Pentacle

The Summoned's final orgasm overcame over her as she and Mrs. Goode clung to each other, Mr. Goode squirting a giant load deep into her ass. S had never felt so filled and fulfilled before. Bliss.

-

Earlier that day when she first walked down the spiral staircase, the Summoned got a good look at all five chambers, the triangular points of an enormous pentagram, through transparent walls. She found it was hard to feel anything, just a blank sort of wonder and anxiety. The Summoned suspected it was because what she should be feeling would be totally overwhelming and her brain was protecting her.

The deliberate walk down the spiral made a unique first impression: the triangular ordeal chambers were intimidating; the Pentagon was inviting.

The Summoned was told what each of the chambers were before entering, and she recited their order as she descended:

THE BED, THE CROSS, THE TABLE, THE STOCKS, THE CHAIR.

The Pentagon was to be her living quarters for the week, and it was divided into wedge shapes defined by the colors RED, GOLD, GREEN, PURPLE, and BLUE. She never learned the significance of the colors.

The staircase ended at the door to the Purple Armory. The round stairwell wall became opaque as the door slid open to welcome her.

The Purple Armory was the wedge between the lounge and the bathroom. It was filled with freestanding closets, chests, and cabinets. One whole wall was two racks of clothing, fetish gear, and harnesses on hangars. The Summoned had been forbidden from touching any of this without instruction. She had one small chest of drawers filled with clothes she was free to wear while in the Pentagon: pajamas, athletic wear, shorts, t-shirts, sweatpants and hoodies, simple underwear, and even a set of high wasted mom jeans. She knew without trying every item of clothing would fit her perfectly.

The Summoned put her clothes and underwear into a laundry bin as instructed and donned black leggings and a loose white t-shirt. She brought nothing else other than herself to The Pentacle and felt a twinge of panic when she surrendered her clothes. The out-of-control feeling expanded a bit as she remembered that she had also surrendered her name, mobile device, and most of her agency for five whole days.

The anxiety dissipated while she was exploring the Pentagon.

Her living quarters were far more lavish than any place she'd ever lived in or even visited. The Red Lounge had several overstuffed couches and chairs covered in luxurious crimson velvet; the carpet so plush she sank at least an inch with every step. The Alaskan King bed four-poster bed had crimson velvet curtains for privacy, a pile of blankets and a mountain of pillows of various size and shapes. There were two mahogany nightstands, both filled with vibrators, dildos, and plugs of every shape and size, along with many bottles of lube and massage oils. The blood red walls were free of art or fixtures because they were high-tech displays, capable of producing vivid colors, basic geometric designs, or being completely transparent, which is how they were when she first entered the Pentacle.

The Gold Bathroom had the biggest porcelain bathtub S had ever seen, gleaming brass fixtures, and a stepladder to safely climb its side. A brightly lit, open topped glass cube was the shower, four large brass showerheads overlooking each corner to cover the lucky user in a monsoon of water. The toilet and bidet were in a separate glass cube, with the centerpiece of the bathroom being a huge sink with back-to-back counter basins and a backlit mirror between them. She discovered her favorite makeup in the drawer but knew she was unlikely to use any unless she was instructed to. The soothing goldenrod walls and light offset the stark white of the porcelain and brass facilities, making it slightly more enticing than Red Lounge.

The Green Kitchen was like a dream born of the 1950's mixed with IKEA catalog perfection. Enormous, polished limestone counters were buttressed by creamy key lime pie appliances and cabinetry. The locus of the Green Kitchen was the enormous island with room for both meal prep and dining. It even had a cozy breakfast nook with simulated sunlight, green leafy plants, and a café table and chairs S imagined she might find in front of a bakery cafe in Paris. A quick scan of the pantry and fridge revealed more food than the Summoned could possibly eat in the time she had ahead of her. She could request a chef to prepare any meal she desired while she resided there, which made her feel rich beyond her dreams. It felt weirdly familiar here, a sense of déjà vu that the Summoned couldn't put her finger on.

The final room was a bit of a surprise when she first saw it from the spiral staircase, and even more puzzling up close. The Blue Infirmary appeared to be a fully stocked and functional urgent care exam room, appointed in institutional blue and gray. One part of S was overcome with fear when she approached the paper covered exam table. She knew the sessions ahead of her would carry some risk, but this was something else. No scenes were supposed to happen within the walls of the Pentagon, it was a safe space, so that ruled out a visit to play "Doctor". The fear subsided when she realized that she was supposed to feel that way, that strong feelings must be part of the grand design of The Pentacle.

Her first tour of the Pentagram was weirdly unsettling, but the wait for the first summons was nerve-wracking. She was in the kitchen's breakfast nook, sipping sparkling water and snacking on monster trail mix (with the lovely chunks of chocolate and peanut butter in the mix) when the lights and walls flashed RED a few times then stayed that way. An implacable voice from somewhere above spoke, breaking the silence for the first time.

"Enter the Purple Armory at once and remove your clothes. Look into the tall bureau with two doors to find a pink mesh bag hanging on a hook. Put the bindings and choker on and hang the gag on your neck. When you are done, enter the Red Lounge and await the opening of the door. All further instructions will come from the man and woman you will meet in the chamber. Remember your safeword and return to these quarters when you are released by them."

S didn't need to be told that she would either be released by the man and woman when the session was over or by invoking her safeword.

-

It wasn't the positions or sex or punishments that stuck out in the Summoned's mind when she relished the memories of her time in THE BED, it was the moments in between.

Mrs. Goode whispering encouragement while she followed Mr. Goode's instructions on how to bind her next.

The way Mr. Goode's hands burned her skin as he grabbed hold to begin fucking her anew, his satisfied grunt when he re-entered her.

The lurching unease when she was momentarily free, still shackled but not bound, floating unmoored in space, and comforting return to earth when Mrs. Goode would latch her cuffs to the bed's anchor points.

The way Mr. Goode's cock was not missed when it was gone, was ever unwelcome when it returned, but seemed to own her whenever it invaded her pussy.

That weird moment of painful, inexorable pressure when he penetrated her ass for the first time and the way her entire being seemed to focus on the alien presence there.

Mrs. Goode kind, caring manner, the occasional sweet word, or soft kiss, a gentle touch helping her through every escalation of Mr. Goode's attention.

Reality between those moments was filled with futile straining against the bindings to escape relentless abuse the of her tender openings.

The Summoned returned to the Pentagram spent and tired from her ordeal in THE BED, but not sleepy.

She washed up, dozed in the lounge, and awoke hungry for pancakes. Dressed in fluffy bunny slippers and the thickest, softest pink robe she'd ever worn, S cooked up way too many pancakes, plus some scrambled eggs and crispy bacon. She drank endless cups of water while she cooked. Breakfast for dinner was topped off with fresh strawberries and a chocolatey-velvet dessert wine that burned in her chest.

The first signs of sleepiness drove her to abandon the dirty dishes and head to bed. She lay there, still in the robe, the imprint of the cuffs still adorning her pretty wrists and ankles, choker still snug around her delicate throat, and reveled in the delicious soreness of the day's session.