Tom and Gabby Ch. 10 - The Haircut

*Hi guys.

Hope everyone is okay and continuing to enjoy the story so far.

This chapter (double digits :)!) has taken a bit longer than originally anticipated, my apologies for that.

Thanks for all the reads/comments/votes/feedback for the last chapter.

Ch. 11 (Insomnia) is now being penned.*

The dynamic seems to have shifted again within my former household.

Tom and Linda, who are still madly in love and completely besotted with one another, have put a lot of thought into implementing improvements to the way they 'look after me'. I'm starting to feel suffocated by the plethora of restrictions I'm now subjected to.

I noticed an abundance of changes after Linda's mother and stepfather visited, and I can't shake the feeling that Wendy, Linda's overbearing, fork-tongued mother had a hand in at least some of the new ideas.

At one point during the visit, Linda had taken her on a tour of the house, and during that time, they'd seemed to have spoken at length about my imprisonment. As much as I'd naively hoped for an outpouring of sympathy from Linda's parents, maybe even an intervention on my behalf, the opposite had happened.

During their visit, Wendy had made it unmistakably clear that she despised me. I'd been perplexed and angered in equal measure by her unjustified contempt and had strongly objected to Tom and Linda's allowing her to actively participate in punishing me. It'd crossed a figurative line in my head and reinforced that I'm totally alone in my resistance against my situation and oppressors.

Though the tightening of control has introduced new challenges for me, a small part of me has taken pride in seeing Tom and Linda moved into taking further preventative steps. I'm quietly confident that my recent attempts to escape captivity have worried them. Though my efforts were both ultimately scuppered, their actions to prevent another try, demonstrates their fear over what could have happened if I had succeeded.

They've come to realise that when another chance presents itself for me to get away, I'll take it without hesitation. They'd never admit as much of course, and insist that my situation is inescapable.

I remain vigilant in looking for opportunities, though haven't found one since my last attempt.

Since her parents' visit, Linda has become fixated on the idea of 'taking me out' in public. She and Tom have been talking about it incessantly.

Linda's main motivation to present me to the world undoubtedly stems from a desire to publicly humiliate me, however there's now an added incentive to prove her mother wrong. Wendy had, after all, been very vocal in her objection to the idea. Perhaps if she hadn't pushed so hard, Linda might not be so determined to push back.

A few weeks ago, in preparation for my public debut, Linda began collaborating with a bondage company she'd found online.

The communications started with emails, which developed to phone calls and then eventually face to face meetings. She enlisted the company to produce something she and Tom refer to as 'control pants'.

Procuring them had been a laborious process and I can personally testify that they're an awful contraption.

After convincing the bondage company of a more socially acceptable version of our living arrangements, Tom and Linda had arranged for company representatives to visit the house to 'measure' me. They were insistent upon a custom-made device to serve their nefarious purposes.

For the 'fitting', they'd had me stand naked in the lounge, in front of two complete strangers, who'd assumed me to be the consenting masochist of an atypical relationship. I'd been gagged, to prevent me from debunking their stories. After some wildly embellished chitchat about my rent-free lodging with them in exchange for devotedly serving them, I'd been subjected to having haberdashery tape run up, down and across my crotch, measuring every imaginable dimension of my pussy.

The company representatives had spoken proudly of their family run business, while collecting their measurements. They'd offered repeated assurances that their product would help keep me submissive during 'sex games'.

Linda and Tom had seemed to delight in watching the procedure, talking of their great desire to provide me with satisfaction when the occasion called for it. Every word of the spiel had been lies.

A week later, the same company representatives had returned to the house to present the finished product.

They'd been visibly proud as they'd presented a remote-controlled pair of knickers, with an enhanced strength vibration plate built into the crotch of them. They'd claimed that the vibrations would rival those offered by any mains powered wand.

Customer satisfaction had been of the upmost importance to them, and they'd prompted Tom and Linda to try them out, which of course, I'd had no say in.

The representatives had fitted the pants onto me, touching me more intimately than I'd been comfortable with, before handing Tom and Linda the remote and nodding encouragingly. After an initial period of testing the controls, which'd led me to twitch and moan uncontrollably on the spot for a few minutes, I'd been made to walk around the house to test the wireless range of them.

Tom had been in control of the remote, while Linda had escorted me around the house, increasing the distance between the pants and the controller. We'd made it as far as the upstairs bathroom before the pants stopped receiving signals from downstairs.

Once inside the bathroom, and out of earshot, Linda had gleefully informed me that I'd be made to wear the pants at all times when in public. She'd boasted that at the slightest sign of disobedience, she and Tom wouldn't hesitate to increase the vibrations up to full and force me into a garbling, trembling mess.

On our way back down the stairs, prior to writing a cheque to the company for services rendered, she'd taunted me with her excitement over the idea of forcing me to publicly orgasm. She'd spoken proudly about how such a display would surely convince people of my obvious 'mental instability'.

Though we've not yet been out in public, I'm fully expecting that reasons will be found to intensify the vibrations sporadically, for their own enjoyment, rather than for behaviour modification.

As well as making preparations to take me out of the house and humiliate me further, Tom and Linda have also made a few changes within the house for me. Tom has become neurotic about keeping doors locked and ensuring that any keys are kept out of my sight.

There's been a noticeable increase in hushed conversations between them, which they always utter quietly when I'm within earshot. I'm used to their exclusion of me now, but the urgency of their secretive talks, usually after receiving the morning post, leaves me with a foreboding that something important is going to happen soon. I'm confident it'll be nothing to benefit me and expect the subject relates to the divorce they're trying to push through. I only know of their plans because of Wendy's malice in choosing to disclose it during her visit.

When they're not plotting between themselves, Tom and Linda continue to fuck insatiably around the house.

I'd have expected the honeymoon period of their relationship to have worn off by now, but they still struggle to control their lust for each other. I sometimes wonder if I serve as some sort of unwitting aphrodisiac for them both, as they can progress from strapping me onto the dining table, to being completely rampant within fifteen minutes of starting vibrations on me.

Linda hasn't tired of reminding me how much Tom loves fucking her. She loves riling him up in front of me, teasing his cock to painful hardness before taunting me about how he never reacted in the same way to me throughout our marriage.

Tom recently made the somewhat catastrophic mistake of enlightening Linda to my occasional enjoyment for anal play. When I say catastrophic, I of course mean for me.

During our marriage, I never enjoyed anal sex, but confess to sometimes having enjoyed one of Tom's fingers gently teasing the opening of my arsehole. Linda happily took the information on board, smug at having discovered another way to torture me and had insisted on Tom demonstrating his method to her.

They'd made a ceremony of it, tying me face down onto the dining table, with my arse on crude display. Linda had observed Tom's technique, watching his finger delicately stimulating my sphincter, before keenly trying it herself. She'd moved very slowly, verbally tormenting me as she'd done it, easing one of her manicured fingers against the entrance of my arsehole and mimicking Tom's strokes, until my tense disposition had been replaced by whimpered moaning. She'd continued to tease, torturing long past my begs and pleas for her to stop, until I'd succumbed to a climax of sorts.

During a later iteration of her 'mastering the skill', she'd experimented with advancing her finger a little further, penetrating my arsehole until she'd felt me wincing and trying to recoil.

She'd mocked me cruelly and added it to her list of superiorities over me. She'd smugly commented that Tom is an avid anal enthusiast and informed me that they regularly partook in mutually enjoyed anal sex together as a couple.

To prove her point, that very night, they'd fastened me onto the chair directly facing their bed, affixed the wand against me and made me watch him fucking her up the arse.

I knew they'd planned the whole thing, as during the display, Tom had been unusually vocal, moaning gutturally about how tight and perfect Linda's arse felt around his cock and his luck to be with such a perfect woman.

He'd slowed mid thrust to voice his disappointment in his marriage to me, because after finding I didn't enjoy anal sex, I'd refused to even try taking his cock up my arse again.

He'd gradually slid himself in and out of Linda's, savouring the feel of her tight hole stretching open around his girth as he'd fucked it.

He'd pointedly made comparison between Linda and my arseholes, comparing the view of hers to my own, complimenting her sculpturally curved hips and flawless pert cheeks favourably against my 'pasty, flabby, cellulite ridden rear'.

Linda had moaned pleasurably with every insult he'd issued over to me. Fortunately, my feelings of degradation and inadequacy hadn't lasted long, as the wand had non-consentingly stirred me to orgasm explosively only minutes later.

"Right Gabby," Tom booms as he enters the kitchen. "The day has arrived."

I look up at him bleakly. Though his tone is enthusiastic, the sentiment of his words is daunting.

"Linda and I are finally taking you out," he informs me, in a non-negotiable manner.

I find the prospect unnerving. I don't want to go out anywhere with them.

I think back to Linda's painstaking selection of clothes for me this morning. Like every morning, my clothing is wholly unflattering, but today, I sensed a deeper deliberation over her choosing. Her reasoning for this becomes clear as I realise what they've got planned.

"Don't just sit there gormlessly Gabby," Tom instructs, tearing me from my dread. "Get those trousers off. We need to get your control pants on. Given how many times you've tried to find a way out of the house, I expected you to be more enthusiastic about this."

I don't know what could have given him this deluded idea.

My subtle display of reluctance doesn't go unnoticed, and his tone becomes sharper.

"Trousers off. Now," he snaps.

I stand from my seat, push the chair back and pull the lumpy, bobbled grey joggers down my thighs. I let them drop the rest of the way down my legs.

"And the knickers," he demands.

I disguise my begrudging grumbles as I peel my knickers down.

I feel Tom smugly judging as he lays eyes on my now hair laden mound.

He turns his back for a moment, grabbing for the control pants from the kitchen countertop, before turning back to me and handing them over, without a word. It's clear what he wants me to do and I step out of my trousers and knickers to dress myself into them.

I pull them up my legs and hurriedly rush to put my joggers back on, not wanting to be unclothed for any longer than necessary.

Linda chooses this moment to come into the kitchen.

She's perfected her appearance this morning. Her long blonde hair is freshly styled into loose, bouncy waves, draped over her shoulders. She's wearing a pair of tight designer jeans with a black fitted jumper, which seems to cling flatteringly to her narrow hips and round tits. She stops as she passes me, to see what's going on.

"I was just coming in to put them on her, my love," she tells Tom.

"It's no problem baby. You were busy getting ready yourself," he responds, admiring her figure lecherously.

"Why don't you finish her off? I need to quickly return a work call."

He kisses her on the cheek before excusing himself, leaving her alone with me.

"Come over here and stand in the middle of the room Gabrielle, so I can check you," she tells me, and I trundle over.

When I'm standing poised, she swiftly pries my joggers back down and crouches down in front of me, level with my crotch to review the positioning of the control pants. After a brief visual inspection, she slips her fingers under both sides of the gusset and hikes the material tighter up against my pussy. She tweaks at a few stray strands of my visibly protruding pubic hair, with smug satisfaction.

"What an exciting day Gabrielle! You've been looking forward to this for a while, haven't you?" she speaks rhetorically as she straightens and rearranges my trousers to cover me. She doesn't seem offended by my failure to respond.

"Now, Tom and I both expect you to be on your very best behaviour while we're in public. If everything goes smoothly today, taking you out with us might become a regular thing. As it's a trial run, we wanted to avoid anything elaborate, so we're just going to be taking you into town for an hour. Nothing too exciting or overstimulating. We just want to see how you cope with being out of the house," she says.

Her phrasing suggests that I'm some sort of cave dwelling recluse with a biological aversion to being around people. I stare down at the tiled floor, loathsomely.

"Tuesdays are normally quite quiet in town, so there'll be less chance of you getting...overwhelmed. Obviously, there's still going to be a lot more people than you're used to, so you're going to have to concentrate on staying close to me and Tom. That way, we'll be able to settle you, y'know, if you start getting overexcited," she adds.

"Are you paying attention?" she exclaims sternly.

"Yes," I stammer, perturbed by her sharpness.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you then," she brusquely berates me. "As you well know, Tom and I have been wanting to do this for a while now. We both think it's going to be good for you. But at the same time, we know what you're like, and we need to help you by minimising the chance of any potential problems," she tells me ominously. Her depiction of wanting to 'help me' is laughable.

"We've come up with a couple of simple rules that are going to help things go smoothly," Linda preludes.

There's no doubt in my mind that these rules she makes reference to are going to be humiliating.

"You're forbidden from speaking to anyone while we're out. At all. You're going to avoid making eye contact with anyone and you won't be giving them any reasons to speak to you. If anyone does try to initiate conversation with you, before Tom or me can intercept, you're going to respond by looking down at the ground and saying one thing. 'I don't talk to strangers.'"

I can see from the way her eyes are fixed onto mine, unblinkingly, that there's no room for compromise in their cleverly thought up terms.

The words they've designed for me are simply ridiculous. In saying them, I might as well be professing to being an unhinged lunatic.

"Tell me what you're going to say Gabrielle, so I know you understand," Linda orders.

I clamour to speak. "I don't talk to strangers." I murmur it so quietly, that I can barely hear myself speak.

"You're going to have to be clearer than that. If you mumble it, it's going to lead to conversation," she prompts. "Say it again."

"I don't talk to strangers," I repeat, a fraction louder.

"And again," she barks.

"I don't talk to strangers," I reiterate, a third time.

"That's better. Make sure you speak clearly, to avoid needing to speak twice. The less you open your mouth in public, the better. Those five words are all you're going to say. We don't care who's speaking to you, or what they're saying. If that sentence doesn't work and someone challenges you, you're just going to repeat it on loop, until Tom or I intervene. If you do it right the first time, I doubt you'll need to say it more than once to be honest. The message is simple, and it'll communicate that you're not of sound mind. I expect it'll lead to a few suspicious looks, but Tom and me are both happy with that," she assures me.

I mull over what she says. I'm sure that they're both happy with the message the words give. I, on the other hand, am considerably less happy.

Linda seems to sense my dissatisfaction and speaks to address it.

"If you try to deviate from those words by saying anything else, we'll stop you by turning your control pants on. All the way up. No warnings, no excuses. You don't like the idea of saying that sentence to people Gabrielle, but think about which you'd rather. Saying five little words to stave off a conversation? Or high-powered vibrations on your clit, making you writhe and twitch, and not be able to speak at all?" she challenges.

I quietly contemplate.

"I don't think it takes much thinking about. And bear in mind, it makes no difference to Tom or me," Linda asserts, correctly assuming which way I'm leaning.

"We've also considered the likelihood of you recognising or being recognised by someone from your old life, before

Tom and I got together," she describes.

They seem to have considered every eventuality.

I expect this was Tom's input, his natural problem-solving ability. He probably raised potential issues, and Linda thought of ways to make the solutions degrading. She's masterful at humiliating me, after all.

"If you see anyone you used to know, no matter what the context, you're going to get our attention straight away and point at whoever it is. We'll make the necessary explanations on your behalf," she explains.

The more conditions she sets out, the more I realise that this public outing has been specially designed to make me look like an utter maniac, someone dependent upon others. Linda wants to take me out for the sole purpose of displaying my descent.

"Right ladies," Tom addresses us both as he returns to the kitchen.

"Ladies?" Linda questions, giggling.

"You know what I mean Lind," he tells her. "Should we start making a move?"

"Gabrielle's eager and ready," Linda decides. "Can you go and get her into the car while I grab my things together. I'll be out in a couple of seconds."

Tom beckons at me to move, and I traipse past him.

He pauses to exchange words with Linda, then kisses her before following. He brushes past me ignorantly to point down at the shoes which've been set out for me. The only remaining pair.

I slip my feet into them, and when Tom's satisfied that I'm fit to be seen, he acknowledges me.

"I take it Linda went through the rules with you Gabby?" he enquires and brandishes the control for the pants at me. I nod slowly.

He unlocks and opens the door before permitting me to step over the threshold, and on stepping out, I feel his hand gripping my elbow, using it to guide me towards his new car. I've so far only seen it through the dining room window, when Linda had made me admire it on the day they'd collected it. As I'd studied it, she'd boasted about her grand gesture and correlated it with her obvious adoration of Tom.