowed to sit on the sofa for a month now. I find myself wondering what possible incentive Linda has for undermining one of her own rules on this occasion. She is normally totally unwilling to compromise. Whatever she has planned must be worth it to her.

I seat myself down into my former seat, trying to ignore the way Tom is now passionately fingering Linda, causing her to moan out shrilly.

When I'm positioned as I was told, I sit with my knees bent, closed tight.

Linda momentarily turns from Tom and looks at me. "I'm getting sick of this now Gabrielle," she says, exhaustedly. "Open your fucking legs. Just because we're not going to look at you, doesn't mean we're going to let you try and hide yourself. You know you can't hide anything from us."

Tom sniggers.

"Can we fuck now?" Linda murmurs to him, and he sounds to acknowledge her.

She leads him around to the opposite side of the sofa, carefully considering where she wants to be while he fucks her. She lets go of his hand and climbs onto the sofa herself in his seat, on all fours, facing me. Tom positions behind her, mounting a knee on the armrest.

Linda sweeps her long hair over her shoulder and looks excitedly up at me. "Put your hands up on your head Gabrielle," she issues.

I confusedly look at her.

"Your hands," she repeats. "Put them on top of your head. I don't want you getting too worked up and reaching out to try and touch something you're not supposed to."

I very slowly bring my hands up and press them flat across my head, interlocking my fingers for comfort. Tom observes, ready to be the enforcer in the event of my noncompliance. I suitably arrange myself, sparing him the trouble of having to make me.

I look over Linda's body to watch Tom aligning himself to push into her. He must know I'm watching and is purposefully slow about doing it, making sure his cock is perfectly poised.

I can't see anything below the curve of Linda's arse, and so must rely on her sudden jerking forward and elated cries to know that he's slid himself in.

She keeps her head up, never breaking eye contact with me, and assists Tom by rocking forward and backwards to encourage him. He moans animalistically before remarking on how wonderful it feels inside her. She blows a kiss back to him, and he takes this as his cue to start thrusting properly.

I try to ignore the way her huge melon tits bounce as she's pounded, concentrating more on not being thrown from my seat by their increasing vigour.

Tom brings his hands forward until he reaches her hips, where he stations them. This allows him to hold her steady as his strokes become rougher. Linda gets louder in her cries as he fucks harder, ensuring I know how much she's enjoying what he's doing to her.

I am sickened by how close I am to their display. It feels like the most perverse thing they have done yet and makes the hideousness of my situation seem worse. I hear every plunge of Tom's cock into her narrow cunt.

I avert my eyes, looking over at the mantlepiece, where framed photos of them now sit, smiling and posing together.

I fixate on one of them, remembering the day it was taken, only two weeks ago. I'd been tied to the dining table, placated by the wand, whilst they'd been decorating the living room together.

I'd heard them laughing and playing around together, and when they'd come in to check on my progress, they'd both been covered in paint handprints, all over each other.

I'd admittedly been bitterly envious of the fun they'd shared together and resentful of Linda for robbing me of my rightful place. They'd not showed any concern about my feelings on the matter, and after providing me with a drink and checking the wand hadn't moved from its position, had returned to their enjoyment.

The photo I now choose to stare at is of them embracing, covered in flecks of paint, each holding a bottle of beer, presumably taken when they'd returned to the living room. It's one more addition to their photo collection of proof that they have a perfect life together. Looking at it now makes me feel as furious as I had on that day.

I feel Linda's hand grab my face and aggressively wrench it back to face them.

"No Gabrielle," she tells me, maintaining hold. "You need to watch this."

I wrestle to shake her off me, keeping my fingers intertwined on my scalp, surveying the scene before me.

It's like a high-definition nightmare. I can even smell their sex.

Linda naked, unashamed, being lustfully ravaged in front of me; made worse by Tom being the one doing the ravaging, his muscles engaged and bulging, shining with sweat, whilst looking down at her adoringly.

"His cock feels perfect inside me," she murmurs, deliberately quiet. "He's the perfect fit for me. it's like his cock was made for fucking me. The way you feel when I slip some of those dildos inside you," she boasts, making sure he can't hear. "He's always so perfectly hard. I doubt you ever got him this hard."

My attention is distracted as Tom loops a hand underneath Linda's crotch to stimulate her clit with his fingers. I notice that even only using one hand for leverage, his thrusts don't slow.

Linda lurches forward. "My man knows what I like," she imparts, gloatingly, and then quietens to focus on being pleasured.

I watch her ascend her own pleasure escalator and try to guess at when she's going to climax.

There are signs that I am only seeing now because of being so near to hear.

Her breathing becomes coarser and slower, sounding like the insides of her nostrils are wet. It's obscene.

Though they're closed, I can see her eyes moving beneath the lids in random patterns, rolling around in her skull. She perches her tongue behind her teeth, mouth slightly ajar and makes a low sucking noise. I wonder to myself how her orgasm face could be deemed less offensive than my own?

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

As her climax peaks, she bites her lip and squeals. She's naturally a loud 'orgasmer' but the noise seems amplified as it's straight in my face.

Without any warning, her hand reaches up and takes a vice like hold of one of my nipples, pinching it between her fingers painfully.

I squirm uncomfortably, trying to pull free, and upon realising I can't, I groan in pain until she unclamps her fingers when her pleasure subsides. It's almost the perfect metaphor for my life now. Linda enjoys herself while I'm made to suffer.

After Linda's orgasm has passed, she relaxes her posture and works on slowing her panting.

"Did you mean to squirt all over my cock?" Tom asks, impressed and dismounts from the sofa. "I think Gabby enjoyed it too from what I could hear," he adds, somehow awarding himself the misjudged accolade of pleasing us both.

Linda looks searchingly backwards for him as he moves, craving his closeness, and is met with him offering an outstretched hand to help her up. She accepts it and allows herself to be swept up to her feet. They giggle together for a moment.

I watch their intimacy from my seat.

Linda catches me looking and loops her slim, toned and very possessive arm around Tom's neck, pulling him into a kiss. She means it as a message to me: he is hers now.

She turns and brings her foot up onto the sofa cushion where I'm sat, wedging her toes underneath the outer edge of my thigh, then leans forwards towards me and pushes her arse out, inviting Tom to recommence. He admires the view of her bare cheeks for a second, before moving closer, drawn in by her.

He offers no objection to her carefully thought out placing, maybe even enjoying it. I watch as he arranges himself behind her and holds his cock, seeming proud of its hardness, before advancing it back in.

"I swear, it feels like your pussy is grabbing hold of my cock," Tom groans, blissfully. Linda hums back happily.

Her face is mere inches from my own.

"Don't think I didn't notice how you were looking at Tom just then Gabrielle," she accuses. "Do you like being this close while we're fucking? I bet you're wishing you were where I am now. Do you know how selfish that is? Can't you see how much Tom's enjoying himself? He wouldn't be having nearly as good a time if it was you on all fours in front of him."

I don't answer her, remiss to admit that she is correct in what she thinks I might be secretly wishing.

"How much do you want to touch yourself?" she interrogates, hostilely.

I look away, trying desperately to ignore her.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you Gabrielle," she hisses, too quiet for Tom to hear.

"Say it..." she demands. "Right now. Tell Tom that you want to finger yourself."

I make eye contact with her, nonverbally pleading for her to reconsider.

"Say the words," she insists. "Out loud. Or I'll convince him to make you spend the night on the dining table."

I clamour to argue back but see her expression. It's cold and clinical, absolutely unwilling to compromise on this.

"I want to finger myself," I announce, humiliated. Though the words come out of my mouth, it's not me saying them.

Toms stops thrusting, with a stunned look on his face. He's half smiling and half disbelieving.

"Did she just say what I think she did Lind?" he remarks.

"That she wants to finger herself?" Linda responds, pretending to be shocked. "I heard it too."

Beneath her tone, she's gleeful. "At least she asked us first."

She turns her attention to me. "Are you aching? Is your cunt getting all wet and frustrated?"

She brings her hand down and roughly pushes two fingers inside me. A squelching sound echoes awkwardly around the room. She pulls her fingers out and wipes my fluids over my face.

"Fucking hell Tom. She's absolutely drenched," she takes great enjoyment in telling him. "Do you think on this occasion, despite the normal rule, we should let her touch herself? We don't necessarily have to let her finish. With where she's sat, it'll be easy to step in if she starts getting too...worked up?" she muses.

"It wouldn't be good for her to let her cum Lind. But if you keep an eye on her, I don't see an issue," Tom contributes, and begins to push in and out again, determined not to ruin the mood. In doing so, he leaves the decision to Linda, who grins sadistically.

"Alright then Gabrielle. Turn around to face us," she directs. "Spread your legs nice and wide so I can watch you. You heard what Tom said, no orgasms for you. Don't try and be sneaky," she extends.

I slowly shuffle myself round so I'm sitting properly in the seat. My instincts tell me that Tom won't tolerate any messing tonight. He's already running short on patience because of what Linda told him about this morning.

I open my thighs and look miserably down at my unkempt pubic hair.

Until the choice was removed from me, I'd always allowed some controlled hair growth both across my mound, and down my lips. I'd trimmed myself every couple of weeks to keep it from getting 'unruly' and to stop myself resembling some sort of primitive cavewoman.

Tom had never seemed outwardly opposed to how I looked. I debate with myself now whether my disgust at my enforced hairiness is how he regarded my pubic hair all along. Sadly, I don't think I'll ever have occasion to ask him now.

"You'll have to open wider than that Gabrielle," Linda coaxes.

I obey her, splaying my thighs awkwardly, and am met with patronising praise.

I stall in doing anything and see impatience flash across her face.

"Start rubbing then," she prompts.

I bring my hand down and bend my middle finger inwards, pressing it into my slit.

I'm sodden, just as Linda described and this makes it difficult to get a stable starting point to work from.