Tom and Gabby Ch. 09 - Linda's Parents

"Get up Gabrielle," Linda commands and I look over at her to assess her demeanour, wondering what she might be planning. Her face clouds over when she catches me looking, as if I'm purposefully stalling, and I recognise a complete lack of amusement in her expression.

I stand up slowly from my beanbag. The beans resettle as my weight is removed from them, and the normally quiet noise seems almost deafening in the otherwise silent atmosphere.

Linda clicks her fingers at me impatiently, and points to the floor in front of her.

It's a highly foreboding summons. Her immaculately groomed eyebrows are curved upward, reinforcing her displeasure. I'm expecting that she's going to threaten me and promise to punish me severely if I don't promptly adjust my attitude, which I'm able to subconsciously make peace with, despite not being the instigator of the tension.

I slowly trudge over, having to move awkwardly around Wendy's legs when she refuses to move them to let me pass.

When I reach Linda, she doesn't speak to acknowledge my compliance. Instead, she grips my hips and forcibly turns me to face her parents on the adjacent sofa. Both Wendy and Daz look at me curiously, wondering what's happening. I'm wondering this myself.

I find myself hoping, in the few seconds Linda has me turned to face them, that she isn't going to demand I apologise to her mother. I'd simply have to refuse such a demand and suffer whatever consequences would follow.

Wendy has an excited glint in her eyes, and her mouth stretches into a smirk. Her satisfaction coincides with the exact moment that I feel Linda wrenching my jogging bottoms and knickers down my legs.

She doesn't hesitate in exposing my naked mound to them both.

I struggle earnestly to try and catch the trousers, but she tugs them down so aggressively, that they're snatched from my fingertips. When they're far enough down, she tactically arranges them around my ankles to feel like cuffs, preventing me from moving away from her.

"I'm really sorry about this," she addresses her parents. "Gabrielle obviously thinks she's being clever."

She speaks clinically, not once moving from her seat. I instinctively bring my hands round to try and cover my pussy, trying to make myself less vulnerable and exposed. Surprisingly, Linda doesn't try to stop me.

"Tell me, Gabrielle," she addresses me. "How clever do you feel now, with your trousers and knickers around your ankles, in full view of our guests? Do you reckon they think you're clever?" she condescends.

As much as I want to reply, I know that it'd be entirely pointless.

I'm utterly humiliated, standing here like this. It feels worse than when they'd gaslit me in the village shop only a couple of weeks ago, after I'd tried to escape. This audience may be smaller than the one in the shop that day, but I feel spectacularly publicly shamed.

This undressing has nothing to do with my apparent 'cleverness', as Linda is saying. It's serving only to show that I'm powerless against her and Tom.

I feel her hand gliding up the inside of my arm, before she takes firm hold and uses the limb to force me down, bending me over her knees. I realise what she's about to do and try to pull myself up, but she brings her hand down to the nape of my neck and drives my head further down to the floor.

"Stay there Gabrielle," she tells me coldly, and begins to run the palm of her free hand across my exposed, bright white arsecheeks.

I tense myself in anticipation as she raises her hand up, and then sharply brings it crashing down, delivering a sharp slap across one of my untoned cheeks.

The crack of the slap against my skin echoes around the room. I gasp in pain. The stinging begins almost instantaneously, but my pain doesn't discourage her.

She slaps again, smacking the other cheek this time, and I vocalise loudly. I feel my arse wobbling ungracefully with the impact of her blow.

I can't see Wendy's face, but I can very well imagine it. She's probably loving every moment of this.

Linda continues to rain down slaps, giving a moment's pause for the shock of each one to sink in before delivering the next. She spanks me with ferocity, until I've lost count of the total number she's inflicted.

Tom sits unflinchingly beside her, making no moves to stop or slow her; fully supporting her chosen method of discipline for me. I have no illusions, however, that if I were to make any move to resist, he'd swiftly take action.

Before long, I'm blubbering and squealing for her to stop, begging croakily.

I wail out profuse apologies, hoping that this might expediate the punishment's end, but she seems not to hear me and continues to strike me with her palm.

When we reach a point where both my arsecheeks are unilaterally tingling with pain and I'm sniffling, she finally ceases the slapping.

She returns her hand to the back of my head once she's finished, prolonging my disgraced, humbling position for a few moments more, allowing everyone to bask in my shame. After a couple of minutes, she taps her heel on the floor to signal for me to stand.

Tom, Wendy and Daz all watch me clumsily clamber off Linda's lap, and once I'm back on my feet, she turns me to face her parents again and grips my arm, to prevent me from turning away.

I'm visibly upset and lacking any of the defiance I had prior to the punishment.

Although my trousers and knickers are still around my ankles, exposing everything to them, I make no attempts to try and cover myself now.

Wendy is wide eyed, trying and failing to disguise her elated grin; while Daz is looking around awkwardly, trying to make eye contact with anything other than me.

After cruelly displaying me, Linda coerces me round to face her and looks at me unsympathetically.

"I hope that's helped to put things into perspective for you, Gabrielle," she tells me.

Tom leans across to her and gestures at me. Linda turns to face him, and he covers his mouth to covertly communicate something to her.

Without a word to me, Linda brings her foot between my ankles and nudges them open as wide as they'll go within the improvised restraints.

She leans forward, reaches towards my pussy and uses a thumb and forefinger to open my lips. She then looks back to Tom and nods. He adorns an 'I told you so' face.

"You seem to have quite enjoyed having your arse smacked, Gabrielle," she comments, enlightened.

I shake my head and wipe my eyes with my hands, trying to regain some modicum of composure.

"Weren't you on the table for lying to us just yesterday?" Linda asks. "Have you forgotten that already? Your cunt is absolutely dripping. I suppose that happened by accident, did it?"

Tom clears his throat.

"How wet is she, love?" he asks Linda.

"She's drenched. It's practically running down the insides of her thighs," she replies, not caring about her parents hearing. "She obviously enjoyed being put over my knee. Or was it that she liked having an audience watching it happen?" she guesses, openly discussing this personal, and mortifying subject.

"It could be either of those things. Maybe in combination with enjoying listening to Daz talking a bit too much?" Tom suggests.

"Eh?" Daz bursts out, sounding flustered.

"Sorry mate," Tom smirks, tearing his gaze from me, over to Daz. "I don't want to alarm you, but Gabby's always had a bit of a...soft spot for Irish accents. She used to make me impersonate one sometimes. Your dulcet tones might've contributed towards her 'excitement'. Don't worry about it," he makes an open mockery of me. "You're perfectly safe."

Linda pulls my trousers and knickers back up for me and adjusts the material.

Wendy appears to be in uproar over the revelation, looking from Daz to me repeatedly.

"Just keep your mouth shut while we're here Darren," she snaps, possessively, unabbreviating his name. "Don't even look at her if you can help it. We don't want her getting into a frenzy and humping your leg or anything. She's not in her right mind, is she? Did I tell you that Linda and Tom have to physically restrain her in her bed overnight to stop her messing with herself."

I'm too utterly consumed by shame to even think about confronting Wendy's hatemongering.

"Go and sit back onto your beanbag Gabrielle," Linda directs. "And once you've sat down, put your hands up onto your head so I can see them. We don't want you doing anything embarrassing in front of company, do we?" she adds.

I make my way back over to my beanbag in the corner of the room, avoiding looking at anyone.

I seat myself down and place my hands up onto my head without any fuss or dissent.

Linda waits until I'm where she instructed and then excuses herself to go and wash my secretions from her hand.

"Linda tells me that you want to start taking her out in public soon, Tom darling?" Wendy questions Tom, completely changing the previous topic of conversation.

"Yeah, it's something we're looking into," Tom replies. "We think it'll be good for her to take her out of the house occasionally. Not on her own, obviously."

"I'd have another think about it," Wendy disagrees. "Aren't you worried that she'll run amok and cause trouble while you're out?" she asks.

"We can't completely remove the possibility of that happening Wend," Tom concurs. "But we're in the process of putting measures in place to minimise the chances of it. We're not going to be taking Gabby anywhere until we're certain that anything untoward can be properly managed."

"Hmm," Wendy murmurs. "I think you're both making a mistake in going down this route darlings," she can't help herself from interfering. "Think about it. All it'd take is her speaking to someone and she could land you both into serious trouble. Have you not considered that?"

"She's well aware of the rules about talking to anyone Wend," Tom retorts, seeking to make light of her frets, and not letting her dissuade their plans.

This conversation is the first I've heard of them 'taking me out' anywhere since Linda's brief mention of it after I tried to run away from them.

"Take my advice or leave it," Wendy carries on, choosing her phrasing inconsiderately. I feel her looking at me again. "I thoroughly believe it'd be safer to just keep her here in the house, secured in the dining room, like you have been doing. Daz and I could even come over and keep an eye on her here if you and Linda ever wanted to go out somewhere, just the two of you?" she offers, self sacrificially.

"As much as I appreciate the offer, Linda and I are looking forward to putting all our hard work to the test Wend. Not only that, taking Gabby out in public is going to be another exercise in humility for her. We want to reinforce her place here with us and to remind her that she isn't like other people anymore. She needs us to look after her. Thank you though," he tries to shut the subject down.

Wendy doesn't want to give up. "I'm going to have to agree to disagree with you there, Tom," she insists. "She's a liability. What're you going to do? Tether her to yourselves to stop her running away?"

"We're exploring our options Wendy," Tom states, authoritatively.

I'm bewildered by what Linda's mother thinks qualifies her to make these comments. She's trying to portray herself as some sort of expert on the situation, offering 'helpful tips' at every opportunity. As far as I know, which isn't much, she has no experience of what Tom and Linda are doing to me. I suspect few people have.

Tom and Linda themselves are hardly experts on 'managing me'. They've tried and tested methods that have worked on the most part to keep me prisoner, but they've also made mistakes and found means that don't work.

I'm waiting for another failure to present itself soon, to finally free myself from them.

"I understand your concern Wendy, obviously, but Lind and I are going to take every precaution before we take her out anywhere. We're not going to put ourselves, or Gabrielle at risk. But make no mistake...it's something we are going to do at some point in the near future," Tom seeks to both reassure and dispute her.

I look at Daz, who is sitting quietly, trying to avoid speaking for fear of 'arousing me'.

Linda re-enters the room, and seats herself back down beside Tom.

"I've heard what you're saying from the kitchen, mum," she says firmly. "But like Tom's rightly told you. This is something we're sure of. We're looking into a number of options and we're going to test everything thoroughly before we take Gabrielle out anywhere. We're not going to spare any expense to make sure that she's completely under control, and unable to cause trouble before we take her further than the front door," she informs her, adamantly.

Wendy looks back at her, stubbornly. As I watch her, I can see her grey eyes trying to formulate a response or counter argument that might convince her daughter of her superior knowledge. She comes up short.

"Well if you need any help with paying for anything, I'd be glad to help," she replies.

Linda smiles, endearingly. "We're more than able to afford everything we need to look after Gabrielle, mum," she scolds, tartly.

Wendy doesn't take the hint, even pitted against both her daughter and Tom.

"I think you're far too soft on her, darlings," she bemoans. "Even after seeing what she's capable of. I mean look at that little trip she took herself on into the village. She'd been planning that for a while, clearly. If she was truly afraid of the consequences, she'd have never dared to do that! Look how well she's been behaving since you smacked her behind. She's not causing trouble now, is she? You clearly need to be firmer with her."

"We are firm with her Wendy, believe me," Tom cuts in. "She doesn't get away with acting up."

I can hear from his voice that he's getting irritated by her 'helpful suggestions' now. I feel conflicted. I almost want to cheer him on in his plight to defeat Wendy, but then remember that they're all enemies to me.

Linda speaks up in support. "We can't keep her confined in the house, in one room for the rest of her life mum. We're holding her here on the grounds of her mental state being unstable. We have to be seen to be facilitating her recovery. Despite our mutual doubts about the possibility of it."

"Of course my darlings," Wendy sighs, with a lofty air of arrogance.

Tom opens his mouth to speak again, but his phone rings and distracts him. He digs it from his pocket and looks at the screen, irritated. He answers the call and hand signals to Linda that he's going to take it in the kitchen.

I cast my eyes back to her parents and see Daz looking sternly at Wendy, mumbling something to her quietly.

Her posture becomes uncomfortable as he speaks, and her face displays her vexation. After finishing speaking, Daz nods to Linda and smiles.

Without warning, Wendy stands from her seat. "Come on darling," she says brightly. "You promised me a tour! I'm dying to see what else you've done with the rest of this house."

"No problem," Linda says and lifts herself from the sofa, starting towards the hall door.

She turns back into the room before exiting through it. "Are you going to be alright here Daz?" she enquires.

He nods and pulls his phone out, waving it at her to demonstrate his intended activities for their absence.

Linda smiles. "Tom will be back in a couple of minutes, whenever he's finished on the phone. Just give him a shout if Gabrielle moves," she instructs.

"Gabrielle?" she addresses me now. "I won't be gone long. Stay exactly as you are until I get back."

Wendy snubs Daz as she passes him, and ushers Linda along. They leave the room together, allowing Linda to take her mother on a tour of my former marital house.

I can hear Tom's voice in the kitchen. It detracts from the deathly quiet in the lounge.

Daz is subdued, playing something on his phone, occasionally looking over at me, uneasily.

He could be mistaken for looking sympathetically towards me, and I begin thinking to myself.

He makes no effort to break words with me, and I find myself analysing what might be going on in his head.

I watch him closely, waiting to catch his eye when he next glances over.

He takes a sip of his coffee, before looking over in my direction again, and this time, I issue a small smile, wanting him to be able to humanise me. Despite what Tom and Linda might have led him to believe, I'm not dangerous or deranged.

He forces himself to smile back awkwardly, making the gesture seem painful, though I interpret it differently.

In my mind, Daz is perhaps an innocent bystander in all of this. An innocent bystander who might be giving me a sign that he hasn't demonised me in the same way Wendy, Linda or Tom have. I quickly lift off the beanbag and take a few steps to seat myself beside him on the sofa. I keep my hands up to reassure him that my intentions are not onerous.

"What the f..." he stammers uncouthly. I can see from his phone screen that he's playing on slot machines.

"Please," I say, as quietly as I can while still being heard. "Don't shout for Tom, please. If he catches me talking to you; he's going to drag me straight into the dining room and punish me for it. Worse than what your stepdaughter did to me earlier..." I appeal.

He thinks to himself, plagued by knowing what he probably should do and what I'm asking him to do.

"I'm asking for your help. You're the only person who isn't looking at me like the rest of them are doing. I think maybe you know that I'm not what they're saying I am," I petition him.

He tries to reply but can't find any words. I know that I'm putting him in a difficult position, and I can forgive his cluelessness in knowing how to respond.

"You've got no idea what they've been doing to me over the past few months. You couldn't imagine it. I can't stay living here with them like this. Everything they've told you is bullshit. It's all lies. I'm no more insane than you are, I swear it. I need you to believe me and to help me," I ramble on quickly, trying to gauge his willingness to take the risk of helping to liberate me.

He gulps.

"I can pay you, if that's what'll persuade you? Tom and I have savings... I'm pretty sure they're all still in our joint accounts. There's a few thousand in there. I'll withdraw it all and hand it over to you, willingly, if you help me. I'm begging you. I don't deserve to be here," I plead, hoping that my assumptions about the money I'm referring to are still correct.

Daz looks perplexed, as if I've just asked him to be lovers.

He stammers to speak. "What're you asking me?" he mumbles, his voice quiet and gruff, not wanting to be caught in this encounter with me, though for vastly different reasons than my own.

His question allows a flicker of hope to ignite. He'd not have asked if he was completely opposed to the idea of helping me, surely? His assistance is not completely outside the realms of possibility.

"I need you to take me back up north with you when you leave," I request, and watch him mull it over.

"I just need a lift. Once we've arrived and I'm safely away from them, I promise, you'll never see me again. And neither will Linda or Tom," I detail.

Daz scratches his face, internally anguished. I admit to feeling guilty about putting this pressure on him.

"Once I'm somewhere new, miles away, it'll seem like this whole thing never happened. Linda and Tom won't report anything. It'd lead to too many questions. They'd never suspect you of helping me," I rationalise, convincing myself of my plan's viability as I say it. I hope he's keeping up with what I've said so far.

Daz furrows his brow, caught between my desperate request and loyalty to his family.

"For fucks sake," he curses. "What's your plan?"

He quickly turns to the door to make sure we're still alone. We are.