Month: January 2019

Dental Exposure

A few months back, before the blight of winter, we had a bright, beautiful day. Just the day to spend sitting on the deck or by a nice lake somewhere. I, however, was at the dentist’s. I’d lost a filling and I needed an emergency appointment. Not the best way to start the day but it was rather painful and needs must.

I’d just sat down when the receptionist stood up from her desk. As she stepped out it was like one of those slow motion scenes for shampoo. She flicked her hair back and I swear I heard harps. Such a gorgeous, sweet, sweet young thing, mid twenties maybe? I couldn’t help but stare (well I could, but why would I?). She wore this soft blue sweater that clung to every curve, and she had plenty of curves to cling to. She barely wore a tight little skirt that had given up the long journey south and now sat somewhere north of the mid line of her thighs. I lingered there for a while – legs and bums are my thing, for sure, but then my eyes were drawn down as if by magnetism to the most amazingly impractical heels I’ve ever seen outside of a nightclub. Talk about form over function! This vision then tottered out from behind her desk and over to where I was sat. I was mesmerised by the way her name badge jostled and bounced, perched seemingly atop her left tit. I wondered whether the pin was actually part of a nipple piercing. I was, as I say, mersmerised – hypnotised almost. And then she shattered the illusion.

She did that silly little bend, knees forward, butt thrust backwards and hands on her knees, lowering herself to somewhere about a foot above my head. I was staring straight at her name badge nipple piercing – Stephanie, it said. Her breasts jostled within her tight sweater as she bent forwards, and her nipple badge bobbed her name up and down. I was aware that my head was following the dance, and I dragged my head upwards to meet her eyes. Her bright blue eyes, succulent lips and perfect hair. I was entranced. And then she twittered at me.

“I’m so sorry Mr Teisberg, but Dr Puller has been caught up with another client. He’s probably going to be about a half hour late, is that okay?” Her voice raised along with her eyebrows, mock compassion oozing from her pores. “If you’d like, I can try to slot you in somewhere else, but it might be a tight squeeze.” I smirked, of course. Perched over as she was, my eyes had flicked down from her face, over her boobs and back towards her pertly proffered bottom, poised perfectly for a firm spanking before a ‘tight squeeze’ up her firm young arse. The mental image of her stripped and panting was sending blood coursing to cock-central. I tweaked my smirk to something I hoped was a smile, but more likely passed for gas.

“Not a problem,” I squeaked. I gave a quick harrumphing cough. “Not a problem at all. I’m in no rush. I’ll wait for him. Thanks, err” – my eyes flickered back again to her name badge – “Stephanie.”

She gave a nervous giggle, no doubt fazed by my Jokeresque grimace earlier, my lecherous gazing at her breast, and perhaps the tent that had appeared in my groin area. “Hehe – okay then, I’ll let him know,” and off she tottered as swiftly as her heels would allow. Her buttocks roiled in their tight sheath as she hastened back to the safety of the reception desk.

Realising the prospect of imminent exploration had sadly passed, my pocket snake disappeared like a conger eel back into its cave, taking with him a goodly bunch of pubic hairs. I attempted a surreptitious adjustment, glancing round innocently as I fumbled in my crotch. My gaze then locked with Stephanie’s. Her look of disdainful horror made me look away quickly and I grabbed for a magazine. My hand landed on Mother and Baby, and a headline article on ‘breast-feeding, public or private?’ I quickly tossed that one aside and rummaged through a selection of Women’s Weekly, Home and Garden and The Economist. I sighed, obviously too audibly because young Stephanie stared across at me once more, before tottering back over to me and assuming the same butt thrusting stance from earlier.

“Mr Teisberg, is everything okay?” she enquired, without really giving a flying fuck to my answer. “Only, I can’t help noticing you seem to be in some discomfort. Maybe I can help?” Her voice flicked up at the end and her head tilted. Oh sweet Jesus, the stuff of fantasy! This young receptionist is going to take me out back and blow me!  Of course, the old fella was up and out of his cave in an instant, dragging more pubes along with him like seaweed in the ocean waves. I thrust backwards in my seat to give him room to grow without depilating my entire crotch. She recognised my distress, bless her, but not for the right reasons.

“Don’t you worry, lots of people get anxious at the dentist. Don’t try to hold it, the bathrooms are just round the corner here. Come on, I’ll show you.” And she tottered off, leaving me to follow those bouncing buttocks as I desperately tried to reposition my erection to allow walking in an upright position.

She held open the bathroom door and I scooted inside and locked the door. At least now I could make my adjustments in peace! I undid my belt, unzipped and eased my pants and underwear down. The old chap bobbed around in the cool air, like a Labrador catching a scent. I gave him a squeeze, of course, and rolled my ball sack for good measure and he stretched and stiffened like a body builder, popping up to his full, rigid glory, dribbling pre-cum dripping like drool from panhandler’s mouth outside McDonalds. I stroke that over his head, of course, and now I was full-on wanking in the dentist’s bathroom.

“STOP IT, you dirty fucker,” screamed my sane brain. My reptilian brain, on the other hand, was driving my hand up and down my shaft while showing a porn flick of Stephanie, bending forward with hands on knees, skirt up and bare arsed for spanking, tits out and swaying with each slap. As I felt the passion rising I mentally turned her around so she could suck my dick and I grunted my way through the best imaginary blowjob I’ve ever had. I was leaning back against the wall in recovery mode, dick still semi-rigid and cum all over my fingers when there was a tap at the door.

It was Stephanie. “Mr Tiesberg? Is everything okay? You sound as if you’re in distress. Can you answer me please? Mr Teisberg?  Are you okay? or I will have to open the door.”

I started – well, not quite, since I’d already finished – I mean I jumped as she knocked at the door. I mumbled something quite incoherent and I took a step forward to snatch a handful of toilet roll of the dispenser, only my trousers had slipped to my ankles as I’d been wanking myself. As I took that fateful step, my upper body moved forward but my feet did not. I reached out my hand reached out to break my fall, but the smear of cum served sa an excellent lubricant on the porcelain of the bowl and my hand slipped straight off. I went straight down and cracked my head on the toilet bowl. I landed hard. My left hand hit the tile first, rapidly followed by 200lbs of manflesh. My wrist took the worst and I felt the snap. I screamed out in pain, of course, writhing on my belly with one arm disabled, my head pouring blood and my right hand sliding over the floor as I tried to gain purchase.

It was as I managed to bring my knees under me that the door burst open. I heard this, rather than saw it, since my naked butt was now thrust upwards, giving poor Stephanie a never-to-be erased view of my winking eye and depleted cock, followed by the bloody sight of my face hard down on the bathroom tile.

I’m forever grateful that she closed that door, though not before old Mrs Handiforth had been escorted past for her routine cleaning. I caught her comment about someone having a pug-ugly flat-faced dog in the bathroom as she caught sight of my nether regions. My memories thereafter are blissfully vague. I think I passed out because the next thing I recall is being strapped down to a stretcher by a burly paramedic, named Jason, according to the name and phone number inked on my palm. I’d obviously made quite the impression as he rescued me.

I received a letter a week or so later, recommending alternative dentists in the area. Jason wrote too, but that’s another story.