Mordred stares intensely in concentration as he tries for the third time to perfect the intricate shading on his drawing. Smaller than he would have preferred, spanning the bottom left corner of his notebook, he painstakingly sketches out a woman's features, taking extra time on the wild curls framing her sharp cheekbones, trailing wantonly, half-covering her breasts.
Every reckoning of her has a different length and style of hair, the only thing that changes in her appearance, the only thing left entirely to his imagination, yet these untamed locks now are undoubtedly his favourite. He'll need to redraw it again when he gets home; make it bigger, ink it out.
He'll colour nothing but her lips.
"Mordred?"
Mordred startles, head snapping up to stare wide-eyed at his professor.
Sister Morgana lifts a dark eyebrow and gestures to the complicated equation on the whiteboard. "Would you care to give the answer?" she asks.
The teen nods uncertainly, glancing at his sparse notes then makes his way to the front, taking the marker from Sister Morgana's hand. His fingers linger on the soft skin there, just long enough to indulge, but hopefully not to alert the Sister to his desires. Blushing faintly, he looks at the equation.
One moment turns to two, turns to half a minute before- "You weren't paying attention to my lecture were you, Mordred." Not a question.
Mordred flushes in shame, face heating more when he hears the snickers from around the room. "No, Sister. I'm sorry." He knows it won't do any good, but he can't help but to apologise.
He hates disappointing Sister Morgana.
The nun purses her lips and sighs. "Go sit down, Mordred. I want you to stay and talk to me after class."
Mordred obeys, tail tucked firmly between his legs as he sits back at his desk, tucking his drawing away and opening to a clean page.
By the time the bell rings, his page is nearly full of notes, copied verbatim from the whiteboard and Sister Morgana's lectures – not that they will help him any now. He vows to do better in the future.
He wants so badly for Sister Morgana to be proud of him.
The students filter quickly out of the classroom. This being the last class of the day, of the week, they are eager to get back to their dorms and start the weekend.
In just moments he and Sister Morgana are the last two in the room. Mordred stands from his seat and watches the Sister close the heavy oaken door, locking them in seclusion.
"Mordred," she says, letting the silence trail after her until Mordred breaks it himself.
"I'm sorry about earlier, Sister, I was just distracted," he excuses, but Sister Morgana only shakes her head.
"You've been distracted for weeks, Mordred. Your marks are slipping. You know I can tell when you're not paying attention?" She strides over to him, close enough that he can feel her body heat and smell the myrrh in her perfume.
"What has got you so distracted, Mordred?" She asks, concerned.
Mordred flushes and glances down at his notebook, not having bothered to pack his things yet.
Suddenly he is struck with panic when Sister Morgana notices the direction of his gaze and takes the book to finger through herself.
"Something in here, then? I – oh..."
Hysterically Mordred thinks he should be proud of the surprise on the normally unflappable nun's face.
Green eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, Sister Morgana stares at the small rendering of herself on the notebook paper. Though imperfect, smudged with pencil lead and eraser marks, it is explicitly and unmistakably herself.
The drawing shows her leaning back against her desk, hair free from her veil and trailing lewdly down to her ample bosom. One leg is pulled up onto the desk with her, showing off the dark curls in the shadow between her legs.
Sister Morgana stares at the drawing for a long time then places the notebook back on the table and turns back toward her desk.
Mordred gapes a little, panic subsiding in his confusion.
The nun takes the ruler from its drawer and points it at her desk, face betraying none of her thoughts.
"Bend over the desk, Mordred," she commands coldly.
Though he was fully expecting to be whipped after class, the punishment feels charged now in light of the Sister's discoveries. Mordred doesn't argue though. Keeping his head down, Mordred bends face first over the desk. His cock twitches at the vulnerable positioning, but he tries to push the feeling aside.
"You're being punished for your continued distracted behaviour in my classroom, and for not paying attention to your lessons. Count out your strikes."
THWAK
Mordred gasps in surprise.
"Mordred," Sister Morgana growls in warning, and he blinks.
"One, Ma'am," he stutters.
THWAK
"T-two, Ma'am,"
Sister Morgana stays quiet but for the whistle of her ruler through the air and the smack of it against his bottom. Mordred dutifully counts out each strike, which, while muted through the fabric of his trousers and pants are still painfully hard. By the fifth strike his knees are shaking. By the seventh he feels tears prick in his eyes.
Finally, Mordred counts out ten strikes, though he doesn't move to stand quite yet. He's panting now as he blinks away tears, one spilling over and down his cheek.
Sister Morgana sets the wooden ruler beside him on the desk and places a hand against his back. Mordred relaxes at the touch and exhales softly.
His relief is short lived though, when Sister Morgana presses close behind him and squeezes his cock through his trousers and he's mortified to find that he's fully hard.
"Did you think I would let you off so easily for what you've done, Mordred?" Sister Morgana whispers in his ear, her veil tickling his cheek as she deftly undoes his belt and jerks his trousers down without bothering to unfasten them.
"Sister Morgana! I-" he cuts himself off with a gasp when his pants follow his trousers to pool down at his ankles. He twists around, but Sister Morgana catches him and tugs at his tie until it comes loose. "What-?" The nun doesn't answer, pushing him back down onto his front, manoevering his arms behind him. Mordred gasps and shudders when his wrists are tied together behind his back and Sister Morgana kicks the inside of his left foot, spreading his legs as wide as his trousers will allow. One delicately soft hand runs up the back of his left thigh, thumb slipping between his cheeks, spreading them slightly as she squeezes his ass.
"Count your strikes, Mordred."
THWAK
"One-!" Mordred gasps out, flinching away from the harsh bite of the wood against his bare skin.
"It is not your place, Mordred, to wonder on my body. Or to draw such sinful things of me. Your job is to pay attention to what I am doing, not what you wish I were doing. Are you paying attention, Mordred?"
THWAK
"Ahh!" Mordred cries out, the blow landing on his upper thigh. "Yes!"
Sister Morgana caresses the abused skin, deceptively gentle in her touch. "'Yes' what, Mordred?" she prompts.
Mordred pants and wrinkles his brow in confusion. A drop of sweat beads under his fringe.
"Yes, Ma'am?" He tries.
Sister Morgana huffes, smirking, though Mordred can't see. "'Yes, Ma'am' what, Mordred?" she hints again, squeezing her hand around Mordred's stinging thigh.
Mordred's eyes widens with understanding and he releases a quiet moan. "Yes, I'm paying attention... Ma'am." Sister Morgana hums, hand sliding between his thighs to cup his tight bollocks in her hand.
"And you'll be good for me from now on, won't you, Mordred?" The teens breath hitches and he scrunches his eyes closed.
"Yes, Ma'am," he answers breathlessly.
"Good boy. What number are we on?"
Mordred flinches, either preemptively or in realisation at his failure. "Two, Ma'am," he provides quickly.
THWAK
"Three!"
Sister Morgana never strikes in quite the same spot twice, and he can't predict when or where the ruler will hit. Eventually Mordred learns not to try to prepare for it, and simply takes the strikes as they came, counting them out obediently.
The teen is crying fully now, tears streaming down his cheeks at the sharp, throbbing pain. He doesn't ask her to stop, though, and he can feel his cock still hard and heavy between his legs. They quickly pass ten strikes, and by thirteen Mordred can't stop himself from leaning into the strikes, moaning and eager for the bite of it, for whatever Sister Morgana would give him.
"That's it, Mordred. Don't fight it," the Sister praises him and he would preen if he could.
The seventeenth hits against his stones and they tense as they draw up. Too soon, Sister Morgana hits again and the orgasm rushes through him, unstoppable. Mordred cries out, sobbing and shaking as he spills onto the underside of the desk.
"There we are, darling. That's a good boy," Sister Morgana coos, stroking his back though his dress shirt was damp with sweat. She makes no move to untie his wrists, though, as Mordred catches his breath.
Mordred is floating pleasantly after the intensity of his orgasm. His bottom and thighs burn and throb, and he can feel the bruises that are forming, but the feeling is almost pleasant and he basks in the pride of having taken his punishment so well.
Sister Morgana was pleased with him.
The nun pulls at the collar of his shirt, lifting him up off the desk and manhandling him around to face her before letting him fall onto his knees in front of her. His knees hit the floor painfully and he whimpers into the rug where he had fallen forward, unbalanced without the use of his arms which were still tied securely around his back.
The Sister seats herself on her leather desk chair while Mordred rights himself. He tenses his stomach as he tries to bring himself upright, struggling with the exertion. Finally, he brings himself up to sit on his knees and Sister Morgana's soft hand grips him under his chin and tilted his head to look up into her sharp, green eyes.
Mordred looks up at her, bright-eyed and unguarded. They are half-lidded and his wet lips part with each heavy breath, but Sister Morgana must like what she sees because she leans down and kisses him softly, nearly chaste. Mordred's eyes flutter shut and he sigh, letting the Sister's touch wash over him in benediction.
"You've been so good for me, Mordred," the older woman murmurs against his lips. "Would you like to please me?"
Mordred nods and he keens softly, cock twitching impotently. "Yes, Ma'am," he answered.
Sister Morgana looks at him for a moment, expression inscrutable before she leans forward once more and presses her lips to his forehead.
Then she's gone, leaning back into her chair and Mordred watches, enraptured as she hikes up the skirt of her habit revealing brown-toned nylon stockings. She pulls one leg up onto the chair with her, exposing herself in a mimicry of his drawing.
Her underwear is plain white cotton, overlapped by a translucent, white garter belt that clipped onto the tops of her stockings. They are simple and perfunctory; not deliberately sexy, but Mordred can already feel himself hardening again at the sight.
"Come closer," Sister Morgana demands and Mordred rushes, nearly faceplanting again as he shuffles between her spread legs.
"This is what you wanted?" she questions rhetorically, fingers trailing over the crotch of her knickers before pulling one side over so Mordred can set his eyes on her pink folds, already glistening wet with arousal.
This close, Mordred can smell her, thick and earthy, the heat of it draws him mindlessly closer. The woman allows it, shifting a little to reposition herself more comfortably. Mordred catches himself before he touches her, though, eyes glancing up to lock with the older woman.
"Sister?" he asks tentatively, but she only nods.
"Go ahead, Mordred," she grants.
He doesn't hesitate this time. Leaning against her leg a bit to brace himself, Mordred bends forward and touches his lips to hers, kissing lovingly. His tongue darts out to taste the smears of wetness she's left on his lips and he moans
He nuzzle his nose into her damp curls, breathing her in as he sets his tongue on her. Eagerly and gratefully he laps at her hot cunt, catching one thick drop as it slid out of her, then licking back into the source. He is greedy as he pushes his tongue inside, her breathy sounds of pleasure edging him on and he happily fucks her with his tongue, desperate to taste more.
"Thats- oh! That's good, Mordred. Now –" she gasps, hitching her hips up to push into the boy's mouth, wrapping her free leg around his shoulders, "my clit."
Mordred whimpers a little, shameless, but obeys, nosing his way up until he could take the swollen nub into his mouth. He suckles on it like a babe at his mother's breast reveling in the small squeal of startled pleasure it brings from the older woman.
He fervently attacks the little bundle with firm laps before flicking it rapidly with his tongue. Darting back down, he slurps at the juices as they flow from her, then licking from the shadowed crack all the way up to swirl around her clitoris.
The teen uses his lips and tongue and soon the nun is fisting his hair and holding him down while she thrusts up into his waiting mouth. His face is a mess and his jaw ached, his cock well recovered and throbbing between his thighs when sister Morgana finally stills, tensed and contorted slightly as she silently took her pleasure. Mordred attends her happily, drinking down her release as it gushes out of her, letting her milk it as long as she can.
"Oh..." Sister Morgana pants, unwrapping herself from around her student. Mordred stares up at her, face shiny and sticky with sweat and cum and saliva, lips bruised. His eyes are dark and wild as he arches his neck up toward her, pleading without words for her attention.
"That... that was very good, Mordred, thank you," the older woman praises, leaning down to kiss him softly, licking her slick from his lips. The nun licks into his mouth and reaches down to fist his cock which was leaking into a puddle on the floor.
Mordred only lasts a handful of tugs before he spills into her hand, keening into her mouth. Sister Morgana chuckles and pulls away, licking the fluid from her fingers.
"Sister..." Mordred moans and the woman smiles sweetly at him. He watches drowzily as she stands and rights herself, wiping her hand on a facial tissue off her desk. Bending down, she hooks her hands under his arms and pulled, helping Mordred to his feet. Mordred looked up, bemused as she pulled his trousers back up and refastened his belt, though he lets his eyes shut as she brushes his hair with her fingers. The Sister indulges him, stroking his hair longer than she intended when he pushes beseechingly into her palm.
"I know you can be good for me, Mordred," Sister Morgana murmurs when she reaches around to untie his wrists.
"Yes, Ma'am," Mordred replies, blushing a little when she massaged his wrists and drapes the necktie around his shoulders.
"I want to see your marks improve," she continues. "I don't want to have to punish you again, is that understood?"
Mordred gulps but nods. "Yes, Ma'am," and Sister Morgana smiles.
"Good boy," she says, patting his cheek.
"If you do well enough, perhaps I'll give you a reward."
Mordred does love to please her.