Teeth

(Throwback from January 2013 - I was flirting with a handsome boy and somehow this memory came up… so I’ve shared it here from the archives. Isn’t it strange how sometimes it’s the things that aren’t actually sex that stand out as erotic?)

She always found inspections blushy. She hated being on all fours with the lights on and her bum in the air. The vulnerability, the lack of control, it made her squirm just to think about the way he used the word “present” (as in presentation). It made her want to hide. It wasn’t one of her favourite things, but it made him happy. It made him proud. And he rewarded her so sweetly.

But that would have been preferable, easy even, compared to the inspection he gave her last time. She sunk in her seat when he looked in her ears, and when he said “let me check your teeth” she felt cornered. She prayed for the chair to eat her alive, she wished she could disappear. She protested. He was firm. She scanned his face frantically, searching to assess her chances of changing his mind: Hopeless.

She considered it for one fast second, saying her safe-word. She never had before, but as she cowered under him she put the word on the tip of her tongue just to see how it felt.

“Stop being silly and open your mouth,” her fussing didn’t move his resolve.

She was angry. He knows how stubborn she is, how could this be the one thing she couldn’t bear to do for him? After the long and depraved list of occasions where she had exceeded his expectations, after the times she had shocked even herself, how could baring her teeth be the line she wouldn’t cross?

They teetered on the edge like that, a stand-off to the untrained eye. But they both knew what would happen next, the question was only how long it would take for her to concede.

“Good girl,” he took his fingers out of her mouth and cooed at her. “Was that so hard?”