Adult-FanFiction.org : Television / Streaming

Ravaged	By : highlandgirl Category: G through L > Highlander Views: 2655 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Highlander: The Series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Ravaged

by

Frances Rolfe

Rating: NC-17, slash, m/m, humil, Sp, Tort, anal, Beast, BDSM, F/M+, N/C, MC, language

Key: ****** Scene change, *** Flashback,
Italics Thoughts

Warning: Violent subject matter. Please do not read further if you are not interested or offended.

Disclaimer: HL and the characters belong to Panzer/Davis. I receive no monetary reward for this story.

Summary: Joe Dawson is able to get MacLeod to open up further about the experiences that have ravaged his soul.

Chapter 4

Darkness Before The Dawn

In the eastern horizon a red seam cracked the pre-dawn blackness. The twinkling stars of faraway galaxies and planets and the sliver of a new moon highlighted Seacouver's night sky. A few gilt-edged clouds heralded the start of another midsummer day in the Pacific Northwest city.

Duncan MacLeod hunched deeper into his gray hooded sweat jacket. The chilly wind penetrated the thin layers of his clothing as he sat on the park bench. His long legs were stretched out in front of him with his ankles crossed. His tennis shoes were caked with mud from following Shakespeare along one of the several paths that branched out from the seaside park. His eleven-month-old pet had run rampant in his quest of anything that moved, especially any shadows.

MacLeod sighed as he glanced over at his dog chasing a cotton-tailed rabbit under a bush. The furry creature had been munching the large fronds of irises that grew along the park's edges. It did, that is, until Shakespeare decided it might make a tasty treat or at the very least something fun to chase. Of course, the rabbit made it safely to its below ground den, but that didn't deter Shakespeare from barking excitedly at the opening.

The two of them had been at the park for the past three hours. MacLeod had finally gotten up from another of his sleepless, dream-filled nights. His last few days had been fraught with both new experiences and old haunting memories ever since Methos had taken him out for an evening at the Blue Lagoon. The older Immortal's inadvertent teasing had not only made Mac realize whers prs previous nightmares were stemming from, it catapulted him into suffering frequent flashbacks of his six-month prison stay in 1670.

Mac had frozen up inside after his sharing with Methos of the months he'd managed to block from his memory. He wasn't mad at him. In fact, if he were honest with himself, he enjoyed the sex with Methos. It was just that he couldn't talk about it anymore. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to open up with anyone else about it, ever.
He'd not even noticed Methos when he'd silently left through the side door that led to the stairs.

Duncan returned to the present and thought,
Why did I have to remember it all? Why couldn't I have just had a relationship with the old man and not had Priest and all his evil ways flood my soul?

Duncan shook his head as an unwanted image of four stone walls overwhelmed his mind. He'd been violently abused by the sheriff, his deputies and their customers. His services as a whore and slave were nightly sold to the men and women who paid handsomely for them. For more than twenty-four weeks, his body and mind were subjected to the depraved sexual appetites of the sheriff's clientele.

Duncan guessed he hadn't really forgotten those evil days, but he had pushed them to the dark recesses of his mind, the unused brain cells doctors taboutbout. He shuddered as a picture of himself chained, spread-eagled, to that concrete bed filled his mind. The grotesque sex and bondage games with all the toys used in the seventeenth century had been a nightmare. Of it all, however, Priest's brain washing of the young Highlander had statstated him the most. Throughout his imprisonment, Duncan was called, 'boy, child, lad, youngling and little one.' Not once was he identified by his real name.

Lemuel had belittled the Scot and treated him as an unschooled, uneducated youngster whose sole talent was his handsome body and sexual prowess. MacLeod shuddered shook his head. The worst part of the whole situation was that, towards the end of his ordeal, he had begun to believe the other Immortal's twisted, mind conditioning premises.

The Highlander felt a cold, wet nose nuzzle under his folded arms. Shakese gae gazed up into his owner's sad chocolate brown eyes, whimpering softly. He returned his owner's look with black orbs that were darting and frowning with worry. Shakespeare sensed his master's agitation and depressive mood. The dog laid his sleek black head on MacLeod's lap as if to say, 'I am here for you.'

MacLeod unfolded his arms and affectionately petted his dog on its head and broadening chest. "I'm okay, Shakespeare."

The Lab continued to watch his Master who had been much too quiet the past couple of days.

Duncan looked up at the widening sunrise in the eastern sky. The blackness was dissolving into a backdrop of brilliant reds, yellows, blues and purples. Shakespeare whined again. "All right, boy, let's go home." Standing up, Duncan absently clipped the leash onto his pet's collar and retraced the few blocks to the DeSalvo Gym.

* * * * * *

The noonday sun beamed through the loft's windows onto Duncan. He sat on a stool, his elbows propped on the bar and his broad callused hands gripping a white porcelain mug of hot black coffee. His unfocused eyes drifted around his one-room dwelling. The Highlander's dark brown hair draped alluringly over the left side of his ruggedly handsome face.

Shakespeare was curled up beneath one of the windows basking in the warm sunlight. The sleeping animal's muzzle was propped on his front paws, his ears twitching as he dreamt. If his master had need of him, he'd awaken in an instant.

MacLeod's thoughts, however, were not on his surroundings. His expressive brown irises drifted back over the centuries to a dingy, cramped jail cell he had occupied in 1670.

***

"Nae, I won't do it, not again," the young Scotsman refused, shaking his head. "Was'na last night enough for ye and yer customers?" MacLeod argued. The six-foot tall, Highland born warrior stood backed into a corner. His waist length hair draped over his bare shoulders like a shawl. His proud head stared defiantly at the approaching sheriff and two of his deputies.

Eight hundred year old Immortal Lemuel Priest reached out and jerked on the younger man's nipple chains. "Now, now, laddie. Didn't I tell you last night it would do you no goo deo defy me?" Smiling broadly and assisted by the prison guards, the sheriff dragged the Scot's balking frame towards him.

MacLeod lifted his chin. "I don't care what ye do to me. I won't be a whore!" he shouted.

Priest reached out and caressed Duncan's neck. He slowly worked his soft hand across the Scot's pectoral muscles, then drifted lower onto MacLeod's flat stomach. "I told you, youngling, you will obey me in all things," he softly chided. "But, you just won't listen to me, infant." The older Immortal's hand groped the Scot's stomach. He then slammed his right knee into the Highlander's groin.

Duncan's agonizing pain dropped him to his knees.

Priest sat down on the concrete slab and motioned to John and Patrick. The two burly men lifted the Scot up underneath his arms and forced him to lie face down across the sheriff's lap. Duncan struggled, unsure of the lawman's intentions. He was immobilized by the two men.

"I see I am going to have to discipline you, my child," Lemuel promised. "I will teach you to obey ike ike the infant you are."

So saying, the elder Immortal brushed aside the Highlander's long locks that covered the younger man's bare buttocks. Priest caressed the shapely bottom once before drawing his broad hand back and delivering a smarting spank onto MacLeod's buttocks. Duncan flinched and attempted to stifle any sound he might make. The cell was eerily quiet except for the loud slaps of the sheriff's hand to Duncan's behind. It continued until the Highlander's ass was blistered red and tears trickled down the young man's face.

When he'd finished, Priest reached for a large plug-shaped object which he then shoved into Duncan's anus. "There, that will prepare you for tonight's pleasure." He popped the Scot's sore rump one more time before adding, "You will learn, baby boy, to mind your elders or suffer the consequences."

The guards lifted the Highlander's limp body until the sheriff stood up. The two of them then dumped him onto his back atop the concrete slab. After locking Duncan's shackles into place, both John and Patrick fondled their prisoner's breasts, shaft and scrotum.

"Master said we could do anything to you except touch your butt," John guffawed. "He said only he could spank ye, you being a bad little boy an' all."

The jailer's loud laughter was soon mingled with Duncan's screams as the giant bit each of the Highlander's breasts. Suckling hard on both nipples, the large man's mouth and teeth made each one bleed. He continued to lap the Immortal's blood and body fluids. Meanwhile, Patrick latched onto MacLeod's shaft and twin sacs. Biting hard and partially swallowing the imprisoned man's private parts, Patrick managed to elicit a physical response from the naked man. When Duncan unwittingly began to shoot out his semen, the two men took turns sucking his rigid shaft until he was drained completely dry. Neither man noticed the Scot's face turn a dusky rose color from mortification, not just from the abuse, but because he'd actually responded to the vile Sassanachs' attention.

He was once again led to the large room that night. This group was even rowdier than the others had been. MacLeod was submitted to lashings and immersion in frigid water. He was fucked in his ass by the men in the room. His breasts and shaft were suckled by the woman as well as the men of the dozen or so customers. Duncan was given enemas of water and milk. He was whipped and stretched out on a bed of ice while all of them pinched, bit and antagonized his every part.

Toward the end of the evening, MacLeod made the mistake of shaking his head 'no' when one of the women wanted him to nurse her breast. She had recently had a child and thought it would be a thrill if the grown man suckled her milk as did her infant.

When Priest saw the Scot shake his head, he instructed his guards to stretch the younger man across his lap. "I have repeatedly instructed you, little one, to always obey your elders. Now, nursling, you will be punished."

Duncan struggled but was held firmly in place, with his posterior shining, across the man's lap. Priest spanked him in front of the guests, who then delightedly took their turn to administer corporal punishment.

After one brutal whipping by a large, florid faced man, the Highlander wet on himself. The entire group laughed at the hapless man's incontinence. One of the women grabbed a piece of cloth and wrapped it around the Scot's bottom like a diaper. He was then forced to suckle the breast milk from the woman, the act which he'd originally refused.

After MacLeod was dragged back to his cell, Lemuel decided to leave the strip of cloth, diaper, in place. The youngling from then on wasn't allowed to use a chamber pot. He was instead forced to eliminate on himself in the cloth. When he'd dirtied himself, the guards ordered another prisoner to the Highlander's cell to clean him. It did not matter to them what else the man did to the Scot, to the delight of the inmates of the prison, who had no use for the 'filthy barbarian Scot.'

The following day, when Duncan again shook his head no to what his captors wan he he was forced across Lemuel Priest's lap yet again. This time, he was spanked in front of all the other prisoners who laughed and catcalled the helpless, enraged and humiliated Immortal. When Priest was finished, the two guards stood the Highlander between them and turned him around so that all the other prisoners got a good look at him. He was led to each cell so the other inmates could fondle, caress and squeeze his body parts.

Duncan's spankings became daily affairs. Lemuel would invariably find a discretion the Highlander had committed. The sadistic Immortal would have then Duncan dragged out of his cell, his 'diaper' removed and bent over Priest's lap. Lemuel always used his bare hand to paddle the Immortal. He also made sure that the younger man's spankings were witnessed by the other prisoners. Thereby, not only did he abuse his prisoner, but he demoralized him, as well.

* * *

Duncan's harsh memories were thrust forward into the here and now as he heard the clanking of the elevator's gears. He brushed away his tears as Shakespeare roused and to bark at their visitor. The gray-headed, bearded face of Joe Dawson soon came into view. MacLeod went over and raised the gate for the Watcher.

Dawson's piercing gaze took in his friend's reddened eyes and a fragment of tear on the Scot's face. He noticed the dark shadows beneath Duncan's expressive eyes. Joe switched his cane to his left hand and reached his other one to brush away the teardrop from his assignment's haggard cheek. "Duncan, are you all right?"

Dawson never called him Duncan; it was always either Mac or MacLeod. The Immortal stiffened

and retorted, "I'm fine, Joseph. Why shouldn't I be?" Going to the stove, he poured his friend a cup of coffee.

Joe settled onto the sofa with the mug of old brew. For a long while, neither man spoke until Dawson cleared his throat and hesitantly began, "Methos stopped by on his way out of town."

MacLeod made a snorting noise and commented, "The old man never could keep his mouth shut." The quiet Highlander took a sip of his coffee, not really tasting it. "Just what did he tell you?"

The Watcher set his own cup on the coffee table and reached over to scratch Shakespeare's ears. The animal had jumped on the couch beside his favorite uncle. "He said you were having nightmares about something that happened to you a long time ago."

The Highlander shifted his gaze toward one of the open windows and stood, unable to remain seated. "Three hundred and twenty-eight years ago to be exact." He glanced at his best friend and began pacing the . "I. "I'm surprised you don't know all about it. I thought that's what you Watchers do," he derided.

Dawson cleared his throat and responded, "Actually, the Watcher, a prison guard by the name of Timothy Brittles, did not go into detail. He recorded that you were in prison." Joe paused several prolonged seconds, then continued. "Mac, do you want to tell me about it? You don't have to, you know."

MacLeod sighed and threw himself into the stuffed easy chair near his friend. "There was an Immortal, Lemuel Priest, who was the sheriff in charge of the jail. Prisoners from all over the shire were brought to his prison. I was taken there as well."

Joe leaned forward. "Did the two of you fight?"

Duncan rubbed his face with both hands before answering. "No, he wanted my body, not my

head," he whispered.

The Watcher remained silent. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear all of Mac's tale, but he was positive that MacLeod needed to share.

"He sold my services to the dozen or so customers he invited to the prison each night. They were allowed to do anything they wanted to me." Mac paused and swallowed hard. "I had no idea how many ingenious, distorted, sick ways there are to fuck a man." The Immortal dropped his head into his folded arms. "I found out each and every one of them."

Dawson extended a hand and touched his friend's arm. "Is that all they did, Mac?"

The Highlander stood up and walked to the bar and poured himself a stiff shot of whiskey. "I wish it were all." He remained standing with his back to his Watcher as he continued. "Priest treated me like a child. He kept me naked and in a diaper. He spanked my bare ass every day in front of everyone."

MacLeod's voice wavered hesitantly but kept on. "He let the other prisoners clean me up when I dirtied myself and whatever else they wanted. Priest gave me to his paid clients every night, just for the gold they paid him."

Duncan poured himself another drink and swallowed it in one gulp. "The bastard kept calling me infant and youngling and child. He always told me he wanted my body, not my quickening." The Scot bowed his head. "After a while, I … I started sucking my thumb and would curl up into a ball as I slept." The last few words were spoken barely above a whisper.

Dawson lifted himself to his feet with the help of his cane and approached his friend. He silently gripped the Highlander's shoulder in support.

"If it hadn't been for the woman, I'd still be there I guess."

"What woman, Mac?" Joe softly probed. The Watcher guided the Immortal over to the leather sofa. He then eased himself into the chair across from his friend.

MacLeod brushed a tear from an eye and sat back as he rested his head on the back of the divan. He slouched his muscular frame until his hips hugged the edge of the seat and closed his eyes, folding his left arm over his face.

Joe hesitated a long while for MacLeod to continue his tale. When he was met with only silence, he prompted, "What woman, Mac?"

"She was one of Priest's customers," the Scotsman resumed. "I never knew her name until the last, but she was rich. The others catered to her every whim."

Duncan uncovered his face and drew his left knee into a bent position with his left heel resting on the cushion. He focused his watery eyes upon on. on. "Joseph, my mind blocked all those memories from my consciousness. I haven't had theeelieelings in over three hundred years." His liquid eyes penetrated the steel gray ones of his Watcher. "Why now?"

Dawson shook his head. "I'm not sure, Mac. I guess some of your issues never surfaced until Methos pulled what he did." Joe's voice hardened with anger.

"Don't blame Methos, Joe," Duncan admonished. "He didn't know anything either."

"Yes, but," Dawson began. He was cut off by the Highlander's sharp gaze. Joe shook his head and refocused the Immortal's thoughts. "What about the woman? How did she get you out of that hellhole?"

Shakespeare sensed his master's increasing anxiety. He'd curled up on the cool kitchen tile floor, but now he lifted his sleek head, stretched his front legs, then the back ones, and spotting Duncan sitting on the divan. Trotting over, he nudged his master's right hand. Duncan had sat forward on the seat and was gripping the furniture's right arm, his knuckles turning white from the pressure.

The dog whuffed, bringing the tense man's attention to him. MacLeod glanced down at his pet and his hard glazed vision mellowed. "I'm okay, Shakespeare." Sliding back onto the seat, the Immortal patted the cushion on his left side. The dog leapt up and curled closely beside him. The animal his head on the Scot's left leg and shifted his eyes over toward his emotionally drained master.

Joe Dawson smiled at the interaction between tmmormmortal and his dog. "He really loves you, Mac," motioning toward Shakespeare.

For the first time that morning, Duncan smiled. He stroked Shakespeare's head and sleek black body. "Yes, he does, Joe, and I'm crazy about him, too."

It was silent in the loft for several moments. Joe sat there watching Shakespeare and Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod interact.
In a way, MacLeod has a new clan member, he thought to himself.

Mac glanced over at his friend and grinned, "You want me to finish my story, don't you?"

Joe smiled and answered, "Yeah, if you can, Mac."

MacLeod inhaled deeply and began again. "Her name was Elizabeth. I really didn't expect any help from her." He paused and sipped his scotch. "She instigated some of the weirdest sex games. It was her idea to tie my arms around my knees. When I was curled up, she stuck a riding crop into my ass, with only the tip of it showing."

Dawson's lower jaw dropped open, but MacLeod didn't notice.

"Another time, she filled me full of water,o boo both ends. They tied my mouth and plugged my rear so none of it would come out. Then she sucked my dick until it was hard and made me come."

By this time, the Watcher's face had turned an ashen gray, but he remained quiet.

Mac kept his vision on his dog, his monotone voice droning on without inflection. It was as though he were reading a book instead of relating his horrifying experiences. "I guess the worst idea she had was toward the last."

"Liz had them lay me across a barrel face down. They shackled my arms and legs, spread apart so I couldn't move. Then, they brought in a German shepherd dog." Duncan swallowed hard before continuing. "When I saw that dog, I started shaking my head 'no,' refusing to allow them to do it to me."

Tears commenced trickling down the Scot's pale cheeks. "Priest made them stop while he came over and whipped me again. He kept on and called me Baby Boy. He told me I was a brat and a little kid."

MacLeod stopped his narration. The loft was silent as a tomb, neither man nor beast hardly breathing. When the Highlander resumed, his voice was raspy and low. "I should've known they would do whatever they wanted. Anyhow, I got fucked by that dog. It bit my shoulder and I could feel his privates slapping against my rear. It took the beast over thirty minutes before he shrunk down enough to pull himself out of me." Rubbing Shakespeare's ear, he added, "That's whnevenever wanted a dog around me until this fella," nodding at his pet, "came into my life."

A prolonged silence again permeated the loft. "Did they stop after that, Mac?" Dawson quietly asked.

MacLeod shook his head and brushed a sleeve across his tear-filled eyes. He whispered and shook his head, "No. I wish to God they had. They brought in a ram, then a pony and did the same damned thing. I thought that horse was going to rip my ass right out of me, Joe."

Duncan abruptly got to his feet and returned to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a full glass of whiskey and gulped it down in two swallows. He stood there, his knuckles white from gripping the cabinet's edge. "By the time the horse was stuck inside me, I was screaming. I didn't care what happened to me." He paused and looked toward Joe. "It was strange though. I looked at Elizabeth and she had removed her mask. She sat frozen with her mouth open and her face white as a ghost. I guess she'd finally had her fill."

After several moments of pregnant silence, MacLeod whispered, "She paid some thugs to break into the jail and turn me loose. The men hid me in a provisions wagon. They didn't stop until we had crossed the border into Scotland. I never saw her again."

The loft was totally hushed for an eternally long time, the only audible sound that of Shakespeare's panting breaths. The animal hopped off the couch and padded over to sit near Duncan's feet. Every now and then, the animal would look up at Duncan's bent head, then over toward Dawson. It was as if the dog was trying to tell the Watcher to comfort his master.

Dawson maneuvered himself out of the chair and approached his friend. He didn't say a word. He simply placed his right hand on Duncan's left shoulder and gently turned the man around to face him. Silent tears trickled from the Highlander's eyes. His jaw was clenched so tightly, Dawson was afraid the Immortal might chip his teeth.

"Mac?" he quietly asked and drew the shaking man into a tight embrace. The Watcher felt the Scot's shoulders jerk and his chest heave with pent up sobs. MacLeod clung to his friend, as his faithful dog laid its head on his shoe.

* * * * * *

--To Be Continued--
- 3
- 4
- 5
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Ravaged