Soul Teeth, Chapter 4

Thread 1, Part 2:

Laysan, The Memoirs of a Lesbian Bondage Love Slave

Soul Teeth

(here) - recently

Chapter 4

A constant splattering of rain fell as Paty drove us through the darkness of the city a week and a half later at 9:30 pm on a Wednesday night to the dentist's office to have my teeth yanked out. The wipers swished and clacked across the windshield. I stared at the drops of water and the way the street lights illuminated them.

"Don't be so morose, Laysan. It'll be over soon." Paty was trying to calm me.

"I'm just hoping that this dentist that Ceylon found turns us away because she remembers that she swore to uphold the Hypocratic oath and not perform unnecessary surgeries."

"Ha! I don't think so. The price that I'm paying for this little procedure, I'm sure that she'd gladly forget her first born." Paty lightly touched my thigh in the darkness of the car's interior.

"Well, thanks for caring so much, I guess."

"Those teeth are probably cavity ridden and rotting anyways. Think of this as a preemptive treatment."

I turned away and watched the endless lines of strip malls slide past the window. "What if our souls just happen to be contained in these particular teeth. After they are cut away, maybe all that will be left of me is an empty shell."

"I love you, Laysan."

<>--+-

It was well past 10pm when we arrived at the office. The dentist, Dr Schleimmer, had me lay in the dentist chair and then left the small room to go talk with Paty. I was trying to calm myself by flipping through some gardening magazine, when someone returned.

"Ceylon!" I said. "Don't tell me that you do dentistry as well."

"Of course not." She placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "I've just come to make sure that everything is perfect for this new gag."

"Great." I did my best to be as unenthusiastic as possible, but my effort was lost on Ceylon. I could sense her excitement at the prospect of finally trying out her design. I just wish that I wasn't such an integral part of the project.

"Do you mind if I look in your mouth?"

"Sure go ahead, but I should warn you that I ate a lot of garlic today. It's supposed to be a momento of my appreciation for the services of the dentist."

If Ceylon heard me at all, she was an expert at measured reactions. Already, she was running her fingers across my precious teeth, measuring perhaps.

"What exactly is going to happen?" I asked in stunted consonants, trying to avoid my desire to bite her.

"Well, tonight the Dr. will remove the teeth. After your gums have healed we will need to add some orthodontia. That will keep your other teeth from trying to shift back and fill the empty spaces. Also, the wires that we install will provide an anchor for the mold."

"Mold?"

"Mold. Of course. The gag should be as comfortable as possible so the wearer..."

"...that would be me..." I interjected.

"...yes, so the wearer can adjust to its presence as easily as possible."

"Um. Exactly how long do you expect that a 'wearer' would be able to wear this thing?" I asked.

"Oh! No doubt! There should be no need to ever take it out. The gag could be installed indefinitely. Sure some maintenance is probably necessary..."

Ceylon prattled on excitedly, but I'm not exactly sure what she was saying. A queasy feeling was settling somewhere in the pit of my stomach.

I began reassuring myself that this was simply an expression Ceylon's passion for quality and durability which she prided herself on with every piece of equipment that she designed. Besides, Paty wouldn't want to silence me forever. She loves me. She loves my voice. She often asks me to sing for her. I'm pretty good at it too. And we spend hours and hours talking about things. She finds comfort in my inflection. Even if I don't really have anything earth shattering to say, she likes the soothing quality and dependability of the sounds that I make. I'm sure she would miss it.

The Doctor, Paty, and another woman, who turned out to be an anesthesiologist came into the room in a flurry. Paty placed a hand on my cheek and gave my a soft kiss on the lips. "Don't worry."

My eyes must have been full of fear. I would have expressed it verbally if I could, but my voice apparently had already taken flight.

The Doctor and her aide worked with an efficiency that would have been comforting in many other contexts. Before I knew it, I had been stabbed with some kind of IV. I felt a sense of panic begin to set in. I felt as if I was falling into a chasm. The room seemed darker.

"Count backwards from twenty," the aide requested.

"20… 19..."