*Long time no updates! It's been almost a year since the last Tom and Gabby update, and for this I apologise. It's been a tough year, filled with personal bereavement, a new job and the general stresses of life. But Tom and Gabby's story arch is very much alive! And Wendy's back too.
Thanks for all the votes, comments and feedback for the last chapter, guys. It's always appreciated. I hope you enjoy this next chapter. It's heavy on the humiliation (advisory) and I've posted it under the BDSM category this time, as suggested by some feedback a few months ago. Happy Christmas and New Year to everybody, and the next chapter (The Wedding) is currently being penned.*
"Right Gabby," Tom enthuses, as he enters the lounge and ignorantly turns the TV off. Though I'd not been particularly invested in the programme on the screen, I'm irritated by his belief that whatever he means to embroil me into supersedes my seldom enjoyed serenity.
I look up at him curiously, waiting to hear what his intentions are. It's not often he instigates conversation with me outside of the context of punishing me anymore. Linda apparently meets all his conversational needs.
"Lind's upstairs having a shower," he informs me, keeping his voice low and quickly looking to the living room door to make sure she's not come downstairs. "We're going to need to work quickly to get everything set up before she comes down."
I struggle to understand why he thinks I'm going to willingly assist him in doing anything for Linda. Even under the threat of punishment, my cooperation in whatever he's planned is implausible. He must know this. I detest Linda. I detest them both.
Tom clears his throat, seeming to be waiting for something.
"It's her birthday today, and I want it to be absolutely perfect for her," he tells me, expecting a reaction.
I shrug my shoulders to demonstrate my nonchalance. Why would I care about Linda's birthday?
Tom fixates an impatient glare at me for a few seconds, insulted by my lack of caring. I find the audacity of wanting to involve me in any kind of celebration for Linda staggering. Why would I want to commemorate her existence?
With everything Tom and her have subjected me to over the last half a year, I'm confused by his delusion of my being even slightly congratulatory of her birthday. Linda's brought me nothing but reputational ruin.
Tom grows tired of waiting for me to voluntarily assist in whatever he has planned, and with a dissatisfied sigh, begins to embark on preparing the room on his own.
I scornfully watch as he hangs a foil birthday banner across the width of the hearth and starts lifting tastefully wrapped presents from behind the sofa onto the floorspace in front of her seat. The seat that used to be mine.
In truth, I'm bitterly envious of the attention he's giving to Linda's birthday.
I think back to all the birthdays I had while I was married to him. He'd claimed to never know what to buy me, and had always asked specifically what I wanted, before purchasing it dutifully, destroying any element of surprise. Over the years, I'd lessened my expectations, and had settled on lacklustre days, trying to seem thrilled at knowing exactly what I would be unwrapping.
We'd spend my birthdays much like any other day, conducting our normal activities before treating ourselves to a takeaway and a film of my choosing. I'd suggested going out for a 'birthday meal' one year, to mark the occasion, and Tom had reluctantly agreed, but as we'd drawn closer to going, I'd begun to feel guilty about pressuring him into it, and had changed my mind at the last minute, insisting we stay at home instead. I never held his lack of extravagance against him, always justifying him as a 'steady partner' and making peace with the resulting lack of flamboyance in exchange for it.
The lengths he's gone to for Linda are frankly astounding. He's showing a side of himself that he never demonstrated to me, and it aggrieves me.
After arranging the pile of presents, Tom pulls out a large, decorated sheet of cardboard, which he roughly thrusts at me. I study the board and turn my nose when I see the large, colourful 'Happy Birthday' message emblazoned on it, signed with my name. I had no idea of the board's existence and most certainly didn't have anything to do with its creation. The sentiment it bears is entirely disingenuous.
Tom bores his eyes into me, expectantly. "I didn't give it to you to admire, Gabby," he scolds. "Turn it around and hold it up in front of you, ready for when Linda comes down."
I think about his request for a second, unmoving on the beanbag, deciding whether to purposefully disrupt his sentimental idea and face the resulting consequences, or whether to be passive in my resistance. I could easily vandalise the sign he's clearly put effort into making.
"I wasn't asking, Gabby," Tom prompts, disturbing my insubordination. "Hold it up."
I'm left with a hasty decision to make and opt to be passive. I lay the cardboard sign down across my lap.
Tom shakes his head and studies me, giving me the chance to change my mind. He's a metre away from me and stiffens his posture, rising to my challenging demeanour.
"You can do it willingly or with the wand on you Gabby. Either way, you're going to be holding it up when Linda comes downstairs," he threatens.
I exhale frostily, ensuring he hears me, and roughly pick up the board, facing the decorated side forward while adorning a sour expression.
"Sensible choice," Tom rules and leaves the room for a few minutes.
When he returns, he's carrying a mug of steaming coffee which he places down on the table beside Linda's seat, before sitting down on his own side of the sofa, across the room from me. I watch him checking his phone before placing it down and commencing the wait.
"We're going out for a meal at lunchtime to celebrate Linda's big day with her parents," Tom tells me.
I listen, and ready myself to spend a couple of hours on the dining table under wand induced vibrations while they're out. It'll be the first time in a while admittedly. I've noticed they've been declining to leave me alone in the house recently. The change aligns with my last spurned try to get away.
"I'm sure you remember that you didn't make a good impression on Wendy and Daz when they visited a couple of months ago?" he reminds me.
I scoff to myself. Linda's mother Wendy didn't make a good impression on me either.
"Today, you're going to have the perfect opportunity to undo some of the damage you did when they came round," Tom continues.
I narrow my eyes at him and furrow my brows. Surely, he and Linda aren't planning to host her parents here again. I don't know if I could contain my hatred of Wendy after our first meeting. The woman is sadistic.
"Linda's hoping that the treat of being out in public might give you a bit of incentive to behave better this time?" he philosophises.
I hang onto his words for a moment, replaying them in my mind before forlornly realising that they intend for me to accompany them for the meal. Why would Linda want me there? Tom's apparently 'insane ex'; celebrating her birthday? It seems suspicious.
