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, follows 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 chastity, 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 teases me; stroking up my inner thigh 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 toward, 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 approvingly, and a little patronisingly. "Well done, that will keep your gums in check." I think he 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 in here. I shift uncomfortably, 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 dispassionate 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.
