Private teacher

I signed up for extra lessons because my father insisted. The tutor looked older, confident, the kind of man who fills a room. The moment he walked through the door, formulas slipped right out of reach. I watched the muscles move under his shirt and forgot every number. Today he leaned over my shoulder, breath warm on my neck, and his hand settled on my hip. I pushed back without thinking. He understood. My skirt slid up, panties down, and his tongue found the tight pucker between my cheeks. A slow, wet circle, then the press of one finger. I moaned, and the sound opened me further. He stood, freed his cock, and let me taste him first—warm, heavy on my tongue—before he turned me, spread my ass, and pushed in. The stretch burned sweet. Every thrust knocked a new problem out of my head. I came shaking around him, his older hand gripping my waist while the lesson plans stayed scattered on the floor.