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Lessons

By Laz Briar

Few could impress the Mage Bradshaw, and fewer earned his respect. A ranking master of magics, he'd dutifully served the Alliance for years, a veteran from distant battlefields and foe to many who would strike against order and peace. And though he was young by the standards of other mages, he had still earned himself an esteemed seat as both protector and teacher. From this, he was instructed to manage and monitor the progress of other would-be spell wielders, in hopes they too could hone a path in service of the Alliance. But many did not. Many could either not pass his ordained set of tasks, or maintain the discipline required to master magics.

Save for one.

It was not to say other mages were incompetent or incapable, but to truly serve in the grand halls of Stormwind, one needed wit, cunning, determination, and tenacity. Sinclair – he could count the worthy on one hand. Loathe he was to hear the complaints of new pupils, who derided his lessons as too hard or demanding. These lessons and tasks were appetizers. Beyond Stormwind there were enemies unimaginable! Distances vast and creatures hailing from the hearts of cold stars. His lessons were saving them.

Save for one. She – with a cheery indifference – had not only risen to Sinclair's challenges, but exceeded them. And every time Sinclair did his best to throw her off guard, introduce some new mechanic to hobble her momentum, it did nothing. She could think on her feet and remained impervious to frustration, no matter what. She was an example, and, if Sinclair was honest with himself, she was going to surpass him one day.

But, even those with great skill and power needed rest. Even the most frightening orc from the harshest part of his badland required respite. So too would his favored pupil – even if she didn't know it. Suna, the mysterious Panderen girl, pushed herself in every regard, and it was a wonder she hadn't collapsed already. The excess, though, would hurt her in the long run – Sinclair knew. A sword neglected would cake with rust and cracks.

Thus, on weekend's eve, he collected his students to make a rare announcement: he was giving them the next two days off. Some emitted squeals of relief, others thought Sinclair was drunk. One even wagered he was a mimic or some other foul demon spawn, sent to trick them. But he assured them, he meant it. Only Suna resisted.

As evening settled over the hall, empty and leaving Sinclair to his scholarly tasks, she approached him. He was in his main study, a circular room with a small observatory nestled between towers of books and arcane artifacts, while his current fancy for the night was a new manuscript describing a freshly discovered invocation. He was so entrapped in his musings he didn't hear her footsteps – or perhaps her Pandaren nature allowed her a stealthy approach. Either way, she appeared in his peripheral, catching him off guard.

“Master Bradshaw," she said, marching forward with hand to hip. She wore a defiant expression, as though prepared to face another foe.

Sinclair set down his parchment, smiling.

“Ah, Suna," he said. “To what do I owe this visit of my most relentless pupil. Shouldn't you be out getting skunk drunk on wine, like the others?"

Sinclair rested his chin on fist, amused. His student scoffed.

“What? No. Master, you can't be serious!"

A brow raise. “About?"

“This. . . time off! This needless waste of precious training hours!"

Truly, Suna looked offended at the idea. Sinclair chuckled.

“Suna. Everyone needs a little rest, even you."

She feigned a pout. “I do not."

Sinclair shook his head. “Even in my prime on the battlefield, I needed time to heal. Even dragons slept. Besides, this isn't up for debate. You're going to relax this weekend, that's an order."

Here, Sinclair stood. “Consider it a branch of the Tushui. Reason, consideration, contemplation. Though this is not a typical philosophy among mages, it carries great significance for our works."

Suna rolled her eyes. “You sound like an old man."

A chuckle. “I'm getting there."

He looked to her, though still her expression was addled with resistance. “Maybe I can help you around here!" she said. “Help you study or carry the books around!"

Sinclair rubbed his temples. “I don't think I've met anyone as dedicated to not taking time off as you."

He shook his head, walking to her now, placing a kind hand on her shoulder.

“Suna, trust me. Look, I'll make it even better. There's a bit of a. . . secret resort here in the city, the Stormwind Bathhouse. Not many know of it or go to it. A privately guarded treasure, because it is the epitome of tranquility. Some believe the very waters are imbued with healing, therapeutic magic. How about you try it yourself, use it to meditate or the like?"

Suna considered the words, gaze downcast. It was clear she couldn't sway her Master Bradshaw. “Well. . ."

“What's the worst that could happen?" he added. “You end up feeling refreshed? What a tragedy."

She sighed. “Okay, fine, fine, you made your point."

“Excellent!"

Sinclair fished through his inner robes, pulling out a gold chain holding several keys. One in particular – an embroidered bronze item with an emerald bearing – he unhooked.

“Take this, then. This will give you access to the Bathhouse. It's special, because it's only accessible via magic doors which open small portals. Without the right key, the doors are ordinary, and you can't access the resevoir."

At this, Suna flushed.

“Oh. Are you sure?"

Sinclair nodded. “I trust you completely."

It was hard to see past Suna's russet cheeks, but, she was blushing now. One challenge Sinclair knew she couldn't overcome was praise. So, she took the key, staring at it like were some strange, bizarre object.

“Well. . ." she muttered. “If it's an order. I guess I'll try it."

Sinclair nodded, pleased. “Wonderful! I promise, you'll feel like a new girl. The waters cleanse the deepest wounds and purge the mind of worrisome thoughts. Between you and me, I think it's the real secret to my success," he added, chuckling.

Suna didn't give the joke much weight – she had a lot of reverence for her trainer.

“But!" she added, nudging Sinclair with a finger. “You have to come with me."

Sinclair's smile faded. “Me? Suna, it's for you to enjoy."

She shook her head, hands to hips. “Don't care. Besides, what if I make a mistake? What if it's the wrong key and I go through a different portal! I could end up in an Infernal domain for all you know!"

“My pupil, I promise there's nothing that can go wrong."

He looked at her. Her pink, defiant eyes stared right back at him, full of challenge and promise, forcing a sigh from the Mage Bradshaw. He groaned.

“Oh, very bloody well. I suppose it couldn't hurt."

Indeed, Sinclair hadn't visited the Bathhouse in what seemed eons. Of course, he had no use for it these days – teaching would-be Mages didn't have the same strain as fighting otherworldly threats. Then again, there was no greater foe than Suna's persistence.

She beamed, clapping her hands. “Excellent" she said, in mimic of her tutor.

Sinclair smiled all the same. “Yes, yes. Well, in the meantime them, keep the key. I'll meet you in the eve, tomorrow. I still have some of my usual business to attend to."

For once, Suna accepted Sinclair's decision. She offered a short bow, holding the key with infatuated attention.

“As you say, Master Bradshaw."

He nodded. “Indeed. Now, please, try to enjoy the rest of the night, will you?"

Suna only smirked at him. “No promises."

She took the key then, stowing it away in her own mage's robes, before strutting off. Her skip was a bit lighter, no doubt enthusiastic about tomorrow. Which was good, it was the first time Sinclair had seen her happy about things unrelated to mastering magic.

-*-

Suna drew a deep breath, staring at the benign frame in front of her. Okay, don't mess this up. I get once chance. No big deal. Just me and Sinclair. Alone. In a Bathhouse. . .

Her cheeks burned red. Gah! Why was this so hard? All she had to do was use the key as instructed, meet her master, and that was it, right? Just put the key in the lock. Now. Do it. Come on. . .

It was the most difficult thing she had ever attempted to do. Not the door, not the magic, but the meeting. Mage Bradshaw was a renowned name among Stormwind's finest, a young man who served on numerous battlefields across Azeroth. He had taken the wisdom of his superiors to heart, honing that into an impressive background, extending his knowledge to students. And every time she saw him, her heart caught fire. It sang, she lost focus, and she had to keep herself from gushing like a silly little girl. Somehow, someway, even though she'd spent a year with his class, he never caught on about her secret, her crush. Or, maybe he did, and he was humoring her?

No, no, couldn't be. Sinclair spoke well and with sincerity. If he had concerns, he would voice them. He was not afraid of providing critique or dutiful praise. Too bad he never said the thing Suna wanted to hear most: that he liked her too.

Well, he did, just not in the way she wanted. But maybe today she could change that. Maybe today she could tell him, if she could just put the key in the darn hole!

With another deep sigh, Suna retrieved the key from her robe, staring at it. It hissed with a powerful magic, resonating next to the door in front of her. Like Sinclair had said, the oak frame was as basic as it got, found in the corner of one of Stormwind's old libraries. On its own, it would lead to another archive. But with the key? The promised land awaited. So, reminding herself she was the best ever, capable of handling even the strongest of spells, Suna plunged the key into its lock.

At first, nothing happened. But after a moment, the key wriggled and blossomed with a bluish hue, a powerful aura surrounding its metal frame. The door in front of her morphed, wood melting away and spinning like a soupy vortex, until the oak was replaced by a portal of overwhelming magic. The startling force started to take shape, a blurred image visualizing, soon focused into what Sinclair had described: a bathouse. It was a massive thing, a construction of elaborate stone pillars and winding flora, all surrounding a gigantic pool of serene, crystalline water.

Suna glanced around, and no one had taken notice – though the library halls were empty at late evening anyway. So, she reached out to touch the portal, the image rippling against her touch like a pool of water. It bore no temperature, yet, a welcoming warmth pervaded through it. Well, she'd come this far, so Suna stepped through.

A great flash erupted around her, a dazzle of blue filling her vision. For the briefest of seconds, she felt her existence vanish and reshape itself, like her soul was yanked from the material world into something else. Then, in the same breath, her frame was tossed into the opposite side, reappearing in a new plane. No longer surrounded by the dusty library halls, but instead, the tranquil evening of a mysterious, hidden place.

Suna doubled over, gasping, hands clutching knees. Holy heck! She'd meddled with strong magics since her time with Sinclair, but never experienced it like this. All at once she was humbled by the overwhelming arcane infused with the portal. No wonder it was a well-guarded secret, lesser creatures would get torn to shreds!

But, as she regained herself, a pleasant calm settled over her. She realized just how peaceful it was, absent of the noise often present in Stormwind. The distant chortle of falling water filled her ears, mixed with the chorus of chirping insects. It was evening, so dusk blanketed the sky, veins of purple and amber clouds stretched out like misty fingers. This was the power of peace, and not since the first day she started training under Mage Bradshaw did she know it.

It took her a moment to digest her surroundings. Instinct kicked in, the kind ready for a fight. Was danger lurking around the corner? Would a greater demon appear from the sky? Perhaps – if said demon was a delightful little bird fluttering passed her. No, no there was no danger, just the peace promised by her tutor. The cool air hugged her fur and the passive quiet of the Bathhouse put her fighting mind at rest. She took another long, deep breath, and it was as if the chaos of her thoughts settled.

Incredible. Was it magic, or merely the nature of the solitary vista? Intrigued, Suna started to wander forth, the portal behind her swirling shut. As she did, the ambiance of the Bathhouse consumed her. The pathing lead to elaborate inner halls of marvelous stone, imbued with ancient runic signs of old magic. Some symbols she didn't even recognize, relics of arcane from a time well before her. Who were the artisans of this place, she wondered? And how well guarded was this place, exactly? In all her studies of magic and places of significance regarding mages, she'd never seen or heard of this locale. Perhaps Master Bradshaw was right, maybe this was the secret to his success!

As she continued, Suna discovered an enormous square interior, hosting a massive, serene pool of shimmering water. It sparkled like the most brilliant gems, carrying a tranquil blue hue like the clearest sky in all Azeroth. Surrounding it were more massive stone pillars, each tangled with vines and blossoming flowers, while the mouths of carved faces poured foaming waterfalls into the edges of the grand pool. A gentle hint of steam hissed from the water, and the air was dense with a welcoming heat.

Suna felt it at once, huffing. Phew! Thank goodness she only had a thin robe on. She had to let it slide from her shoulders, fur banking the soothing warmth. It was stifling. . . but nice. Her fighting mind quieted, focusing on peaceful contemplations.

She wandered to the massive pool, letting her fingers sink into the welcoming water. It coaxed her finger with a kiss of pleasant wetness, soothing delight erupting into her digits. Sinclair wasn't kidding! Though it was merely a dabble, there was something so pleasant about the water. Where her thoughts were always focused on the next task, the next duty, now they receded. She dreamt of quiet things, a passive Azeroth united by hope and understanding. The chaos of the world melted away, leaving only her, and that was just a touch!

Her thoughts, however, were interrupted by the crackle of distant magic. Ears flagging, she spun to see another vortex peel apart the fabric of reality. A swirl of blue burst into existence, and from it, a figure emerged. As the silhouette stepped through, Suna could see it was Sinclair, bearing informal attire. She blushed.

Her heart started to sing, but not from the waters. As she spied Sinclair, she almost wanted to hide! There were other reasons for her request – reasons she hadn't yet confided in the mage. It wasn't just respect she maintained for Sinclair, not merely adoration. Every time she was near him, her heart fluttered and sang. His voice was mesmerizing, his command absolute. It didn't matter that he was a human mage, she couldn't protest her feelings – she liked him. A lot. Nothing short of infatuation coursed through her whenever he was around.

But she hid it well! Or so she hoped. But like all tests before, this was her greatest challenge – to spend time with Sinclair without looking the fool. In fact, the Bathhouse presented more than the opportunity to seek peace of mind. Like her mother, maybe she could. . . seduce him? She could confront any of Sinclair's challenges – why not this one!? After all, she was his favorite pupil, right? He always spoke to her with a warm fondness, and while Sinclair treated all his students with equal admiration. . . well. Suna figured she was more equal.

Lost in thought, she almost didn't see Sinclair wave, voice catching her attention.

“Ahh, Suna. I see the portal gave you no trouble."

The master mage approached, wearing a smile. Suna squeaked, standing straight to offer an awkward wave.

“Oh, Master Bradshaw!" she chimed. “No, uh. I mean. Yes. Yes, it was easy, of course." Suna stopped herself from giggling like a fool. She also noticed the master wasn't carrying a key.

“How'd you get here?"

Sinclair stopped next to her, taking a deep breath, embracing the evening air.

“Ah? Oh. Well I happen to know a spell for this area. It must be done in the exact spot, however, otherwise, it doesn't work." He pointed off in the horizon, where a wall of stone could be seen against distant trees.

“We're in Elwynn Forest, you see."

Suna allowed herself a moment to stop staring at her tutor, noting the trees. “Oh. . . so we're hidden then."

Sinclair nodded. “Mages like their privacy."

Suna relished the thought. Yes, they do.

He turned to her, smiling. Agh! She almost fainted. Sinclair was a good-looking fellow, despite his time on the battlefield – and his kind expressions were a bonus.

“How do you like it?" he asked. “The Bathhouse, I mean. It's positively ancient. I'm not even sure who the original architects were."

Suna beamed, though not quite from the location. “It's impressive, I'll admit," she said, trying to reassert her feisty demeanor. “Unless it's a big trick and you've got some kind of mimic for me to fight?"

“Oh heavens, no. No tricks, Suna."

Suna forced a frown, feigning disappointment. “Darn."

Sinclair, in the meantime, went to the water, kneeling to put his own hand into the welcoming heat. “Ah, never gets old. I don't use the place much anymore, but it never fails to fill me with peace."

Suna observed them, then let her eyes dance around, seeking others. It dawned on her they were alone – but were they?

“Is it just us?" she said, scanning her surroundings. Sinclair didn't move as he answered.

“Yes, most likely. It isn't like senior mages to appear at this hour, and even if they did, there are other pools. The Bathhouse is quite extensive, and private."

Relief washed over Suna, and also hope. “So, we'll be alone. . ." An obviousness Sinclair ignored.

Sinclair started to loosen the fastenings to his robe. “Of course. I understand, I was never fond of company when I wanted to relax."

Relief washed over Suna. Good. Now she had all the time she needed to, well, proceed with her plan. Plan? What plan? What was she even thinking? Was she going to gush, here and now, tell her tutor about her secret feelings? How would that go!?

OhmageBradshawIlikeyousomuchpleasemakeoutwithmeforeverunderthemoon!

Urgh. No.

In the meantime, Sinclair had disrobed, his form displayed to the gentle evening air. Suna's throat caught. Oh gods, she'd never seen him half naked. She had to look away, because her cheeks had gone blood red. Didn't last long, though. Her eyes went right back to him as he entered the pool, noting his lean form. He was kept together, though a myriad of magically inflicted scars wove around his skin, no doubt relics from his time in battle. Didn't matter, made him all the more alluring.

Was he naked!? No!

“Damn," she whispered. But maybe it was for the best, she'd feint if she saw his. . .

Rather, a cloth wrapped around his waist, while he sank into the steaming pool, exhaling with a sigh of relief.

“Ah, gods, how wonderful. You know, Suna, I'm so glad you insisted I come along. I'd forgotten how fantastic this was."

He turned around, back-paddling in the water. “Please! Dive in. The water is marvelous."

Sinclair closed his eyes, embracing the kissing liquid. Suna, though, tapped her fingers together. She'd faced every challenge thrown at her since her study in Stormwind – every monster, test, and puzzle, but this. . . this would prove harder than all the things she'd ever done. What was she going to do?

“R-right," she said, almost squeaking. “Just a second."

Think, Suna, think. What would mom do?

A courtesan, her mother, and a fine one at that – managed to sooth and seduce the harshest hearts. From that experience, she imparted something quite wise: fastest and easiest way to a man's soul was tits and wine. Preferably both.

Well, she lacked one thing, but had the other.

Suna wasn't ashamed of herself, but she never really flaunted it. Sure, some of her peers probably ogled her from the back or stared into her cleavage from time to time, but her mind was always on growing stronger as a magic wielder, not so much whether she should show off. Well, how hard could it be? She learned how to cast fire before she even attended Bradshaw's courses – seduction was easy. Right?

Not like she had a choice – she wore a thin robe, but that was all. Part not thinking ahead, part hoping to enchant Sinclair with her figure. Thus, she sauntered over to the water, letting her hips dance – though Sinclair wasn't looking. Maybe for the best. She let the thin silk fall from her shoulders, fading evening light catching her pale-rust fur, long brown hair flowing to her back. She had a good figure, womanly, shaped by the struggles of her training. She lacked in nothing, if the stares of others were any indication, and certainly, she inherited a buxom physique from her mother. Time to put it to use, she hoped.

She sank into the hot depths, caressed by its wet touch. Just as Sinclair implied, it was incredible. Her anxiety settled, a calmness overtaking her.

“Ahhh, wow," she said, slipping into the pool. “This is great. . ."

It was like a thousand magical hands burst forth and massaged her frame, taking away all the aches and agonies. There were some pains she didn't even know were there! Her muscles relaxed, her bones eased, and her mind emptied itself of troubles. Huh, maybe seducing her tutor wasn't so challenging after all. It was as if the waters whispered a thousand reassuring secrets, replacing her anxious concerns with bravery. Foolhardy, but bravery, nonetheless.

As her form sank, Sinclair glanced to her, though he didn't catch her nake frame. “You see? Quite nice, isn't it?"

He was relaxing on the edge of the pool, arms reclining on the cool stone. Serene, unaware. Perfect. Maybe she could catch him off guard.

“It's lovely," she said, peering at him with a smile. She started to wade through the crystalline waters, padding to him. He was far too at ease to notice what she was up to – which technically wasn't anything. Yet.

Okay, time to turn on that good old fashion charm.

She was at his side, leaning in, close. Sinclair's eyes blinked open, realizing her, well, proximity. He looked over, discovering her eyes, wide and pink. She wore a smirk, and her expression was. . . different. Like she was trying to lure him. Sinclair knew his student was a brash one, but even for her, this was closer than normal.

“Uh. . ."

In all his years of study, combat, and practice, Sinclair never had an encounter quite like this. Suna was close. Very close. Her eyes didn't leave him, and she was wearing a grin like you'd see in a tavern where one had too much to drink. Her face was flush and something about her was. . . wanting.

For Suna, the waters had cleansed any pretense of anxiety. She didn't have a library of enchanting words like her mother, but she possessed the frame, and sometimes it's all you needed.

“Hey there hot stuff," she said, arm brushing into his. “This is great, isn't it?"

Hot stuff wasn't the greatest phrase to use, but it would do. Who cared, anyway? She had nothing on, the rest of her would make her intent clear. Sinclair, though, wasn't convinced. Not yet, at least. He stiffened, and, despite his veterancy over Suna, he blushed too. He tried to pull his gaze away from her, especially her chest, but found it difficult, glancing between the serene pool and Suna's assets.

“Suna," he started, looking to his side like some helpful vortex might appear, “what are you doing?"

The Panderen tried to giggle but it came out like a forced laugh. “Well, I'm just getting comfy, that's all. I mean, the water is comfy, right? Comfy water. Coooozy."

Heh, now I've got him. He'll never get away now, she mused, certain she'd snared her year-long crush. Sinclair cleared his throat. Realization settled over him: Suna was serious. She wore nothing, the proximity of her form carried an enticing warmth, and she looked ready to pounce. He'd seen the look before in his travels, but so consumed with trials and study, he never found time for someone else. Nor did he have interest, really.

“Ah. Suna. I'm not sure what you're thinking, right now. But this is. . . not appropriate."

Suna refused to let him discourage her. She feigned a frown. “Pff. Why not?"

“Why not?" Sinclair started, as though the answer was obvious. And it was. Wasn't it? “It's, well. You're my pupil. I train you like the others. It would be unbecoming of my station to abuse that kind of relationship."

“Oh yeah? Says who?"

She came closer. “You're not makin' the moves, are you?"

“Er. . ." Sinclair didn't know what to say.

Closer. In fact, Suna pressed herself into Sinclair, swinging her body into his, her plump front flattening against his own chest as her hands clamped to his shoulders. The slope of her gentle hips outright straddled his waist, and there wasn't a single spell in all of Azeroth that could save Sinclair now. For all his uncertainty, however, he didn't resist. His heart hammered, driving hot, wanting blood through every vein within him, and new, different thoughts coalesced in his mind.

“I am," continued Suna. “I've always been."

She tried to conjure the right words, think of the correct seductive line to hook the master mage in her grasp forever. But she couldn't, not like mom. Gah, mom always had a way. The right phrases, moves, and spoke in that sultry, seductive tone, promising a man everything. Well, Suna couldn't toss her hips perfectly, or make her breasts extra bouncy. But she could be honest.

“Look. Master Bradshaw." She closed her eyes. No. “Sinclair."

Her tutor didn't move, though second by second, his body eased – but not from the water's doing.

“You. . . were always there for me, when I first joined your class. No matter the problem or hurdle or anything, and, you listened, and you cared. And now I'm better than I could have ever possibly been!"

Closer. “You're the most noble man I've ever met. I. . ."

Grr. I what!? Come on, girl, say it! “I just want to be with you, all the time!"

Her tutor absorbed the words, like he was learning a powerful new spell. They drove into him, laced with meaning and purpose. It was a lot to take in. Suna was his ideal pupil – thoughtful, respectful, courageous. No fight could scare her, no foe too large. That kind of dedicated, strong-willed perseverance was so rare to find in new students, because it was the kind you needed to separate yourself from the good to the masters. She inspired him, she made him believe the Alliance was a beacon of hope and not a single evil in the world could conquer her.

“And then you said we'd be alone and all this and I. . . I don't know! I like you! M-maybe more!"

She stared at him, pleading. She wanted to shake him! “Well! Come on! Say something!"

Was it the water? No. The water was honest, it cleared the mind. As it did with Sinclair. And in that clarity, his heart started to speak. Ministers and Mages above him would never approve, and yet, how could he deny such affection? How could he not find her resolve so. . . attractive? Suna was more than just a girl and a pupil to him, she was everything he believed in. Hope and discipline. Goodness and virtue.

“Suna," he managed. Now, his arms finally moved, coming to her shoulders. He leaned, kissing her forehead, instantly quieting her. “My dear Suna."

Was it possible for the girl to turn a brighter shade of red? Indeed. Her talking ceased, as though the kiss had given her what she wanted. She, with returned vigor, pressed back, but not to Sinclair's head, to his lips. In that friction, that impenetrable moment of heat and bliss, two were one, student and master no more, just Suna and Sinclair.

She broke away, gasping, in disbelief. “I. . ."

Sinclair smiled. Also, he was noting how close she was, and curvy. Her fat front was, after all, nestled against his chest.

“I think we should find something more private," he said. “The Bathhouse has. . . accommodations."

Suna was beside herself with renewed glee. She couldn't believe it. Was this some trick of the water? No, no of course not. Sinclair was in her grasp, as clear as the fading sky and the dawning stars. Now, more than ever, she just wanted him to herself.

“Okay," she said. He could ask her anything now. Into the fires of damnation? Certainly. Confront the Burning Legion? She'd take them all by herself.

They left the waters, Sinclair leading the way. Suna's fur glistened from the pool, but, started to dry, perhaps an additional effect from the springs. Convenient, as Sinclair lead her on, deeper into the inner structure of the Bathhouse. Within, there were various stone hallways leading to different parts of the location. Sinclair, holding Suna's hand, guided her, pace quickening. The way was lit with arcane symbols, forcing light to dance on their frames, as mesmerizing as the twilight outside.

“I think seclusion is best for us," said Sinclair in hushed tones. He came to a door, a solid frame of stone, touching a red symbol. It shifted, sliding open, revealing a comfortable room within, fit withal the furnishings ideal for a practicing mage.

Suna blinked. She was getting the idea. A mischievous smirk pulled at her features, particularly when she saw the bed.

“I think you're right," she added. “You know. . ."

Maybe Suna didn't have all the soothsayer skills of her mother when it came to seduction. But she did have something else: determination. A feistiness that wouldn't quit. All she had to do was employ it the right way.

“You teach me a lot, Sinciair." She broke from his grasp, sauntering past him. Her rump tossed with gentle sways and, even though she didn't put any oomf to it, her healthy backside rippled with teasing jiggles. Pandaren physiology, go figure. Though he attempted modesty, Sinclair stared.

“But I think I can show you something new." She turned, smiling, eyes full of promise. She sat on the bed's edge, hand stroking the soft material.

Sinclair cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his character of “the mentor."

“I suppose one is never too old to learn," he said. He walked to her, eyeing the bed. “And, ah, what lesson do you have in mind, Suna?"

Suna – well beyond the pretense of shyness – grabbed her tutor and threw him into the bed. Caught off guard, he landed in the sheets with a soft thoompf, splayed out. He was “helpless" as he watched his Pandaren pupil crawl atop him, carrying a pleased grin. She kissed his forehead, eagerness getting the best of her.

“I've always wanted to try this," she said, glancing at Sinclair's covered loins. In her mind, she recalled a sort of textbook her mothered owned. The contents, though, weren't academic. In them an entire index of lewd positions and sexual acts populated the pages, explaining where her mother got all the knowledge. Well, just as with Sinclair's mage training, it was time to practice what she learned.

Sinclair watched as she slunk to his root, pulling free the tethers, exposing him to the cool room air. It was a long while since he was with a woman. Years, even. The excitement caused him to twitch, blood surging into his body, hardening his shaft. It helped Suna's hand came to his inches, embracing it as her practiced digits wrapped and stroked with coaxing fashion.

“Oooh, excited already?" she said, eyeing the precious rod. “Guess you really like me, huh?"

Sinclair managed a chuckle. “You are my favorite student."

She giggled, leaning down. Now what was it? She pursed her lips, kissing the tip. The flesh was hot, and it felt like a rock in her palm. Curious. She did it a few more times, even licking it, violet eyes watching Sinclair's reaction. Needless to say, he gasped with each touch, eyes shutting closed, lost in bliss. Wow. It was like he was putty in her hand – and this was one of the most respected mages in all Stormwind!

Such reactions excited Suna, a compliment to her abilities. She pressed on then, taking her plump front and pressing it against the inches. Her breasts enveloped the seething flesh, choking it with her silky, pillow-y front, letting the hard flank smack against them in playful swats.

“Oh my. . ." Sinclair uttered, taken aback. He was expecting attention from his student, yes, though not like this.

Suna smirked. Oh my, huh? Still tried to maintain his reserved demeanor, even with her fat tits knocking him around. It was adorable, but also a challenge. So, Suna enhanced her motions, wobbling her buxom slopes against the flesh, taking hands and smothering it. She applied gentle, tossing strokes, like she was polishing the flank with a fine silk cloth. Her nips hardened, and the thrill of her actions sent wild, excited thrills through her form, wetting her petals. A heat overtook her, a presence in her mind that urged her to do more.

Her lips wrapped around the tip of Sinclair's mast, still wobbling her hefty breasts upon him. She wasn't quite sure what to do with his malehood. Suck it, or something? She tried, at least, letting her tongue swirl about the grown and apply suction with her lips. Sinclair liked, at least, groaning in delight from her acts.

“Thmf fmfm gdd?" she mumbled, mouth a bit preoccupied at the moment. This incurred a shaky chuckle from Sinclair, guessing her words.

“It's exquisite," he managed, petting through her luscious, auburn hair. Suna wiggled, satisfied. She outright threw her hefty front together then, soft claps emitting from their collision of breast and shaft. Who knew you could use your tits in such a fun way?

She slowed after a moment, staring at the cock at the mercy of her buxom front. It was impressive. Could she get this. . .

Well, Suna never backed down from a challenge. At once, she pressed her mouth against it, then, let it slide into her mouth. She hummed, amused, but that wasn't good enough. Wincing, she shoved the thing further, until it tickled her throat, then, outrighted buried it there.

“HGLK!"

“GAH! Suna!"

Sinclair was taken aback, both from her act and the electric, wet warmth it provided. Her eyes watered and her throat bulged, but she had to spit it out just as fast, coughing. She gasped for air, wiping her wipes.

“W-whoa, damn," she sputtered, blinking at the length. That was not as easy as it looked in the texts. Oh well, maybe another time. Sinclair looked as surprised.

“Are you all right?" he asked, concerned. She wasn't about to let this deter her, though.

Suna didn't respond with words, rather, gave the tip one last stroke with her palm before crawling atop Sinclair. She fancied herself against his sodden length, clutching it between the split of her healthy rump, wiggling against it.

“You're gonna' find out," she said, placing her palms on his shoulders. She chittered with a bright giggle, gyrating her hips against the stiff mast, teasing it. She thought of it like polishing a mage's staff. Hmm, an idea for later. . .

“Ah, well-"

Before Sinclair could finish, Suna raised her thighs above his root, damp snatch suckling his crown as she teased it with the promise of warm bliss. Though she was “inexperienced" when it came to matters like this, she got the idea. The index her mother possessed was very descriptive. As for Sinclair, his words were arrested by a long, satisfied groan as Suna fell upon him, her seething petals wrapping around his root perfectly.

“Nnah!"

Suna shuddered, moaning to herself as the malehood stretched and dove into her tunnel, tickling and driving pillars of pleasure into her. It was already addictive. Guess she saw why her mother liked doing this so much.

With girlish enthuse she didn't hold back. Her desires had long gone unattended by the prudence of student-master relations, and she was eager to break the shackles, so to speak. As she sank, Sinclair met her excitement, his arms wrapping around her, clutching her back as he held her waist, enchanted by the view of the young Pandaren all but riding him.

Suna wasted no more time, lifting and driving herself atop the Mage Bradshaw in a steady, but hastening rhythm. Her pert, jubilant front wobbled and tossed together with each bounce and her head arched back, healthy ass clapping against Sinclair's stern waist, a lewd applause.

“Ahh, good girl," said Sinclair, voice caught with hot breaths as he provided his own upward thrusts, meeting Suna at their coupling. Other words though failed him, mind seeded with lust, a delightful loss of control.

Each collision of hips and root forced a stronger gushing moan from Suna, a siege of hot electricity spiking through her. Her body was coated in the sensual cloak of warmth, and she had to glance down at Sinclair to assure herself this wasn't some magic-born fever dream. Quicker, then, she bounced herself on him, supporting herself on the bed as her gyrations increased, until every second was assaulted with the noise of their binding.

Sinclair held her tight, as his cock shivered to life. “Close, Suna, close," he said, though between her torrent of moans he wasn't sure if she heard him.

Closer than he anticipated! With a clutching grunt, his malehood erupted, orgasm forcing a burst of hot white to deluge Suna's petals, soaking her pink honeypot. She shuddered, shivering, reaching her own peak, until nothing was left but a mix of their sex and actions.

“Oh FUCK!" Suna cried, ceasing her motions as she accepted her tutor's gift, a dizzying satisfaction of being 'filled' overtaking her. Everything turned to a hot blur, an afterglow of exhaustion and smoldering loins. Why, if she even moved, yet more tendrils of pleasure would no doubt writhe through her.

Sinclair drew his arms around her, pulling Suna close, forms bound together, still connected at the nethers.

“Language," he said, giving a tired smile. His frame was dappled with sweat though flesh delighted at the sensation of soft, silky fur touching his skin. What a precious girl, this Suna.

She managed a smirk. “Hmmf. So. Learn something new?"

He didn't answer for a while. Then: “I think I still need another lesson or two."

Suna blinked, not understanding at first. Then she felt Sinclair's loins twitch back to life, turning her smirk to a grin. She kissed him, embracing him, as their forms began to writhe again, losing all sense of time.

-*-

Returning to the routine of lessons and training proved difficult once the weekend ended. Suna admittedly spent more time at the Bathhouse than she intended, though, it was time well spent anyway. Certainly, then, when she showed up with her peers to enjoy a drink with them, they were stunned. Oh it was a trick, they were certain. A mimic, mayhaps? Suna – the Pandaren girl – the one married to her work, having fun? Impossible.

But now she possessed a new burden: keeping her relationship with Sinclair a secret. Relationships were viewed poorly by other senior mages, as their existed fear of ignoring lackadaisical performance in favor of the relationship itself. Indeed, all was routine during their training days, though Suna couldn't hold back a blush or a giggle here and there while her tutor spoke.

One eve, Suna went to Sinclair as she had done, relishing their brief opportunity together that was free of the student-master pretense. This time, though, he was different, gazing out from his window at the night sky.

“You know, I've thought of retiring from all this. Training, that is."

Suna was shocked. “What? What the hell!? Why?"

He turned to her, smiling. “Most of the students have a uh, strong dislike of my lessons. Dropout rate is high, as you've noticed. Few are up to the challenge. Save for one."

He looked at her now, with intent. Few could impress the Mage Bradshaw. Only one could capture his heart.

“I'd like to travel again, you know. See the lands as they are, free of conflict. But I don't think I want to go it alone."

Suna was quiet. Realization took her, and her cheeks went red. “Are you. . . what are you saying?"

He shrugged. “I don't know. What am I saying?"

Suna was at a loss. “W-wuh. What about the others? What about your class?"

He laughed. “I think they'll be much happier with a substitute."

“Besides," he continued, “I think I'm more interested in your lessons now."