Author's Note: So, this was written at 2:30 in the morning, because I've currently become obsessed with Narnia again. However, that obsession does led to shitty writing when I'm half asleep. Given that fact, whether this story is continued (because I do love me some Susan/Lucy stories; just shove the incest aside it's alright) or redone when I'm more alert is completely up to my conscious awakened self. Enjoy this version of the story however.
Pain. Pain was the only thing Lucy could register. Fear had come and gone, when the beast of a man, burly, his tunic stained with substances only Aslan would be able to identify, followed by a stench so foul it made her stomach turn, had dragged her kicking and screaming into the room, and when he chained her to the wall of the dank dungeon. Fear was present when the man had so crudely and cruelly ripped the clothing from Lucy's skin, and while he'd backhanded her for trying to stop him with such force that it sent her to the floor. Fear was when her chains were tightened and there was no where for her to go, no possible way of moving due to her limps being so far stretched. Now it was pain. Pain as innocent Lu was groped so harshly her breasts were a dark purplish black, and pain as her ass was slapped so hard and so frequently that you couldn't tell which bruises were fresh and which were old, and how the imprint of her captor's hand never seemed to fade. The worst pain was between her legs. Her most sacred place had been absolutely ravaged, and was now bruised and sore, her clit overstimulated and her legs dripping with blood and other sticky substances. That caused another type of pain. The mental pain that was to come when she released that some of that sticky substance had come from her. When she grasped the fact that she received some type of sick pleasure from her torment, and that thought alone sent her into uncontrollably, breath sucking sobs as she contemplated what a disgusting whore she was, to get off on her own defilement. She wanted to die to escape that thought. She wanted to just die and escape all of the pain and fear and disgust.
By the fifth time her abuser entered her own personal hell Lucy had given up. She'd sunken to her bloodied knees, and given in to the ceaseless aches that wracked her entire body, but her core in priority. She was barely lucid when she felt her jaw being wrenched open and a hard and warm object being shoved in her mouth and down her throat. She began to gag, but made no other move to fend off the attack. What was the point? He'd done this to her the fourth time he'd come in and she was sure he'd do it the sixth time, along with worse things. She just wanted to drift away, away from her captor's moans and his cruel words, although occasionally a "worthless whore" or "slutty piece of shit" or "some fucking Queen you are, choking on a commoner's cock" would slip through. This time however, something else slipped through the cracks. The fact that her dungeon door was being kicked down and the fact that the man using her as a living fuck toy had now become a living pin cushion. She was also very aware of the fact her beautiful and radiantly strong sister whom she had seen for a year at least was standing in the doorway, bow still aimed at her demon.
Never had Lucy seen Susan so mad. As she burst through the door, taking in the torture that her little sister had endured for the past hours, or was it days? Susan's eyes developed a depth to them that scared Lucy, even though she knew her sister wouldn't hurt her in a millennium. The same was not to be said however for her attacker. The darkness and overwhelming pain and exhaustion overtook Lucy then, but not before she witnessed just a taste of what her savior had in store for her assailant. Queen Susan the Gentle no longer suited Susan as she gutted the man who harmed her innocent Lucy. She'd taken an arrow and jammed it into his stomach, stabbing him with it repeatedly before making a ripping gesture downwards and allowing his internal organs to get a glimpse of the light of day. Only after what she must've deemed a considerable amount of horror and panic had washed over the man did she release him by slitting his throat, and only because she wanted to see him bleed like the stuck pig he was. Susan would never truly be satisfied with this, this could never bring back her sister's innocence and erase the scars that would surely plague her mind, but her attention was turned to breaking her sister's shackles and cradling her in her arms, letting unshed tears shake her body as she lifted her and held her close, noting how light she was, as though a piece of her was missing somewhere. Susan carried her out of the slave trader's complex, past all the bodies of the other men who dared to get in Susan's way while she searched for her sister, and towards the ship that was ready to return to their home at the moment's notice. They couldn't have left sooner.
When Lucy stirred, she was acutely aware of the warmth that surrounded her. The complete opposite of her dark and damp cell, where her screams echoed off walls and off uncaring ears, where that unceasing pain lived, where she was, where she was surely because this feeling of warmth and safety could only exist in a dream, so she sat up screaming and fighting and flinging her arms and fists this way and that until she accident lot caught Susan in the face with her attack. Not that Susan cared at all, a bruised eye was nothing after all, but to Lucy it meant everything. It meant she'd hurt her sister, her savior, her lovely, warm, safe sister, and that sent her into hysterics. Susan sat with her and coddled her, murmuring sweet nothings until Lucy drifted off once more.