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Every character in this short is 18+. Tagged as coercion but debatably consensual given it's our heroin's choice to come back in the dentist's chair. It's a tentacle monster story so expect hentaiesque, ridiculous all-the-way-through from ass-to-mouth and double penetration.
I’m so mad right now.

My friend complained she had a dentist appointment next week, and laughed politely when I asked: “Don’t you go to the dentist twice a day?” like I had intentionally confused going to the dentist with brushing your teeth for comedic effect.

My parents never had money for stuff like that so I was a bit out of my depth. When I was old enough to pay for my own dentist, I went with the small clinic of Dr. Tentacle because it was by far the most affordable option. I thought going twice daily meant really getting my money’s worth.

The conversation was about to move on without an answer to my question so I threw my hands out and yelled “Hold up! How often do people usually go to the dentist?!”

6 months is recommended...

Once a year is what most people settle for...

I was shaking.

Then I learned she doesn’t get naked there. Her dentist interacts with her teeth through her mouth. She rinses with water. Water! She even gets to spit the water. Not a fan of the pointy hooks and buzzing drills though, so at least my dentist has that over normal human ones. But I’ve been going there for over two years; I should have been given a brochure about my options at some point!

I went to my evening appointment a couple of hours later, mulling over how I was going to amicably end this toxic relationship with my dentist. I get that it’s not easy living amongst frail mortal beings capable of feeling pain when you’re from a hellish plane of existence where outdated traditions see females of all sentient species as tentacle cozies, but, at the same time, I feel like monsters working in healthcare with women patients could stand to make a few compromises. That doesn’t make me a monstrophobe, right?

The human male receptionist greeted the new arrival then watched me take off clothes by the entrance closet. I didn’t want to make a scene and point out that I learned other clinics only make you take your shoes off, but that’s like yelling at the retail store employee who refuses a refund. It’s not his policy, no matter how much he seems to enjoy watching naked young women struggling to contain their chests in an overflowing arm bra while keeping a hand over their hairless vulva.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said to my naked ass with a big warm smile (and a big warm sweater) as I took a seat in the single cheap plastic chair right in front of his desk, careful never to spread my thighs more than an inch or make my squished breasts jiggle too much.

I smiled back as if being comfortable was an option. They keep the waiting room so damn cold that comfort radiates out from your body until you’re just a quivering lump of goosebumps with diamond nipples. It almost makes you look forward to Doctor Tentacle’s warm appendages rubbing against your organs. Wait... Is that why he puts the AC on full blast? I’m questioning everything now.

So I spent the next few minutes shivering while avoiding the receptionist’s drooling gaze. It’s not just the fact that I was naked; even fully dressed these days I tend to feel vulnerable, empty, and cold when I’m not in the dentist’s chair. But—but probably because I’m always so eager to get the next appointment over and done with.

“How’s my favorite little tentacle squeezer this evening?” Dr. Tentacle came to meet me in the waiting room. I don’t know why he always makes me wait; I’ve never seen him with another patient. He is, well, pretty much just that: a mass of spaghetti tentacles with two big meatballs for eyes. Though 'octopus' immediately comes to mind, he takes great offense at the comparison, stating that he has four times as many tentacles, incomparable in size. He could be taking phone calls in his office while unlocking his car in the parking lot.

“I’m still a bit sore from this morning’s cleanup...” ‘And also a little angry’ I wanted to add, but I hadn’t found the perfect way to broach the subject. Thinking on the spot is especially hard when gooey tentacles are greeting you by sliming your skin from too many angles to block and slapping their suckers against your ass and the muffin top of tits spilling over your arm.

“Ah, that’s good. It means I was thorough. I’d like to start seeing you at lunchtime as well. The only thing better than being thorough is being thorough more often.”

“If you think so...” Like I said, thinking on the spot while every inch of your body is being explored under the ever-lustful watch of the receptionist is near impossible. I would have to find a better time for this awkward conversation.

Tentacles wrapped around my arms to pry them away in a humiliating cross. The rest were free to coil around my boobs and thighs until the dentist had enough grips to levitate me onto his orthodontic chair in the examination room. Another fun fact I learned from my friend this morning: Dentist chairs aren’t normally repurposed gynecology chairs. I was totally confused when my spread legs were forced into the stirrups the first time, but it made some kind of sense when the exam started.

As for why he needs to go through my entire digestive system with over a dozen tentacles to access my mouth, he once said “I can’t see inside your mouth if my arms are in the way,” which also makes a weird kind of sense.

“Ah...” is all I ever said about that. You don’t talk back to a doctor with a bunch of Monster University diplomas on the walls, especially not one with his wriggly arms digging into your ass.

So, today, like every evening (and morning), I dug my nails deep into the armrests while more and more tentacles fought for space within the stretched rim of my anus. At first, it feels like a bunch of rugged dog tongues eating my ass like a deep dish casserole. Later when they’ve penetrated my colon, it feels more like I sat on one of those waky inflatable tube guys from the car dealership. And for the rest of the journey, it feels like getting fisted by an army of Mr. Fantastic clones.

“Sorry about that, some of them have a mind of their own,” my dentist always says when some of his tentacles start exploring other orifices due to lack of anal space. And when I’m fully double stuffed, the leftover arms perform a complimentary breast exam like trying to make a croissant from my breast dough.

Doctor Tentacle also says that vaginal stimulation helps with the pain of a dozen tentacles expanding my guts. I mean... yeah, once you get over the embarrassment of creaming yourself at the hands of your dentist during a simple cleanup, it’s a welcomed distraction, but that means the traveling snake show needs to fight against my clenching muscles, which makes the penetrative experience even more intense for everyone involved.

The one normal thing my dentist does, according to my friend, is ask all sorts of questions I’m in no physical or mental state to answer:

“Dong well at school?”

“Still working part-time?”

“Have your orgasms been getting more intense lately?”

Instead of dismissive uh-huhs, I wanted to start getting some of my complaints in, wanted to say it’s hard to balance school, work, and sleep when I spend almost all of my free time getting my teeth cleaned and how having a hundred orgasms a day is starting to have permanent debilitating effects on my brain to the point where I imagine myself in this chair whenever I close my eyes even just to blink... But I kept interrupting myself with my own moans. Even the vibration of vocal cords is a trigger when your chest cavity is filled with so many wriggling tentacle tips gathering in your stomach. I don’t know why my dental orgasms have been intensifying. I shouldn’t be having any reaction other than extreme discomfort from the disturbing feeling of slithering arms rubbing their hands in my birth canal while my whole body is defiled and my ass is stretched beyond its normal limit. I guess I’m starting to get used to it. That’s a good thing that shouldn’t be a good thing.

What I wish I’d get used to is the violent gags when anal tentacles burst out of my dilated throat like a can of lively fishing worms.

“Open wider please.”

I didn’t know how I was supposed to open my mouth wider than it was currently being pried, but I still made an effort. Ahhhgaghhhh...

In my dentist’s defense, he does lick my teeth clean, though the tip of a slimy member fresh from its travels through your intestines might not be technically sterile. It’s just that the teeth cleaning almost feels incidental; every part of me from tongue to rectum, from cervix to pussy lips is getting licked. And, during this full-body clean-up, every bit of movement from any tentacle comes with thousands of suckers rubbing against 20 feet of innards. I lost myself in a new wave of orgasms while tentacles played my nipples and clit like the strings of a Latin guitar.

Through the fog of a brain saturated in endorphins after an unknown amount of reverse oral, Doctor Tentacle’s voice vibrated in my cranium.

“That’s it. Swallow. Swallow. Swallow...”

I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed. My friend said her doctor’s toothpaste tastes like mint. The back of my teeth was getting sprayed by something that tasted more like warm, salty oyster juice. There’s always so much of it squirting from the tips of the dentist’s arms and always so little space in my stomach, but I swallowed every drop to keep it from shooting out my nose. I don’t know why I bothered trying not to make a mess; oily toothpaste was squirting out of the thin gaps between vaginal tentacles because my womb had already inflated to its limit.

“Don’t stop swallowing. We’re halfway done.”

More orgasms. Somehow I continued swallowing while losing all control over the rest of my body writhing in the gyno chair. Time seems to slow down when you’re cumming non-stop and every time I momentarily visited planet Earth, I was surprised it was still dark outside.

“Very good. I think we should do a few more cleanings this evening since we’re on a roll. What do you think?”

“Uh-huh...”  That might have been a good time to complain but I missed my window again. When the tentacles begin to push and retract inside me several feet per second while swelling with newly produced, thick, white mouthwash, I pretty much pee myself on the chair from cumming too hard and my back is locked in a reversed arch until it’s time to swallow, swallow, swallow, again.

The exam was done. Another 2 hours of my life that I could have spent more productively.

“See you tomorrow.” My dentist said from a mouth somewhere in the squirming mass of dripping tentacles. “Remember to clear your lunch schedule from now on.”

I couldn’t speak without regurgitating a gallon of creamy toothpaste on the floor so I just waved back at Dr. T on my crawl toward the entrance closet. I knew my legs would start working again soon, but I was already late for work and every second counted. The receptionist was staring at my oozing, gaping ass and sore, dangling breasts like he hadn’t seen them 700 times before. I tried to keep my back to him while getting dressed to maintain the tiny smidge of dignity I still might have.

“Have a good night. See you tomorrow,” he said after the show.

“Thank you. See you tomorrow.” Ugh, that was my last chance to say I wanted to cancel tomorrow’s appointment, why am I always so non-confrontational?

I’m so mad right now... at myself. I wanted to reduce my time in the chair yet I somehow agreed to a third daily visit. I will bring it up tomorrow, that’s for sure. Maybe not tomorrow morning because I’ll be too tired, but I’ll try to find the right words before the lunchtime appointment. I'm just a little scared that with my track record, I might end up agreeing to 24/7 dental care.
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