A protector for the mouth; a respirator; a gumshield.
"I like your teeth," she said, offhandedly, as she fastened his head strap.
"Huh? What?" He was confused.
"I said, I like your teeth. I wish my teeth were that straight."
"Uh, thanks, I think."
She stepped behind him and opened a drawer. "So, I think," she said, pulling something out, "that we ought to protect them, don't you agree? Yes?" She showed him a mouthpiece.
"Well, I--"
"Open." She pulled his chin down, and slid the plastic thing in. It felt bigger than it looked; he bucked against the head strap, trying to fight the gag reflex. "Easy," she admonished him. "I don't want you making a mess over my brand new chair. Now bite." She pushed his chin lightly back up.
He closed his eyes and gingerly bit down. He could feel the plastic creeping down his throat.
She grabbed his face in her leather-gloved hand. "Wouldn't want to hurt those pearly whites, now would we?" She fastened a chin strap on him, effectively immobilizing his face.
He opened his eyes, but she was already out of view again. He swallowed, and waited.
Copyright (c) 1997 {hamlet}Ophelia