The Dentist Sucks

I fucking hate going to the dentist.

There’s a pit in my stomach, I feel a bit sick as I sit, slumped, in the waiting room – an older gentleman sat opposite me in a similar pose, the screen above our heads flashing up anodyne information about flossing and how much cancelled appointments cost the NHS, and occasionally summoning the next victim to their doom.

It flashes his name, twice, a man pokes out of a doorway down the corridor and calls him to room two. He shambles to his feet, and, head down, follow him in.

A slight heaviness in my crotch reminds me of the metal cage I am wearing, it is week three of a month of chatity, my penance to my girlfriend for a particularly cheeky comment during a play session. I have stopped noticing it, really, most of the time, it’s only when I sit in a certain way, or when she teas me; stroking up my inner tigh with her soft, prying fingers, or when she urgently kisses me, her lips on mine, hand around my throat.. Those thoughts racing through my head, I feel the tightness that implies my body is trying, and failing to get an erection. It is invisible to others, it is invisible to me. The only mark being the slight outline of the rings of the cage pressing through my jeans. The key is locked in a small box in her bedside table, where it will remain for at least eight more days, so I must go about my life with a weighty physical reminder of her ownership.

The board flashes my name. A different head pokes out of a different doorway, holding a door open – a woman in her mid-forties at a guess, thin, in blue scrubs, her hair scrunched back into a ponytail, and she reiterates the board’s call. I pause, summon my courage, and ten seconds later I am into the room. She closes the door behind me with a bang, I am trapped.

The room is clinical, obviously, austere whites and cold blues, with cupboards around the walls and a small window letting in a shred of natural light. In the middle of the room is the chair I walk towards, next to it, a man sits, mask obscuring his face, he is balding, a little overweight, and that is all I can identify.

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable” he intones, gesturing to the chair. The nurse smiles wanly, attempting and failing to put me at ease. I sit and then half lay in the light green plasticky seat, metal instruments next to my head, feeling vulnerable as all of a Sudden I am at the mercy of others. He rolls closer on his chair, she sits adjacent to my head, they both smell clean, clinical.

“So this is just a check-up, if we spot anything that needs any further work we might call you back in to remedy that, but front desk will let you know when to book in. Do you floss regularly, Mr Downey?” At my confessional, I flail and lie through my teeth, appropriately – there’s never a time of day when there’s not floss in my mouth, honest. He nods appropriately, and a little patronisingly. “Well done, that will keep your gums in check.” I thinkhe said that, the blood is pulsing around my body and my eardrums are ringing as anxiety builds. Through that stress I hear the snap of latex gloves as he pulls on a pair next to my head, picks up a tool, and instructs: “Say ‘Aah’”.

Obediently, I open my mouth for him. He runs his finger around my mouth, noting off each tooth to the nurse who scribbles down each utterance. One molar is of Particular interest to him, he picks up another instrument and pokes more assertively, I instinctively pull my head back a little at the intrusion. “Keep still, Mr Downey, this will be a lot easier for both of us that way.” I flinch at the telling off, and freeze my head in place for him to continue his work.

“I think this one requires a filling, we can do that now nice and quickly, it will only take a quarter of an hour or so”, he eventually notes evenly, conversationally, to me, his fingers still in my mouth. I try to respond but nothing coherent comes out. Another quarter of an hour inHere. I shift uncomfortable, and then notice for the first time how visible my cage is through my jeans. When I am sitting down or standing up, it is not easy to spot at all, only to a trained eye, but my body is currently a gentle backwards U shape, and that is thrusting my crotch into the air around the shape of the chair. The metal rings are clearly noticeable, and I am not the only one who has spotted it. The nurse is gazing at it with dispatchate interest. The only one to not notice, eventually realises he is missing the point of attention, and gazes down. Do they see? Do they both just have an interest in my belt buckle? They exchange a glance which I cannot see the intent of, I am more anxious now.

He fiddles with something around his neck, and subtly reveals a chain dangling on his chest, it is a thick gold chain, big links, and my eyes follow it down and freeze on the key attached to it.

It is a chatity key. There is no doubt. It is the same one as the one whoh is locked in a drawer in my girlfriend’s dresser. He knows. How does he know? What happens now? She has a wolfish smile on her face, barely hidden.

Languidly, as if reaching to select another implementation, his gloved hand moves from his necklace to my waist, and between a thumb and a finger, he slowly, agonisingly slowly, confirms his suspicions. There is no give for him. It is as he believes.

I am flushed, I can explain, the shade has aroused me in a way I did not expect so I attempt to half sit up and inject some rationality into this bizarre situation, but his hands are on my shoulders, strong, surprisingly strong, pushing me back into the chair. She absent-mindedly pats my leg.

“Excuse my intrusion there Mr Downey, are you happy for me to continue this appointment?” He Asks, knowing my answer. She is now struggling my leg, as one would stroke a pet. He fusses my hair gently. I nod, slowly, fearfully. “Good boy, I thought that would be your answer,” He praises. It isThen I notice his loose fitting scrub bottoms are doing a poor job at hiding his secret also – he is hard, and I can see it finishes maybe midway down his thigh.

“See, I am not locked up. I wouldn’t allow anyone to lock me up. I lock boys up like you because they deserve it, they need it. And they are so nice and pleasant when you dangle their key in front of them, they’ll do anything I tell them to.”

His words hang in the air. If her smile got any wider it would split her face. Time has stopped, as she reaches to the waistband of his trousers, through the open fly, and her latex gloved hand pulleds out his cock. It is right next to my head, swollen, and it is so big. He’s uncut, foreskin pulled back with his erection, and veiny. I can smell something else now, cutting through the clinical office like a knife, it smells like sex, like pre-cum. There is a bead of it, just formed on the tip of his dick, and she carefully takes a fingerprint and wipes it up, then places the fingerprintin my mouth.

“Suck.”

I can’t hear who says it, I am so aroused it is as if I am underwater and the voice sounds far away. I obey, hesitantly, I can taste it, salty and hot.

“Lick.” She holds her hand in front of my face, just too far away to reach, so I have to humiliatingly move my neck forward to cover every inch of her glove with my tongue. Her wet glove returns to his cock, and slowly, languidly strokes up and down. He sights in pleasure as her grip tightens, her palm reaching each sensitive area.

A heavy green spit bib is pulled from a cupboard and fastened around my neck without me really realising what was happening, it was all going so fast – “We don’t want Daddy to make a mess on your clothes when he comes, do we?” She murmurs in my ear as my brain attempts to catch up with the situation.

She rolls back, to make space? To get a better view? Her hand runs down her body and into her trousers, and her eyes refocus as she begins to play with herself,enjoying the scene.

“Say Aah, boy, I think you should put that pretty mouth to the use it’s intended for”, he instructs, his voice heavy with lust.

I open my mouth, too slowly for him, as a firm slap across my cheek startles me into more anxious obedience. “Do as I say quickly next time, or I’ll hit somewhere more sensitive.” “Or he’ll get the O-ring and then you won’t have a choice”, she chimes in, a meaning in her laugh. My mouth stays open, bottom lip pouting from the sting of the slap, a small tear, unchecked, forms in my left eye and drops, futile, to the ground.

With one hand he pulls the neck support from the chair completely, and my head lolls back, vulnerable.

Still in his chair, slight belly covered by his top, his cock out and firm between his legs, he wheels himself forward, and I have nowhere to go but to remain right here in the chair. He impales me with himself. I feel him enter my throat and I gag, uncontrolled.

Another slap, the oppositeCheek. “I’d have thought you’ve been trained better than this! Breathe!” He exhorts, and pulls back to allow me a second of air before he thrusts back in with a jolt. Despite the overwhelming assault on my senses, I manage this time to obey his instruction, and he begins to slide in and out of my mouth, unchecked. I cannot see much any more, but feel his balls slap against my nose as he uses me for his enjoyment. A hand, (her hand?) undoes my fly and harshly rubs along the sides of the cage – a very different replication of the slick pleasure she had just given to him with her hand. Then his smooth latex-covered hand on my nose, I cannot breathe, I cannot move – pinned by his body on my head and her hand at my waist, I panic, I understand, and then he releases it, and this time, more gently, pats me on my cheek and withdraws his cock. “Good boy, that’s good”.

She mounts me then. Her head by my crotch, her trousers pulled off and discarded, her knees by my shoulders. She takes my cagein her mouth, my cock is unsuccessfully scanning to be free. I eagerly lick her presented cunt, and she almost instantly stops touching my cage entirely. I am the only one denied, I am the only one locked. She bucks against my tongue, against my nose. She is so wet, so slick, she runs across my face and down my cheeks, as she pushes herself against me so eagerly. She bucks more wildly, she is close. Suddenly she is pulled up by his hands, and filled with his cock. She moans, biting my thigh to suppress a scream. She is close, and she comes as he thrusts. He holds her there through her orgasm, she headbutts my leg with uncontrolled contracting pleasure. He slides out of her wet hole and into mine again, he tastes like her now, but still like him.

His strokes speed up, his breathing grows a little ragged, I am pinned to the chair by his cock, he is also close as she lays on me, exhausted.

“Say ‘please come in my mouth Sir’” he grunts heavily to me.

“Eeth um ih eye outh hur” I garble, he fucks my face with no let up. There is dribble and tears and milky pre-cum running down both of my cheeks and onto the floor. And then he is coming. Shuddering. Not stopping. I am assailed by his cock. I feel it run up his cock and down my throat, I nearly choke it is so much. Until he finally pulls back, with a contented sight. She is straight over me, he sits back and breathes deeply.

“Now get yourself cleaned up, and tell the front desk I want to see you this time next month. I think you have some complicated issues that will require quite a few appointments to clear up. Don’t forget to pay them, the intense oral check-up will be £50.”

I sit up, head spinning, mouth sore, she is back in her seat now, straightening her top, his cock has returned to being not visible, it is as it was when I walked in apart from the mess my face is in, and my cage exposed. I wipe my face, splashing water on it from the tiny sink by my waist for gargling mouthwash, and fasten my trousers back up. I stand up and turn to him, wordless. He points to his foot, I drop to my knees, and kiss, and leave.

I fucking hate going to the dentist.