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A sparring session gets heated followed by a "therapeutic" massage! There's one more part after this. ","writing":"Days passed along with sparring sessions of increasing complexity up at the shrine. Along with a daily exercise routine, successive climbs of the sky reaching steps were a little easier. The two started spending all their days together. Not just training, but getting to know each other, sharing meals, and hiking through the wilderness. The night of their mutual exposure wasn't brought up again. That didn't stop Mitra from his obvious fawning. Omari also acted less strict and more nurturing, like a friend or family member, especially outside of practice. \n\nIt wasn't until the red panda was confident in his footwork and his parrying when he insisted the sparring be unfettered and real to test his skill. Of course someone with a decade more experience was expected to best him at every turn, but he yearned for the excitement of mock combat. It was a chance to prove himself as a capable warrior and maybe finally land a hit against his infallible master. He hoped that the jackal was more likely to leave an opening on offense. \n\nThe terms for going all out was that he wear protection, so they went to where Omari last saw armored jackets of the appropriate size. Stacked crates and chests lined the floor of Indira's attic filled with mundane clutter, antiquated documents, and forgotten belongings of previous residents. Wardrobes worth of chests were searched to find one containing neatly folded padded coats. The unassuming jacks were made of small plates of iron sewn between layers of thick umber fabric. They were distinguishable as armor only for their bulk and signs of wear. After he held it up to Mitra for comparison, they tidied their mess and went downstairs. \n\nFitting into the stiff and heavy garment was a two person job at Master's insistence. From behind, he reached under the fold of the boy's peplos and pulled it off. They ensured the chiton underneath was snug enough to not get in the way. Probing hands patted around his belly and torso before and after slipping through the sleeves and fastening the buttons, helping every with every step. Omari thought to comment on how a single moon of consistent exercise made him seem slim and fit compared to when they first met, but Mitra was first to speak up. \n\n\"Dressing me like this makes me feel like a little kid,\" he joked. \"My parents haven't done this in years.\" Demeaning as it was at first to be treated like a small, helpless child, he appreciated the assistance. Master's titillating touch reminded him of their intimate moment and how badly he wanted to be closer. \n\n\"It's normal to help each other fit into armor,\" Omari explained while he fastened the last few buttons. \"Takes less time with extra hands, and more complex suits take a lot of effort to put on. Some are more or less impossible to don by yourself. Not so bad, right? Builds camaraderie.\"\n\n\"Is it normal to see each other naked, too?\" the acquiescent panda proposed and blushed. Changing together should be conducive to that, he thought. He hoped his suggestion yielded the results he often daydreamed of. Nothing was gleaned from his master's nonchalant reaction, however. He'd have to drop more hints. \n\n\"Well, yeah. Like I told you before, being naked in front of your friends isn't a big deal at all. We bathed and changed together all the time,\" the master assured and gauged his pupil's intentions once more. He glanced down at his butt, one of the few places that retained his chubbiness, and considered giving it a quick pat. Mitra seemed comfortable enough with his groping, anyway. \n\n\"I'm not used to that, but I suppose I don't mind getting naked if it's just you watching,\" Mitra affectionately declared. He wasn't sure how else to tactfully broach the subject. The prospect was worth the embarrassment of making the bold statement. Given time to digest the prior event, he was ready expose himself whenever the situation allowed. Omari had already seen him completely bare, so there was nothing to hide anymore. In fact, he kind of craved being the center of attention again. He tilted his head all the way back to exchange glances. \nForwardness came as a shock to Omari, who figured he would have to be the one to make the advances. He would have ran with that opportunity to abuse his position, but only thought to ask, \"Oh? Why the sudden change?\" The armor was already on, he'd have to find an excuse after practice. \n\n\"That's because we were out in the open at the beach. That's completely different,\" Mitra huffed. He didn't appreciate being reminded of his weakness. Today was his chance to prove how much he changed. He took a few steps away to shift and flex the jack into a comfortable position. Bending his arm felt minutely limited and the metal plates weighed him down. It wasn't so bad that he couldn't foresee getting used to it. Wearing it brought to mind the winter coats worn in his homeland. \n\nMaster looked him over after a final cursory grope. Not tailored for Mitra, it was just a tad too long. Perhaps it could be hemmed, he thought. Sewing was yet another trade he knew the rudiments of. It was a perfect excuse to take some precise measurements later. \"If you say so. How does it feel? This fit you okay?\" \n\n\"It's a little big. Heavy, too. You sure this won't affect my ability to move fast? I need to be in top condition if I'm going to spar,\" the panda griped, facing the tall mirror in his room and testing out his dramatic fencing movements. A stringent hand on his shoulder told him to contain his zeal for outside. \n\n\"Get used to it. Otherwise you'll complain about being covered in bruises when I trounce you!\" the canid man bellowed with confidence. \"I hope you're ready. Grab your saber and let's go out to the garden.\" In a playful display of deftness, he plucked up the wavy and mottled blue and gray sky-sword that leaned against the wall in such a way that it slipped free to flip mid-air and be caught by the other hand. He waited in the threshold of the bedroom for the boy to follow.\n\n\"But where's yours? Don't you have enough armor back at your house?\"\n\nTapping the tip of his sword against the floor in an impatient rhythm, Omari ushered Mitra to hurry up. Sounding tough and unconcerned, he said, \"I don't need it. It's not like a stick is going to hurt that much. Even if you hit me hard, the worst that I'll get is a welt. Try not to hit my face, though. That's if you can hit me this time, of course.\"\nMitra followed downstairs without another word, figuring it better to let his sword do the talking. They took their places on the garden patio a comfortable distance apart. Their gazes were locked in an intense stare down with their swords trained on each other. The match had not yet begun, but it felt like it. From Mitra's perspective, this was the culmination of his training and just as serious as a real fight. The smug expression looking back at him was a challenge he sought to meet. Visualizations of various strategies and attack patterns played out in his mind. He convinced himself that he could create an opening with enough ingenuity and perseverance. An outline of the rules interrupted his trance. \n\n\"Remember, torso and arm hits only. If contact is made, whoever is advancing gets the point and we return to these positions. To start, let's say the first one to ten points is the winner. The round starts when I do this.\" Omari slapped his thigh with his free hand to demonstrate his signal, then continued, \"If you score a point, you can be the one to give the signal. Focus on anticipating my movements and parrying. Stay calm and vary your attacks. Shall we begin?\"\n\nAs soon as the red panda boy nodded in understanding, his opponent came at him at lightning speed with a flurry he had trouble keeping up with. Again and again the opposing saber sneaked past his defenses. The sight of of the signal, the threatening slap, and the immediate charge that ensued was an apprehensive one, an unstoppable force he failed to keep at bay. Sometimes, the round would end as soon as it began. Other rounds he kept up a streak of anticipating moves until his reaction time was overcome by honed speed and was struck in the ribs. \n\nAfter the first few rounds, Omari backed off and goaded Mitra into trying out various patterns he memorized. \nCertain sequences of moves flowed together and were harder to parry. Momentum and mind games were just as crucial as raw skill or power if not more so. A slash from the right, backhand from the left, a chop from above, circle around and under, a quick flick of the wrist to come from the opposite site, press the attack without the slightest reprieve, each remise in junction with a spring forward that closed the gap. Nuances of the art he was just now learning were second nature to the master. Being too defensive was worse than being too offensive. Balance had to be achieved, and he surmised he approached it with every round. Successive rounds lasted longer. Priority was passed between them; a constant switch between offense and defense lasted until a glancing blow pushed through the parry. \n\nNine rounds in, Mitra blamed his inevitable and utter defeat on his inferior reach. To stand close enough to score meant he was already well within reach himself. There was a pattern of quick feints from a distance to keep him on defense, most of which threatened a beat to his saber or a smack on the wrist. It was as if his master always knew the right position to maximize his opportunities at the least risk. Scoring on his senior required creativity, to think outside the box. He chose to employ the element of surprise. They gradually closed the gap through small steps and body feints. He hovered in and out of Omari's reach. Erring on defense sent the message that he was being cautious and unsure, although it was a ruse to lower Omari's guard. He had to get close enough to make the discrepancy in their reach irrelevant. \n\nTo do so, he defied the conventions of footwork he abided without question until now. He leaned forward with the point outstretched and threw his momentum into a flying lunge, his hind leg crossing his front to give more distance. It was so unexpected and unprecedented, at least in their time together, that the counter came far too late. The flame blade pushed into the jackal's sternum. The wind blade met his belly as well, but the victor was clear. They paused in disbelief. Taken with accomplishment and glee, Mitra fist pumped. \"Yes! I finally did it! The point is mine!\"\n\nOmari walked past to the center and held the en garde stance. His form was more steady and rigid. Until then he held back to guide and observe; his intention was to teach and not to outright demolish. The maneuver in question, a fleche, was a well established technique he thought to impart in the near future. Surprise was the main purpose of the fleche, but it worked too well on a self proclaimed expert. Another significance that bothered him pertained to his former lover and their penchant for it. \"Don't let it go to your head, kid. You wouldn't have hit me if I was really trying.\"\n\n\"Oh come on! That was fair and square. Don't undermine my victory like that, Master,\" Mitra implored. He resorted to the title more often and Omari no longer bothered to correct him.\n\"I won't let you win the next one. Let's finish this.\"\n\nImmersed in the tension and the determined look he received, Mitra almost forgot that it was his turn to give the signal. He assumed this meant the initiative was his to seize and capitalize on. Charging in as soon as he signaled, he attempted to duck under a horizontal slash and continue his rush by going in low. Instead, the saber he dodged was brought down on his left shoulder with excessive force, a blow that smarted through his padding. Omari was perturbed, yet only his powerful, decisive stroke was any indication; otherwise his movements and expression were calm and orderly.\n\nThe final bout began and ended in a flash. Omari barreled towards him swinging relentlessly. Swords clacked together as the assault forced the boy to the edge of the patio, leaving no time to do anything but fend off while retreating. He couldn't back away as fast as Omari advanced, however, so he stumbled following a hit to the breast. Omari couldn't halt his momentum and collided, knocking Mitra's feet from under him, causing his rear to catch the lip of the patio on the way down. Immobilized by the pain that shot up his spine, the boy let out a yelp of agony and rolled to the side. he winced and held a hand against the point of impact.\n\nThrowing his saber aside, Omari knelt at his pupil's side. Immense guilt and regret for the grave mistake his temper earned him, as it had countless times before, switched his mode from vindictive to nurturing. \"Crap! I'm sorry, Mitra! Can you move?\"\n\n\"Oww... What the hell?\" the panda boy wailed. \n\n\"Look, I'm sorry. I know I got a little carried away. But that's what you get for provoking me. Nothing's broken is it?\"\n\n\"Uncalled for. Ugh... My whole back hurts.\"\n\nAs it was evident no serious injury occurred, Omari pulled Mitra to his feet and dusted him off. If anything were broken, he was sure the reaction would be far more severe to match. The thought of it put a sinking pit in his stomach. \"Let's get you inside for today, lesson's over,\" he said with gentle reassurance. \n\n\"It's hard to move,\" Mitra croaked as he took a few labored steps hunched forward like an infirm elderly man. \n\"Maybe I should see a healer for this.\"\n\n\"Nonsense, you just took a fall. Healers are expensive, you know. Indira will have my neck if he has to put up that coin from something that I did. First thing's first, let's take off that jacket.\"\n\nMitra let his master do all of the work of unbuttoning and unburdening him. Once he was relieved of the excess weight, his pain dulled somewhat. He slowly made his way inside while Omari gathered the equipment. Like dozens of other tumbles, he predicted the soreness would subside after no more than a few days. Milking it for extra sympathy didn't hurt. Asking to be carried up to his room might be too much, but he would accept if offered. Little did he know that the jackal formulated similar ideas. \n\nWhen they reconvened in the dining room, Omari was eager to lend a helping hand. \"How are you feeling?\" he asked. \n\n\"Like I need to lay down,\" Mitra said as he hobbled down the corridor. \n\n\"Damn, you must have landed on your spine or something. If you want, I can help relieve some of that pain for you,\" Omari said in a soothing manner. Genuine concern was as much the motivation for suggesting treatment as a dirty mind concocting a perfect excuse to live out perverted fantasies. Patience was difficult since he basked in the boy's beauty, wanting nothing more than to grope and rub what he saw all over, but his decency stayed him until another such situation arose to forge a deeper bond through intimacy. It was a good chance to gauge how comfortable the boy was with being touched and how much he could get away with. \n\n\"What were you going to do? You're not a healer.\"\n\n\"I don't have to be a healer to help you. Massages are useful for treating all kinds of minor athletic injuries, you know. Would you like me to give you one? It'll loosen you right up.\"\n\n\"A massage? Well, alright, if you think it will help. Let's go up to my room.\" the boy answered, trying to curb his excitement. He had no reason to refuse. An agonizing and sluggish ascent brought them to his cluttered bedroom. Toys and books littered what little floor space wasn't dedicated to the luxurious four poster bed. He slumped down into it and was given a gesture to get back up.\n\n\"Not yet. Take off your clothes and get on your stomach.\"\n\nThe tangled mess that was the scrunched up crimson silk sheets and fluffy down pillows was separated and pulled aside to clear a space for the boy to lay flat on his belly. Meanwhile, Mitra closed the door out of habit (no one else was home) and took his time undressing to avoid twisting anything. Today he was fortunate to have on his skimpier undergarments that he started wearing recently, officially because they were better for the heat and unofficially because they were cuter. They were made of two triangle shapes joined at the bottom and sides like a bikini rather than the folded and tucked cloth he usually wore. He settled in on the bed and found a position of optimal comfort as his master sat further down. \n\nOmari leaned over and plied his thumbs into the neck and shoulders in repetitive circular motion. His attention drifted to the scantily clad bottom, twitching cheeks partially exposed at the edges, and the poofy tail that playfully swished against his thigh. He kneaded with heavy pressure, giving thorough treatment to each area. It was a pleasure to wrap his hands around Mitra's warm body. As he worked his way down the spine, the boy melted into the bed and let out soft moans of content. \"How does that feel? Any better than before? Where does it hurt?\"\n\n\"It does feel better, but the pain is coming from lower down,\" Mitra mumbled. He lay there perfectly still and half asleep in a state of ecstasy. Physical contact alone was a novel experience. The massage continued to the small of the back, dipping lower to just above the underwear. He perked up from his torpor when firm fingers pressed against the ridges of his gluteal muscles. Proximity to his nethers made the massage all the more exciting. The thought of how wonderful it would be if the massage extended to his whole body for hours on end crossed his mind, as well as reciprocating the act. \n\n\"How's that? Is there anywhere else hurting that you want me to rub?\"\n\nSince it was already teased at to spawn the idea, Mitra wanted the massage to run its course to below the waist. It was truthfully where the pain originated, after all. Just thinking of it awakened the butterflies in his gut, but he stammered through his response. \"Yeah. A-actually I landed on m-my butt, heh.\"\n\n\"Your loincloth is in the way, then. Do you want to take it off?\" Omari asked, although he already knew the answer. He was amazed at how ideal it turned out. \n\nThe red panda turned his head and glanced out of the corner of his eye with a closed smile. He raised his tush slightly and wagged. \"Can you take it off for me?\" \n\nThe request was obliged without hesitation. Omari tugged down the undergarment to Mitra's thighs to lay bare and give full access to his plump ass. It was even more magnificent and arousing to behold from on top of it. Not diving right in with a lewd act took some restraint on the jackal's part, although he climbed up and lifted his leg over to kneel with Mitra's legs between his, sporting the early stages of an erection tantalizingly close to the boy's butt. As much as bending down for a taste or grinding against it tempted him, the plan was to ease into sexual contact as gradually and naturally as he could think of. \n\nThe manner of the massage changed when it came to caressing Mitra's butt and thighs. Squeezing and probing caused him to gasp and adjust to accommodate his tiny stiffy pressed into the mattress. His cheeks were spread apart with a rolling motion by his master who licked his lips to glimpses of a tight virgin hole. They were thinking the same -- how exhilarating it was to do this for the first time, and in secret in the house of the one person who might object to their union. \n\nWhether Indira would approve of another family member being corrupted was a concern of Omari's, which made it all the more taboo. There was also the formative memories of his first sexual encounters spent hushed in the dead of night with Rakesh in the adjacent bedroom. In a situation similar to this one, he explored the body of a juvenile red panda and lost his virginity. Everything always came back to Rakesh. \n\n\"That feels so good,\" Mitra yawned, stretching out and pushing back against his master's captivating and sensual grasp. He was agreeable to any and all kinds of touching if it were like this. \"I never want to get up. Can you rub my butt some more?\" he plead. \n\n\"Sure, kid,\" Omari said. \"We had an intense workout today. You did really well, you know. I notice you learning how to parry and you're getting fast enough to keep up with me. That point you scored was flawless. This is the least I can do for you after losing my cool like that. To be honest, what threw me off was that... You used a fleche just like he used to.\"\n\n\"A flesh?\"\n\n\"No, a fleche, it's a fencing term. When you crossed your legs to lunge at me, that's a finishing blow Rakesh always went for. You executed it perfectly on your first try. I'm proud of you.\"\n\n\"It's only because I have the best teacher in the world.\"\n\nPraise went far to elate the mood, adding to the affection felt between them. The special treatment winded down with open palms petting everywhere. So many possible outcomes flooded Omari's imagination. Impressionable and obedient as the boy was, he was confident that he'd get away with flipping the boy over for round two, or taking off his own loincloth and nestling next to him. As the pep talk went on, legs spread further as if it were an invitation to dabble with the delicate parts underneath. Fingers inched up the inner thigh towards them with the intent of copping a feel. A shiver went up the boy's spine in anticipation. \n\nOmari's advance was stayed by his nagging conscience and a sinking feeling in his heart. Loves new and old were intrinsically linked. Was it possible to separate them at all? Or would every experience just be a shadow of what once was? Something about the timing also felt off. He didn't regret what he did as it was well established how much Mitra desired it. If they were to consummate their relationship, he wanted the context to be right, not this facade that fell into his lap. He wanted to tell Mitra everything he was hiding. His reaction at the injury was proof that he wasn't just some kid to him; he cared a great deal. When the injury had healed and he collected his thoughts, he would offer the most private of lessons to teach about their bodies. Then they could both participate equally. \n\nFor now he made one last pass, grappled the boy's hips to coax him to rise, and helped pull on his underwear. He climbed off the bed and gazed out the window while Mitra got dressed. Facing away, he finally had freedom to tuck his now allaying erection from the sticky stain of pre. The setting sun cast a shadow over what wasn't illuminated by the last orange rays of dusk. Hours passed like minutes when they were together it seemed. Night was a fitting time to excuse himself. Small arms surprised him from behind and wrapped around his middle. It was relieving to find that his sudden cessation wasn't cause for disappointment. He turned to reciprocate the loving embrace and met with adoring green eyes staring back. He lifted Mitra with a tight squeeze and released. \n\n\"Thank you so much, Master. I feel good as new! That really did the trick.\"\n\n\"Don't mention it. It was my fault to begin with and I'm sorry. I'll give you a massage whenever you get sore. Right now I gotta go fetch my supper, though.\"\n\n\"Hehe, alright. Will I get to see you soon?\"\n\n\"I'll come over for our next sparring session in a couple days. Don't get overconfident and slack off on your training.\"\n\n\"No way, I have train even harder to beat you!\"\n\n\"I still have a lot to teach you,\" Omari hinted. As a parting act of affection, he ruffled the fur above the boy's forehead and kissed him on the brow. \"Goodnight, Mitra.\" \n\n\"Goodnight, Omari.\" ","writing_bbcode_parsed":"Days passed along with sparring sessions of increasing complexity up at the shrine. Along with a daily exercise routine, successive climbs of the sky reaching steps were a little easier. The two started spending all their days together. Not just training, but getting to know each other, sharing meals, and hiking through the wilderness. The night of their mutual exposure wasn't brought up again. That didn't stop Mitra from his obvious fawning. Omari also acted less strict and more nurturing, like a friend or family member, especially outside of practice.
It wasn't until the red panda was confident in his footwork and his parrying when he insisted the sparring be unfettered and real to test his skill. Of course someone with a decade more experience was expected to best him at every turn, but he yearned for the excitement of mock combat. It was a chance to prove himself as a capable warrior and maybe finally land a hit against his infallible master. He hoped that the jackal was more likely to leave an opening on offense.
The terms for going all out was that he wear protection, so they went to where Omari last saw armored jackets of the appropriate size. Stacked crates and chests lined the floor of Indira's attic filled with mundane clutter, antiquated documents, and forgotten belongings of previous residents. Wardrobes worth of chests were searched to find one containing neatly folded padded coats. The unassuming jacks were made of small plates of iron sewn between layers of thick umber fabric. They were distinguishable as armor only for their bulk and signs of wear. After he held it up to Mitra for comparison, they tidied their mess and went downstairs.
Fitting into the stiff and heavy garment was a two person job at Master's insistence. From behind, he reached under the fold of the boy's peplos and pulled it off. They ensured the chiton underneath was snug enough to not get in the way. Probing hands patted around his belly and torso before and after slipping through the sleeves and fastening the buttons, helping every with every step. Omari thought to comment on how a single moon of consistent exercise made him seem slim and fit compared to when they first met, but Mitra was first to speak up.
"Dressing me like this makes me feel like a little kid," he joked. "My parents haven't done this in years." Demeaning as it was at first to be treated like a small, helpless child, he appreciated the assistance. Master's titillating touch reminded him of their intimate moment and how badly he wanted to be closer.
"It's normal to help each other fit into armor," Omari explained while he fastened the last few buttons. "Takes less time with extra hands, and more complex suits take a lot of effort to put on. Some are more or less impossible to don by yourself. Not so bad, right? Builds camaraderie."
"Is it normal to see each other naked, too?" the acquiescent panda proposed and blushed. Changing together should be conducive to that, he thought. He hoped his suggestion yielded the results he often daydreamed of. Nothing was gleaned from his master's nonchalant reaction, however. He'd have to drop more hints.
"Well, yeah. Like I told you before, being naked in front of your friends isn't a big deal at all. We bathed and changed together all the time," the master assured and gauged his pupil's intentions once more. He glanced down at his butt, one of the few places that retained his chubbiness, and considered giving it a quick pat. Mitra seemed comfortable enough with his groping, anyway.
"I'm not used to that, but I suppose I don't mind getting naked if it's just you watching," Mitra affectionately declared. He wasn't sure how else to tactfully broach the subject. The prospect was worth the embarrassment of making the bold statement. Given time to digest the prior event, he was ready expose himself whenever the situation allowed. Omari had already seen him completely bare, so there was nothing to hide anymore. In fact, he kind of craved being the center of attention again. He tilted his head all the way back to exchange glances.
Forwardness came as a shock to Omari, who figured he would have to be the one to make the advances. He would have ran with that opportunity to abuse his position, but only thought to ask, "Oh? Why the sudden change?" The armor was already on, he'd have to find an excuse after practice.
"That's because we were out in the open at the beach. That's completely different," Mitra huffed. He didn't appreciate being reminded of his weakness. Today was his chance to prove how much he changed. He took a few steps away to shift and flex the jack into a comfortable position. Bending his arm felt minutely limited and the metal plates weighed him down. It wasn't so bad that he couldn't foresee getting used to it. Wearing it brought to mind the winter coats worn in his homeland.
Master looked him over after a final cursory grope. Not tailored for Mitra, it was just a tad too long. Perhaps it could be hemmed, he thought. Sewing was yet another trade he knew the rudiments of. It was a perfect excuse to take some precise measurements later. "If you say so. How does it feel? This fit you okay?"
"It's a little big. Heavy, too. You sure this won't affect my ability to move fast? I need to be in top condition if I'm going to spar," the panda griped, facing the tall mirror in his room and testing out his dramatic fencing movements. A stringent hand on his shoulder told him to contain his zeal for outside.
"Get used to it. Otherwise you'll complain about being covered in bruises when I trounce you!" the canid man bellowed with confidence. "I hope you're ready. Grab your saber and let's go out to the garden." In a playful display of deftness, he plucked up the wavy and mottled blue and gray sky-sword that leaned against the wall in such a way that it slipped free to flip mid-air and be caught by the other hand. He waited in the threshold of the bedroom for the boy to follow.
"But where's yours? Don't you have enough armor back at your house?"
Tapping the tip of his sword against the floor in an impatient rhythm, Omari ushered Mitra to hurry up. Sounding tough and unconcerned, he said, "I don't need it. It's not like a stick is going to hurt that much. Even if you hit me hard, the worst that I'll get is a welt. Try not to hit my face, though. That's if you can hit me this time, of course."
Mitra followed downstairs without another word, figuring it better to let his sword do the talking. They took their places on the garden patio a comfortable distance apart. Their gazes were locked in an intense stare down with their swords trained on each other. The match had not yet begun, but it felt like it. From Mitra's perspective, this was the culmination of his training and just as serious as a real fight. The smug expression looking back at him was a challenge he sought to meet. Visualizations of various strategies and attack patterns played out in his mind. He convinced himself that he could create an opening with enough ingenuity and perseverance. An outline of the rules interrupted his trance.
"Remember, torso and arm hits only. If contact is made, whoever is advancing gets the point and we return to these positions. To start, let's say the first one to ten points is the winner. The round starts when I do this." Omari slapped his thigh with his free hand to demonstrate his signal, then continued, "If you score a point, you can be the one to give the signal. Focus on anticipating my movements and parrying. Stay calm and vary your attacks. Shall we begin?"
As soon as the red panda boy nodded in understanding, his opponent came at him at lightning speed with a flurry he had trouble keeping up with. Again and again the opposing saber sneaked past his defenses. The sight of of the signal, the threatening slap, and the immediate charge that ensued was an apprehensive one, an unstoppable force he failed to keep at bay. Sometimes, the round would end as soon as it began. Other rounds he kept up a streak of anticipating moves until his reaction time was overcome by honed speed and was struck in the ribs.
After the first few rounds, Omari backed off and goaded Mitra into trying out various patterns he memorized.
Certain sequences of moves flowed together and were harder to parry. Momentum and mind games were just as crucial as raw skill or power if not more so. A slash from the right, backhand from the left, a chop from above, circle around and under, a quick flick of the wrist to come from the opposite site, press the attack without the slightest reprieve, each remise in junction with a spring forward that closed the gap. Nuances of the art he was just now learning were second nature to the master. Being too defensive was worse than being too offensive. Balance had to be achieved, and he surmised he approached it with every round. Successive rounds lasted longer. Priority was passed between them; a constant switch between offense and defense lasted until a glancing blow pushed through the parry.
Nine rounds in, Mitra blamed his inevitable and utter defeat on his inferior reach. To stand close enough to score meant he was already well within reach himself. There was a pattern of quick feints from a distance to keep him on defense, most of which threatened a beat to his saber or a smack on the wrist. It was as if his master always knew the right position to maximize his opportunities at the least risk. Scoring on his senior required creativity, to think outside the box. He chose to employ the element of surprise. They gradually closed the gap through small steps and body feints. He hovered in and out of Omari's reach. Erring on defense sent the message that he was being cautious and unsure, although it was a ruse to lower Omari's guard. He had to get close enough to make the discrepancy in their reach irrelevant.
To do so, he defied the conventions of footwork he abided without question until now. He leaned forward with the point outstretched and threw his momentum into a flying lunge, his hind leg crossing his front to give more distance. It was so unexpected and unprecedented, at least in their time together, that the counter came far too late. The flame blade pushed into the jackal's sternum. The wind blade met his belly as well, but the victor was clear. They paused in disbelief. Taken with accomplishment and glee, Mitra fist pumped. "Yes! I finally did it! The point is mine!"
Omari walked past to the center and held the en garde stance. His form was more steady and rigid. Until then he held back to guide and observe; his intention was to teach and not to outright demolish. The maneuver in question, a fleche, was a well established technique he thought to impart in the near future. Surprise was the main purpose of the fleche, but it worked too well on a self proclaimed expert. Another significance that bothered him pertained to his former lover and their penchant for it. "Don't let it go to your head, kid. You wouldn't have hit me if I was really trying."
"Oh come on! That was fair and square. Don't undermine my victory like that, Master," Mitra implored. He resorted to the title more often and Omari no longer bothered to correct him.
"I won't let you win the next one. Let's finish this."
Immersed in the tension and the determined look he received, Mitra almost forgot that it was his turn to give the signal. He assumed this meant the initiative was his to seize and capitalize on. Charging in as soon as he signaled, he attempted to duck under a horizontal slash and continue his rush by going in low. Instead, the saber he dodged was brought down on his left shoulder with excessive force, a blow that smarted through his padding. Omari was perturbed, yet only his powerful, decisive stroke was any indication; otherwise his movements and expression were calm and orderly.
The final bout began and ended in a flash. Omari barreled towards him swinging relentlessly. Swords clacked together as the assault forced the boy to the edge of the patio, leaving no time to do anything but fend off while retreating. He couldn't back away as fast as Omari advanced, however, so he stumbled following a hit to the breast. Omari couldn't halt his momentum and collided, knocking Mitra's feet from under him, causing his rear to catch the lip of the patio on the way down. Immobilized by the pain that shot up his spine, the boy let out a yelp of agony and rolled to the side. he winced and held a hand against the point of impact.
Throwing his saber aside, Omari knelt at his pupil's side. Immense guilt and regret for the grave mistake his temper earned him, as it had countless times before, switched his mode from vindictive to nurturing. "Crap! I'm sorry, Mitra! Can you move?"
"Oww... What the hell?" the panda boy wailed.
"Look, I'm sorry. I know I got a little carried away. But that's what you get for provoking me. Nothing's broken is it?"
"Uncalled for. Ugh... My whole back hurts."
As it was evident no serious injury occurred, Omari pulled Mitra to his feet and dusted him off. If anything were broken, he was sure the reaction would be far more severe to match. The thought of it put a sinking pit in his stomach. "Let's get you inside for today, lesson's over," he said with gentle reassurance.
"It's hard to move," Mitra croaked as he took a few labored steps hunched forward like an infirm elderly man.
"Maybe I should see a healer for this."
"Nonsense, you just took a fall. Healers are expensive, you know. Indira will have my neck if he has to put up that coin from something that I did. First thing's first, let's take off that jacket."
Mitra let his master do all of the work of unbuttoning and unburdening him. Once he was relieved of the excess weight, his pain dulled somewhat. He slowly made his way inside while Omari gathered the equipment. Like dozens of other tumbles, he predicted the soreness would subside after no more than a few days. Milking it for extra sympathy didn't hurt. Asking to be carried up to his room might be too much, but he would accept if offered. Little did he know that the jackal formulated similar ideas.
When they reconvened in the dining room, Omari was eager to lend a helping hand. "How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Like I need to lay down," Mitra said as he hobbled down the corridor.
"Damn, you must have landed on your spine or something. If you want, I can help relieve some of that pain for you," Omari said in a soothing manner. Genuine concern was as much the motivation for suggesting treatment as a dirty mind concocting a perfect excuse to live out perverted fantasies. Patience was difficult since he basked in the boy's beauty, wanting nothing more than to grope and rub what he saw all over, but his decency stayed him until another such situation arose to forge a deeper bond through intimacy. It was a good chance to gauge how comfortable the boy was with being touched and how much he could get away with.
"What were you going to do? You're not a healer."
"I don't have to be a healer to help you. Massages are useful for treating all kinds of minor athletic injuries, you know. Would you like me to give you one? It'll loosen you right up."
"A massage? Well, alright, if you think it will help. Let's go up to my room." the boy answered, trying to curb his excitement. He had no reason to refuse. An agonizing and sluggish ascent brought them to his cluttered bedroom. Toys and books littered what little floor space wasn't dedicated to the luxurious four poster bed. He slumped down into it and was given a gesture to get back up.
"Not yet. Take off your clothes and get on your stomach."
The tangled mess that was the scrunched up crimson silk sheets and fluffy down pillows was separated and pulled aside to clear a space for the boy to lay flat on his belly. Meanwhile, Mitra closed the door out of habit (no one else was home) and took his time undressing to avoid twisting anything. Today he was fortunate to have on his skimpier undergarments that he started wearing recently, officially because they were better for the heat and unofficially because they were cuter. They were made of two triangle shapes joined at the bottom and sides like a bikini rather than the folded and tucked cloth he usually wore. He settled in on the bed and found a position of optimal comfort as his master sat further down.
Omari leaned over and plied his thumbs into the neck and shoulders in repetitive circular motion. His attention drifted to the scantily clad bottom, twitching cheeks partially exposed at the edges, and the poofy tail that playfully swished against his thigh. He kneaded with heavy pressure, giving thorough treatment to each area. It was a pleasure to wrap his hands around Mitra's warm body. As he worked his way down the spine, the boy melted into the bed and let out soft moans of content. "How does that feel? Any better than before? Where does it hurt?"
"It does feel better, but the pain is coming from lower down," Mitra mumbled. He lay there perfectly still and half asleep in a state of ecstasy. Physical contact alone was a novel experience. The massage continued to the small of the back, dipping lower to just above the underwear. He perked up from his torpor when firm fingers pressed against the ridges of his gluteal muscles. Proximity to his nethers made the massage all the more exciting. The thought of how wonderful it would be if the massage extended to his whole body for hours on end crossed his mind, as well as reciprocating the act.
"How's that? Is there anywhere else hurting that you want me to rub?"
Since it was already teased at to spawn the idea, Mitra wanted the massage to run its course to below the waist. It was truthfully where the pain originated, after all. Just thinking of it awakened the butterflies in his gut, but he stammered through his response. "Yeah. A-actually I landed on m-my butt, heh."
"Your loincloth is in the way, then. Do you want to take it off?" Omari asked, although he already knew the answer. He was amazed at how ideal it turned out.
The red panda turned his head and glanced out of the corner of his eye with a closed smile. He raised his tush slightly and wagged. "Can you take it off for me?"
The request was obliged without hesitation. Omari tugged down the undergarment to Mitra's thighs to lay bare and give full access to his plump ass. It was even more magnificent and arousing to behold from on top of it. Not diving right in with a lewd act took some restraint on the jackal's part, although he climbed up and lifted his leg over to kneel with Mitra's legs between his, sporting the early stages of an erection tantalizingly close to the boy's butt. As much as bending down for a taste or grinding against it tempted him, the plan was to ease into sexual contact as gradually and naturally as he could think of.
The manner of the massage changed when it came to caressing Mitra's butt and thighs. Squeezing and probing caused him to gasp and adjust to accommodate his tiny stiffy pressed into the mattress. His cheeks were spread apart with a rolling motion by his master who licked his lips to glimpses of a tight virgin hole. They were thinking the same -- how exhilarating it was to do this for the first time, and in secret in the house of the one person who might object to their union.
Whether Indira would approve of another family member being corrupted was a concern of Omari's, which made it all the more taboo. There was also the formative memories of his first sexual encounters spent hushed in the dead of night with Rakesh in the adjacent bedroom. In a situation similar to this one, he explored the body of a juvenile red panda and lost his virginity. Everything always came back to Rakesh.
"That feels so good," Mitra yawned, stretching out and pushing back against his master's captivating and sensual grasp. He was agreeable to any and all kinds of touching if it were like this. "I never want to get up. Can you rub my butt some more?" he plead.
"Sure, kid," Omari said. "We had an intense workout today. You did really well, you know. I notice you learning how to parry and you're getting fast enough to keep up with me. That point you scored was flawless. This is the least I can do for you after losing my cool like that. To be honest, what threw me off was that... You used a fleche just like he used to."
"A flesh?"
"No, a fleche, it's a fencing term. When you crossed your legs to lunge at me, that's a finishing blow Rakesh always went for. You executed it perfectly on your first try. I'm proud of you."
"It's only because I have the best teacher in the world."
Praise went far to elate the mood, adding to the affection felt between them. The special treatment winded down with open palms petting everywhere. So many possible outcomes flooded Omari's imagination. Impressionable and obedient as the boy was, he was confident that he'd get away with flipping the boy over for round two, or taking off his own loincloth and nestling next to him. As the pep talk went on, legs spread further as if it were an invitation to dabble with the delicate parts underneath. Fingers inched up the inner thigh towards them with the intent of copping a feel. A shiver went up the boy's spine in anticipation.
Omari's advance was stayed by his nagging conscience and a sinking feeling in his heart. Loves new and old were intrinsically linked. Was it possible to separate them at all? Or would every experience just be a shadow of what once was? Something about the timing also felt off. He didn't regret what he did as it was well established how much Mitra desired it. If they were to consummate their relationship, he wanted the context to be right, not this facade that fell into his lap. He wanted to tell Mitra everything he was hiding. His reaction at the injury was proof that he wasn't just some kid to him; he cared a great deal. When the injury had healed and he collected his thoughts, he would offer the most private of lessons to teach about their bodies. Then they could both participate equally.
For now he made one last pass, grappled the boy's hips to coax him to rise, and helped pull on his underwear. He climbed off the bed and gazed out the window while Mitra got dressed. Facing away, he finally had freedom to tuck his now allaying erection from the sticky stain of pre. The setting sun cast a shadow over what wasn't illuminated by the last orange rays of dusk. Hours passed like minutes when they were together it seemed. Night was a fitting time to excuse himself. Small arms surprised him from behind and wrapped around his middle. It was relieving to find that his sudden cessation wasn't cause for disappointment. He turned to reciprocate the loving embrace and met with adoring green eyes staring back. He lifted Mitra with a tight squeeze and released.
"Thank you so much, Master. I feel good as new! That really did the trick."
"Don't mention it. It was my fault to begin with and I'm sorry. I'll give you a massage whenever you get sore. Right now I gotta go fetch my supper, though."
"Hehe, alright. Will I get to see you soon?"
"I'll come over for our next sparring session in a couple days. Don't get overconfident and slack off on your training."
"No way, I have train even harder to beat you!"
"I still have a lot to teach you," Omari hinted. As a parting act of affection, he ruffled the fur above the boy's forehead and kissed him on the brow. "Goodnight, Mitra."
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