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"Next!"
His voice sounds like a razor, slicing through the tense silence of the waiting room. Seymour timidly approaches the office door.
"I, um... I guess that's me, D-Dr. Scrivello...?"
"You got an appointment?" He asks, his back toward Seymour.
"No, but- um, we met yesterday... Seymour Krelborn?"
"Ah yeah, the guy with the plant!" He chuckles a little.
"Right." Seymour feels sick.
"And the, uh, bandaids."
"Right..." He reaches his hand into his pocket. Orin Scrivello turns around.
"And the... sweater vest."
The gun. Where's the gun? He could've sworn he put it in his right pocket- Seymour shoves his hand into his left pocket. He finds nothing.
"You gonna just stand there?" Orin stares at him impatiently.
"No- well, I mean, yes- wait, no, um-"
"Oh, I see what's happening here," Something flashes in Orin's eyes, and a sickening grin grows on his face. He closes the space between the two of them in seconds. "Someone's a bit nervous about seeing a dentist, huh?"
"No no, I'm not nervous!" Seymour stammers, shrinking backwards toward the doorway. He eyes behind him, considering making a run for it, but Orin's hand invades his visual space.
"It's only gonna hurt a little!" His voice rings out, unfittingly cheerful. Orin reaches over and closes the door with a deafening slam, and then firmly grabs Seymour by the shoulder.
"No, no! You don't understand, I don't want my teeth examined!" Seymour tries to squirm out of his grasp, but promptly fails.
"Oh, but of course you want your teeth examined!" Orin spins Seymour to face him and grabs his jaw with his free hand. "C'mon, say 'ah' for me."
"Mm-mm." He presses his lips together in a tight line and shakes his head.
"What, is it your first time?" Orin sneers, his friendly facade slipping. "Open your mouth."
Seymour shakes his head again and tucks in his lips. He feels his body gently quivering. Orin stares down at him harshly, his eyes narrowing and his forehead wrinkling. After a painfully long moment, Orin kicks a steel-toed boot into Seymour's shin.
"AAHHHH!!!" Seymour shrieks, searing pain shooting up from his now-bruised leg. As soon as his mouth opens, Orin shoves two gloved fingers inside and begins probing.
"Ohhh... your mouth is a mess, kid!" He says endearingly, his initial cheerfulness returning. His eyes glint with a perverse interest. "I see a lot of plaque, a good amount of cavities, even an abscess! Seymour, you need a complete oral examination!"
Seymour tries to stammer out a response, but Orin's fingers muffle any sound he attempts. The taste of the latex is overwhelming, and he feels tears budding in his eyes from the still-stinging impact to his leg. Quicker than he can process, he's being manhandled into a dental exam chair.
"And I know just where to start," He shoves a knee in between Seymour's legs, presumably to keep him pinned to the chair, and then grabs his chin again. "That wisdom tooth! I'll just rip it right out for you!"
"No, NO! Please don't, please!" Seymour cries out. He instinctively begins to squirm, but his crotch ends up brushing against Orin's knee. He manages to catch the moan in his throat before it becomes audible.
"Mm, you're right." Orin muses, tapping the arm of the chair absentmindedly as he hovers his body over Seymour's.
"Wait- I'm right? You won't work on my teeth?" Seymour asks, genuinely hopeful for an escape.
"What? Oh, no no no. You were right about not doing the extraction. We gotta build up to that." Slowly, Orin climbs off of the chair and walks behind it. As dread fills Seymour's body once again, Orin abruptly lowers the back of the chair so he lays flat.
"I'd like to do some drilling first." He compliments his words by threading his gloved fingers into Seymour's hair. He tugs his head back a little, forcing him to meet his gaze.
Seymour stares up at Orin. He's unable to find the words to speak, as if his mouth has been numbed. Orin gently, almost tenderly, runs his fingers through Seymour's hair, all while looking down at his face with a knowing grin. Seymour feels his breathing grow heavier and more frantic, and he slowly becomes aware of a growing warmth within his body.
"Can I... have Novocaine, at least?" He manages to ask, sounding more like a gasp for air than a spoken sentence.
Orin bites his lower lip, and he chuckles. The sound makes Seymour shrink into the chair, but he's held in place by the firm hand in his hair.
"It dulls the senses. And we don't want that, Seymour. Believe me." Orin moves a little closer to him, brushing his crotch against his shoulder.
"But- I don't wanna feel a drill in my tooth, it'll hurt!" He tries to say more, to voice his complaints further, but Orin simply digs his fingers into his scalp to shut him up.
"You misunderstand me," He replies smoothly. He moves his hips against Seymour's shoulder again, and this time it's clearly deliberate. "I've been feeling very, very pent up recently. And I know for a fact you don't have dental insurance or the money to afford my services. So, I'm offering you the chance to supply a service for a service." Orin shifts his hips from Seymour's shoulder to his face. He presses the growing bulge in his pants against his cheek.
Every nerve in Seymour's body is on fire. It feels as if his throat is closing up. He keeps trying to move his jaw to speak, but it feels as if it's locking in place. Only until he feels Orin's clothed cock throbbing against his flesh does he finally speak.
"I- I think I'm okay. I've gone this long with dental care-"
"And if you go any longer, your teeth will start falling out," Orin's voice is suddenly much harsher. He yanks Seymour by the hair, pulling his entire body forward. His head hangs upside down from the edge of the headrest. "I'm being so generous right now. There's no other dentist who'll help you out in your current state, and I'm practically offering it for free."
Seymour's body won't stop shaking, especially his hands. That strange warmth continues to ripple through his body. He grips the armrests to ground himself, and only then does he notice the sudden tightness in the crotch of his pants. Orin seems to notice it in tandem.
"Yeah, you want it," He purrs, his voice dripping like honey. He reaches for his belt. "You'll thank me for it. You're just being difficult." He unfastens his belt with a practiced ease, and quickly starts undoing the front of his pants.
"Wh-what do I have to do?" Seymour stammers out.
Orin pushes his pants and underwear off of his hips, allowing his rigid cock to spring out. A bead of precum already drools from the swollen tip. He lines it up with Seymour's trembling lips, and he grabs Seymour's chin to tilt his head back and steady him.
"Just say 'ah' for me."
Seymour takes in a deep breath through his nose. When he exhales, he gingerly parts his lips. Orin wastes no time, ramming his dick into his mouth before he can fully open it. A low, breathy moan leaves Orin's mouth. Seymour gags and cries out, and his hands reach over his head to push Orin's hips away. His attempts are immediately overpowered, as Orin snaps his hips forward regardless.
"Hey now, relax." He sneers, his voice much rougher than it was before. In contrast to his words, he thrusts his hips forward again, forcing his cock down Seymour's throat. He repeats this a few more times, until he's finally worked Seymour's mouth to the base. Orin chuckles darkly as he watches him squirm and moan pathetically around his length.
"Look at that, stud! Are you sure you haven't done this before?" Orin relishes in just how compromising this situation is for the other man. Seymour groans, his eyes blinking rapidly as tears fill his eyes. Orin briefly moves his thumb to the corner of Seymour's mouth, and he wipes away some spit that had been drooling out. He snickers quietly.
As Seymour tries to adjust to the invasion in his mouth, Orin starts to pump his hips in a punishing rhythm. His cockhead hits the back of his throat repeatedly, each impact more painful than the last. Dizziness begins to overpower Seymour; his blood is rushing to his head and his cock, coupled with restricted airflow, all while not being enough to make him unconscious. He just becomes less difficult, his body and mouth more pliable. His eyes begin to droop as tears begin to stain his eyelashes.
With each forceful rut, Orin's dick rubs against a few sensitive spots in Seymour's mouth. If he had the energy for coherent thought, he would think about how his mouth is never this vulnerable to stimuli. He begins to moan softly in reaction to it, though they sound more like choking noises. Orin seems to react positively to it, punishing and rewarding him with faster, more aggressive thrusts. His cheeks start to bruise red from the repeated impact of Orin's hips. Similarly, Seymour's hips begin to subconsciously rut against the air, keeping the same ruthless pace as Orin.
As the chorus of Orin's pleasure grows louder, his dick throbs more insistently within Seymour's mouth. He can feel the blood pumping inside of it as it presses against his tongue. He becomes so absentmindedly fixated on this sensation, that he fails to notice the tight pressure building in his own gut. By the time he notices it, Seymour is already climaxing, spilling his cum within the confines of his pants. Strangled moans force their way out of his occupied mouth.
Orin abruptly steadies his hips, and Seymour's noises quiet down. Both of their hoarse, heavy breathing can be heard in the absence of any other sound. Slowly, Orin reaches over to Seymour's crotch, now visibly stained from the inside, and he roughly undoes and pulls down his pants. His half-erect dick is revealed, still twitching and leaking cum.
"... You fucking whore," He murmurs quietly, dangerously quiet. "And you acted like you didn't want it." His tone sounds as fragile as glass, and at any moment it could shatter with his potential anger.
Seymour tries to muffle out an apology, but Orin thrusts violently into the back of his throat. Seymour cries out and chokes, and spits drools from his upper lip and drips onto his nose. His tears start flowing more incessantly, falling down his forehead. Orin begins to resume his rhythmic thrusts, but he makes a point to make each rut as violent and painful as he can manage.
Orin keeps breathing out various insults, most of which are too rough or quiet to be understood. An occasional "filthy slut" or "pathetic whore" can be heard, coupled with an even harder thrust. Seymour can feel his dick throbbing even more insistently in his mouth, but it's almost drained out by the aching bruising he feels in the back of his throat.
Before he can prepare himself, Orin grabs his chin and shoves his cock all the way into his mouth, and he finally cums with a loud groan. Seymour gags as the hot stream of seed pours down his throat, and he's forced to swallow most of it. Orin keeps himself completely sheathed until the last few pulses of cum are released. He slowly releases Seymour's chin and pulls out of his mouth with a wet pop. Completely dazed out, a mixture of saliva and semen drools out of the corner of Seymour's mouth.
Orin tilts Seymour's head to the side, so he's now facing a small plastic cup held in Orin's other hand. He pushes Seymour's face closer to it.
"Spit." Orin demands, his voice quiet yet firm.
Seymour blinks a few times, before leaning over and spitting out the remaining cum in his mouth. A string of saliva hangs from his lips as he starts to pull away, and Orin roughly wipes it off with a gloved thumb. The cup is taken out of his sightline, and the dental chair is promptly brought back to an upright position.
"Let's schedule your actual appointment, then." Orin says, taking on an unfittingly professional cadence. He walks in front of the chair, holding a clipboard and a pen. His pants are still open, his cock is still hanging out, but he doesn't seem to be bothered.
"Wh-what- I... appointment?" Seymour stammers out in a very hoarse voice. He's having a lot of trouble putting his thoughts back together, and he can't even recall why he had come to Orin's office in the first place.
"Yeah yeah, you need at least six cavities filled and two extractions..." He looks up from his clipboard, sees the dazed expression on Seymour's face, and he grins.
"Y'know what? Don't worry your pretty little head about it. Just come back this Friday and I'll get you all sorted." Orin rips off a small piece of paper with the appointment details and places it into Seymour's hand. He then tucks Seymour's dick back into his pants and redoes the zipper and button. Before Seymour can properly process what just happened, he's being manhandled by Orin to the door of the exam room.
"I'll see you soon, Krelborn." He purrs, before shoving Seymour out of the room and closing the door.
He stares blankly at the door for a moment. He then remembers the piece of paper in his hand, and he brings it up to look at it. This Friday... Maybe next time he'll remember the gun.