Princess Pent-up

"My..." Muttered princess Esme, as the maids followed her into the room. "What a mess. Those opposing armies really didn't stand a chance."

"May we help you undress, your highness?"

Esme only responded by lifting her arms.

Carefully, after several layers of petticoats and ceremonial armor had been removed, they revealed it. The chastity belt, precisely where Esme's mother had locked it, dripping profusely with sweet, feminine fluids. Her gigantic ass bulged beneath the thickened waistband, red and needy, as her long legs shivered from the cold. Her core throbbed beneath the belt, quite pent up as she bit her lip, unable to hide her need now that it was so plainly apparent.

"You are d-dismissed." The princess told the maids, and they hurried out, each aware of what was about to happen. Quite slowly, she walked over to her dressing table and began to angrily but carefully brush out her floor length white locks, lifting them over one shoulder. Inevitably, she found herself unable to focus even on this. Realising her attention was somewhere else, she set the brush on the table, carefully rotating it into its usual position on her right. Seeing herself in the mirror, her eyes moved down. Her hands moved down.

Gently and carefully, she caressed and stroked the front shield of the belt with her fingers, sighing a little as her touch caused more juices to drip out. She was so, so tense, so stressed, and her hips throbbed from what was held within. Its tightness was maddening, but she was not mad yet. She was not mad just yet.

It was quite locked, securely settled upon her hips by the gigantic round padlock at her side. The waistband was made of a soft, rubbery material, as thick as her arm, and circled her belly possessively. Its weight and grip ability was all but made to pose a challenge. Pull at me, it seemed to whisper. Fight me. I am but weak rubber. Surely I will stretch, fit over your ass, if not allow you the gentlest touch that you need? But no. No, it would not. It stretched ever so slightly and that was it. Its tightness choked her, reddening her heavy bottom as she desperately shook at it, craving relief of some kind, any kind. And the shield was no less secure. Defecation from the front was done through small holes, and through the back, slightly larger. Nowhere near large enough to fit anything inside. Its edges were flush against her skin, its texture forming a synthetic metal pussy that prevented all access to the real one. At once, she remembered her mother's amused drawl as she relocked it after her annual checkup had finished. "Princesses don't masturbate, dear. We have our heirs. Only the devil has a use for that thing between your legs now, and I will not let him have it."

Esme sat down in front of her mirror, looking at herself. Her heart leapt, just as it always had, at the sight of her chastity belt, as she ran one hand through her hair and another over the central hole of her shield. She had worn the belt for fifteen years. She was thirty, now, and had only ever felt the touch of her own nimble fingers once. On that fateful day, a maid had heard her touching herself and very correctly deduced what she was doing. The next morning, she awoke with her mother's birthday gift locked securely in place, and the key nowhere to be found.

She had spent a mortified hour prying desperately at the thick shield between her legs, stabbing at it first with her fingers, then various objects. She had not even been able to shake an orgasm from within it, yet something within the tight shield kept her on edge, and prevented her from ever giving up her assault. Of course she had protested. It had only earned her a thrashing. Of course she had later tried to go to locksmiths. But the lock was near uncrackable - a maiden's guard, no less, built to enforce the chastity of a juvenile girl like herself - and anyway, the penalty for trying was death. She knew few nobles who were forced to share the same experience. All of them were her sisters.

Gently, she ran her hands down the edges of the hated shield as it dripped with moisture. She pushed, gently at first, but then with force, twisting and turning in front of the mirror as if after fifteen years in the belt, she might suddenly discover the technique that would allow her release. But the metal of the shield bit hard into her thighs, and there was no weakness in the fortress of the belt. Gently, as if by habit, she gripped the thickened waistband, squeezing as if hoping to slip anything more than a fingernail under, and attempted to lift herself out of it, pushing desperately at the belt. But as long as the belt was locked, her ass would never fit through the tiny hole the waistband provided her. Quickly, she was moaning and growling with tortured frustration, a cartoonish rippling sound filling the room as her muscles attempted to stretch the leathery waistband. Of course, it would stretch no more than was required. A genius material from the engineering guild, and one that was apparently quite indestructible unless heated to stupid temperatures. The shield and lock offered no more solstice in that case - cobalt, she had been told, was nonmachinable unless, again, she was willing to frazzle herself to the point of near castration.

So it was useless, she sighed, rising to her feet and dragging herself and her floor length silver locks into bed. It was quite useless. The most she could do was what she was doing now; lie gasping in a pool of her own desperate fluids as she caressed the locked belt and pawed at herself, every now and then pausing for just a moment to sharply shake at the lock, to hit it with her fists, and to bite her lip and sob quietly so nobody else in the castle might hear her. But oh, how she longed to pull the metal aside. How she longed to force that crushingly tight waistband down over her gigantic bottom and off her body. Quietly, she rolled over onto her belly, squeezing at her breasts with one hand as another snaked between the cheeks of her ass, prying fruitlessly at the flawlessly secure rear guard of the belt. She could not slip even a fingernail underneath. It was useless, quite useless, she realised, whimpering and gasping into her pillow as she traced her hands over her oh so sensitive hips, quite desperate and oh so pent up. She would never be unlocked. She would be this frustrated for the rest of her life. The thought infuriated her, but there was nothing she could do about it.

And so began another sleepless night.