DAY ZERO
It was the mid-afternoon stretch of work from home before clocking out; lunch and her online shopping items had already been delivered for the day. Another restless evening was ahead of her; streaming some TV, maybe a round or two of Overwatch, for sure swiping left on Tinder for a while, falling down the TikTok rabbit hole for an hour or so while waiting for sleep to come...but it was all interrupted by a curious knock on her door.
The delivery person was dressed in all black, had a fancy looking filtration mask on, a pair of mirrored shades, and an unmarked baseball cap. They checked a picture on their phone against the face framed in the half open door, handed a remarkable looking roll of parchment sealed with red wax and left without a word. The woman closed the door and took the scroll into her apartment for a better look.
Seeing that the wax seal was emblazoned with an ornate logo designed around the letters "PNS" took her breath away. She had heard a rumor during her Academy matriculation of mysterious invitations to secret gatherings and high-level initiations. Her passing knowledge of the Perfectly Normal Society and its inner workings had led her to discount no rumor, however wild.
The woman broke the seal and read its simple command done in beautiful calligraphy:
"By Order of the Governing Members of the Perfectly Normal Society, You Have Been Formally Summoned to The Pentacle of the Five Torments."
There were no other details or instructions on the scroll. She sat at her kitchen table, a mix of fear and arousal fighting to take over the now barreling train of her thoughts.
She was startled by an alert on her phone, an unfamiliar noise punctuated by a couple of sharp buzzes. In the lower left-hand corner of her screen, the spot her thumb would always find to open her current favorite app by habit in boredom or anxiety or frustration, was a new widget. The app icon was a pleasant blue and white design, colors she knew were used by banks and other large companies to convey a sense of comfort and stability, the stylized letters PNS, and the word "Norm-Info" underneath. The covertly installed app had a single red notification in the corner.
She hesitated for a moment, knowing that her life would never be the same the moment she opened that app.
DAY ONE
The Summoned entered THE BED naked, pink suede leather cuffs on her wrists and ankles, a pink choker with a steel heart shaped ornament around her throat, and a pink wiffleball gag with a black leather strap hanging loose around her neck. A narrow catwalk from the door of her quarters to the place of her first ordeal felt like the longest walk of her life.
THE BED chamber was a triangular room, like all the others would be, and was remarkably bare. A single custom-made four-poster bed dominated the space as much as it currently mastered the Summoned's mind. The floor was cold, bare concrete, stained and finished so it wouldn't be too rough or too slippery. The walls were tuned to the very darkest end of red and the lights were low. The air was just on the side of cool that brought goosebumps to every inch of the Summoned's exposed skin. She knew that the unseen Operator had control of all these conditions, and probably much more beyond that, and could tweak and adjust them at will to heighten her ordeals.
Hopping up onto the bed, the Summoned felt too small and young. An awful twinge of shame recalled a time when she was an innocent kid stumbling across porn, or seeing adults acting more frisky than affectionate in public.
I'm not mature enough to be here, she thought as she sat quietly, the anticipation building into a pounding heart and a spreading wetness between her legs.
Ah, THE BED. The Summoned had seen beds like this only in crazy real estate listing memes. The mattress itself was a California King almost as big as her car, and the frame was made of black painted steel. There was a canopy frame, but no canopy. The whole thing was square and severe and hard. Stainless steel circles that would be the hard points of her bondage gleamed all over it like grim Christmas lights. She noted as she sat on its edge that the bed was the precise height for her feet to be firmly on the ground while her upper body lay flat, bent over for the pleasure and pain that lay ahead. The headboard was a thick pad covered in red velvet and the footboard was vertical bars of chrome topped with a red velvet padded crossbar. There were a couple of pillows by the headboard covered in the same crimson sport sheets as the mattress, along with a large black wedge-shaped pillow she had once seen in a porno featuring a young woman and her horny masseuse. It was all very tasteful and terrifying.
The Summoned waited long enough to notice that the room was lit like a museum; that somehow the chamber looked and felt dark, but she could clearly see the details. The only other features in the chamber were a small bookshelf covered in toys, restraints and spanking implements, and a bare futon.
The Society Member's door was directly under the Summoned's entrance in the wide, recessed area of the triangular chamber that necessitated the catwalk. It opened, a mystical portal of harsh white light, and a couple emerged. The Summoned remained seated as they took their time ascending the wide set of stairs, hand in hand.
The man was barefoot and dressed simply in black slacks and a long-sleeve dark blue Henley. The woman had on a black lace body stocking, a high-hipped black thong, and stiletto heels. He was a little paunchy, had an average face and short cropped black hair. She was tall and busty, wide hips, long black hair, creamy skin, and soft features.
When the woman spoke, the Summoned finally looked up.
"Hello there," she said. "I'm Mrs. Goode, this is my husband Mr. Goode."
The Summoned held her tongue, unsure.
"It's best if you don't speak," Mrs. Goode confirmed. "While you are this chamber, you should think of yourself as Mr. Goode's plaything and comply according to that attitude. Our arrangement here is simple. He instructs me how to position and bind you. Once restrained feel free to struggle or cry as much as you need to. He will use you as he wishes. He will get bored with each position long before he cums. You will not cum until he commands. Before we are done, you will learn to take comfort in whatever punishment or pleasure he inflicts, as long as you comply."
"Gag and hog-tie her," Mr. Goode instructed, "then get my dick wet, I'm getting impatient."
The Summoned's first act of true submission in The Pentacle was opening her mouth for Mrs. Goode as she wordlessly inserted and fastened the gag. She looked hard into the Summoned's eyes and smiled when she bit down on the ball. It felt a bit too large in her mouth and just a bit too tight around her head, but the Summoned knew that it was a minor discomfort compared to what was to come.
"Lay on your tummy and put your hands behind your back," Mrs. Goode said softly.
The Summoned did so, resting her head sideways so that she could see Mrs. Goode work while keeping an eye on Mr. Goode. He stayed detached, stationary, and motionless, except for one adjustment of the rapidly swelling cock beneath his trousers.
Mrs. Goode produced the hog-tie, an X of pink leather and chrome fasteners that completed the cuffs, gag, and choker ensemble that the Summoned came in wearing. Cute. Mrs. Goode took her time tightening each cuff and securing it to the hog-tie, until the Summoned lay there feeling trussed up and drooled over like a turkey diner fresh from the oven.
Through this, Mr. Goode's face showed only cold cruelty, his dark brown eyes seemed as emotionless as shark's eyes. Lovers have shined the light of desire towards her before, and she'd received, ignored and, repelled glances of lust throughout her life, but this was different. Mr. Goode's attention felt dehumanizing; the Summoned knew that he would get off on hurt-fucking her.
Mrs. Goode did a quick pull on the restraints like an amusement park ride operator checking the seatbelt before the rollercoaster leaves the terminal. She then approached Mr. Goode, unzipped his trousers without ceremony, and gave the Summoned a good look at his erect cock before doing her wifely duty. In that light, at that distance, it seemed utterly average to the Summoned; the predatory look that deepened as Mrs. Goode took him into her mouth was scarier.
The Summoned had been in a threesome before; watching someone give a blowjob was mildly tedious, especially when she was the guest and neither party were that special to her. Now, tightly bound and beginning to drool, a growing wetness between her thighs matched the deepening desire to be fucked.
Once Mr. Goode tired of Mrs. Goode's oral fluffing, he instructed the Summoned be bound to the bed, spread-eagled on her back, her head hanging off the side of the bed. Mr. Goode roughly pulled the gag free and grasped her head in his unnaturally hot hands. Their relative height and the angle he held her head was exactly right for him to penetrate the Summoned's throat deeper than she'd ever experienced before. She began to sputter and cough almost immediately, coating his cock in thick viscous saliva that allowed him to slide ever deeper, stroke even more vigorously.
I don't feel like gagging, the Summoned thought, is that good? To make matters worse, the Summoned could feel that Mrs. Goode had settled between her outstretched legs. The occasional brush against her thighs was maddening when her throbbing vagina was so close to that soothing touch.
Just as she thought Mr. Goode might climax, he withdrew and forced the gag back into her mouth. He stripped off his pants but left his shirt on. The Summoned wondered how he could be modest while she was laid totally bare and exposed.
