Joan shifted uncomfortably, brow furrowed, wondering if she - yes there it was again! It was like, a tingling, low but insistent, her fingers tensing reflexively with the urge to touch. Except she couldn’t touch this itch, not easily anyway. This itch was inside of her - all the way inside of her, likely beyond the reach of her fingers, though Joan Prudence had never tried. And the itch was growing stronger.
Sir Joan smiled - was that it? Was that the very worst the Evil Enchantress could do to her, was to give her an itch she could not scratch? Did she actually think an itch would be enough to undo the Champion of the Order of Virtue? Really?!
Joan shifted her position, the tight white fabric on her chest and groin hugging her uncomfortably as she tucked her feet under her, sitting up cross-legged. Her fingers interlocked as her hands came together, palms inwards, thumbs falling to rest against each other. Joan breathed in. With deliberate slowness she felt her body relaxing, let her interlocked hands fall to her lap as she breathed out, coming to a rest right before the itch.
She could still feel it of course, clearly, radiating with a desire to be touched that simply could not be ignored. So she didn’t try, but focussed instead on her breathing - breathing in... and out, letting the rhythm and the feeling of air filling and leaving her become the totality of her being.
In… and out. Slower, in…. And out. In…. And “AAH!”
Joan’s breaths were suddenly fast, finding herself leaning forward over her lap, her fingers still interlocked but thumbs parted as she stared between her legs in shock. What - it happened again, her whole body tensing in reaction, a half-sound squeezed out of her as much by surprise as by the feeling itself.
Something had touched the itch!
Joan was sure of it - as much by the drastic lessening of the itch itself as by the tight tensing of her entire body in response, her every muscle ready to attack whoever had snuck up on her, touched her, touched her… there!
But the touch had been inside of her, and she was completely alone. It must have just been another part of the spell. Well so be it!
Joan sat upright again, rigid and tense, bringing her hands together before her chest, palms inwards, thumbs touching. She could already feel the itch beginning to build inside of her, so she summoned all of her being, all of her focus, and breathed out, letting her whole body rel“AHHMM!”
This time she strangled the sound before it fully escaped her, trying not to focus on the intense warmth following the latest touch, focus not on the itch beginning again, focussing only on bringing her focus together, pulling everything in, her hands locked together, body relaxing as she breathed “AHNGGHH!”
It was more of a groan this time, morphed into a sound of frustration coming through gritted teeth. Every time she tried to relax, she felt that touch again, every single time she….
Joan looked down between her still tense legs. Slowly, deliberately, she started to relax them, feeling and seeing the definition of her thighs lessen, her skin soften… and just as the last of the tension left her, she felt the touch again, making her whole body clamp down on it and ending the feeling as suddenly as it had begun.
Sir Joan smiled again - no matter how clever The Enchantress thought she was, Joan had already beaten her! Surely, the brutish, thick-headed warrior Joan was supposed to have spent hours trying in vain to understand the sudden, intense touches, worry at when exactly the next would come, drive herself mad with apprehension while focussing all of her being on her most intimate part, waiting every moment for the next touch to come.
Surely, she was not meant to have already figured out how to control it! Every time she relaxed, she felt the touch. Every time she tensed, it stopped. Simple.
So, Joan just had to stay tensed.
She brought her hands together again, but this time they settled down between her tensing legs. This was going to be easy - how many hours had she spent in training as a page, standing in the muddy practice field with her legs two shoulder-widths apart, her upper body sitting back down over empty air, her entire weight on her tensed legs. Some called it brutal hazing, most notably those that failed. But Joan didn’t fail. Joan knew that it was a foolish page who tried not to feel the pain, fighting a battle that couldn’t be won. But a knight learned to focus instead on something else - anything else. To focus, say, on her breathing, slowly in… and out.
The feeling of her leg muscles tensing began to retreat from her consciousness, becoming background noise behind the central focus of her body breathing in… and out. Soon all Joan could feel was her breathing, in… and out. Just her breathing… and the itch.
She’d completely forgotten about it, and now it was stronger than ever, the tingling, ticklish heat positively coursing into her! It seemed to have spread too, no longer coming from one single point deep inside, but spreading out around it too, covering a small but slowly growing area of her, all of which radiated with a physical need to be touched!
She was gritting her teeth as she shifted over the feeling, moving her legs uncomfortably. And for one moment, Joan stopped tensing.
She heard her voice rebounding off the stone walls around her. She was bent double over her lap, hands gripping her legs, her tensing legs, not just constantly tensing but rhythmically too, her muscles clenching in time with the aftershocks of what she’d just felt!
No itch should feel that good to scratch! And yet the instant she stopped tensing, all that tingling, ticklish, unbearable wrongness had all at once turned into an intense, blistering right! She could still feel it, the aftershocks of the sensation still rhythmically clenching her legs in little, shuddering bursts of movement. She glared at the indecent sight, forced her legs to relax.
“AAAHNNNGH!” she both cried out and groaned again. The feeling had been nowhere near as strong, but her frustration now burned hotter than ever! She was going to kill that -
“I brought TEA!” chimed a cheerful Enchantress from the open doorway.
She still wore her tight black robes, but her clawed hands now held a small silver tray between them, centered by a round, jade kettle and a pair of steaming jade cups. Her red smile faltered as she looked over the tray to Sir Joan, glaring burning daggers back at her.
“Ah!” The Enchantress added, “I can see you’re having difficulty with part one. I’ll just - um -” she let go of the tray, but instead of falling it drifted forward, a cloud of roiling black carrying it one of the bedside tables.
“I’ll come back when you’re feeling less, murdery, shall I?” asked the Enchantress before making a quick, less than confident retreat. The door shut behind her, leaving Joan alone again, tensing her crossed legs over the growing, growing itch between and trying in vain not to wonder at what the Enchantress had said.
What had she meant, part one?!
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