The Dentist Who Discovered My Woman's Secret

The message arrived after eleven at night, when I had already resigned myself to having lost the bag. I had spent the entire afternoon retracing my steps: the pharmacy, the supermarket, my mother’s house. It hadn’t turned up at any of them. And inside that bag was something I couldn’t afford to leave in just anyone’s hands.

I saw the name on the screen and my stomach tightened. Dr. Mauricio Belmonte. My dentist.

—Hi, how are you? Sorry about the hour. You left a bag here yesterday, after your cleaning.

I breathed out. At least it hadn’t been lost in the street, where anyone could have opened it. I replied, pretending to be calmly relieved, thanking him and telling him I’d come pick it up in the morning.

—You can come whenever you want —he wrote—. I left it at reception. Carla, my assistant, will hand it to you as soon as you arrive.

And that was when the real anguish began. Because the thought of Carla, that girl with the perfect smile and curious eyes, having my bag in her hands seemed much worse than losing it altogether.

—Doctor, can I ask you a favor? Is your assistant trustworthy?

—She’s never let me down —he replied.

—That’s not what I mean. I mean, isn’t she too… curious?

It took him a little while to answer, and when he did, I could almost hear his laughter.

—You mean nosy? No, she’s very discreet. But if you’re worried, I’ll keep the bag in my office and give it to you when you arrive. That way no one will touch it.

I thanked him. I should have left it there. But something in me, that part of me that always gets me into trouble, needed to know.

—One more question, doctor. How did you know the bag was mine?

This time the silence lasted more than a minute. Long enough for my heart to beat against my ribs.

—If you want me to be honest —he finally wrote—, I didn’t know who it belonged to. I had to look inside to find out. I’m sorry. I promise you complete discretion.

I closed my eyes. I felt the heat rise up my neck to my ears. Inside that bag was an envelope containing printed photographs. Of me. Not the kind anyone might take. Real pictures of me, the ones only I knew about.

—So you saw them —I wrote, and it took me an effort to press send.

—I saw them. But I was alone, and you have nothing to fear. Your secret is safe with me.

***

I should have felt ashamed, and I did—a thick wave of shame that made me want to turn off my phone and hide beneath the sheets. But I also felt something else, darker and hotter, which I couldn’t name at first. The idea that this formal man, in his white coat, with his steady hands, had turned the pages of my secret life one by one.

—How embarrassing —I typed—. So now you know I’m trans. And that I print my own pictures. How ridiculous.

—There’s nothing ridiculous about it —he replied immediately—. It’s the most natural thing in the world. What isn’t so common is for someone to have so much confidence in the way they look that they print them.

—What do you mean?

—That people only print their best pictures. The ones worth keeping. And those outfits look very good on you.

I let out a nervous laugh into my pillow. He’s flirting with me, I thought, and the idea made me dizzy.

—You’ve made me feel even worse, doctor. But thank you.

—You’re welcome. The truth is, you look very beautiful as a woman.

I didn’t answer right away. I stared at that sentence on the screen, reading it three times, while something in my chest loosened and something lower down woke up. I felt a tug between my legs, a heat gathering right there, and noticed my cock beginning to swell inside my pajama pants.

—Did I say something I shouldn’t have? —he insisted—. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.

—You’re not making me uncomfortable —I wrote—. You just surprised me, that’s all. No one had ever said it to me like that.

—Like what?

—As if you really believed it.

—I do believe it. I liked your pictures. A lot.

—The pictures or me?

His answer took barely a second.

—You. I liked you.

***

I sat up in bed. The room was dark, and the only light came from the phone illuminating my face. I knew perfectly well what I was doing, what the two of us were doing. And I decided not to stop.

—Which one did you like best? —I asked.

—The one with the fishnets. You’re facing away, bent forward, one hand on the floor and the other on your hip, pulling the fabric aside a little so the thong shows better.

I remembered it well. I had taken it myself with the timer, one afternoon when I was feeling especially daring.

—Sounds like you studied it carefully, doctor.

—I like the way the fishnets look on you. The way the thong barely covers you. And the way you lift your body in that pose, as if you knew exactly what you were provoking.

—And what do I provoke?

—Desire. The desire to tear your thong off with my teeth, to bury my tongue between your ass cheeks until you scream. As if you’d done it many times before. As if you were an expert at seduction.

I bit my lip. Every word he wrote was a caress that raised goosebumps on my skin.

—What if I told you I do have experience? —I wrote—. That I love being desired like that? That I love being fucked while men look at that picture?

—It shows —he replied—. It shows in the way you pose, in the way you look at the camera. Some whores take years to learn that look, and others are born knowing it.

That sentence undid me. I lay back down, my hand sliding by itself beneath the sheet until it closed around my already rock-hard cock, and kept writing with the other while I stroked myself very slowly.

—A lover took that picture of me —I confessed—. In that same outfit, I’ve been had by an engineer, a pilot, and the owner of the café on my street. I’ve fucked all three of them, doctor. They’ve shoved their cocks all the way up my ass while I was wearing those fishnets. But never a dentist.

—Well, I know one —Mauricio wrote— who hasn’t thought about anything else since he saw that picture. He’s jerked off to it three times.

—Really? And does that dentist want me badly?

—So badly that tonight, before writing to you, he’d already had to take care of himself thinking about you. I came in my hand imagining you on all fours.

I moaned softly in the darkness. The mere image of that serious man losing his composure over me, his hard cock in his hand, coming just from looking at me, had me dripping with a desire I hadn’t felt in months. I slid two fingers to my ass and wet them with the saliva spilling from my bitten lips.

—That sounds delicious —I replied—. Too bad that dentist is married.

—And why is that too bad? Don’t you like being with married men?

—I love it. I love sucking their cocks knowing they’ll go home to their wives. I love having them fill my ass with cum and then wash themselves and leave. The problem is that they almost always regret it afterward. They say they’re faithful.

—That’s their problem —he wrote—. I’ve never denied myself a pleasure. Especially not one like you. Are you going to let me be the one, Isabella? Are you going to let me fuck you the way you deserve?

He remembered my name. He had seen it written on the back of one of the photographs, beside the date. Isabella. My true name, the one I use only when I’m completely myself.

—Yes —I wrote, without hesitation—. I want it to be you. I want your entire cock inside me.

***

—Are you going to wear the fishnets? —he asked.

—I’m going to put them on especially for you, doctor. And a thong that can be pulled aside with two fingers.

—And you’re going to turn your back on me like in the picture.

—Exactly like in the picture. So you can compare it to reality. And so you can put it in me any way you want.

We agreed on the time. He asked me to come the next day, at closing, when Carla had already left and the office would be empty. He would tell his wife he had an outstanding payment to deal with, a last-minute emergency. I listened to the plan and felt my pulse between my legs growing stronger and stronger, my cock already dripping onto my belly.

—One last thing, sweetheart —I wrote—. Can I ask you a favor?

—Anything for you.

—Send me a video. I want to watch you touch yourself while thinking about that picture. I want to see your cock, doctor. I want to know what you’re going to fuck me with tomorrow.

The video arrived three minutes later. And it left me breathless. Mauricio had pulled his pants down to his knees and was holding his cock in his right hand: thick, long, its head shining with pre-cum. He pumped it slowly, squeezing it at the base, while holding the phone in his left hand and aiming it at every inch. His heavy breathing could be heard. After a few seconds he sped up, his hand moving up and down with greater force, and with a hoarse grunt, a thick jet of semen leapt onto his chest two, three times, sliding over his fingers and hanging from his glans.

I didn’t show any reaction in writing, but I watched it all the way through twice, the phone trembling in my hand and my body arching against the mattress. I pulled my pants down to my knees and jerked myself off while staring at the cock waiting for me, imagining how it would feel splitting me in two. I came in five thrusts of my own hand, biting the pillow so I wouldn’t wake anyone, and even then I stayed hard and dripping, my desire completely intact. Mauricio kept every promise. I barely slept that night.

***

I arrived at the office at seven fifteen, as we had agreed. The waiting room was dark, with light filtering only through the crack beneath his door. He opened it before I could knock, still wearing his white coat, and when he saw me he was speechless for a whole moment.

I was wearing a long coat. Beneath it, the fishnets, the tiny thong, and nothing else. He knew as soon as the coat fell to the floor.

—God —he murmured—. You’re much better than the picture.

I approached slowly, enjoying the way his eyes traveled over me, and brushed him with my hand through his pants. He was already rock-hard, swollen against the fabric. I lowered his zipper without asking permission and slipped my hand inside his underwear. His cock filled my fist, hot, hard, pulsing against my palm just as it had in the video.

—I left that bag there for you to find months ago —I confessed into his ear while massaging it very slowly from base to tip—. It wasn’t an accident. I wanted you to see who I am. I wanted you to desire me like this.

I heard him swallow. His hands, those firm hands I had so often felt inside my mouth wearing latex gloves, now traveled over my waist and back, descending to my ass and squeezing as if he had been holding himself back for years. One finger slipped beneath my thong and brushed my asshole, and I felt my knees buckle.

—You bitch —he said, his voice broken with desire—. You’ve been provoking me all this time, and I thought it was an accident.

—It was never an accident. And now you’re going to behave the way you’ve wanted to for months.

I dropped to my knees without thinking. I yanked his pants and underwear down to his knees in one pull and grabbed his cock with both hands. I looked at it from below, obscene and heavy, with the thick vein running along its underside. I ran my tongue from his balls to the tip, very slowly, and he let out a growl I had never heard from him in the office. I took his glans into my mouth and sucked it with my lips closed, playing my tongue over the slit, tasting the salty drop already bubbling up.

—Fuck, Isabella —he panted, burying his fingers in my hair—. Suck it like that. Suck all of me.

I obeyed. I opened my mouth and swallowed him whole, until I felt him hit the back of my throat, and stayed there, breathing through my nose, tears in my eyes and spit running down my chin to my tits. I pulled him out with a wet sound, put him back in, and sped up. He set the rhythm with his hips, thrusting me against his pelvis, fucking my mouth as if he had been waiting years for that moment.

—Wait —he panted, pulling me away—. Wait, or I’ll come right now, and I don’t want to. I want to fuck you first.

He pulled me up by the arms. He turned me around, pressing me against the reclining chair—the same one where he had cleaned my teeth two days earlier—and bent me forward. I assumed the exact pose from the photograph: one hand braced for support, the other pulling the fishnet aside, offering him my ass. I heard him moan behind me.

—That’s it —he said—. Exactly like that.

He moved the thong aside with two fingers and crouched down. I felt his hot tongue bury itself between my ass cheeks, and I screamed. He ate my ass hungrily, squeezing my cheeks to spread me open, his tongue moving in and out and covering me in saliva, while one hand grabbed my hard cock and jerked me off. I trembled, braced against the chair, begging him not to stop, to put in one finger, two, anything.

He pushed his thumb in, all the way to the knuckle, then stood up behind me. I felt the head of his cock slide against my wet ass, searching for the entrance. He pushed slowly the first time, and a long moan tore out of me when his glans yielded and forced its way inside. He stopped with the tip lodged in me, waiting for me to adjust, then pushed a little more, and a little more, until he buried himself completely.

—Fuck, you’re so tight —he muttered, his voice trembling—. So hot.

—Fuck me, doctor. Take me hard. That’s why I came.

I didn’t have to repeat myself. He held me by the hips and began thrusting into me, first at a steady rhythm, pulling almost all the way out and driving back in until his balls hit me. The chair creaked with every thrust. The examination lamp lit us halfway, leaving everything else in shadow, and in the mirror on the wall opposite, I could see the entire scene: my arched back, his hips colliding with my ass, his open white coat, his transformed face.

—Harder —I begged—. Break me.

He sped up. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and thrust into me until I cried from pure pleasure, with that thick cock touching me exactly where it needed to. I jerked myself off with my free hand, synchronizing my rhythm with his, and felt my orgasm rising from my balls like a wave. —I’m coming, Mauricio, I’m coming —I moaned.

—Come, my love. Come with me inside you.

I came in spurts over the seat of the chair, trembling from head to toe, while he thrust into me faster and harder until I felt his whole body tense behind me. He pulled out suddenly, and I felt the first hot lashes land on my ass, between my thighs, sliding down over my fishnets. He came in heavy bursts, with a hoarse growl rising from his chest, exactly as he had promised me by message the night before.

We stayed like that for a moment, catching our breath, his forehead resting against my damp back, his semen slowly dripping down the backs of my thighs.

—I never imagined it would really happen —he said at last, almost laughing.

I stood up, picked up my coat from the floor, and draped it over my shoulders without fully dressing again. His cum was still running down the inside of my fishnets, and I did nothing to wipe it away.

—I did —I replied—. I imagined it at every appointment.

Before I left, he put the forgotten bag back into my hands—the one that had started it all. And as I crossed the dark waiting room, my body still trembling and my ass throbbing from how thoroughly he had opened me, I knew those pictures had fulfilled their only purpose. I would never “lose” them by accident again. Next time, I would know exactly where to leave them.