“Hey, how you doing today?”
The real estate man looked over at Dr. Brannigan, who was entering briskly from the examining room doorway. “Good, doc, good! You were absolutely right. The filling is painless. I hardly know it’s there.”
“That’s the way it’s supposed to be,’ Andy replied brightly, sitting on the stool next to the dentist chair. “X-rays look fine. That means you’re good to go.”
“Great!” The real estate man got up and started to put on his jacket. “How’s the place working out?”
“Now it’s my turn to say great,” Andy replied, filing the x-ray and putting the tools in the sterilizer. “You were right. Neighborhoods’ nice, school-kids are energizing, and the traffic is good for business.”
“Great,” the realtor said, laughing. “Third time’s the charm. And speaking of great, for the fourth time, how’s that beautiful wife of yours?”
Andy Brannigan stopped and smiled. “You see, I’m going to tell her you called her that. I keep telling her but she never believes me.”
“You’re kidding,” the real estate guy replied. “Really, I, well, she’s, I mean, kinda, actually beyond beautiful really.”
The dentist looked over at the socially awkward man with a sort of wonder. “What do you mean?” he asked kindly.“Well, geez, you know, some women, you know, models and actresses and stuff, are more self-aware, and kinda hard-edged, you know what I mean? But your wife….”
“Anne,” Andy offered, knowingly using her middle name, just in case the Mendaskis went looking for a new house.
“Anne … well she’s unaffected I guess is the word. Natural. A real American dream kind of girl….” The realtor blushed and finally stopped his babbling. “Jesus Christ, listen to me! I just saw her in the flesh that once.”
“But I showed you pictures of my intended, remember,” Andy reminded him.
“Even so!” the realtor blurted. “God, I hope you’re not pissed at me, Dr. Brannigan!”
Andy rose from the stool and laughed, clapping the realtor on the back. “Quite the contrary, my man. I’m going to tell her all about it, and see if she can finally take a compliment.”
“Hell,” the realtor breathed, relieved and emboldened by the relief. “I’d be happy to tell her myself, anytime.”
Andy’s smile got even wider as he looked directly into the realtor’s eyes. “Play your cards right, my friend, and you just might get the chance to do that.” But then he laughed, clapped him on the back again, and moved toward his appointment calendar. “But not today. Poor girl’s all tied up.”
Of course she was. One wall away Leesa Mendaski lay on her side, sobbing in frustration as the speakers he installed carried all the words to her unplugged ears.
Her mouth was tightly clamped shut with a padded, sponged, specially-made muzzle that adhered around her lower face, between her jaw and nose, and was anchored by three straps: one tight under her chin, one tight over her head, and one tight around her throat. It silenced her more effectively than virtually anything else save sedation.
Her fingers clawed the air, her wrists twisting in tape, rope, wire, and handcuffs. Those, in turn, were roped and wired to her waist, where knotted rope and wire sunk deep between her ass cheeks and up into her crotch, sawing her vagina and clit with every move. Just above that was a waist cincher, laced up so tightly it took everyone’s breath away – in bridal white lace, of course.
Below that were white lace thigh high stockings, adhered by tape, rope and wire at her knees and ankles, ending in white, ankle-strap high heels that practically made her feet ballet-like in stricture.
Her “bra” was white, too. Carefully tested white rubber-coated wire sunk into the very center of her bulbous, bulging breasts, effectively giving her four mottled tits that sent nipple-crushing lightning bolts into her head and loins with every heart-beat.
He had tried a wide variety until he found one that wouldn’t slip over or slide off no matter how much she thrashed. A second wire bore down on her boob tops while the third pushed up from beneath. A small wire bridge connected the two in her tit valley, making her magnificent mammeries bulge all the more.
Taking no chances on her youth and desperation, her nostrils held porous plugs soaked in a light tranquilizer that only barely kept her from banging her head on the walls, despite the decorative rugs that now covered them. Still, she tried to slither, scratch, kick, and cry out … anything to alert his patients, the mail deliverers, or the school children.
TO BE CONTINUED