The New Receptionist
Roll on five, Linda moaned to herself. It was Friday afternoon on the fourth week of her new job as a dental receptionist with dentist Mr Davis and his wife, who was his dental nurse. They were in their late 40s early 50s, she guessed, kindly enough if somewhat aloof. The last patient of the day had just been taken into surgery, a teenage girl with her mother in attendance as she needed a general anaesthetic for a couple of extractions. They would be at least half an hour, and the time just dragged. Linda stood up and stretched, glad to get off her hard wooden chair. She felt the tightness of her uniform across her chest. They had given it to her when she started and the previous girl had been a size smaller. Linda was 20 and quite well-endowed, so the starched cotton white dress strained on the buttons a bit. They had promised her a new uniform but hadn’t got around to it yet. The practice always seemed to be busy. Linda’s duties were fairly light, however. All she usually had to do was check patients in when they arrived, and let the dentist know if there were any changes to the list. Lately, Mrs Davis had begun to charge her with additional admin tasks, such as reordering the medical gases and other consumables. It gave her the feeling of being trusted, and she planned to stay in the job as long as they would have her, despite her fear of dentists in general. Following a bad experience as a child when she had to have some teeth out, she had avoided dentists for as long as possible. The male dentist had put her to sleep with a nasty smelling rubber mask that she had fought to push away. He had lost patience and got the nurse to hold her down until the gas put her under, a terrifying ordeal for any youngster. She had vowed never to let that happen again, but over the last couple of weeks she had been getting toothache from one of her back teeth. She knew it would have to be treated sooner or later, but had put off the evil day by taking strong painkillers. The tablets from that morning had worn off now and the twinges had got worse during the day, which is why she was keen to get home and take another dose. Just after the clock had crawled round to five, Mrs Davis had brought the girl and her mother back into reception and left them with Linda to make another appointment. Apparently the dentist had not been able to take all the teeth out and she would need to come back for more extractions under anaesthetic. The poor girl had obviously had a traumatic time and burst into tears when she realised she would have to go through it all over again, but Linda consoled her as best she could and fixed the next appointment with her mother. After they had left, Linda put on her coat - a knee-length black mack in shiny PVC - very fashionable now in the mid-1960s. Her boyfriend had insisted on buying it for her when they were out shopping and was always getting her to wear it at the slightest chance of rain, particularly when she had to button it up to the neck with the collar up, the belt cinched tightly around her waist. She had no idea why, but enjoyed the extra attention he gave her. She knew he wanted sex, but had so far managed to keep him at bay because she was still a virgin and dreaded the thought of losing her hymen. She’d heard from her friends how painful it could be, and how messy and bloody. Another ordeal that she had been putting off. She did up the mack and popped her head around the surgery door to say goodnight and wish them a nice weekend. Just at that moment a particularly sharp stab of pain made her wince visibly and put her hand to her cheek. ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Mrs Davis. ‘Toothache?’ Linda nodded, but tried to brush it off. ‘Nonsense,’ said Mr Davis the dentist. ‘Let’s take a quick look, shall we? Can’t have you doing this in front of the patients - what would they think?’ he added wryly. Reluctantly, Linda stepped into the surgery. It was the first time she had been in there properly, and there was a lot to take in. The extra strong smell of antiseptic struck her initially, then the sight of the dental chair. It was quite old, she saw, the traditional upright type with cracked leather upholstery and twin headrests. Last but not least, beside the chair stood a trolley with gas cylinders, and various kinds of black rubber hoses and masks draped over metal drums. The sight chilled her with vivid memories of her childhood gassing. Mrs Davis got Linda into the chair and took notes while the dentist listed all of her teeth with obscure comments that meant nothing to her. When he’d finished he asked how long it had been since she had last had a check-up. Linda admitted it had been a few years, which predictably didn’t go down too well. ‘Well, I’m afraid that your neglect has allowed decay to form in your lower right molar that is too far advanced to be treatable with a filling,’ he told her. ‘It’s going to have to come out - the sooner the better.’ Linda’s face fell at the news, although this was what she had been anticipating. ‘Best to get it done now,’ the dentist continued, ‘otherwise you’ll be in agony all over the weekend and unfit for work on Monday. Don’t worry, we can do it quite painlessly and you can sleep through it if you like? When did you last have something to eat or drink?’ Linda said that she’d skipped lunch because of the sensitive tooth, and nothing to drink for the same reason. ‘I don’t want gas, though,’ she protested. ‘I had it when I was little and it was horrible.’ ‘I see, but otherwise you will need several rather painful injections,’ he said. ‘The nurse will administer the gas and she is very gentle. All our patients have no objection to it after their first experience.’ Before Linda could reply, Mrs Davis gave her a clipboard and pen for her to sign a consent form. She reluctantly complied, and the nurse got her to sit back in the chair. ‘Just pop your hands into your mack pockets,’ she said, before passing a wide leather strap around her waist and across her forearms to keep them in place. Linda squirmed but there was no give in the strap. Her hands were soon sweaty and clammy in their plastic cocoons. Mr Davis made a show of standing in front of her, over by the window, so she could see he wouldn’t begin until she was fully anaesthetised. Mrs Davis kept up light chatter while she donned a pair of rubber gloves and took a long red rubber apron off its hook. The following events happened quickly; to give her no chance to back out, she realised later. ‘Head back, please,’ the nurse said, slipping the neck loop over Linda’s head and behind the headrests, holding her head snugly in position. Pulling the gas trolley closer to the chair, she showed Linda the nasal mask with thin rubber tubes either side, telling her she was going to just pop it over her nose nice and gently, and there was nothing to be scared of. Linda watched her twist the nitrous oxide dial, causing the bobbin to rise to the top of the glass tubular flow gauge. As it rose, the sound of escaping gas could clearly be heard. Terrified, Linda shrank away as Mrs Davis brought the mask to within a few inches of her face, the cool gas a strong breeze on her skin. ‘Let your eyes close when you’re ready,’ said Mrs Davis and, anxious to get it over with, Linda complied. The gas seemed to have no effect at first, but after a couple of breaths she could feel a tingling in her fingers and toes, and waves of dizziness. She didn’t even feel it when the mask was gently settled over her nose, and her mind began to wander. ‘Open nice and wide for me,’ she heard Mrs Davis say, and felt a hard rubber block being inserted between her back teeth, forcing her mouth open and tempting her to breathe through her mouth to escape the gas, which had become suffocating. Something about being gagged and gassed in this way she began to find erotic, and her knickers felt damp. Noticing Linda had started mouth breathing, Mrs Davis placed the oral mask over her mouth so that Linda had nothing to breathe except pure nitrous. Linda’s head started to spin, like the first time she lay on her bed after getting really drunk. Now starved of oxygen, she quickly succumbed to the anaesthetic and her breathing became slow and steady. Mrs Davis added some oxygen and continued to monitor Linda’s breathing while the dentist extracted the infected tooth and dropped it into the waiting enamel dish. Mrs Davis smiled at her husband mischievously. ‘Nice of her to wear her plastic mack,’ she remarked. ‘I know how much you like it when I wear mine for you,’ she added meaningfully. ‘Are you going to make the most of this opportunity? You know you want to, and you can always make it up to me later.’ With a grin, Mr Davis dropped his trousers and pulled out his erect penis. Directing it towards Linda’s gaping mouth, he masturbated while his wife made sure Linda had enough gas to keep her under. It didn’t take long before the dentist gasped and ejaculated a thick stream of semen into Linda’s helpless mouth. While he wiped himself off and put on his pants again, Mrs Davis suctioned as much cum as she could out of Linda’s mouth and removed the mouth prop, turning off the anaesthetic. As Linda groggily came round, she pressed the cup of mouthwash to her lips and got her to rinse out the blood and remaining vestiges of semen, to take the taste away. The first sensation Linda became aware of was the wetness between her legs that had soaked her panties. Thank god nobody could see it under my mack, she reassured herself. After Mrs Davis had removed the heavy rubber apron, now quite smelly from the heat of her body, and released the restraint strap, she thanked them for the treatment and wished them a good weekend. ‘Nothing hard to eat for a while,’ Mrs Davis advised, and make yourself a follow-up appointment. Some of your other teeth might need some filling to avoid more extractions.’ Linda dived into the toilet on her way out, rubbing herself through her wet knickers until she reached a shuddering orgasm. On her way home she reflected on how arousing the anaesthetic had proved and it occurred to her how that might offer a solution to her hymen problem. Back at the surgery, Mrs Davis left her husband to clear up while she stripped and put on her red rubber-lined satin mack, done up tightly, and took a seat in the waiting area. When the dentist found her there he smiled. ‘One last patient, I see,’ he remarked. ‘Please come through, Mrs Davis.’ ‘I’m here for a deep drilling,’ his wife said, her mack rustling as she walked. ‘You’ll need to use gas, but not enough to put me right off to sleep. Until after we’re finished, of course, she added.’ ‘No rush,’ he told her, sitting her in the chair and strapping her in, hands in pockets. ‘After that last session I’ll last for ages. You’ll be quite sore afterwards when you come round.’ ‘Can’t wait,’ she said, as the mask came down over her face.