Celine’s heels click against the stone stairs that lead toward the dungeon. The torches on the walls cast a ghastly shadow, yet illuminate her path. In one of her hands is a portrait of her childhood self, before Prince Acheron took away her innocence. It’s concealed by a veil.
In her other hand is a plain box. There is no wrapping nor a bow. Inside it contains the weapon of her revenge.
The dungeon is lined with mildew, but the further Celine traverses into the dungeon, the smell of rot, human filth, and blood fills the air. However, Celine does not cover her nose. This is the price criminals must pay for violating the law.
Hands squeeze through narrow cell bars, begging for benevolence, but Celine does not acknowledge them. Everyone in this dungeon deserves their place. But the deeper she goes, the worse the crime is until she lands at the final cell: Acheron’s.
Despite the dim lighting, she can see how eleven years of imprisonment have worn him away. His legs are as thin as toothpicks and his ribs are visible against flaky, dry skin. His long nails curl inward.
Acheron is curled in a ball, shackled to the floor. The jeers that had been thrown at him silenced at the presence of Princess Celine, but despite the abnormal quiet, Acheron does not stir. He lays place as if a corpse.
Celine quickly unlocks his cell, hands firm as she takes another step in confronting her childhood abuser.
However, Acheron cannot help but raise his head at the loud creak of his cell door opening. His eyes widen and his lips part, revealing yellow teeth that poke from the hairs of his beard. “Celine?”
"It’s ‘Princess’ to you,’ Celine snaps as she closes the door.
Acheron tries to lunge at her, but he stumbles back to the floor. Starvation does that to a man. Celine stares at him with cold eyes, lips curling into a sneer as she sees how pathetic the man who raped her truly is.
“You little bitch,” Acheron rasps, glaring at her with shrunken eyes. Despite all of the punishment, his rotten spirit has refused to be corroded. “You did this to me. You ruined me.”
“You did this to yourself,” Celine hisses. She places the box down on the floor and stares behind Acheron before unveiling the portrait. “You ruined yourself. You ruined me, an eight-year-old girl.”
“You were asking for it,” Acheron spits, rising to his knees. “The only thing I wish I did differently was go after your slut of a mother. Her cunt would have felt better.”
Celine’s hand shoots forward as she slaps Acheron. The contact against his boney face stings, but Celine strikes him again and again — fingers curling into a fist as she switches to punching him.
“Never say that about my Mama,” Celine snarls. His nose crunches, breaking, but Celine doesn’t stop — not even when a tooth flies free or when her gloves begin to drip blood. “You don’t deserve to refer to her.”
Breathing heavily, Celine surveys the damage. Acheron’s face is unrecognizable now, mottled with bruises and bumps. Celine chuckles to herself. Each punch had lightened her as she enacted vengeance upon him, cleansing the illness that had been boiling inside her since the traumatic incident.
But it isn’t enough.
Celine hears footsteps approaching as she goes to the box and opens it, revealing a wooden strap-on dildo. Gardner had carved it himself. Celine’s chest heats up with affection at the thought of her stepfather.
When he found out about Acheron raping her as a child, he stormed to the dungeons and beat the man to a pulp. For Celine’s 18th birthday, he gifted her a weapon. The rigidity and stature will hurt Acheron, but Gardner hadn’t sanded it, leaving a plethora of splinters to future torture Acheron.
The footsteps grow louder. Celine glances out of the cell. A smile curves her lips at the sight of her Mama and the guards huddled protectively around her. There’s no chance of any of the prisoners escaping, but their vigilance soothes Celine.
“Sorry I’m late, pumpkin,” Ingrid apologizes. “Avaline and Brigidine were being fussy, but I calmed them down.”
“You’re not late at all, Mama,” Celine says, comfortable around the guards to call Ingrid by her proper titles. “The fun is just about to get started.”
Celine slips off her dress. The long skirt would get in the way of her task. Beneath it is a swimsuit. She refuses to give Acheron another glance at her body.
“You gonna cry again?” Acheron wheezes, managing to taunt her even as blood oozes from the corner of his mouth. It slides down his chin and drips to the cell floor, soaking old blood stains from the guards beating him. “Show your cunt mother what a wimp you are?”
“You’re going to be the one to cry, Acheron,” Celine states as she steps into the harness. She secures it around her waist. The weight between her legs is foreign, but Celine can’t muse over the new sensation.
She grabs Acheron’s hair, long from neglect, and yanks him to his knees. Acheron releases a yowl of pain that’s immediately smothered by Celine thrusting her hips forward, shoving her splintered wooden dildo past his yellow teeth and down his throat.
Acheron wails through it. He tries to bat her away, but his wrists are shackled. Celine grunts as she fucks his throat, willing each and every splinter to lodge into his disgusting insides. He will never be able to swallow properly. Every time he eats gruel, there will only be pain.
Acheron gags around her cock, eyes bulging and face read as he’s denied oxygen. Celine digs the dildo deeper down Acheron’s throat, making Acheron convulse. She wrinkles her nose at the vomit that slithers down his nose.
“You can’t even handle a simple cock,” Celine sneers, pounding at Acheron’s throat. She’s going to suffocate him, bring him as close as she can to death, then inflict pain that will make him wish she finished the job. “Pathetic.”
Acheron’s race continues to grow red. When it reaches its peak, Celine withdraws. Acheron hunches over and expels everything in his guts. He wheezes, but Celine pays him no mercy. With her stiletto, she stomps on his head, smothering his face in the filth.
“Stay in place,” Celine orders, grinding her heel. “If you move a single inch, I’ll return to penetrate your piss hole next.”
Acheron shudders and complies.
Celine doesn’t need to pee, but she wants to make the experience for Acheron as miserable as possible. Crouching down near his head, she tugs the crotch of her swimsuit to the side and empties her bladder, smirking as the fluid spreads to Acheron’s face.
When it’s empty, she stands back up and relinquishes her grip on the cloth. Caline walks behind Acheron and slaps his bony back, making him release a cry of pain. “Get on all fours” she demands. “We’re almost done.”
“Oh god no,” Acheron begs. “I’m sorry for what I did. Just don’t hurt me there. Please, Princess. Don’t.”
“Who said you could refer to me,” Celine sneers. “If you don’t obey, I really will come back to torture you again.”
Acheron sobs and gets into the position, trembling as he supports his weight. He’s so weak and pathetic. His shoulder shakes as he cries, but Celine doesn’t want to see his face. It’d be hideous and she wants to spare her eyes.
His sobs and the trauma she’ll inflict are more than enough for her. The satisfaction of hurting the man who hurt her as a child.
Celine yanks down his pants and underwear. Wrinkling her nose at the sight of his pale ass, she guides her dildo to his hole.
“Please, no,” Acheron wails through the jeering of the other prisoners, who are encouraging Celine. “Please god, stop. Stop, stop, stop — “
“Get him!” one prisoner calls. The smirk in his voice is evident. “Give him what he deserves, Princess!”
“Let us have a turn next,” one leers. “We’ll keep on punishing him for you, Princess. Just give us the chance.”
“How do I know you won’t simply target me next?” Celine questions as she pushes the head of her dildo into Acheron’s clenched asshole. He screams, guttural and bone-deep, but it’s music to Celine’s ears. She wants him to screen until his throat bleeds.
A series of cackles reach her ears. “We’re murderers, not rapists.”
“There are also guards,” another one says. Without looking, Celine knows the prisoner is referring to the ones surrounding Ingrid, keeping her safe as they all watch her enact her revenge.
“I’ll think about it,” Celine hums. She rocks her hips. The dildo piercing Acheron, splinters imbuing themselves into his disgusting insides. Mangling his soul and his body. It’s what he deserves.
“Stop, stop, stop — “ Acheron wails, “Please, I’m sorry. Just don’t do this. Take it out!”
“You didn’t stop when I told you to,” Celine hisses, pistoning her hips. Faster. Harder. “I was crying and screaming for Mama. I was seven years old, you sick bastard. I was a child.”
“I’m sorry. I was wrong,” Acheron sobs. “I never should have touched you. I was young and stupid — “
“You think that’s an excuse?” Celine thunders. “You’re a sick, twisted bastard, Acheron. You’re a child rapist and that’s all you’ll ever be. You ruined me. Do you want to know how?”
“No,” Acheron snivels. “I know I did wrong.”
“You made me scared of the world. I had to wear pull-ups because I’d have night terrors. I couldn’t shower without having a panic attack because the shower head reminded me of your cock,” the word is disgusting on Celine’s tongue. It doesn’t belong there, but she long outgrew using ‘wormy.’ “I was terrified of Mr. Gardner and that man is an angel.
“Do you understand how terrifying it is to be a child afraid of the world?” Celine hisses. “To lose control of basic bodily functions because you can’t control your fear and anxiety. This prison is a blessing. It’s more than you deserve, but Mama knew I would want to get my revenge. She thinks ahead because you were too stupid to even consider the ramifications of rraping a princess in her own kingdom.”
Acheron stays quiet, having nothing to retort with. The fight has drained out of his body as he finally accepts his fate. Death would be a mercy, but he doesn’t deserve death. It would take away the accountability for his actions. It would release him from living a life that’s barely worth calling a life — destined to rot in the dungeons.
And now, he’s receiving a taste of his own medicine.
He wails as blood oozes down his thighs. The dildo is far too large and is splintered. His rectum is being battered. Celine imagines the shards digging into Acheron’s insides and tormenting him for the rest of his pathetic existence.
It’ll hurt to walk. It’ll hurt to sit. It’ll hurt to even breathe.
And still, Acheron deserves worse.
The memories of the aftermath wash over Celine with each thrust. Her Mama picking up her catatonic body and rushing her to the doctor. The doctor giving treatment because Celine was torn. A child isn’t meant to accommodate cock, much less cock from an adult.
Then her night terrors and the pull-ups she had to wear. The shame of needing them in the first place.
But she also remembers the love and care she received. Mama, who would hold her as she sobbed. Nina, who changed her pull-ups. Melody, who took care of her. And Gardner, who waited until she was ready before revealing himself, then treasuring Celine as if she were a jewel.
Acheron is limp when she finishes, unable to even tense up. Celine pulls out and is disgusted at the blood smeared all over as if she had stabbed him with a knife. Gardner's work fulfilled its purpose.
Celine removes her harness and flings it to the side. Not wanting to keep it on her body when she returns to bathe. She places the veil back on the portrait of her childhood self and walks out the jail cell, lighter than she’s felt in years.
“Guards, remove the locks on the other prisoners,” Celine demands. “Let them punish Acheron in my stead.”
Acheron sobs.
Celine leaves the dungeon with her guards and mother in tow. But it’s only when the door has been clicked shut that Celine hears a hoarse disgusting scream.
“You did well, sunflower,” Ingrid says. “Shall we have tea after you clean yourself up?”
“That’d be great, Mama,” Celine replies. “But I need some time alone. Can you — “
“Of course,” Ingrid says. She presses a kiss to Celine’s cheek, then glides away. “Guards, after me.”
The guards obey.
Celine stands there, staring at her blood-soaked gloves, listening to Acheron wail at being brutalized once more, and can’t help but smile.
Her seven-year-old self can now rest.