**”Bratting the Teacher”**

I never expected my sixth-grade tutee to be the one in control—but here I was, pinned under her, my cock straining against my pants while she smirked down at me like she’d already won.

Emily was supposed to be my student—just some bratty, tanned twelve-year-old who needed help with math. But the second her mom left the room, her sweet, innocent act dropped. She flopped onto the couch beside me, her too-short skirt riding up, showing off her smooth thighs. “You *suck* at explaining fractions,” she whined, stretching her legs across my lap. Her bare toes pressed against my thigh, and I shifted awkwardly.

Then she *noticed*. Her eyes flicked down to the bulge in my pants, and her smirk turned wicked. “Ew, are you *hard*?” she giggled, leaning in like this was the funniest thing she’d ever seen.

I should’ve pushed her off. But when her hand landed on my leg, fingers creeping higher, my brain short-circuited. “You’re *so* gross,” she whispered, but her fingers didn’t stop. They danced along the inside of my thigh, teasing, until—

“Fuck—!” I hissed as her palm pressed flat against my cock. She *squeezed*, and I bucked up into her touch, instantly ashamed of how good it felt.

“You *like* this?” she asked, her voice dropping into this mock-surprised purr. Her other hand shoved me back against the couch, her little body climbing onto my lap. The weight of her—her tight, tiny frame straddling me—sent heat flooding through me.

“Emily, we can’t—”

“Shut *up*,” she snapped, grinding down just enough to make me groan. “You *want* me.” Her hand slipped under my shirt, nails scraping my stomach. “I can *tell*.”

Before I could argue, her fingers hooked into the waistband of my pants. She yanked them down just enough to free my cock, and then *giggled*—actually fucking *giggled*—when it slapped against my stomach, already leaking.

“Oh my *god*,” she breathed, wrapping her tiny fingers around me. “It’s *huge*.” She stroked once, slow, and my hips jerked. “You *like* when I touch it?” She squeezed again, smirking when I moaned. “Say *please*.”

“Fuck—*please*—” I choked out, grabbing the couch cushions.

“Good boy,” she cooed, pumping me faster. Her other hand slid between her legs, rubbing at her pussy through her panties. “I bet you wanna *fuck* me, huh?”

I *did*. I *so* fucking did. The thought of her tight little cunt clenching around me—

She must’ve seen it on my face, because she laughed and *pushed me back down* when I tried to sit up. “Nuh-uh,” she scolded, pressing her palm flat against my chest. “You don’t get to do *anything* unless I say so.”

Her panties were soaked—I could see the damp spot when she hiked her skirt up higher. My mouth watered, but she just shook her head. “*No*,” she said, like she was scolding a dog. “You *watch*.”

Then she hooked her thumbs into the sides of her panties, peeling them down just enough to show me her pussy—bare, pink, *dripping*. My cock twitched at the sight, and she smirked.

“You *wish* you could taste it,” she teased, rubbing two fingers over her clit. A tiny moan escaped her lips, and my hands clenched into fists.

“Fuck—Emily—”

“*Beg*,” she demanded, spreading her legs wider.

And—god help me—I did.