Chapter 4: Climax
Metallic drills whined untamed in the orthodontist's office. I could smell the faint metal tang of instruments sterilized just moments earlier. Increasing my fidgeting, I occupied myself by tracing patterns on the blue-paper tablecloth. When I shifted my eyes toward the receptionist, her dispassionate gaze lingered on me for a second before losing interest.
Dr. Weston, tall and well-groomed, entered the room. His crisp white coat contrasted against dark slacks, setting him apart from the others.
An air of dominance and self-assurance followed Dr. Weston, heightening a shiver of anticipation that embraced my core. A dangerous game, I was drawn to him as if fire summoned a moth.
His penetrating glance lingered on my face, tickling the exposed skin of my décolletage. A small yet intimate action—one that didn't elude my observation. I recalled the nurses' whispers about his perfection which left me questioning why this man was out of my reach.
Dr. Weston's reputation for brilliance was undisputed so I held on to that inch of comfort down in this rabbit hole.
"Ready, Lucy?" Dr. Weston smiled gently, while revealing a tray of instruments that gleamed menacingly. His polished appearance hinted at downright sinister intentions.
"Ready as I'll ever be." I blinked, deadpan, hiding the racing thoughts.
"Let's proceed." His voice resonated like a well-kept secret, commanding attention. It clearly sent a tremor through me.
Dr. Weston’s slate gaze flitted to my hand, tracing the lengths of my fingers. He took notice when I exploited frayed cuticles as nervous habits ensued. The corners of his lips twitched upward, ever so faintly, granting me a brief glance at his near-perfect teeth. My traitorous chest heaved as I pondered if the impeccable façade extended beyond the white coat.
He meticulously positioned each instrument, rejoicing in the relentless power ensnaring his every breath, as I ceded control of the situation.
His strong but gentle hands held Lucy's face, sharp tools expertly maneuvering with one purpose-to enforcement his will, one manipulation at a time.
"You're doing really well, Lucy. Bear with me, just a bit longer," he promised as the shrieking noise of the drill piece brought a sheen of sweat across my brow. I closed my eyes, wincing as searing agony radiated through my very being.
His strong but gentle hands held Lucy's face, sharp tools expertly maneuvering with one purpose-to enforcement his will, one manipulation at a time.
"You're doing really well, Lucy. Bear with me, just a bit longer," he promised as the shrieking noise of the drill piece brought a sheen of sweat across my brow. I closed my eyes, wincing as searing agony radiated through my very being.
All I could do was trust the orthodontist's hands, allowing the biting cold instruments to sculpt my oral cavity. Dr. Weston locked eyes with me in the mirror, dimples appearing as his smiles disappeared. I could almost mistake it for care.
"Almost there," he said softly, inflection rising slightly. It felt like an intimate whisper, blatantly disregarding the clinical atmosphere of his practice. Euphoria lingered and my concerns faded away. Seduced by seeming adoration and his impressive expertise, I wanted to embrace his attention.
Yet, insidious whispers in my subconscious heightened my apprehension over romanticizing this raw power dynamic.
"Leaning back, I peered into Dr. Weston's eyes through the reflection in the mirror. A woman willing to submit to such unfathomable pain could not be easily dismissed, for surrender cloaked her in unlikely allure.
In that dimly-lit examination room, every instrument served its function, laid idly on the sterile tray – the band, the bracket, and that wickedly charming archwire.
Dr. Weston couldn’t escape the primal throb of lust that reverberated in his gut, but he would not indulge himself. He commanded his urges with an iron will as his cold fingers traced along Lucy’s tender chin.
"Stay with me, Lucy," he murmured.
His reflection was serious, focused. Yet, just for a moment, he allowed his eyes to drift over her face: the curve of her cheek, the arch of her brow, the delicate fingertips that clutched the arms of the chair.
He clicked his tongue, breaking the silence. "Alright, all finished." Dr. Weston slipped a mirror into her mouth, and Lucy stared at her own reflection. A myriad of metal brackets adorned her teeth, connected by wires that stretched tautly, securing her orthodontic fate.
The proven yet dreadful prison entrapped her enamel prison.
"One more step, Lucy," Dr. Weston murmured, an edge of excitement laced in his words. "Open wide for the bands."
Despite the slightly barbaric process, I willed my lips open for the orthodontist. A warm, minty liquid rinsed over my teeth.
Dr. Weston glanced at my face and nodded with the slightest hint of approval. I could appreciate that. Admittedly, the man did know his stuff. His eyes caught mine in the mirror once more, my heart stuttering at the charged exchange we shared.
This was bad, dangerous. A dance with deviance, the sort I'd shied away from in college; now, studying his reflection in the mirror, I craved it like oxygen.
Like a predator basking in the glow of a vanquished prey, Dr. Weston turned his attention to the final corner.
The bead of glue teetered on the bracket's edge before he carefully pressed it against her molar. Satisfied, he repositioned the mirror, letting her have a good look.
Lucy's inspection in the mirror caused her eyes to widen, a stark mix of shock, fascination, and a twinge of excitement flitting across her face. She seemed unsure how to process these new additions to her mouth as a modest blush played upon her cheeks.