[THIS STORY IF A WORK OF EROTIC FICTION. IT IS NON-CONSENSUAL IN NATURE. IT INVOLVES THEMES OF A HUSBAND WATCHING HIS WIFE HAVE SEX WITH ANOTHER MANโWHICH I KNOW IS A DEFINITE BEE IN SOME OF YOUR BONNETS. IF YOU OBJECT TO THIS MATERIAL, DON'T READ IT. ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18 YEARS OF AGE.
It's been awhile since I posted any titles, but I took my wife to the dentist two weeks agoโshe fell off her bike and chipped a toothโand while I waited for her to be taken care of, my mind started to toy over the image of her being "taken care of" in another way. Do hope you have fun with it.]
"It's a wreck, is what it is," Tommy Cordova half mumbled through the gauze of the surgical mask, his face bent closely to Kate's face, the polished steel mirror working to varying angles in her mouth.
I heard Kate stifle a sob, her right eye doing a minute tic towards where I stood, arms crossed, sagged in the corner of the exam room.
Tommy straightened up after another moment and slipped the magnified safety glasses off his face. "Two molars are shot. The one furthest back looks okay."
"I don't want 'em pulled," Kate mumbled, lifting up in the dental chair just a bit.
"Gotta come out," Tommy answered, slipping the mask down past his chin, hesitating a moment when he saw the tears spring to my wife's eyes. "...It isn't a choice Kate. They are busted...shards down into the gum line that I'm going to have to dig out. ...Damn toothbrush, what the hell are the odds on that?"
"No other way," I intoned cautiously.
"Nah," he answered, shaking his head, and then turning to Kate with a gentler tone. "...You have every tooth in your head, honey. These two are in the back an' nobody'll ever see 'em. I'll see you get a good bridge or maybe even two implants will work better.
Kate finally nodded and sank her pretty head back onto the rest, blinking into the harsh dental lamp.
"I can put you out now and have it done in half an hour."
"I don't wanna be put out," she said worriedly, anxious as she again twisted to look over at me.
"Just nitrous oxide and an analgesic..."
"No," she said, shaking her head till some shard of tooth lanced deeper into a nerve and made her wince.
"It'll be okay," I said reassuringly.
"You'll wanna be out for it, trust me," Tommy said. "...And it's just laughing gas and then a shot. Won't feel a thing and won't remember a thing."
"But I took a painkiller already," she said weakly.
"What kind?"
"It was a hydrocodone."
"Vicodin? What the hell are you doing with them?"
"My Mom had them and she gave me one."
"Just one," Tommy queried, holding up a finger for emphasis.
"...Two."
"How long ago did..."
"Hour or so," I answered, "Right before we called you."
"Be okay," he said, "Though you'll probably be off in dreamland for the rest of the night."
Kate sagged back again, her small hand coming up to brush her left cheek, puffy already with the damage within.
"So do we go for it?"
She nodded and closed her eyes.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
I'd gotten home at seven that night, finding my wife, Kate, leaning over the kitchen sink cradling a handful of ice to the left side of her cheek...Kate's Mom Helen was setting cookies and tall glasses of milk in front of our two young boys.
"What happened?"
"Had a toothbrush in her mouth and turned into the patio door," Helen said.
"What?"
"Toothbrush in her mouth," Helen said again, miming Kate brushing her teeth and then slapping the wall for emphasis. "...Bang! ...I think she has broken teeth, molars. I told her so many times about walking around like..."
"Not broken, Kate muttered angrily, not looking up. She'd actually been doing that since we'd met in high school, walking around with that stupid toothbrush in her mouth, reading the paper while she counted up and down strokes, walking out into the yard in the summer months, inspecting her flower beds with the oral-b jutting out, the little dabs of foam at the corner of her mouth. I kind of liked it all these years to be honest, it was cute, but it had always driven Helen nuts. I think that was part of why Kate still did it...a bit of rebellion from the daughter who'd rebelled the absolute least.
"Let me see it," I said, taking a flashlight down off the shelf. "...Come on."
Kate turned and reluctantly opened her mouth. Pearly while teeth, straight and perfect, two cavities in her whole life she liked to brag, the fillings shiny. And there in the back, the bloody molar clearly cracked, a second behind it, chipped and seeming out of alignment.
"We gotta go to a dentist," I said.
"No...and it's too late anyway," she sobbed.
"Tommy," I cut in...Tom Cordova was an oral surgeon who I played tennis with.
"No..."
"Let me call," I pressed, meeting her eyes...my little wife was literally phobic about doctors of any type, good for the kid's and me, but not for her. The OB once a year was stress beyond words for her...she didn't even like going to the optometrist, and would be squinting at the TV before she's let me make her an appointment.
I called Tommy and told him what happened and...well, actually he chuckled when I told him what had happened:"A fucking toothbrush, you have to be kidding me"...and told us to drive down to his office where he met us at the front door, jeans and a ratty Pitt dental school sweatshirt.