*Hi guys. Thanks for reading the last instalment and contacting me with your thoughts/comments/suggestions. This is a continuation of the Tom and Gabby series, so please read Ch. 01- Ch. 05 before reading this one to avoid missing the story so far.
I hope (on the whole) you're still enjoying the series. This instalment is set six weeks after the last one finished. Let me know what you think in the comments/feedback/ratings. I have begun work on Ch. 07, and will try to release promptly.*
I've spent a lot of time thinking about the concept of 'reaping what one sows' over the past few weeks.
I've never been much of a philosopher but have romanticised the idea that any positivity one puts into the world might be rewarded. The same with negativity. Having applied the formula to my own situation, I've decided that I don't believe that people reap what they sow.
The way I've been treated since Tom and Linda's relationship began, has been undeserved.
If the universal scales are somehow becoming balanced by my treatment at their hands, I couldn't possibly begin to understand what atrocities I committed to justify my imprisonment.
Linda formally moved into my house a week ago. She'd been staying here every night prior to moving in, but Tom and her only formally announced the living arrangements last week to all their friends, colleagues and family. They declined to formally tell me.
Linda had been designing it from the begining. She'd been slowly moving more and more of her belongings between residences leading up to their official cohabitation. Her clothes appeared early on, and they now occupy the side of the wardrobe once designated to me, as she'd disclosed would happen. Around the same time as her clothes arrived, photos of Tom and me, taken throughout our marriage began to disappear, replaced with smiling pictures of her and Tom together. The supposed perfect couple. If only people knew their depravity.
Linda has set to work with her 'tasteful redecorating'. My once happy home no longer bears any resemblance to the way I had styled it. The walls have all been painted in neutral bland shades, light greys and beiges. I despise light grey as a colour. I perhaps hadn't realised it until nearly every room of my house adopted the uninspired, sickly pallor for its walls.
Tom seems pleased by the changes. He'd always rejected my suggestions to decorate when we'd been together, however views the same suggestion by Linda as inspired.
The bedroom I once enjoyed relaxing and sleeping in, has been totally repurposed, much like the former dining room. I'm now made to sleep on a camp bed, albeit a luxury one, in full view of Linda and Tom's bed.
They've committed to providing me with entertainment every night as I try to drift off; fucking passionately, often with Linda screaming Tom's name as he makes her cum with varying parts of his anatomy.
When they fuck at night, I'm permitted to try and sleep through it, not that I can. When they fuck during the day, I'm secured onto the dining chair, which has undergone extensive 'improvements' since its debut, and made to watch them, stimulated by one of their growing collection of sex toys for me.
The dining room has become the primary location for my forced orgasms. Tom and I had never used the dining room to eat in anyway, but as soon as she saw it, Linda had a stroke of genius. A few days later, Tom modified the table, fitting it with a permanent set of full body restraints. They work well to hold me every time I do something they don't like. Sometimes I'm restrained simply because they feel I need reminding of who between us is in charge.
He took less effort to adapt a microphone stand to enable hands free use of a vibrating wand, and this remains their favourite tool to use on me.
Linda has adopted all the household responsibilities for herself and is compulsive about everywhere being immaculately clean. I'd half expected to have been made to carry out housework for them, adding some sort of purpose to my captivity, however when I'd tried to broach the subject, Linda wouldn't hear of it. She and Tom had laughed long and hard at the notion.
Normally I'd be overjoyed at the prospect of someone else doing all the cleaning and tidying for me, however, am finding Linda's superior domesticity quite insufferable. It's just another tick in the plus column for her and another cross in mine.
I've never been a very tidy person by nature. As Tom's wife, I'd always carried out a begrudging weekly house clean, but both my desire to do other, more enjoyable things and my utter hatred of hoovering prevented me from ever taking pride in doing it.
While she'd been organising the house to her own specification, Linda had more than hinted that my failures to provide Tom with a clutter and dust free home was evidence of my inadequacy as a wife.
She'd not been discreet in loudly discussing the matter with her mother on the phone either.
Linda's public defamation of me is an ongoing pursuit and has begun to bleed into the way she treats me within the house.
She's made it her mission to convince everyone I once worked with that I had a 'complete mental breakdown'. It's utter bullshit of course, I'm as sane now as I've ever been.
She insists that I am now wholly dependent on Tom and herself to 'look after me' and to 'minimise the stresses of normal life'. Having been denied any opportunity to defend myself and discredit her claims, I suspect that she's portrayed herself and my husband as 'heroes' in agreeing to take on my needs.
She doubts my capabilities of completing the simplest of tasks and finds new things that I can't do every day, doubtless starting to believe her own lies. There's been no officialising of my alleged condition, however Linda's fabricated accounts of my apparent insanity have so far worked to stave off any investigation into my sudden disappearance from public life.
I've found her ease of doing this to be worrying.
She sometimes makes humorous mention of how I'm perceived when she returns home from work. When occasional enquiries are made about my wellbeing, I'm certain that Linda carefully constructs her responses to depict me as a raving lunatic.
I've been prevented from having any contact with other people, much as had been discussed on the day my life was flipped upside down. Tom and Linda are totally aligned on my needing to remain inside the house.
Their work schedules are now organised to ensure that one of them remains at home with me, fearing that I'll try something 'stupid' if not supervised. Having worked at the same company as Linda, I sometimes wonder how this has been accommodated, as any of my own requests for amended working hours were denied without reason.
I answer my own wonderings by remembering how masterful Linda is at manipulation.
On rare occasions when they both need to go out, they strap me onto the dining table and affix the wand to me. They've provided a television as a substitute for themselves for when I need to be left unattended, leaving me listening and writhing around to whichever variety of pornography they select.
