Being that it is a dental school, even the smallest of procedures takes nine times as long as at a regular dentist office. After each procedure the student leaves you helpless while they go try and find some misplaced tool or a supervisor to moderate their work so far. Once under the hideous fluorescent lighting, and three feet away from the next poor sap choking on a new pair of false teeth, I admittedly freaked out. I didnêt just have metal gadgets crammed into several of my upper back teeth, but tubes, cloths and dental dams filled my breathing space. Holy nuns on Novocain, I quickly learned that I do have a gag reflex after all! After a half hour of tedious preparation, with the unpleasant taste of manufactured cocoanut numbing my gums, and sharp metal pushing against the roof of my mouth, master B, once again, left me to go hunt down a drill bit. I waited, chanting the mantra, •mind over matterê replaying in my head. When he finally came back to me, the tears started streaming down my face. I knew I couldnêt deal with this. Not being able to talk, I motioned to him that something was wrong. He asked if I was going to hurl and I nodded yes. He whisked me right away; down a corridor, a hall and around to a stairway, and into a menês bathroom which he quickly cleared for me. Master B pulled back the dental dam enough to allow me to vomit, which I did. That was lovelyÄ but everything was still wedged in my mouth, so I frantically motioned and moaned to remove it all, and now! We scurried back up to the next floor and into my little exam chair where he took everything out and comforted me sweetly.

I had a half dozen or so visits after that, and although none were quite so freaky, Master B did his best to make things better. Several fillings and one root canal later, I banked on having ended my visits to the dental school for some time, or so I thought. Master B called me the next night to tell I needed to come back again, apparently there was some form I had neglected to fill out. What he failed to mention on the phone was that it was his form I would be filling out.

Two days later, when I arrived, still hopped up on Vicodin, Master B was waiting for me in the parking garage. As I got out of my car, he grinned mischievously, and walked over to me. Just as I smiled and turned around to lock my car door, I felt him press himself up against me and whisper in my ear, "This is the way I want you, baby." I instantly felt his ample bulge prompting my cheeks apart, his hands on my wrists, and my juices flowing down the inside of my thighs. He turned me around and took my hand, leading me inside the large brick building, filled with students in purple scrubs and oral fixations.

Master B had me flustered with anticipation, and since it was late in the day, things were winding down and closing upÄ except for the two of us that is. We walked down a dark hallway, apparently emptied for the day, and into a private exam room that by the sign on the door was reserved for oral surgery. The only light in the room was from a dim overhead hall light somewhere faraway. Master B steered me to a large exam chair where he sat down, pulling me towards him for a deep, and long awaited kiss. I straddled his scrubs and lifted my black lace skirt to my waist, showing him my metal and smooth flesh. He told me it was the prettiest cavity heêd ever fill, and we made use of that chair in every way possible.

An hour and ten minutes later, we slinked out and down the hall, back to the vacant school lobby. He walked me back to my car and plastered me against it once again for one more tooth polishing. My drive home was oblivious to say the least. That night I slept like a coma patient instead of a dental school patient, yes I did! I have another appointment next WednesdayÄ also know as hump day