Chapter 6: Toothache

In the morning, I’m still achy from the wax. Someone plucked the black tendrils off of me in my sleep, including carving it out of my belly button and peeling it off of my pussy lips, but the burn remains. That, plus the branding on my belly. I trace the orchid shape and cringe when the healing skin bites back at me. I don’t have the stomach to eat, so I’m grateful when the nurse doesn’t come by with my breakfast tray.

I’m in an identical hospital room to the one I was in a couple of days ago. Only I don’t have a window anymore. Without it, the space feels claustrophobic. I keep my head between my knees and hug myself tight. I bite my lip and instantly regret it, reminded of the tattoo still fresh on my skin. I groan.

I’m not a person. I’m a thing. A product, maybe. An orchid, whatever that means. Doctor Wentzler says my job is to service cocks. Dad says my job is to obey. Is that all I exist for? There has to be something else. I’m supposed to be special.

My door opens and two guards shuffle inside. They aren’t armored, like the ones outside are. Instead, they wear white uniforms, like nurses in an asylum. One drags in a wheelchair with restraints. I don’t put up a struggle as the other guard scoops me up and settles me in the chair to strap me down. I keep quiet as I am wheeled through the medical floor. I’ve gotten used to the sounds of screaming, as horrible as it is to admit.

A woman is brought through a pair of double doors beside me. Her head is tilted back, and her mouth is wide open in a gape. She looks to be only half awake, but she gurgles and groans like she’s in terrible pain. Her legs are spread open, and her gaping pussy is visible beneath the hem of her paper gown. It’s short, like mine is, but hers is ripped and stained with blood. Her whale-mouthed pussy drips gore and cum onto the ground like a snail while she is dragged off. When we pass the room she was kept in, I glimpse a football-sized dildo strapped to a robotic arm. Its thrusting slowly comes to a halt, and it drips the same carnage onto the floor that fell from the woman’s womb. I shudder. My lips squeeze tight.

I’m taken to the elevators, where I sit alongside another subject. He’s extremely old and stands strapped to what looks like a dolly for moving packages. He’s dressed in a latex suit that shrink-wraps his body to the dolly, leaving only his head and privates exposed. His cock is locked up in a metal cage, and his mouth is glued shut via cellophane wrapping his jaw. When the guards catch me staring, they scoot my chair closer to the old man until his cock fights against its restraints to rise to an erection. I squirm and whine, desperate to wriggle myself free. The guards all chuckle until the elevator jostles to a halt.

The guards force me to take one last look at the elderly man’s meat before they drag me away. I’m taken to another medical floor. The sterile lights bathe me, and I wince. Clean white tiles wrap the floors and climb up the walls until they halt at the steel chair railing, then the tile makes way for sky blue paint. There are diagrams and framed motivational posters hanging on the wall, all branded with the image of a lily, alongside the letters L-I-L-L-E-E. The diagrams are of teeth with bulging eyes and cartoon smiles. Some wear lab coats, while others are dressed in BDSM gear. They offer tips and tricks to remind the staff how to care for their subjects, and to remind subjects how to obey their staff.

“DID YOU KNOW? NITRIC OXIDE CAN PROLONG YOUR MALE SUBJECT’S ERECTIONS AND LEAVE THEM HIGHLY VULNERABLE TO STIMULUS?” One dentist tooth asks. Beside him is a tooth with a gas mask over his nose and a large boner sticking out of its front side, creating an anatomical hellscape for my eyes. Across from it, there’s another poster for girls. Instead of a boner, the tooth has an enlarged, throbbing clit. I force my eyes down to the ground and try to forget what I just saw.

I don’t remember going to the dentist as a kid, but I get this odd sensation in my gut when I try to recall. I think I hate the dentist. I think I’m going to throw up.

There are fewer doctors than there are guards walking around. The screams coming from the rooms sound slightly more distorted, like everyone’s mouth is gaping open. There aren’t many people here. The bay is smaller, meaning it takes the guards almost no time to wheel me into a room. The doors swing shut behind them, and I shiver at the sight before me.

More tiles cover the floor, but they’re a softer green color. It’s the walls that are white this time. The lights above are shut off, all except for the glaring spotlight that shines down over the chair. It looks like an antique, despite all the shiny, new technology that surrounds it. I’m so zeroed-in on the chair itself that I don’t realize at first how small the room is, given the cabinets and counters that line the walls. I don’t notice either that we’re not alone.

“Well, hey there, Dearie!” Lucy greets with a wide, wicked grin.

Her southern drawl feels like warm tea in my chest, but then I turn to see she’s dressed and ready for work. She’s still in vintage attire, but the dress is more modest. It has long sleeves and falls past her knees, flashing a glimpse of the pantyhose beneath. It’s white, as is her perfect smile. Her latex gloves and paper mask are both still a soft pink, just like last time, and her lips are once more painted cherry red.

“Did she put up much of a fight?” Lucy asks the guards while she pinches my cheeks. Before they answer, she flips my lip open to examine my tattoo.

One guard shakes his head. “No, Ma’am. Docile and quiet, like her file says.”

Lucy takes a beat to memorize my number, then meets my gaze with a twinkle in her eye and a smirk. “Lovely. Get her on her feet, boys. I can strap the mouse down myself.”

The guards promptly untie my restraints and rush to shove me out of the chair. I teeter forward and land in Lucy’s arms, my face planted squarely between her breasts. She chuckles and holds my head still until the guards have left. Her tits are pillowy against my cheek. I could fall asleep if I wanted to.

“Daddy told me you were a naughty girl,” Lucy says, finally pulling me away to catch my breath.

I whimper, swallowing hard and cowering away.

Lucy swats the air between us and scoffs. “Oh, pish. I know it wasn’t your fault. Take a breath, Dearie! These parental types are always such sticklers for the rules. You’ll see. They’ll make sure you’re crucified for a crime or two you had nothing to do with. Let me assess the damage.”

I hover awkwardly, unmoving. Lucy stares, expectant, and purses her lips.

“Go on now. Show your nurse your slutty body. Take that silly gown off. It’s not doing your figure any favors, I’ll tell you what.” Lucy cackles at her own joke and dramatically bats away her tears.

I unthread the ties from my backside and let the dress fall to the floor. The room hits my skin with a chill that I still haven’t gotten used to yet. Lucy bites her lip as she takes me in. She moves my arms, spreads my legs, and scans me up and down so close that I can feel her breath.