𝓵𝓸𝓽𝓽𝔂

The dental clinic’s air conditioning smelled of fresh mint and disinfectant. You arrived a few minutes early for your appointment, signed the intake form at the front desk, and handed over your information, the receptionist directed you to wait in the lobby. Time dragged between the soft hum of ambient music and the occasional distant whir of a high-speed handpiece, at last they called your name.

You walked down the hallway to the treatment room. You pushed the door open and stepped inside, the previous dentist was gone, in his place, standing beside the dental chair, was a tall man with broad shoulders, an immaculate white coat, and dark hair combed with precision. He looked at you with a calm, professional smile.

“Good afternoon. I’m Doctor Kim, please have a seat.”

He gestured toward the reclining dental chair. You approached and settled in, the cold leather received you. He moved to your side, pulled on a pair of thin, snug latex gloves. The soft snap of the material against his skin sounded in the quiet room, he adjusted the blue plastic bib over your chest, fastening the metal clip behind your neck. His fingers brushed the nape of your neck as he secured it. He switched on the overhead lamp; a bright white beam lit your mouth and part of your face.

“Open, please. I’m going to do a complete examination for your medical file.”

You obeyed, he took the mouth mirror and periodontal probe. The cold metal of the mirror slid first across your lower lip, then inside, the probe traced each tooth with precision, moving along the gingival sulcus, measuring, palpating. You felt the light scrape against enamel, the firm but controlled pressure in the interproximal spaces, his other hand rested on your chin to steady your head. The warmth of his palm contrasted with the chill of the instruments.

“Relax your jaw… like that, good.”

He tilted the chair back slightly, your body opened at a wider angle. He leaned closer, you could smell the neutral soap on his hands and a faint trace of clean cologne. The probe continued its path—premolars, molars, the lingual surfaces of the incisors. Whenever it found a sensitive spot he paused for a second, pressed gently, and watched your reaction.

“There’s a bit of gingival inflammation here. I’m going to irrigate.”

He took the air-water syringe, a thin, cold stream of water entered your mouth, followed by a puff of air that made you close your eyes for an instant. He suctioned the excess with the saliva ejector, the flexible tube brushing the edge of your lip. The proximity never let up, his chest nearly touched your shoulder every time he leaned in to examine the upper left quadrant more closely.

The examination slowed, grew more meticulous, the mirror slid along the buccal mucosa, stretching it carefully. The probe returned to the gingival margin, this time with slightly firmer pressure, you felt the metal graze sensitive areas; a faint tingle that turned into heat beneath the surface. He noticed the slight tremor in your lip and stopped.

“Does that hurt?”

His voice was low, professional, yet carried a deeper undertone, you shook your head almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead he brushed the back of his gloved fingers across your cheek to wipe away a droplet of water that had escaped. The gesture was unnecessary… and deliberate.

He continued, now he used the explorer to check the pits and fissures of the molars. The metallic sound against enamel was precise, rhythmic. Each time he found an irregularity he pressed a little harder, watching the slight arch of your back against the chair. The lamp shone on his concentrated face, jaw tight, brows drawn in focus, lips slightly parted.

“I’m going to check the occlusion, close slowly… like that, good. Now open again.”

When you opened, his gloved hand rested on your chin and guided it gently to one side, then the other, the contact lasted longer than strictly necessary. The latex warmed against your skin. He leaned even closer; his warm breath brushed your cheek as he watched the movement of the temporomandibular joint.

The examination stretched on, he irrigated again. The cold stream made you arch your neck, he used the moment to support your head with one hand, thumb resting just below your ear, while the other guided the ejector. The tube vibrated softly against your lower lip, the sound of the aspirator filled the room along with your increasingly uneven breathing.

When he finally withdrew the instruments he didn’t step back at once, he stayed looking down at you, the lamp still on, the bib still fastened across your chest. His dark eyes dropped for a second to your wet mouth before returning to your gaze.

His gloved fingers brushed the edge of the bib again, as if to adjust it, but the movement stopped right over the center of your chest. The air conditioning continued to blow cold, yet beneath his white coat and the latex he still hadn’t removed, the room suddenly felt much warmer.

Doctor Seokjin straightened for a moment, removed the ejector, and set the instruments on the tray. He opened a metal drawer and took out a carpule of anesthetic and a sterile carpule syringe. He loaded the cartridge with a dry click, attached the long needle, and covered it with the protective sheath. He turned back to you.

“I’m going to administer local anesthetic in the area. You’ll feel a pinch, then pressure. Stay still.”

He reclined the chair a little further. The lamp remained focused on your mouth, with his left hand he held your upper lip and stretched it upward, exposing the mucosa. The cold latex brushed the sensitive skin. With his right he brought the syringe close, the needle gleamed under the light.

The first puncture entered the upper gingiva, a sharp, fine pain, like an ice needle driving deep. The liquid began to infiltrate; you felt the growing pressure, the tissue swelling from within. He did not withdraw the needle immediately. He kept the plunger depressed with deliberate slowness, thumb steady, while his other hand opened a little wider and the index finger slid along the corner of your mouth, holding the lip with more force than necessary.

“Breathe through your nose… like that.”

The second puncture came closer to the frenum, the pain was sharper this time; a burning that radiated toward the palate. He tilted his head, watching the mucosa pale slightly, his knee brushed the side of the chair and, without you noticing at first, his thigh came to rest against your hip. The weight was subtle, warm through the fabric of his trousers.

He withdrew the needle, changed the angle, and punctured the lower quadrant, yhis time the hand supporting your chin slid a little lower, the thumb resting just along the jawline, almost grazing your neck. The anesthetic entered in greater volume, you felt the tingling spread, your lower lip beginning to numb, yet the initial pain remained vivid, sharp, accompanied by a strange heat that was not only from the injection.

“Almost finished…” he murmured near your ear.

The final infiltration was deeper, the needle sank near the apex. The pain was dull and heavy. As he depressed the plunger, his free hand left your chin and settled on your shoulder, pressing gently as if to steady you, the gloved fingers slid a few centimeters toward the neck of the bib, brushing the bare skin. The contact lasted longer than professional, the latex was no longer cold; it had warmed with your temperature.

When he finally withdrew the syringe he did not move away, he set the instrument on the tray and remained standing beside you, watching the anesthetic take effect. Your lower lip no longer responded fully; you felt the heavy tingling, the area going numb. He brushed the back of his fingers across your cheek, wiping away a droplet of saliva that had escaped, and the gesture lingered, his index finger traced a slow line to the corner of your mouth, pressing lightly on the anesthetized tissue.

“Do you feel this?”

He asked, and without waiting for a real answer he pressed a little more firmly with the gloved finger on your numb lower lip. Then he slid the same finger inward, brushing the edge of the gingiva where a residue of sensitivity remained, the touch was no longer exploratory. It was deliberate, slow, almost caressing the swollen tissue.

The room was silent except for the low hum of the switched-off aspirator and the air conditioning, he leaned closer. His chest brushed your shoulder, the hand that had been on your shoulder moved down to the edge of the bib and adjusted it, but the fingers slipped beneath the plastic, brushing the fabric of your clothing just above your chest. The contact was brief… and then stopped, as if he were gauging how far he could go.

“The anesthetic is taking effect,” he said in a deeper voice. “Now I can work without you feeling pain… only pressure.”

His hand returned to your mouth, this time it carried no instrument. Only the gloved finger that slid again along your numb lower lip, parting it gently, exploring the edge of the gingiva with a slowness that had nothing clinical left in it, the latex moved against the swollen mucosa. You felt the pressure, the friction, the heat rising from your belly despite the numbness.

He said nothing more, he simply continued touching, beyond what was necessary, while the dental lamp kept illuminating your open mouth and the chair held you completely at his mercy.

The procedure continued with the area fully anesthetized, doctor Seokjin worked with precision, the cutting of enamel, the high-speed handpiece vibrating against the tooth, the constant irrigation of cold water that the ejector immediately suctioned away. You felt only pressure and vibration; the pain had vanished. He moved efficiently, body angled over you, chest occasionally brushing your shoulder. When he finished he switched off the handpiece, removed the rubber dam if he had placed one, and cleaned away the debris with a damp gauze.

“Done, let’s rinse.”

He raised the chair a little. He brought you the plastic cup of antiseptic rinse and the cuspidor. As you turned your head to spit, he stripped off one glove with a dry snap. Then the other, his hands were left bare, pale and long, before you finished rinsing, one of those hands tangled in your hair, gathering the strands that had fallen forward and holding them firmly at the nape so they wouldn’t get wet.

“That’s better,” he murmured.

He held your hair while you spit and rinsed again, the grip was secure, almost possessive. When you finished he did not let go. He kept holding your hair, pulling it back just enough so you looked up at him.

“Has the anesthetic worn off yet?”

You shook your head, your lower lip still felt heavy, the tingling still present.

He pretended to consider for a second, dark eyes fixed on your mouth.

“Then I’ll check it myself.”

Bare-handed, he brought two fingers to your lips. At first the gesture was professional, he carefully inserted his index and middle fingers, pressing the cheek mucosa, palpating the infiltrated area, checking the degree of numbness. The fingers moved with clinical slowness, brushing the gingiva, the edge of the treated tooth.

But the movement changed, the two fingers sank deeper, they began to advance and withdraw inside your mouth with a deliberate rhythm, rubbing your tongue, pressing the soft palate, opening you wider. They no longer explored: they fucked your mouth. The index and middle fingers slid until they nearly touched your throat, withdrew to the edge of your lips, and entered again with greater force. The salty taste of his skin mixed with the residual rinse. Saliva pooled; a thick strand slipped from the corner of your mouth.

When you tried to turn your head away, his hand in your hair closed tightly and yanked back. The pull was firm, painful in the scalp, forcing you to open wider and hold the position. The fingers did not stop, they pushed deeper, faster, the knuckles brushing your lips each time they entered fully. The wet sound filled the room, the soft slap, your ragged breathing through your nose, the faint gasp that escaped when the fingers pressed the base of your tongue.

He leaned closer. His hot breath brushed your cheek.

“Stay still… I’m only checking.”

But the rhythm was not one of checking, it was deep, steady, almost brutal. Each time your throat contracted around his fingers he pulled a little harder on your hair, keeping you motionless against the chair. The dental lamp stayed on, illuminating the sheen of saliva on your lips and his knuckles, the air conditioning blew cold over your damp skin, but the heat rising from your belly had nothing to do with the anesthetic.

The fingers kept fucking your mouth—slow now, then faster—while his grip on your hair did not yield a single centimeter.

The fingers left your mouth in a sudden motion, wet and gleaming with saliva, asoft “doctor…” escaped you, barely a hoarse whisper.

Seokjin growled low and deep, the hand tangled in your hair yanked harder, a sharp, dominant pull that forced you forward. The dental chair fell away behind you. You dropped to your knees on the cold floor of the treatment room with a pained sound; your knees struck the clean vinyl and a soft “no… no…” slipped from your still-numb lips.

He did not release you, with his free hand he unfastened his trousers quickly, the button, the zipper. The metallic sound cut through the silence of the room. He lowered the fabric just enough. His cock, already half-hard, heavy and hot, came free. He made you look up by pulling your hair again, forcing you to meet his gaze from below.

“Be a good girl.”

You tried to shake your head, but he rubbed the thick, warm head against your cheek, the heat of his skin contrasted with the cold floor beneath your knees. The stroke was deliberate, slow, leaving a wet trail on your skin, a treacherous moan escaped you, he gave a low, almost dark laugh.

“Don’t lie… you want this too.”

You opened your mouth slowly, the anesthetic still made your lower lip feel heavy, clumsy. Seokjin watched the gesture through half-lidded eyes.

“Very good… good girl.”

He pushed forward, the thick head slid between your lips, stretching them, he entered with a slow, deep rhythm, filling your mouth with heat and weight. The salty taste of his skin flooded your tongue. He advanced until the tip nearly brushed your throat and held there a second, letting you feel every pulse, then he withdrew almost completely, only to enter again with the same deliberate slowness.

The hand in your hair never eased, it kept your head exactly where he wanted, controlling the depth and the angle. Each slow thrust made your saliva slide down the base of his cock and drip in thin strands onto the treatment-room floor. The air conditioning continued to blow cold, but the heat of his body so close, the scent of skin and sex beginning to fill the small space, rendered it irrelevant.

He breathed low, watching your lips stretch around him. The rhythm remained slow, almost torturous: he sank to the hilt, stayed a second feeling your throat contract, then withdrew only to push in again, the empty dental chair stood behind you, the lamp still lit, illuminating the sheen of saliva on your mouth and on his cock. Every time you tried to pull back even a millimeter the grip in your hair tightened and held you exactly where he wanted.

Seokjin tightened his hold on your hair and changed the rhythm abruptly, the slow thrusts vanished. Now he fucked your mouth roughly, driving deep and fast, seeking only his own pleasure. The thick head struck the back of your throat again and again; each thrust tore a choked sound from your chest, aliva overflowed, thick, sliding down your chin and falling in drops onto the floor.

“Fuck… what a good mouth,” he growled between his teeth, voice rough and low. “Open wider.”

He pulled your hair back to lift your face and thrust harder, the wet, obscene sound of his cock sliding in and out filled the small space: wet slaps, gasps, the brush of his pelvis against your nose each time he buried himself to the root. You could barely breathe through your nose. Moans escaped around his flesh, vibrating against him, you tried to push with your hands or move your head, but he kept you firmly on your knees, controlling every centimeter.

“That’s it… stay there. Good slut, let me use that little mouth however I want.”

He breathed harder, the rhythm turned almost brutal. Each deep thrust made your eyes narrow and a thick strand of saliva fall onto the bib still hanging crooked across your chest. The cold of the floor seeped into your knees; the air conditioning continued to blow, but the heat of his body and the effort brought color to your face. The dental lamp lit the obscene shine on your stretched lips and the base of his cock each time he withdrew only to bury himself again to the hilt.

“Look at you… mouth full of cock,” he murmured, almost to himself, but loud enough for you to hear. “You like it, don’t you?”

A choked moan escaped when he pushed especially deep and held there a second, feeling your throat contract around him, then he resumed the thrusts, faster, more careless, using your mouth solely for his pleasure. The grip in your hair hurt deliciously; each pull forced you to take a little more. Your hands clenched into fists on your thighs, able to do little more than endure the rhythm, gasp and moan around his cock while he lost himself in the act.

Seokjin fucked your mouth with brute force, his hips moved in short, deep thrusts, burying his cock to the root again and again. The hand tangled in your hair pulled back firmly, keeping your head at exactly the angle he wanted; each tug stretched the scalp and forced you to open your throat wider. The sound of your choking filled the room, wet gurgles, desperate nasal gasps, the obscene slap of saliva each time he withdrew only to push in to the hilt.

“I want to leave marks on your throat,” he growled between his teeth, voice rough with pleasure. “So tomorrow it hurts to swallow and you remember me.”

He pushed especially deep and stayed there a second, feeling your throat contract around him. You made a choked sound, eyes half-closed, tears of effort sliding down your cheeks. He laughed low at the sound.

“Is that how you let just anyone fuck your mouth?”

You tried to shake your head, a minimal, desperate movement. He gave a dark laugh and pulled harder on your hair.

“No? Then… only for me?”

The rhythm grew more erratic, the thrusts lost precision and became urgent, selfish, the room smelled of sex and disinfectant; the dental lamp continued to illuminate the shine of saliva on your stretched lips and the base of his cock. Each time you choked around him he groaned louder, savoring the sound.

Suddenly he sank to the root and stayed there, a deep growl rose from his chest as he came. Hot, thick semen filled your mouth in pulses, he did not withdraw, the hand that had been in your hair moved down to your throat and held you firmly, the thumb pressing lightly at the side, forcing you to swallow, the salty, bitter taste slid down your throat while he pushed a little more, making certain not a drop escaped.

“Swallow it all,” he ordered, voice still rough. “All of it.”

When he finally withdrew, a white strand connected the tip of his cock to your swollen lips, he gave your cheek two soft but firm slaps—not hard enough to leave a visible mark, but enough to make you feel the sting. The contrast of the strike with the cold air conditioning drew a low moan from you.

Seokjin adjusted his trousers calmly, as if nothing had happened, he looked down at you, still kneeling on the treatment-room floor, the bib askew and your mouth shining.

“I’m going to schedule you for next week,” he said in a professional tone, though his eyes remained dark. “And I expect you to arrive without underwear.”

He leaned down a little, gathered some of the saliva from your chin with his thumb, and wiped it on the bib as if it were simply another remnant of the procedure, then he straightened, switched the overhead light back on, and nodded toward the chair, the impeccable dentist’s mask settling back into place… though both of you knew it was no longer the same.

──── lotty

You woke to a soft, warm sensation filtering between your legs just as the first grayish ray of dawn slipped through the white lace curtains that barely stirred in the early morning breeze. The air still smelled of damp earth and clean sheets, of that sweet perfume Taehyung always left on the pillow. He was pressed against your back, his bare chest warm against the thin fabric of your short white nightgown, so short it barely covered the tops of your thighs. One arm was tucked under your head, holding you with that lazy firmness that was only his when he first woke, and his warm breath brushed the nape of your neck.

Without a word, his other hand had already drifted down. Long fingers slid beneath the hem of the nightgown, first tracing the soft curve of your hip, then lower, finding the thin fabric of your underwear. He pushed it aside with an almost reverent slowness, as if he were unwrapping something precious, the cool air of the room touched your sensitive skin for a second before his fingertips found you.

He began touching your pussy with slow, precise movements, his middle finger slid between lips still swollen from sleep, parting them gently while his thumb drew small, warm circles over your clit. You felt the heat gather almost at once, your body answering before your mind had fully woken. A thin thread of wetness formed under his finger; he noticed, gathered it, and used it to glide more easily, stroking up and down with steady pressure that made you press your thighs together a little, trapping his hand between them.

“Shhh…” he murmured against your ear, voice low and rough, still thick with sleep. “Stay still a moment, princess.”

His body pressed closer. You felt the hard length of his cock, already awake, heavy and hot, brushing the curve of your ass through the thin fabric of the nightgown. While his finger kept stroking, just barely dipping the tip into your wet entrance and pulling out again, his hips began to move in a slow grind, rubbing against you in time with his fingers. The nightgown had ridden almost up to your waist, leaving your skin bare to the cool morning air and the heat of him.

Taehyung carefully slid a second finger inside, curling them upward right against that spot that made you gasp into the pillow. The soft, wet sound of your arousal against his fingers was quiet and obscene in the silence of the room.

His lips found your neck, kissing the sensitive skin just below your ear while his fingers worked deeper, more insistently now. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit with every stroke, creating a constant friction that made you arch your back into his chest. You felt every breath of his, every small sound that escaped him when you clenched around his fingers.

“So wet so early…” he whispered, voice vibrating against your skin. “All of this is mine, isn’t it?”

He pushed his fingers deeper, opening you gently, and began fucking you with them in a slow but thorough rhythm. Each thrust of his fingers made your hips move on their own, seeking more, the white nightgown had tangled around his wrist, the thin, almost transparent fabric a soft contrast against his tanned, sure hand.

When he felt you start to tremble, he sped up a little, his thumb circling faster over your clit, fingers curling exactly where you needed them, while his cock rubbed harder against your ass, leaving a damp trail on the fabric. Taehyung pulled you tighter with the arm under your head, forcing you to feel every movement, every brush, every pulse of his arousal against your back.

“Come like this…” he ordered in a rough whisper. “I want to feel you squeeze my fingers before I put it in you.”

Your moans grew louder, more open, spilling from your throat without control as Taehyung’s fingers fucked you deeper and faster. The wet sound of your pussy around them filled the room along with your gasps, and he noticed at once, in one smooth motion he pulled the arm from under your head and covered your mouth with his large, warm hand, silencing you against his palm.

“Shhh… you look so pretty like this,” he whispered against your ear, voice low and rough, almost shaking with want. “So wet, so open just for me… my sweet princess, trembling in my hand.”

His fingers didn’t stop, on the contrary, they moved faster, thrusting harder, curling right against the spot that made stars bloom behind your eyelids. The cool morning air brushed your hardened nipples as his body pressed tighter to your back, you felt his thick, heavy cock sliding between your cheeks, leaving a hot, wet trail on your skin.

You came with a muffled moan against his hand, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers, pulsing in intense waves, soaking them completely. Your legs trembled, thighs locking around his wrist, back arching into his chest as the orgasm shook through you, Taehyung didn’t stop moving his fingers, drawing out every spasm, whispering against your ear how beautiful you looked, how perfectly you squeezed him, how much he loved feeling you fall apart just for him.

When the contractions finally began to ease, he slowly withdrew his fingers, a glistening string of your arousal stretching between them. He brought them to his mouth for a second, tasting you, then brushed them over your lips beneath his hand so you could taste yourself too. Still not fully releasing you, he reached down to his own cock. You heard the soft sound of him adjusting himself, the thick, hot head of him rubbing against your still-sensitive, soaked entrance.

In the same position he pushed inside, slow, precise.

The head of his cock parted your swollen lips, stretching you inch by inch. You felt every centimeter, the thickness, the heat, the way your pussy opened to take him after coming. A low groan escaped him against the back of your neck when he was finally fully inside, hips flush against your ass, bare chest against your back, his arm wrapping around you again to hold you close.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you feel him throb inside you, filling you completely. Then he began to move.

Slow, very slow. Every thrust was deep and controlled, almost all the way out until only the head remained, then pushing back in to the hilt with deliberate precision. The slide of his cock against your still-sensitive walls was intense, almost too much, and every time he bottomed out he brushed that spot that made you tremble again. The soft, wet sound of his hips meeting yours mixed with the faint rustle of the sheets and the whisper of the lace curtains moving in the morning breeze.

Taehyung kissed your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw while he fucked you with that almost cruel slowness. One hand slipped between your legs again, finding your swollen, oversensitive clit and stroking it in soft circles to the rhythm of his thrusts. The other held your hip, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, making you take every inch without hurry.

“Feel how I fill you…” he murmured against your skin, voice broken with pleasure. “So tight… so hot… you look so pretty taking my cock like this.”

Morning sunlight was stronger now, bathing the white sheets in gold. Everything smelled of sex and him. Every slow thrust pulled a gasp from you; every time he sank all the way in, a muffled moan. Taehyung didn’t speed up. He kept fucking you with that deliberate, deep, almost reverent precision, as if he wanted to memorize every sensation of being inside you just like this, on your side, pressed to your back, the white nightgown tangled and your body still trembling from the first orgasm.

His breathing grew more uneven against your neck, hotter, more urgent. The hand on your hip tightened, fingers digging into soft skin, and the rhythm, though still slow, became heavier, more intense.

“I’m going to—” he barely managed, voice cracked.

He pushed in to the hilt one last time and stayed there, trembling. You felt his cock pulse hard inside you, swelling a little more just before the first hot spurt filled you. A deep, low groan escaped against your neck as he came, hips locked against your ass, chest pressed to your back. Every pulse of his orgasm was long and thick, flooding you completely, so hot you could feel the contrast with the cool morning air still slipping through the lace curtains.

He kept trembling a little longer, giving tiny thrusts as if trying to bury himself even deeper while he emptied inside you. His hand returned between your legs, gently stroking your swollen clit, drawing out the last shivers of pleasure for both of you. The clothes were completely ruined, stained with both of you, and the scent of sex mingled with the sweet perfume of orchids and the clean smell of the sheets.

When he finally stilled, he stayed inside a moment longer, breathing hard against your skin. Then, carefully, he pulled out slowly. You felt the immediate emptiness and the warm trickle of his cum between your thighs, sliding over the thin fabric of the nightgown. Taehyung didn’t move away completely. He turned you gently to face him, settling you against his chest, and looked at you with eyes still hazy with pleasure and sleep.

He smiled, that lazy, soft smile he only ever gave you at this hour, leaned in, and kissed you. It was a slow, deep good-morning kiss. His lips moved against yours with tenderness, tasting you, while one hand rose to stroke your cheek and the other circled your waist, keeping you pressed to his bare chest.

“Good morning, princess,” he murmured against your mouth, voice rough and affectionate, and kissed you again, softer this time, as if he wanted to stay right there all day.

──── lotty