Tom and Gabby Ch. 08 - The Dream

"I don't..." I struggle.

I continue to writhe and squirm helplessly before realising that I have nothing to negotiate with.

"You were getting married," I wail.

Tom looks entirely self-satisfied. "I told you there was something else, didn't I? Eleven years of marriage and she thinks I don't know when she's bullshitting?" he brags.

"What else did we say Gabby? Come on," he coaxes me.

"Oh god," I cry, almost hysterical under the vibrations. "Linda was..."

"Yes?" Tom pushes, shouting himself.

"Pregnant!" I blurt out.

A series of nonverbal interactions take place between Tom and Linda, I can sense it, despite not being able to see it. The vibrations grind to a halt, and I keep my eyes shut.

"Well, that was an unexpected twist," Tom rules.

I keep my eyes closed, not wanting to see them curiously studying me, waiting for an explanation that I can't provide.

"Do you think about me being pregnant a lot, Gabrielle?" Linda asks.

I curl my nose at her narcissistic question. Why would I think about her being pregnant? I can imagine the smug look on her face as she speaks, without needing to see it.

"Tom's definitely going to get me pregnant one day. But I'd for us to get married before that happens," she elaborates. "You're going to have to wait a while longer for that, we're afraid."

Tom doesn't say anything.

"Do you think she wants us to have a baby together, love?" Linda enquires to Dom.

I abhor her implication.

"I'm as perplexed as you are love," Tom answers, his voice solemn and low.

"Maybe it's the thought of us making one together? Maybe she likes the thought of that?" Linda suggests.

"I don't know Lind. Incorporate it into a story for her, while you're making her cum and find out," Tom tells her, coolly.

"I'm going to. If she's harbouring another perverse fantasy, we need to know about it, don't we?" she confirms.

"Are you okay?" she asks him, sounding concerned.

Tom hesitates before answering. "Me? I'm fine baby. Do you want to get started on getting Gabby off. I'll go and make us some coffee?"

"Yeah, of course. She'll probably be over and done by the time you get back, so I'll meet you in the living room, once I'm done," she tells him.

I open my eyes to watch Tom walk out of the room and see Linda preparing the wand and positioning herself to use it on me.

She seems troubled by Tom's reaction, and I delight in the possibility of having incidentally sown some seed of doubt between them. I contemplate whether to say something, but decide against it, not wanting to provoke her.

"Right Gabrielle," Linda clears her throat. "Shall we find out if you've been hiding another sordid fetish from us? Something about watching Tom get me pregnant, perhaps?"

She brings the wand down, and wriggles it between my pussy lips, before powering it on low.

I buck fiercely as the vibrations start, until Linda finds the optimal angle to begin circling from. She speaks as she stimulates me, describing a scene in which Tom and she have decided to try for a baby together. She goes into painstaking detail about tying me up to watch the proceedings and synchronises my much-resisted orgasm with the precise moment that Tom climaxes inside her, and ultimately impregnating her. I need gratification too much to try and fight it, and I ignore any sense of pride that I have left.

She times her words well, orchestrating it so that the beginning of my actual build up coincides with her graphic portrayal of Tom's fictional one. As my orgasm peaks, she's finishing describing the sensation of his spunk spraying deep inside her cunt.

I contort wildly within the binds, my head bent all the way back, and my hips and pelvis almost deforming upward. I'm veiled with a thin layer of sweat and I'm breathing hard and ragged. The pleasure seems to be tumultuous as a result of the previously denied journeying towards it. My mouth morphs unnaturally, comparable only to Munch's The Scream. My fingers and toes hyperextend heinously. And then I collapse, broken and unresponsive to my surroundings.

Linda removes the source of stimulation, and replaces it into the microphone stand, then stands to admire the destruction she's responsible for.

I don't even hear her leaving the room, too consumed by my transcendent, out of body afterglow to even relish the possibility that I've been the cause of some grievous malcontent between them.

To be continued...