*Hi guys! Thanks for all the upvotes/comments and messages for the last instalment. Sorry it's been a while. Ch. 06 is currently being penned and I promise it won't be a wait like the last one.
As always, I remind readers that this is a work of fiction. This one touches on the topic of kidnap/unlawful holding, so if this doesn't sound like your cup of tea, advance warning has been given.
I've been thinking about doing a complementary series, told from Linda's point of view. The long-term plan is to have all three perspectives but I'm rubbish at writing from a male viewpoint. Let me know in the comments if this is something anyone might enjoy.*
*
On awakening from my earthmoving orgasm, I look over to my bed and see Linda artfully arranged between Tom's legs. She's sucking his cock diligently, and I can hear the vulgar slapping noises of her lips around his shaft.
The ordeal I've just endured seems to be of no consequence to either of them.
They're both utterly absorbed in each other, ignoring the inert lump across the room from them, being forced to bear witness to their passions.
Occasional moans sound; some Tom's, some Linda's.
I have little choice but to watch them; studying as she gradually leads him through the stages of pleasure and finishes him skilfully, receiving another load of his cum, this time in her mouth.
She swallows it down hungrily, licking her lips to lap up any overflow, and lifts her head to grin widely at him.
The smug bitch.
"Mm," she murmurs, savouring the taste. "I bet your wife didn't do it like that yesterday?" she enquires, determined to best me in every matter.
Tom chuckles. "No Lind. Gabby's blowjob skills are...amateur," he confirms. "Gagging on anything more than the tip and never managing to not leave teeth marks. Nothing like the way you just did it."
I stay quiet, not wanting to bring any attention to myself, subtly listening to Tom ridicule me.
"Don't worry baby," Linda assures him. "You'll never have to suffer her amateur attempts again. Mine is the only mouth your cock will be sliding into now. And maybe, watching me sucking you off will show Gabrielle how it's meant to be done? Not that she's going to apply what she learns."
They snigger cruelly together.
I'm trying to determine whether their shared dominance over me played any part in their continued arousal. Tom's lasting virility for Linda offends me greatly.
Even in the early days of our relationship, he'd always needed a 'cooldown period' after cumming. He'd been happy to pleasure me while we'd waited, but short of using blue pills recreationally, Tom's cock had always needed a recovery period before being ready to cum again.
Now, on seeing how soon after his first climax Linda has managed to pleasure him, I mournfully wonder if I'd been the problem, not Tom's cock?
After a brief period of talking together, their attentions fall back to me.
Noticing the sadistic expressions they're wearing as they smile over, I feel more humiliated than I'd felt as they'd watched me orgasming.
I'd been trying to resist orgasming for more than just a fear of humiliation.
In truth, I'd fought so hard because I'd known what message an inability to stop myself from cumming would send.
Tom had explicitly said as much while he'd been taunting me. 'By letting it happen' I was 'submitting to them'. Succumbing to orgasm was the equivalent to me dropping onto my knees and pleading for them to control me. It had made every moment of involuntary pleasure torturous for me.
Linda speaks.
"Welcome back!" she crows. "I thought about coming over to check if you were still breathing, but Tom got hard again, and I got distracted."
I look coldly over at them.
As much as Linda is the aggressor, delightedly mocking me with her words, Tom is complicit in allowing her to do it.
"We were actually just talking about you," Linda continues. "We've come up with a little theory about your orgasms and your prolonged 'afterglows'. We think that the amount of time you spend 'passed out' depends on how intense your orgasm is," she hypothesises.
"I mean the one you just had looked pretty gruelling from where we were sitting. Your face was all..." she screws up her own face. "And you were twitching all over the place, making those weird gasping noises. Its lucky Tom had tied you so securely. Was it more powerful than the ones you had on my desk?" she interrogates.
I want to shout abuse at her, but I know it won't achieve anything, so remain quiet.
She clears her throat, trying to prompt me to speak. I choose not to.
"That's got to have been humiliating for you. Failing so miserably when you'd fought so hard to stop it? Ouch," she pokes. "You might as well accept it, Gabrielle. Tom and I set the rules now. When we tell you to do something, no amount of arguing, struggling or resisting is going to make a difference. It'll just feel worse when you do lose. Things are going to be confusing enough for you, without adding a power struggle to the mix." Linda taunts.
As much as I want to know what her statement means, I see that my silence is a better response than speaking back to her. I delude myself into thinking that I'm preserving some dignity in not responding, and chew on my tongue.
Linda starts to become irritated. She doesn't like to be ignored.
"What the hell is wrong with you Gabrielle?" she demands, sharper in tone. "Its basic manners to answer when you're spoken to."
I see Tom's hand stroke her arm, and she softens her demeanour again. "You've already lost your husband today; have you lost your voice too?" I cast her a dissociated stare.
"Just ignore her Lind," Tom says calmly. "She's trying to provoke you. Don't react to it. I've had eleven years' experience of her sulks."
I resent the way he reduces my carefully considered silence to a sulk, implying I'm immature.
Linda picks up on his implication, turns her back on me and kisses him, being as loud and obnoxious as she can as she does. She drapes her hand across his chest on purpose, to flaunt what she's taken from me.
When they've finished kissing, they speak between themselves quietly, looking over occasionally, but not involving me in their conversation.
"Shall I make us some coffee?" Tom's voice eventually sounds.
My mouth moves to answer before I can stop myself. "Yes please."
I'm so used to Tom asking me this question, I respond autonomously, though on hearing my own words, I realise my mistake.
Tom and Linda both spin their heads to face me, surprised and bemused at my choosing of this moment to break my silence. I immediately feel awkward.
Linda flounces from the bed and struts over to me. She's half smiling; it's unnerving.
When she reaches me, she pulls the wand from between my pussy lips, and I let out a loud sigh of relief.
Tom rises from the bed, smiling and shaking his head to himself, to put his clothes back on, letting Linda deal with me. When he's dressed, he calls over to her, interrupting her inspection of the wand. She's visibly exhilarated as she examines my secretions slathered across the head of it.
"I'm going to go and make these coffees Lind," he announces.
Linda turns to look at him. "Gorgeous! Yes please. You know how I take mine. There's no need to make Gabrielle one though. She's going to have water," she replies, speaking on my behalf.
I go to protest, favouring the idea of coffee over water, but she cuts me off and looks at me with a raised eyebrow, shaking her head.
"It's not open to debate Gabrielle," she asserts herself. "Can you not remember what you did before I arrived? Trying to throw a mug at Tom? You'll be drinking water until you can be trusted again," she informs me.
Tom agrees with her from across the room, amused by her belittling of me. He pulls a t-shirt from his drawer and hands it to her chivalrously, before fondling her arse and walking out of the bedroom door, leaving me alone with her.
I sit, waiting for whatever Linda decides to do next. She dresses herself in Tom's t-shirt and admires the way it looks on her in the standing mirror.
"It's like something out of a film," she remarks. "Like when the man gives the woman his coat. I think I'm going to get used to this," she sounds.
I roll my eyes. Her view of chivalry is perverted. Normally in films, when the man gives the woman his coat, his wife isn't tied to a chair, watching it happen. I continue to wait as she surveys the bedroom.
She strolls over to the double wardrobes on the far side and opens the doors, leafing through the contents of my side and turning her nose up at my clothes.
"Are these yours?" she asks.
How is this any of her business?
"I'll take your scowl as a yes," she states. "Don't get defensive, I just want to know which side will be mine."
I balk, open-mouthed at her audacity.
"I'll feel much more at home once I clear your crap out and get my clothes in there," she contemplates.
What is happening?
Linda closes the wardrobe doors and goes over to straighten the bedding before looking around the room again.
"Everywhere needs drastic redecorating. I hate this colour scheme. And I think," she starts. "When we've moved things around a bit in here, and made it habitable," she ponders to herself, and points. "We'll be able to fit a camp-bed in here for you. Maybe against that wall?"
My eyes widen. I'm not privy to what Tom and Linda have been discussing in their secret sordid meetings but this is insanity.
She turns towards me, now noticing my bewildered, confused expression.
