There's something about the trope of a princess being rescued that appeals to me in that classic high fantasy that's just an adult fairy tale way. There's also a folk tale that I grew up with, the moral of which is that wit triumphs over strength, which informed some of the story here. But in the age of monster fucks having their moment to shine, a humble man is just not that exciting as a rescuing hero, you know?
As for any warnings, there is some mild degradation here and mentions of pain.
Anyway, I hope that you enjoy the story in all its cheesy glory.
*~*~*
Locked in a magic tower guarded by a dragon, Princess Ellyn was painfully aware of the cliche that she was. This wasn't even the bad part. The tower's magic meant that her imprisonment was comfortable by catering to her every need and whim. In any other circumstance this imprisonment wouldn't be so different from her courtly life.
Yet for all the comforts offered by the magic, there was one that she was denied, one which was the very reason for her fate. Having been caught by the royal advisors in an indecent act with one of her guards, Ellyn was sentenced to live out her days in this tower, where magic made any and all forms of self-pleasure impossible. The want and desire remained, burning hot in her veins, yet she could never act on those, her frustration only growing all the more. The magic somehow always knew a real itch from a feigned one. It sent burning sparks of electricity through her body every time she touched herself and when Ellyn found a way to enjoy that particular pain - switched to forcing her hands away from her body until she yielded.
A cruel fate designed to slowly drive her to madness with feverish desires. The magic binding her to chastity would only lift when someone opened the door to the tower and she vowed to tear her dress off and throw herself at her rescuer if she lived to see that day.
It was made all the worse for the fact that Ellyn had seen multiple brave warriors and knights attempt to free her and fail. Neither strength nor magic were enough to slay the beast. Remnants of their equipment occasionally caught the light of the sun before ash and dust dulled its shine. The line of would-be rescuers at least kept the dragon fed and occupied. Not that it ever showed any interest in the princess it was guarding, though on quiet days it made for as good a listener as the walls.
So Ellyn waited. And ached. And waited. And drove herself to her wit's end with unspent desire growing over the years. Spectating on the attempts at her rescue stopped resulting in disappointment, boring her instead as nothing had ever changed. Until then, the only thing the magic hadn't taken from her was fantasising. She recognised the masochism of torturing herself with these fantasies of things she couldn't act upon even in the slightest, but continued nonetheless.
Soon the world outside of the tower fell quiet. The knights stopped coming, the dragon's kill tally a sufficient deterrent. Or maybe the dragon had actually killed off every warrior who ever thought of rescuing the princess. Without anyone disturbing it, the beast slumbered for most of the time, steaming breath rising rhythmically up to the tower window. Whenever it ventured anywhere outside to hunt for food, it was when Ellyn paid it no mind.
The tower's comfort cushioned her within a world that catered to her whims. Once she realised that it would offer her every meal that she thought of, however elaborate, she began to test the limits of that magic. Was there anything it wouldn't provide? It seemed not as gowns appeared in her armoire, each more luxurious than the one before it, new books replaced the ones she'd read, already knowing what story she was in the mood for next, and even the walls changed hue whenever she wished to refresh the tower's look.
Then Ellyn began testing how specific she could be with this magic. Boring paintings of still nature and tapestries depicting mythical creatures were gradually replaced with scenes of naked beauties and godly orgies. They had to be acts performed by deities and believed to be religious in nature if the magic was to comply. Bedding turned from inviting greens to intimidating scarlets, the satin weave shining like moonlight on a lake of blood. She even managed to convince the magic to add a few crosses, straps, and chains on the walls. It seemed that torture restraints were enough of a grey area to be allowed - or maybe the magic simply approved of anything that kept her hands away from herself. Over the course of years Princess Ellyn had turned her tower prison into a den of depravity that she was cursed not be able to use at all. But she refused to undo all that work. One day she
would
be rescued - and then
all
of her filthy dreams would come true.
Yet time slipped by between her fingers with no change on the horizon. Having entered the tower at barely eighteen, head filled with romantic notions of strong knights capable of freeing her, she long ceased to imagine what kind of a warrior would open the door to this room. So many of these imagined heroes resembled the failed ones littering the ground outside the tower that there was no point in trying to predict who might succeed. Especially as it wouldn't matter who they were so long as they would take her right on sight. Handsome or ugly, tall or short, well endowed or barely an acorn, Ellyn would take anything that she was given.
The view outside the tower betrayed little of the passing seasons. Only changes in light spoke of days turning into nights, though she long lost counts of what date it was. Whenever the tower was, it was either free of seasons or enchanted to hide them, meaning that even her age became a mystery to her. There were enough mirrors in the room, including one above her bed, for Ellyn to know that her blonde tresses have not greyed yet and that no wrinkle marred her face. More importantly, her breasts have not sagged with age yet, undoubtedly helped by her imprisonment which avoided any pregnancy stretching of her skin. Ellyn found comfort in knowing that her future rescuer would find her beautiful and flexible. As surprising as it was that her imprisonment hasn't yet been curtailed for some political alliance that her father, the king, may have had need for, it left her with more freedom than had she stayed at court. Even if it was freedom that she could not enjoy. Maybe her father's grudge ran deeper than she gave him credit for.
Or maybe he forgot all about her. Just like the rest of the world seemed to have. So long has passed since the last attempt at her rescue that Ellyn truly felt like she was no longer a part of the real world.
She began to pass her time with writing poetry about her pent up yearning. The feelings never left her mind, so each poem was carefully folded into paper cranes and sent out into the world. The wind carried these far and away, while Ellyn hoped that with them some of her unspent desire would fly away too and make the wait less agonising. On particularly difficult days she could spend hours at the desk, pouring her frustration out through the ink, page after page of things she wished she could do or that someone would do to her, until her hand cramped over the quill. Many of these pieces of paper blanketed the ground underneath her tower, hiding some of the rusting armour and the bones that the dragon spat out, though gusts picked up several further out of view.
The world outside the tower had been silent for so long that when the dragon stirred, Ellyn was at the window despite herself. Yet no-one stood outside except the beast, clearly waking up from a long nap with an appetite. As high as the tower was, she could only see as far as the edge of the valley, some hills rolling their way up and hiding the horizon from view. This time it was peppered with little clouds of sheep, one of which, poor thing, had wandered down too close. The dragon had barely spent it a glance, devouring the thing in one bite.
Ellyn chastised herself for the disappointment that settled in her stomach. What else was she expecting? If anyone in the realm had still remembered her, by now she must have become a cautionary tale, not an aspiration for the brave and noble warriors. There may not have even been many knights left willing to face a dragon for a mere princess as their reward.
Still, something was odd. A few minutes after Ellyn sat back down on the bed to read, the beast had stirred again, its steps shaking the tower's floor under her feet. She didn't get up again until an agitated roar burst through the window, though even then all she saw was the dragon flying away somewhere. As unusual as it was for it to leave its post so ostensibly, one sheep couldn't have been enough to fill its giant belly. It's not like it couldn't afford a quick hunting jaunt elsewhere.
But the dragon wasn't returning.
Heartbeats passed in silence: no sound of beating wings, no tremors of heavy steps, no more roaring. It brought Ellyn back to the window, but she could see nothing regardless of how far she leaned out. And a dragon should not be that difficult to spot.
There was no time to dare hope as a strange noise jerked her attention backwards. A sound she hadn't heard in what seemed like an eternity.
A clock of lock.
