Who volunteers for a trip to the dentist? Not me, that’s for sure! Little did I know that my routine teeth cleaning would turn into something unforgettable.
The appointment had been on my calendar for weeks. The dental hygienist assured me it was just standard maintenance, a quick hour of scrubbing and polishing. No big deal.
I arrived at the office right on time. Dr. Moreau’s practice was tiny, family-run, and exactly where I’d been going since childhood. Her daughter, Veronique, worked there as a hygienist, at least, that’s what I’d heard. We were the same age, had attended the same schools since grade one, but we’d never really clicked. Back then, she kept to herself during recess, nose buried in a book.
I remembered her as chubby and unremarkable-looking, with round glasses and a soft, round face. Even through high school, she didn’t exactly bloom into a stunner, she was an easy target for teasing. I felt sorry for her, honestly. She aced every class except PE, but that didn’t stop the mockery.
After graduation, she must’ve moved away to study somewhere else, because I stopped seeing her at the dental office during my annual checkups. Until today.
I sat in the waiting room, flipping through a dog-eared magazine, when a soft, gentle voice called my name. I set down the magazine and looked up.
Stunning didn’t begin to cover it.
A gorgeous woman with sparkling blue eyes and a radiant smile stood before me, dressed in crisp white dental attire, button-front tunic, short skirt, white opaque thigh-highs, and matching heels. Her lips were painted a vivid red, and her eye makeup gave her an almost mischievous edge.
“This way, please,” she said with a patient smile. “I’m Veronique, and I’ll be handling your cleaning today.”
Veronique? How had this dazzling creature transformed so dramatically in just a few years, from forgettable to absolutely breathtaking?
She led me to the treatment room. “Have a seat in the chair. I’ll get everything ready in just a couple of minutes.”
As she prepared her instruments on a small trolley, I decided to break the ice.
“You’ve changed a lot in a few years!”
She smiled but said nothing, continuing her preparations with practiced efficiency. She rolled over to me on her little stool, instruments in hand.
“Are you sitting comfortably?”
“Yes,” I answered.
She pulled on a procedure mask, adjusted it carefully over her mouth and nose, then slipped on a pair of dark blue nitrile gloves. Honestly? She was mesmerizing.
Finally, she spoke up: “We’re going to start. Open your mouth.”
She examined my teeth briefly before delivering her verdict. “This won’t take too long, practically no tartar. You use dental floss, I can tell. Good for you!”
Then she began the cleaning process and started talking.
“I remember you from elementary and high school.”
She paused to switch instruments before continuing.
“I don’t know if you remember me, but I didn’t have many friends back then. I was unattractive, a bit overweight, and everyone made fun of me. You were one of the few who didn’t mock me, I appreciated that.”
All I could do was nod and mumble incomprehensibly with my mouth open.
She kept working and talking: “You probably don’t know this, but I’ve always had a soft spot for you. I was attracted to you back then, but I was way too shy to approach you, let alone admit how I felt.”
She giggled beneath her mask, eyes crinkling with that same mischievous look.
“I dreamed of Prince Charming when I was younger, wanted a boyfriend, but knew it was practically impossible. I wasn’t growing up fast enough, kept my chubby figure even through high school. So I threw myself into studying in another city, far from our small hometown where I’d been the chubby little nerd with glasses that everyone teased.”
I had no idea what to make of her confession or why she was sharing all this. After all, we’d lost touch for years, and even though we’d exchanged a few words in high school, we weren’t really friends.
She moved closer, and I caught a whiff of her intoxicating perfume, she was that close.
“What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?”
I shook my head no. Her eyes widened and sparkled with something unreadable.
“Leaning in to reach the back of your mouth,” she murmured as she pressed against me, “you know, I thought about you constantly through high school. Had to admit, once I hit my teens, I developed these… uncontrollable feelings.”
Then she fell silent.
It was summer, and I’d dressed casually, in shorts and a T-shirt. The shorts were pretty short, leaving my thighs exposed.
As Veronique switched instruments again, she placed a gloved hand on one of my thighs, a subtle caress that sent electric shivers racing up my spine. She noticed my reaction immediately.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she said with the faintest smile beneath her mask.
She shifted position, straddling the thigh she’d just touched, and leaned over me to continue working. I could feel her chest pressed firmly against mine through my T-shirt, and then warmth and moisture on my knee.
Veronique moved again in her seat, pressing closer until I felt heat and dampness directly against my exposed thigh. There was no mistaking it: she wasn’t wearing any panties, and she was grinding her wet pussy against my skin!
She pressed a knee against my crotch; I felt myself start to stiffen. She noticed immediately.
Smiling behind her mask, she whispered in my ear: “I discovered masturbation’s pleasures as a teenager. Once I started, I couldn’t stop, became completely addicted. My urges were uncontrollable. Back then, I had my best orgasms thinking about you and the things we did together in my fantasies.”
She pulled back slightly, then continued: “The cleaning’s almost done, just a couple more things to finish up.”
Veronique set down her instrument, turned toward me, grabbed both my arms, and positioned them parallel on the chair’s armrests. Before I could protest, she secured my wrists with the restraints attached there.
Then, without another word, she picked up a mouth spreader, instructed me to open wide, and fitted it into place. She forced my jaws apart so far that any sounds I made came out distorted, like someone in agony at the dentist’s mercy.
She stood, walked to a cabinet at the back of the room, retrieved something, and returned to me. Veronique peeled off her blue gloves, tossed them aside, and revealed what she’d brought back: long purple nitrile gloves that extended all the way to her elbows and hugged her arms like a second skin.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,” she said, pulling on those purple gloves with practiced sensuality.
“You know, I never stopped thinking about you, and when I saw you in the waiting room today, I got wet just remembering those incredible orgasms I had while fantasizing about you back when I was younger. So before coming to get you, I removed my panties and quickly hatched a plan.”
She stepped toward me, placing her thumb and index finger on my cheeks, squeezing hard enough that I felt the spreader digging into my jaw. Her eyes locked onto mine.
“I’m going to show you what it feels like to suffer in silence while being aroused and full of desire.”
Veronique settled back onto her rolling stool, reached up to unbutton her blouse slowly, deliberately. She slipped her hands inside to caress her breasts before baring them completely, pinching her nipples hard enough that she let out a soft cry of pain mixed with pleasure.
She lifted her skirt, revealing her glistening pussy, then lowered one hand to stroke her clitoris while simultaneously thrusting three fingers from her other hand deep into her mouth. Her breathing grew ragged as she intensified both actions, fingers pumping in and out of her wet pussy with increasing force and speed while those same three fingers remained buried in her mouth.
Suddenly, she arched her back, let out a strangled cry, and then I saw it: three jets of fluid spurted from between her legs, splashing onto the floor around my chair. Her thighs were dripping, her pussy completely soaked.
Veronique pulled her fingers from both her mouth and her pussy, stood up still glistening with pleasure, and approached me. She thrust those three slick fingers into my spread-open mouth and spoke in a tone that was sweet yet cutting: “Now you know what it feels like. I’d dreamed of you and fantasized about you for so long that I hadn’t realized I was hurting myself all this time, and that, ultimately, I don’t like men. I wanted to make one suffer while taking wild pleasure from it and climaxing while watching him rendered helpless by his own desire. You were the one it happened to, and it felt so damn good.”
She removed my spreader and released my restraints without another word before gesturing toward the door.
“Head out to reception to settle up for your cleaning,” Veronique said, satisfaction clear in her voice as she moved to tidy the room around me.
Satisfied and still glowing from her climax, just like when she was younger masturbating alone, Veronique got back to work. Truth was, she’d never really been into men. Didn’t think women did it for her either. Only solo pleasure mattered, and she found fulfillment in it every single time.
Veronique had discovered she was autosexual and committed herself by becoming sologamous. Come to think of it, even catching her own reflection made her wet with desire. She loved making love to herself while wearing gloves, it was the only way she could achieve those powerful orgasms.
She would remain autosexual for good, living at peace with her orientation.