One-Shots | 18+

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I CANNOT BELIEVE I’m going along with this. If it goes bad, I’m going to strangle Erica when I see her next. I squirm in my seat as I drive to the coffee shop where she set up a blind date for me. I feel them inside me when I do. Jeez, Ophelia, deja de estar retorciendote [stop squirming], I scold myself. I look at myself in the mirror as I wait at the red light. My honey colored skin is flushed with embarrassment and lust.

I turn to the right, pulling into the coffee shop’s parking lot. I find a spot directly in front of the entrance. I tame down my wavy dark hair and inhale deeply. I take my purse from the passenger’s seat and exit my car. I cannot take a step without feeling the caress within my vaginal walls. I close my eyes momentarily to gather myself. Why did I agree to this dare? I am going to kill Erica. I open myself and pull open the door to the shop. The strong smell of good coffee invades my scent of smell. I step in, looking around for a clue of who’s my date.

My eyes land on the guy who’s sitting by himself. He looks up and smiles. He waved me over. Crap. Erica set me up on a blind with Scott, my crush. I move past my shock. I walk to him as best I can. I’ve never talked to him. I knew about him through friends. I remember I had told Erica I had a little crush on him. I can’t believe she went out to do this. Scott stands from his seat as I approach closer to the table.

“Hi, I’m Scott,” he extends his hand towards me to shake.

“Ophelia,” I take him hand in hand. I quickly remove my hand first.

“Please,” he motions to the empty chair.

He goes on to sit on his own chair as I settle down. I squirm around trying to find a comfortable spot. This is going to be harder than I thought. Scott smiles. Scott has dark blonde locks and sun kissed skin. He looks like your typical Californian surfer. His dimple shows as he smiles. I trade him one of my own shy smiles. I look away, looking around the shop. Our table is situated beside a bar where you can order drinks and pastries. The bar is large enough to have stools at the ends for customers to sit at. When I look back at Scott I catch him looking at my breasts. I choke on a laugh, coughing softly to cover.

“Excuse me, I choked on my own saliva,” I say.

“I didn’t know one could do that,” he chuckles.

“You’d be surprised what people choke on,” I joke.

Ew, that sounded better in my head.

Scott and I talk about our interests and college stuff while drinking coffee. We have a good laugh as he shows me a funny video of his corgi, Danny. Suddenly, the mood of the shop changes. The room feels almost tense in ways that cannot be described. I discreetly look up from Scott’s phone. My eyes eventually discover the culprit. Mr. Tristan Clarke, in all his glory, stood in line for his own coffee. He’s dressed in black trousers. The sleeves to his white dress shirt are rolled up. His tattoos on his lower arms are on display. I feel my mouth water.

Tristan is a Biology professor in the college Scott and I attend. I don’t have any lectures with him but Erica does. She had sneaked a photo of him on her phone and had shown it to me. I had also seen him one day after that when fetching Erica from her class to go eat together. Tristan Clarke was the man in my erotic dreams recently. The way his eyes had landed on me when I walked into his lecture room. The tension I had felt when we locked eyes. I could feel myself grow wetter; the silver balls weren’t helping. His skin was a melody my body ached to hear. A promise that my core needed to receive. An impossible fantasy.

“Oh, and then there’s this one,” I distantly hear Scott say.

I hum in response, barely acknowledging him. I don’t remove my eyes from the lethally handsome man I’m looking at. As if feeling my gaze, his own gaze locked with mine. His eyes narrow and I look away. I try to focus on the video Scott is showing me of Danny but I truly cannot. Fúck. I look up only to find Tristan seated on the bar, looking our way. The veins in his arm are protruding. His now venomous glare marking Scott as its next prey. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was jealous. A jealous man could never look so fûckable. The sensation between my legs can no longer go untamed.

I am in desperate need of a release.

“Scott, would you excuse me? I need to use the lady’s room,” I announced to him.

“Of course,” he says, smiling politely, unaware of the desire and need creating a tempest within me.

Standing from the chair, taking my purse with me, I do my best to not wobble my way to the bathroom. I’m at the restroom door, about to open it, when arms wrap around my waist and I’m pushed in. My ears register the click of the door’s lock being put in place. My back’s pressed on the cold tiles of the bathroom wall. My brown eyes look into his own. Surprise and an unhealthy amount of pleasure built at the unexpected desire that stood in front of me.

“What are you doing?” I ask whilst trying to get out of his strong hold.

“It looked like you needed saving from yourself. I thought you’d like some help with that,” Tristan’s British accent hits my core as he speaks. His fingers find the zipper on my jeans. His hand travels into the inside of my overly wet panties. His fingers find my clìt as he almost finds the catastrophe downstairs.

“Now, Ms. Ophelia, what exactly are you doing here with him?” He asked in distaste, an unknown emotion flickering in his eyes. I realized I craved this power. Some small part of me was playing with the fire called Tristan Clarke. And I loved it.

“I was on a date, sir.” I spoke surely, emphasizing the end of my words. His fingers travel lower to my entrance. I gasp at the penetration of his fingers.

“Oh, what’s this?” Tristan asks with a devilish smile. His fingers play with the balls in my canal. “Do you usually wear toys in your pússy on dates?”

“Or are you here for a play date?” He asks bemusement with an undertone of threat. I was unsure of whether to be scared or empowered.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” I smirk, trying and failing to disguise my lust laden embarrassment.

“If it’s a play date then you won’t mind if I take his place,” he smirks right back at me. He retrieves his fingers from inside me. He doesn’t pull out the balls. He pulls my jeans down, along with my panties, until around my ankles. “Step out, sweetheart.”

His hands on my legs keep me steady as I do as he says. Fear and arousal crushed every ounce of disobedience I ever had, if I had any to begin with. He brings his face close so that his mouth hovers in front my lady parts before his tongue flicks on my clítoris.

"Oh!" My voice quivers.

He flicks once, twice, thrice. A small moan leaves my mouth. My hands cradle his head closer to me, like something of importance. I realize that not only do I like his tongue on me but I would die for him to kiss. To taste myself on him. His hands squeeze my asş cheeks as he stands. Tristan uses that position to lift me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he makes a one-eighty and plants me on the sink counter. His warmth is all I can think about. So much so that the coldness of the counter doesn’t register in my brain.

Tristan’s hands leave my a$s. One wraps around my throat. His lips drop onto mine. His grip around my throat tightens slightly. I moan as I fight for air amidst his bruising kiss. My hands find the zipper of his pants. Feeling around until I grasp his warm c0ck. He hisses. My hands take that as approval and begin a stroking motion.

“Touch yourself, baby,” he rasps while taking over my motions on his own c0ck. I bring my shaky hand to myself. His usually warm brown eyes now look hazy and his pupils have dilated. I work my fingers on my clít in circles. The pressure sends me into overdrive, keeping my eyes on his. “Don’t you dare cűm.”


I slow down the circling of my fingers. The pressure dissipates but that doesn’t stop the teasing of the balls inside me. My walls throb and pulsate around them.

“Please, I need to,” I beg. My eyes pleading with my voice, desperate for the release.

“No,” he replies.

I watch as he strokes himself, bringing himself to an orgasm. Closer and closer with each stroke. Taunting me. Teasing me. His fluids land on my thighs. I moan. My fingers leave my clít and scoop up some of his cúm before returning to their original post. I keep my eyes on him at all times as I continue to play with myself. Mixing and geling our fluids together in the sweetest form of torture. His gaze burns my skin, enraptured in the display I have put on show for him. Only him.

Suddenly, Tristan drops to his knees in front me. He spreads my legs wide. Hunger flashes in his eyes. Please. Bringing his face close, his tongue flicks into me. His fingers dig into my thighs as he laps me up, aggressively.

“Oh my God!”

Tristan sucks, bites, and runs circles all over my clït to the point where my brain becomes a mushy mess. Liquified like my pleasure. I feel him pull out the balls. Oh, so very slowly.

“Cûm, baby,” he growls his command. He continues his attack as my walls convulse. His name falls from my lips in a chant over and over again. Singing the song of my orgasm as he keeps on playing me like a cello. His name is the only melody to be played. My body quickly decided that one orgasm is not enough.

I want him.

I need him.

“Can I have your c0ck please, sir?” I groan, struggling to speak with the echoes of the orgasm still lingering throughout my body.

“In one condition,” Tristan says.

“What?” I ask, hazily.

“That you’ll play a game with me, after all this is a playdate. Right?” His smirk does things to me. I nod in agreement. “Alright, Ms. Ophelia.”

Grabbing my hips, Tristan pulls me off the counter. He turns me around to face the mirror. My hands land on the edge of the pristine white sink where I find the silver balls. I bite my lip in embarrassment. I can’t believe I actually did that. Tristan positions himself behind me; the crown of his c0ck threatening to probe into my entrance. I squirm against his hold on my hips.

“Stay still,” he growls softly. My body obediently complies with his command. He continues to tease me, grinding his hips against me. A moan leaves my mouth. Against my ear, he says, “Tell me, Ms. Ophelia. How long does it take a woman to finish?”

Pleasure shivers throughout my body making me gasp. “The average women orgasms during vaginal sex within three to seven minutes. Many don’t orgasm at all.”

“And you?”

“Five minutes?” I say, not completely sure. It’s not like I’d timed myself before. I push myself against him.

Tristan groans and I attempt to stifle a shriek as he thrusts hard into me. Praying that nobody hears us.

“Let me show you what I know about the female body. I’ll make you come in one,” he rasps, penetrating me again. Proving how easily he can pleasure me. “Fück, you’re so tight.”

His thrusts are relentless. Punishing. His hands leave my hips. One goes to my hair, making me watch us in the mirror. His eyes darken even more as he looks right at me. His other hand plays circles against my clît. His hips bump against me, burying himself completely in me. My body was on fire. My thighs shake. He held me up. As he continued to punish my body, I felt it. The explosion between my legs. I groan in pleasure. My walls spasm around him, dragging him in deeper. Our fluids mix. Wetness flows down my thighs. Yet another symphony of lust, proof of our need.

With his face buried in my neck and arms around me, his strokes slow. His panting fills my ears. His length doesn’t retreat. In fact, he keeps himself buried inside me. He pulls his head back up. He smirks at me through the mirror.

“One minute,” he’s cocky as he says it. “With the right stimulation. Many women can reach an orgasm with clîtoral stimulation. As you did.”

“Furthermore, how many years does it take for your body to regenerate cells?” His slight pumping movements become a sweet torture to my overestimulated nerves.

I ransack my brain, pushing through the pleasure haze, to have the ability to answer his question.

“Seven,” I gasp as he pushes myself back in.

“Correct. So, how long will it take for your sweet body to forget the imprint of my c0ck between, Ophelia?” he questions nonchalantly.

“Seven years,” I breathe.

“Incorrect,” his hand lands on my a$s with a loud smack.

“Never.” He growls out, the dominance pouring from his voice. Like a drug, and I quickly realized, I am addicted. Tristan pulls out, leaving in only his crown, before thrusting hard.

“Agh!” I scream.

“Shh,” he covers my mouth with the same hand that spanked me.

The sounds of my bodies crashing against each other fill the bathroom again. My moans were muffled by his hand. Oh my God. Fingers find my clįt again. The stimulation delivered earlier brought me to a quicker release. Tristan did so after me. His hands release me. I whimper at the empty feeling inside me. Tristan delivers a kiss on my shoulder blade as he gathers himself. I don’t have the energy to move from my place bent over the counter. My eyes lock with Tristan’s through the mirror. His gaze is hard and collected, as it usually is.

“I’m going to go back to the bar and order myself a new coffee. When I’m finished drinking it, I better not find you with that little boy again, or else I will punish you again,” he says as a hand caresses the cheek he smacked. “Perhaps I’ll take your a$s next time.”

My pu$sy clenches at his threat.

“I promise you,” Tristan whispers into my ear. “You’ll love it. That way your body will never forget me.”

Oh, sweet Jesus, have mercy on me.

Tristan leaves the bathroom. It takes me a minute or two to gather myself and be able to put my panties and jeans back on. I grab my purse from the floor. Looking back into the mirror, I adjust my shirt and tame down my hair. Grabbing the silver balls from the bottom of the sink, I turn on the faucet to rinse them off and then dry them with a paper towel. Shoving them into my purse, I leave the bathroom.

I find my way to the table where Scott remains. He perks up when he sees me. I stand in front of the table at the chair I had sat on earlier. I look beyond Scott to the bar. Tristan sees there, sipping on his coffee, as he stares back. His dart between Scott and I. I look away to look at Scott. I smile at him.

“Scott, I’m sorry to cut this date short. I’m going to have to raincheck for a family emergency. Perhaps we can try another day?” I try to be as nice as possible while not giving away that I was fųcked in the bathroom. Despite the satisfyingly painful reminder of how I was so brilliantly ruined. By a professor.

Scott deflates but smiles. “Sure. I would love that.”

“Okay,” I say. “Thank you for understanding.”


I take one more look at Tristan before turning to leave. A smile appears on my lips when I see Tristan’s reflection on the glass window of my car.

“What did I tell you?” he growls into my ear.

I lean back into him, enjoying his warmth.

“It was a dare,” I say. I turn my face to look at him.

“What was?” he asks.

“The balls,” I reply. “Your student Erica dared me to wear them.”

Tristan chuckles. “Of course. She always gave me a trouble-maker vibe.”

I agree with him.

“That won’t stop me from punishing you.”

“Of course not,” I grin.

“Oh, and Ms. Ophelia?” He says as I unlock my car and open the door.

“Yes?” I peer up at him.

“Come to my office after class next week. Your recent behavior needs... redemption.” He smirks, his eyes still lustful. With that he stalks away, leaving me in the aftermath of my personal destruction.

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