I pulled into one of the parking places under the "Reserved For Patients of Dr. Peterson." sign. In the first two years I had been coming to Dr. P, I had grown to hate that sign. It was like some ancient script over the entrance to a torture chamber, "Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here", or something just as dire. Malcolm Peterson was the periodontist that I had finally turned to after years of unsuccessfully trying to cope with gum disease that I had hoped would go away by itself. After two surgeries, and the long, painful recoveries that followed, Dr. Peterson still requested that I come back every three months for cleanings and checkups. And trust me, perio cleanings aren't exactly a walk in the park with the Queen.

But a year ago, my attitude toward these appointments changed. That was when Dr. Peterson hired Molly McKay, and she began doing my cleanings. The forty-five minutes of water blasting, grating, and picking was still uncomfortable, no matter who was performing it, but Molly managed to make my visits a lot more appealing, through her unique personality and unusual reward system.

I found myself attracted to her the first time we met. OK, I admit it, I have a strange kind of fetish, and often find hygienists interesting. It seems like they are all young, self-confident, and usually attractive, women. Maybe it's a job requirement or something. Whatever, it works for me. That fact led to a trick I use to get through unpleasant times in a dental chair. I close my eyes and imagine erotic fantasies centered around whatever young lady was currently removing my plaque, or assisting the dentist. Sick? Maybe, but it does make the time go faster and takes my mind off what is happening in my mouth. Of course, there have been a couple of times when I almost embarrassed myself with inadvertent erections.

And Molly more than qualifies for a starring role in my dental fantasies. She has a round, friendly face, nicely framed by short-cropped brown hair. There seems to be a little bit of devil in her deep-dimpled grin, and she has a wicked sense of humor to go with it. She likes to talk while she works, and I had learned a lot about her by just lying in the chair listening. She quickly, and openly, brought me up to date on her personal life. She had been married for four years, her husband sold advertising for a radio station, and they didn't have any kids. She also likes to tell jokes. When she found that I didn't seem to mind if some of her stories were a little racy, she soon moved on to some that were downright dirty. There is something extra spicy about having a cute young girl tell you a dirty joke and I began paying more attention to what she was saying than drifting away into my usual fantasies.

After my first two appointments, she had begun to feel comfortable enough with me that she began telling me details about her sex life. I have had some talkative hygienists before, but never one that discussed so candidly what her favorite positions were or how many orgasms she had achieved the previous night. It didn't take me long to come to the conclusion that Molly's husband was a very lucky man.

It was almost like she knew that when I closed my eyes and opened my mouth, dirty movies often began projecting themselves on the backs of my eyelids. She seemed to be fueling my lustful thoughts with her confessions, and her actions as well. She was not shy about letting her body rub against me while she worked. It seemed like she deliberately let her breasts bump against my arm or face when she reached across to get another torture device from her tray. And I could have sworn that there were times when she rubbed her pubes against my elbow, and not by accident. She didn't move away like you would expect if it had been accidental contact. It seemed to me that she enjoyed the feeling of rubbing herself against me. I wasn't sure if I was reading more into her sexy talk and 'inadvertent' touchings than she meant, but it certainly fueled my fantasies to think that somehow I had been lucky enough to have stumbled upon a very horny hygienist. It was a little hard for me to tell exactly what was under her baggy scrubs, but the fullness of her face hinted that she was maybe a little chubby, in a pleasing, full-figured way. I became somewhat fixated on wondering what her breasts looked like under her uniform...

Any doubts I might have had about her intent were cleared up during my fourth visit with Molly. It had been a particularly rough one. She had stopped several times to make sure I was OK. Each time, I gave her a nod, and a thumbs up. When she finished, and I waited for her usual "you're doing fine, but keep at it" lecture, she paused and said, "The first dentist I worked for specialized in child dentistry. That was fun, because we always got to give the kids a treat when they left, and we made a big deal out of how brave they had been. I kind of miss that. I know that what I do to my patients doesn't feel good, and when I get somebody like you who doesn't complain or bitch, and always has a positive attitude, it makes me feel better about what I'm doing. I feel like I want to give patients like you some kind of reward too."

"Well, can you make balloon animals?" I suggested.

"No, but maybe I can think of something that you would enjoy, something more age appropriate." Molly smiled, and looked very much like a naughty young girl getting ready to do something that she knows will get her in trouble but doesn't care. She walked over and closed the door. When she locked it also, I began to get a little suspicious. She came back and stood next to the chair. "Do you like aggressive women, Mark?"

I found myself momentarily tongue-tied, and while she waited for me to answer I felt her hand in my lap. I don't mean it fell there by accident, she was rubbing her hand over my cock in a very deliberate, suggestive way. If I had any doubt about her intentions, they went away when she began unzipping my pants.

"Molly, what are you doing?"

"Oh, Mr. Rogers," she cooed, "I think you know just what I have in mind. But I guess, to be polite I should ask, do you mind?"

"Uh, no, I guess not."

By now she had my zipper down and her hand was fishing around in my underwear. I was a little embarrassed by what she found there. I'm in my mid-fifties, and sometimes it takes a while longer for my body to react to things like that than it did when I was in my teens. What I'm trying to say is that even though I had a cute, sexy young woman attempting to stimulate me, my dick was still as limp as a Dali clock.

But that didn't seem to deter Molly. She opened the top button on my jeans to give herself more room to work, and began to bring my manhood to life. She started by just holding me in her warm hands, and lightly tickling the delicate skin around the head with her fingernails. I felt myself gradually responding to her gentle touch. Once she felt my cock beginning to swell, she starting working in earnest, alternating long strokes with both hands. If she had just been playing before, there was no doubt now that I was getting a very experienced hand job, and like one of her cleanings, Molly wasn't going to stop until the job was done.

"I just love the feel of a man's cock getting hard in my hands," she sighed. "It's an amazing experience. I remember back in high school, my boy friends were usually hard by the time we finished our first kiss, but I think I actually prefer starting with a soft dick and making it get hard. It's so rewarding, don't you think?"

I didn't try to answer that one. By now my cock was diamond hard, and that seemed to be a fitting reply to her comment. Just when I was beginning to really enjoy her talented stroking, there was a knock on the door.

"Molly," a woman's voice sounded, "are you about done in there? Mr. Dickens is here for his 11:00."

Molly never missed a stroke. "About five more minutes, Michelle. I'm just cleaning up." There wasn't anything to clean up yet, but it felt like it wouldn't be long. Her estimate of five minutes sounded pretty good to me.

She turned and grabbed a bottle of hand lotion from the counter behind her. She squirted a few dollops onto her palms and resumed her stroking. That was the magic touch; it wasn't long before the sensation of her slick palms and fingers moving rapidly up and down my now proudly erect shaft began to bring me close to a climax. I could feel that wonderful tightness beginning to build in my groin, and I knew this was going to be a good one. Apparently Molly felt it too.

"I usually don't do this on the first date," she giggled, "but it makes cleaning up easy, and besides, I really like you, Mark."

I wasn't sure what she was talking about until I saw her head descend toward my lap. She wrapped her lips around the head of my cock, and began a gentle sucking. It wasn't really a blow job, she was still working my cock with both hands, but she kept her lips tightly sealed around the head of my cock. When I felt my balls emptying a few seconds later, she sucked up all of my ejaculate, leaving me, and my clothes, clean and ready to go. I appreciated her thoughtfulness.

Quickly and efficiently, Molly returned to her role as a hygienist. She opened the door and raised my chair back upright. The sudden change in orientation, along with the drained feeling I had from her wonderful hand job, left me a little dizzy. As I sat there recovering, Molly finished updating my chart, as if what had just happened was a normal part of her treatment. The suddenness of her change from wanton vixen to professional lady didn't help with my dizziness. I would have liked to stay with her for a few more minutes, enjoying the afterglow of our very unusual, and inappropriate, appointment, but she made it clear through her body language that playtime was over. I had my reward, and it was time for me to make room for her next patient.

When she finished writing, she went to find Dr. Peterson. She came back a few moments later, with her boss in tow. He smiled at me, asked me how I was doing, checked my chart, and looked in my mouth for about thirty seconds. I knew that he would charge my insurance company $120 for "his" services. No wonder he drove a Porsche.

Molly walked me back to the front desk, chatting about the merits of the latest electronic toothbrushes, as if nothing unusual had happened. "Mr. Rogers needs to come back in three months," she told Michelle, "and make sure I'm the one he sees. Oh, and block off an hour and a half next time. We will probably be doing some extra work."

She patted me on the shoulder, like one of the kids she used to work with, and said with a wink, "See you then. Don't forget to floss."

It had been an amazing and surprising experience. But in a way it had also been frustrating. She had given me a wonderful orgasm, but she hadn't taken off any of her clothes. I hadn't seen any of her body. Her breasts, that I had so often felt pressed against me, remained a mystery. Her hand job had been like eating a diet meal; it got the job done, with no frills, but left me wanting more.

Of course, for the next three months I was obsessed about what she had meant when she told Michelle I needed some "extra work". Did she mean x-rays, or measuring the depth of the pockets in my gum tissue, or was it something else she was hinting at? Might there be an even better reward for me next time if I was a good boy?

When the day of that appointment finally arrived, I pulled into the parking lot half an hour early. I just couldn't wait any longer. As I walked from my car to Dr. Peterson's suite of offices, I felt a moment of irrational panic. What if Molly was no longer there? I have been going to dentists long enough to know that, for whatever reasons hygienists tend to move from dentist to dentist often.

When I enter Dr. Peterson's office, my unease grew. Michelle wasn't behind the desk, in her place was a new receptionist. I was sure that Dr. P. had done a major overhaul of his staff, and he probably had all new hygienists also. My paranoia wasn't relieved by the fact that the new receptionist was very unusual, to say the least. Every other medical office I have been in has had a woman sitting behind the front desk, but Dr. Peterson's new employee was male. At least he didn't seem particularly effeminate. On the contrary, this guy looked like someone who puts on jeans and a t-shirt and works on his car when he gets home.

"Can I help you?" he asked. At least that line hadn't changed, even if the voice was lower.

"Um, I have an appointment, with Molly, for a cleaning."

"Of course, she'll be right with you."

"Rick", as his nametag read, went back to whatever document he was keying into the computer while I took a seat in the waiting room. I had begun to relax a little, now that I knew that Molly was still there and would be working on me. But my unease began to grow again when I noticed that Rick kept looking at me. Maybe he really was gay, I thought, somewhat unhappy that he seemed to find me fascinating.

I buried m head back into the months old People magazine I was pretending to read, and tried to ignore Rick's stares. Mercifully, it was only a few minutes later when Molly opened the door and led me back to the room where she worked.

"What's with the new receptionist?" I quizzed her. "It's kind of unusual to see a guy doing a job like that. I know it' s kind of a cliché, and not really any of my business, but is he gay?"

"I don't think so," she giggled. "That's my husband."

My heart sank. It looked like I wouldn't be getting any more post-cleaning treats. "What's he doing here?" I hadn't meant for that to sound as whiny as it probably did, but if she noticed she didn't let on.

"Oh, he got laid off a few weeks ago. The station was bought out, and the new owners wanted to make some changes. Rick has some friends who are going to be starting an ad agency in a few months, and they've told him they have a job with them when they get it going. But he needed something to fill in the gap, and since Michelle was going on maternity leave, Dr. Peterson agreed to let him work here for awhile."

"Gee, that's great." Once again, I realized that I sounded like a spoiled child who just found out his little brothers were getting the drumsticks.

"Don't worry," Molly whispered in my ear. "Rick knows that I sometimes give special treatment to my favorite patients. He's cool with it, as long as I give him all the details when we get home. It's kind of a game we have. I let him go out and pick up girls occasionally, with the same understanding. I know it sounds strange, but it really gets us turned on."

"Does he know... you know... what happened... ?"

"Yeah, Mark, relax. He knows that you are one of my very special patients."

At least that explained why he had been staring at me.

"So," Molly said, "Dr. P isn't here today, but all you need is one of my super-duper cleanings anyway. Are you ready?"

As usual, Molly kept up a non-stop stream of chatter while she was working. She told me about some of her more difficult clients, some new equipment that Dr. Peterson was getting ready to buy, and an old friend from high school she had run across. That was OK, but when she started talking about her husband, I got a little nervous. I really didn't want to be reminded that he was sitting just around the corner.

"Rick was really pissed when he got laid off. Apparently, the new owners brought in some pretty young saleswomen and got rid of the guys, even though they had more experience. Rick thinks there were sexual favors involved, but Rick thinks sex is involved in everything."

"Imagine that," I tried to say as Molly swooshed my mouth out.

She was still talking even after she finished my cleaning. "In a way, him being laid off has been good for us. He doesn't work as much, so he has a lot more energy when we get home. Our sex life has never been better. And you know what's strange about that?" Molly asked.

"Uhh what?"

"Well, now that we are screwing our brains out almost every night, you'd think my sex drive during the day would have eased up. But instead, I seem to be hotter than ever. Sometimes Rick and I skip lunch and just go get in the back of his suv and have a quickie. But there are days when even that doesn't quench my fire. And lucky for you, this is one of those days."

Molly walked over and closed the door. "Do you think you deserve a reward today, Mr. Rogers?" she asked as she raised the chair back up.

Her hand found it's way to my lap again, but this time I was ready. The combination of listening to her talk about her sex life, the pressure of her breasts and belly rubbing against me as she had worked, and the Cialis I had taken before leaving home resulted it my cock almost springing out of my pants as she unzipped me this time.

"Oh my, I guess I'm not the only horny one today," Molly giggled. She didn't seem too disappointed that she wouldn't have to raise me from the dead again. "If you don't mind, I'd like to give you a blow job today, OK?"

She asked that in the same offhanded way she might have asked one of the children she used to work with if they wanted a red balloon. "That sounds good to me," I sighed, but as usual she hadn't waited for my answer anyway.