DAY TWO
The Summoned went about her morning routine as though she always woke up in a pentagram shaped sex dungeon.
Few clear thoughts went through her head, only scraps of songs she hummed and sang out softly, fragments of poetry and dialogue from old movies she recited to herself. It didn't occur to her to make the walls of the shower or toilet opaque, the concept of privacy seemed quaint after only 24 hours in The Pentacle. There was no one else there, but the Summoned always felt observed while inside the Pentagon, and it didn't matter one bit.
She inspected her post-shower body and found only residual redness on her perky butt cheeks. Taking the time to feel down inside herself, to take stock of her physical and emotional discomfort, found only a little soreness in her nipples, vagina, and bottom, as well as some lingering embarrassment from the previous day's ordeal.
She wondered at that embarrassment, staring past the image of her drying naked body in the enormous make-up mirror. Mr. Goode was rougher than any lover she'd ever had before; thinking of the skillful yet sadistic wielding of his cock made her blush. S indulged in resentment whenever she thought of him.
Mrs. Goode was both the facilitator of that phallic torment and her aftercare nurse. S settled on a deep sense of gratitude for Mrs. Goode for making sure she was well restrained during Mr. Goode's stormy onslaught and well soothed during the eye and aftermath.
Right when the Summoned began to feel the first itching of boredom, the lights flashed, and the walls changed color again. BLUE.
"Enter the Purple Armory and remove your clothes. You will find a hospital gown in the top drawer of the tall dresser. Put it on, enter the Blue Infirmary, and await the opening of the door. All further instructions will come from doctor and nurse who will be performing your operation. Remember your safeword and return to these quarters when you are released by them."
A new sensation met the familiar anxiety she felt as she complied with the voice's commands and it wasn't relief that the wait was over, it was the deep sigh of surrender and she welcomed it.
-
S stood quietly in the Blue Infirmary, contemplating the coming ordeal. She found medical fetish stuff particularly alien and humiliating and knew instinctively that the Operator had chosen this ordeal for that reason.
The door slid open silently to reveal THE TABLE. The doctor and nurse were already there, the doctor seemingly engrossed in the Summoned's chart, the nurse at the sink washing her hands.
The Summoned's face blazed in anticipated shame while her lower body chilled walking across the catwalk to this new test of endurance.
The infirmary in her quarters was the light side of reality; she was now stepping willingly into the dark, literally. THE TABLE chamber seemed dark in the same way as THE BED, magically lit like a posh art gallery, the walls tuned to the deep blue of dusk turning night.
The operating table at the center of the room was a simple rectangle topped with segmented institutional blue vinyl pads. The bright swing-arm mounted light above hid the workings of the table below its surface in shadow, but S sensed that there was a lot of machinery down there.
"I'm Nurse Joan, and this is Dr. Benway."
There it was again, that awkward moment when S struggled with the impulse to return the greeting, say her name, and begin exchanging pleasantries. She believed that holding her tongue yesterday saved her an early punishment, so she followed that wisdom again today.
"After I take your vitals, you are going to undergo an operation on here," Nurse Joan nodding toward the intimidating device. "THE TABLE is fully articulated and automated, it only requires a compliant and well restrained patient."
Nurse Joan snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves and motioned for the Summoned to sit on the operating table. Her classic white uniform and platinum blonde hair gleamed in the odd light.
"Dr. Benway encourages questions and feedback," Nurse Joan continued as if he weren't already in the room, "as long as it's respectful and kept to this pre-op period. You likely won't be able to later, especially since you will be gagged for part of today's procedure."
"I understand," the Summoned replied, her voice foreign to her own ears.
"I'm going to check your blood pressure and heartrate," Nurse Joan said as she affixed a blood pressure cuff to the Summoned's arm, followed by an alligator clip like device on her index finger. "Be sure to listen carefully to Dr. Benway, he doesn't like to repeat himself."
"So," Dr. Benway began, not yet looking up from his chart. "Seems like you would be a good candidate for my Simulated Stimulation Study Group."
S nodded but did not like the sound of that one bit. Dr. Benway handed the chart to the nurse and gave the Summoned a sly smile. The blood pressure cuff cycled through on its own while Nurse Joan hovered nearby, adding stats to her chart.
"Today's procedure will merely be a test to see if you qualify, of course."
Nurse Joan pulled off the pressure cuff and pulse clip and motioned for S to go over to the scale.
"In the interest of full disclosure," Dr. Benway continued, "I can share with you the details of every step in the exam process. Some patients are content to waive these disclosures, especially once they've heard the first few, ahem, steps."
S stepped onto the scale to get her height and weight measured. She glanced at Dr. Benway, no questions forming yet. He appeared to be looking at her exposed butt, contemplating the possibilities.
"If that is the case with you, then either I or Nurse Joan will briefly describe the what's going to happen as we go along."
"You should tell him now if you want full disclosure," Nurse Joan whispered.
"Yes, Doctor," the Summoned replied, "Please tell me what you are going to do. To me."
"Yes," Benway agreed, "some patients do find it easier on their, erm, psyches once they have the full picture, so to speak."
S stepped off the scale and was gently guided back to the exam table by Nurse Joan.
"First, Nurse Joan will help you into the stirrups. You will need to be restrained, of course, for your safety," Benway smiled, "and for our, shall we say, gratification."
"Gown on or off, Doctor?" Nurse Joan asked.
"Off please."
Nurse Joan deftly removed the last of the Summoned's modesty. She wondered how long her dignity would last.
Not long, S thought with a wistful smile. She hopped up and swung her legs up onto the table.
"Sit back so we can begin," Nurse Joan enjoined. Nurse Joan raised the table's back half-way so that the Summoned could sit upright.
Nurse Joan went to the table's control terminal and tapped out a few commands. The segmented panels supporting her legs fell away and the stirrups, which hid somewhere out of sight until now, moved into place on their own, some kind of robotic arms. S saw that they weren't stirrups exactly, but instead a place molded and padded to support the back of her knees. Her thighs were lifted up and apart while her calves and feet hung free. There seemed to be more attachments of an unknown function to the stirrups.
Dr. Benway stood a few feet away, framed between her exposed thighs. He was that age that men reached where he could be 45 or 65, a sort of mature homeostasis of generic attractiveness. Benway wore his blue scrubs, white lab coat, and mane of salt-and-pepper hair with the pride of a general with many victories. A weird trick of the light made his eyes behind his spectacles disappear into a pair of featureless white discs. It seemed to happen whenever he looked directly at the Summoned throughout the ordeal. Spooky.
"Nurse Joan will start by restraining your legs here at the knee," he indicated the stirrups, "and to the table at your bikini line. Your ankles will be cuffed to an anchor point on the stirrups so that you don't, ahem, harm your caregivers with uncontrolled kicks."
Nurse Joan left the console and began restraining the Summoned's legs.
"Arms up or down, Doctor?" Nurse Joan asked.
"I believe we can have them down at her side for now," Benway replied. "I prefer them down, you know," he continued, returning his attention to the Summoned. "Wouldn't want to get in the way of being able to restrain your head, should the need arise, you know."
The Summoned squeaked at the prospect of having her head tied down, a thought flitting through her head that maybe survival on THE TABLE wasn't guaranteed.
No! She pushed the thought away, but the fear remained.
The Summoned's heart began to really pound; she forced herself to take some cleansing breaths.
