Myth of Legend?: The Taking of Kirsty Gallacher

[Theocrytis]

Another Kirsty Gallacher story. I'm a big fan of movies that involve the capture for 'breeding' purposes plot (Hills Have Eyes 2, Dying Breed) so thought I'd try one of these with Kirsty. Have another one in mind with Emmanuelle Chriqui (Entourage) and Erica Durance (Smallville) but it's just at the idea stage. If you'd be interested in reading it, let me know.

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This story should not be read by anyone under 18 as it contains descriptions of scenes with graphic sexual violence. Don’t read it if you don’t like it. All characters in the story are over 18 years of age. Everything contained in this story is fictional and highly satirical. Do not attempt to recreate any part of this story in real life.

As if you would.

Another Kirsty Gallacher story set just after Kirsty’s Home Videos had finished and the Stan Collymore autobiography was published in early 2004.
Any comments, praise or criticisms, email them to theocrytis@fastmail.com
Hope you enjoy it.

Myth or Legend?:The Taking of Kirsty Gallacher

John Sampson continued pacing the floor of his smart, London office. He knew it was going to take a lot to convince his current client to agree to the job he was pitching:

‘Think of it like this Kirsty, the show will give you much more credibility than the Home Videos show ever did. ‘

Whilst Kirsty Gallacher nodded, she didn’t seem too convinced by her agents’ argument:

‘John, I appreciate that fact. But it is on Dave. I have no idea how many viewers Dave has, but it will hardly be mainstream telly. I really need more exposure on mainstream TV to drive my career forward.’

Sampson stopped pacing and took a sip from his coffee mug casting his eyes on the stunningly beautiful brunette who sat across the desk from him. It was fair to say that Kirsty was his favourite client. Not to deal with personally, but purely to look at. She was just the way John liked his women; petite, brunette, with beautiful eyes and wonderfully toned legs and ass. Oh and also the possessor of one of the nicest racks on British television. Large, full and ripe if her tabloid bikini shots were anything to go by.

Her home video show, Kirsty’s Home Videos, had consisted of Kirsty reading poorly from cue-cards while stuffed into a two-size too small outfit that highlighted to the viewers, mostly males between 14-35 years of age, that she possessed very big tits. Usually the director of the show would have her wear extra tight leather pants as well showing the world her great ass. How seriously she was taken on the show could be judged from the fact that she was known on-set by the nickname ‘The Rack’ – never said to her face however for fear of reprisals from the powers-that-be at SKY. Kirsty’s father, ex-Ryder Cup Captain Bernard Gallacher, worked for SKY and had friends in high places within the TV Company. He was one reason she had even gotten a job at SKY. The other reason was her phenomenal body.

Kirsty had constantly whined about being made wear these clothes and had made it clear that she wanted to do some serious TV presenting; something along the lines of investigative journalism.

Unfortunately while she possessed killer looks, she was bereft of any real talent as a presenter. For all her talk, Kirsty lacked the charisma or timing to really convince people with dialogue and this was a serious stumbling block. John had overheard the director of Kirsty’s Home Videos talking about her one day to the sound man on the beach-set.

‘All tits, no talent. We ain’t selling ‘The Rack’ on her presenting ‘skills’ such as they exist. T&A all the way, that’s all she has. Wish we could get her into a bikini though. Could you imagine the ratings if ‘The Rack’ got those tits out?’

While he didn’t like people talking about his clients like that, he agreed with the director in one regard. Kirsty was pretty dreadful as a presenter. She couldn’t do off-the-cuff presenting and she had even dubbed an autocutie in several National papers, much to her anger and his dismay. Still she was only 27 and she could learn. He certainly hoped so anyway.

To convince Kirsty, John knew he would have to use the credibility approach. Sell her on the ‘journalistic’ benefits of the new show that Dave had contacted him about called Truth or Legend? The premise was that a myth or legend would be posed at the beginning of each show and over the course of one hour. Kirsty would interview academics, local guides etc to see if the myth proposed was truth or just a legend. The beginning and end of the show would feature Kirsty visiting the place where the myth originated.

‘Dave has around 3 million viewers, Kirsty. It is the 10th largest channel in the country. Besides if you want to seriously develop your career, and I mean get beyond fluff television, this show is a great opportunity. It is a chance to move beyond low rent TV into something approximating investigative television.’

She took a sip of her coffee and sighed:

‘I just don’t know John......I mean how serious is this show. Myth or Legend? Sounds quite hokey to me.’

‘It’s a serious show Kirsty. I wouldn’t propose it to you if I didn’t think it was. You will be interviewing academics from universities, historians from museums etc. You’ll also have to do research yourself. The show isn’t as staged as the Home Videos show. It’s more natural.’

This last bit was a lie. The show did look hokey. In reality though it was a slight step up from Kirsty’s Home Videos. Though in fairness almost anything would be.

She still didn’t look convinced:

‘I don’t know. When do they need to know John?’

‘They want to start filming in three weeks in North Galloway, so ASAP.’

Kirsty perked up when he said that:

‘North Galloway?’

John saw his in;

‘Yes...the first show will be exploring the Legend of the McKlintock Clan.’

Kirsty now sat upright in her chair:

‘Did you say The McKlintock Clan?’

Sampson nodded:

‘Yes. Do you know of them?’

Kirsty nodded:

‘Of course. Every Scottish child has heard the legends. Along with the Sawney Beane Clan, the McKlintock’s were considered the most cruel and vicious outlaws in Scottish history. They were rumoured to have killed hundreds of people over the years. Yes I remember now. They would stalk travellers on the road to Loch Ness, ambush them, rob them and kill them.’
Sampson handed Kirsty a folder that outlined the shows premise:

‘And like the Beanes, they were rumoured to be cannibals as well.....unlike
the Beanes however, they were never caught. At least so the legend goes. It’s a great start to the series. A look at a Scottish legend such as this is ripe for investigation. ’

Kirsty flicked through the folder, her curiosity was definitely piqued:

‘Ok. I’ll think about it. Can you give me a few days?’

Sampson nodded:

‘Sure Kirsty.’

She stood up her three inch heels elevating her to his shoulder. She patted down her skirt and picked up the folder and her purse. Shaking his hand, she turned to him and spoke:

‘Thanks John. I’ll call you in a couple of days and let you know.’

As it turned out, she rang the next day and accepted the offer from Dave.
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Kirsty shivered as she stared out into the primeval forest. The road that lead to their final destination was flanked on either side by monstrous conifers that shrouded the road in a deep gloom, despite the fact that it was a nice, warm sunny day.

A voice beside her sighed:

‘This place gives me the creeps’

It was Alan, the cameraman on the show and the driver of the second car.

‘It’s the perfect place for a family of outlaws to hide though, isn’t it? I mean look at it. You could hide in the trees and ambush someone fairly easily. You could build a hideaway and no-one would ever find you.’

That was Mark, who was working the sound.

Alan nodded:

‘Yeah....you could hide twenty people in the trees near the road and never see them.’

Kirsty continued looking out at the forest but spoke;

‘It’s just a legend though. There’s no proof that the McKlintock’s actually existed.’

Mark replied:

‘Yeah but they could have. Just because they were never caught doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.’

Kirsty smirked:

‘So why did they stop ambushing and killing people?’

Alan glanced at Kirsty:

‘Well....maybe they were close to being found out and decided to stop? Didn’t the professor say that one man had escaped from an ambush and gotten away? Also remember the museum curator at Edinburgh said that they may have migrated further North?’

Mark piped in:

‘Or that they stopped killing because deer and venison was introduced in the woods a few years after they were believed to be around these parts and they could hunt these for food instead of killing people? Remember what the Professor said? That venison numbers were down around the turn of the 16th Century. When the McKlintock’s were said to be around these parts.’

Kirsty turned around and looked at him mockingly:

‘I remember what he said. I also remember he was sceptical of this himself and believed it could have been poachers. He also believed the McKlintock’s were thieves more interested in robbing people than eating them. You really believe they were cannibals? Come to think of it, do you really believe they even existed?’

She was greeted by silence. She shook her head and sighed.

She had been right about the show. Pure hokum. There was fuck all budget and the crew were student filmmakers. The two boys in the car with her were just out of college and spent the entire time sneaking glances at her tits, as if she wouldn’t notice. The ‘academics’ she had been interviewing were borderline nutcases and drunks more interested in ogling her than providing any real evidence. And finally, the McKlintock ‘legend’ itself was one of questionable veracity. In other words, a complete waste of time.

She muttered under her breath:

‘Fuck John Sampson for convincing me to do this show.’

Her mobile phone went off. It was Harry, the shows director. He was in the other car just ahead of them.

‘Kirsty. Take the next right and continue up the road. The spot is around four miles away in a clearing near the forest.’

‘Ok Harry. Got that. See you soon.’

She turned to Alan and relayed the message:

‘Next right and straight on for a while.’

As they made the turn heading towards the clearing where they would film the show’s opening shots, Kirsty started to think about the McKlintock’s and what she had learned about the legend....

The story began in a small village in Galloway called Barend. A local blacksmith called George McKlintock had married a woman called Hannah whom many in the village believed was a witch. It turns out that the villagers were right; Hannah was a witch and had involved her husband in several of her satanic rituals. This had included animal sacrifices of which several local people’s cats, dogs and cows had been stolen and killed by the McKlintock’s. The villagers had, not surprisingly, taken umbrage at this and had run the McKlintock’s out of town. With nowhere to go, the family (now consisting of four children one daughter and three sons) had settled in the forest, foraging what they could. The family grew as a result of incest and soon numbered eighteen. Struggling for food, they started to ambush travellers, rob and kill them. They did this by Hannah, or one of her daughters or granddaughters, feigning they were in distress on the main road and when someone came to their aid, the other clan members would attack from the trees. If the legends were to be believed, the McKlintock’s would then sacrifice their victims to Satan and devour their remains. They had, according to the legend, never been caught.

Pretty hokey stuff alright!

She was interrupted by Alan pointing at the clearing where the other car was:

‘Well...here we are’

Kirsty muttered:

‘Thank God.’

She was almost out of the car before it had stopped.
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The bedraggled figures watched the cars arrive with interest. It was purely by chance that they had stumbled upon the new arrivals but now that they had, they watched their every move intently from the safety of the thick tree cover. There were five of them, all carrying bows and arrows as they were hunting whatever wild game they could find. All of the men were lank haired with thick beards and tattered clothing made from a combination of animal skins and clothes they had stolen from ambush victims over the years.

They had watched the group of four television people get out of their car and walk into view all grouped together. The whispered amongst themselves what to do. The leader of the men, a tall, thin man in his thirties with hideous scars on his face gestured to the television crew and then gestured at his throat making the slitting motion. The men nodded and began to ready their bows. Just as they had raised them the second car came into view. The leader hissed at his men to hold their fire, which they did. They crouched low and observed the new arrivals.

When the leader saw Kirsty walking across to the first group, his eyes grew wide and he grinned revealing a mouth with few teeth left. He licked his lips and gestured for the men to stay low and stay quiet.
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Kirsty walked across to the group of men who were looking at the surroundings. Harry greeted her:

‘Kirsty! Hope the trip was ok.’

Kirsty smiled and shook his hand. A good-looking man in his late thirties, he, like Kirsty, understood the real quality of the program they were filming and he was making the most of it:

‘Hi Harry. I’m fine. Trip wasn’t bad. Wow, you were right! This place looks perfect for filming the program intro.’

Harry nodded and pointed to a rock formation closer to the trees just to the right of where they currently were:

‘We can start filming there. I think it gives a good view of the clearing.’

‘Sounds good.’

Harry looked at his watch. 3pm. They’d need to get a move on. He shouted over at the two others in Kirsty’s car who were getting the camera and sound gear.

‘Alan, Mark...c’mon! We need to get motoring here. We have about two hours of light to work with.’

Kirsty looked up at the sky:

‘At least the weather’s not too bad.’

It was a dry and cool day although not as cool as it normally was in March in this part of the world.

The group of seven started marching towards the rock talking amongst themselves. Alan had fallen behind Kirsty and using a small video camera he was filming her walking focussing on her tightly toned ass in particular.

‘Real poetry’, he thought to himself.

When they had reached the rock, they began to set up. Kirsty stood on the rock and took a view of the surroundings. On all sides they were walled in by huge conifers. Less than thirty feet away from where she stood was the dark forest. She thought she saw something move in the forest and she shivered a little as a light gust of wind cut through her t-shirt. She zipped up her wind-cheater and stood staring into the forest. She couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.

‘Pretty creepy isn’t it?’

That was Sam, who was doing the lighting for the show. A tall, long-haired blonde Scot recently graduated from Edinburgh University. He came up to her with a mug of coffee that he’d poured from a flask. Kirsty nodded and took the cup gratefully.

‘It is...I just can’t...no it sounds silly’

Sam took a sip from his mug;

‘You feel like we’re being watched?’

She looked at Sam and nodded;

‘Yeah...how did you?”

‘Because I get that feeling too.’

They smiled at each other. Kirsty liked Sam. Of all the guys on the team he was the easiest to get on with. And the most professional.

A few minutes later and Harry called out:

‘Ok guys. We’re burning daylight here. Let’s take it from the top. Kirsty sit here. Alan get in close and let’s get it right.


The men in the forest watched the group walk towards the rocks, which was in effect right towards them. The leader turned to the men and hissed at them. He held up six fingers and again made the slit throat sign. He pointed at Kirsty and indicated to them that she was to be taken alive. He indicated that the men were to fan out so that they could acquire their targets easily. He was delighted that Kirsty would be elevated from the others and thus out of the arrows range.

When he saw his men were in place he gave them the signal......
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What happened next happened so quickly that Kirsty had no idea of what really happened. Harry had just shouted action and she had just started to recite her monologue;

‘Hello, I’m Kirsty Gallacher. Welcome to a new program called Myth or Legend where I set out to discover if........’

That was as far as she got before she heard a rush of air to her right followed by a shout:

‘JESUS CHRIST!!!’

She looked to her right and saw Sam, the lighting operator, with what looked to be an arrow through his throat. Blood gouted from the wound to his oesophagus and she heard him try and gurgle something to her just before his body hit the ground. At first she was frozen in shock and horror and was left staring at the scene in almost drugged wonder. So much so that she didn’t hear the four other arrows fly in from her right hitting their targets. She heard screams and then Alan, the only man not hit, shout:

‘KIRSTY! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!’

She looked at the scene and saw five of the crew lying on the ground, dying from separate arrow shots. But it was the deep primordial roar from the forest that got her moving. Without thinking she bolted. Unfortunately for Kirsty, she was headed straight for the forest and right towards the leader of the savage men. She had just reached the lip of the forest when she heard Alan shout:

‘NO! KIRSTY! NOT THAT WAY!’

She turned on her heel to look back at him and this sealed her fate. The leader of the men stepped out from behind a tree and struck her on the back of the head with a wooden club. The last thing she remembered was four bedraggled men armed with bows and arrows descending on the group and a hideous scream from Alan. Then she felt the thud and her world turned to black
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Kirsty awoke with an absolutely splitting headache. Worse than any she had ever had from alcohol. The pain emanated from the back of her head. She tried to reach behind herself and feel the back of her head but found that she couldn’t. She opened her eyes and saw that she was in what looked like a cave of some sort. Looked like because it was very dimly lit by candlelight. She panicked when she realised that her hands had been manacled and each manacle had been bolted into a wall. Looking down she realised that her legs had also been manacled and bolted to the walls as well so that she was laying spread eagle. Spread eagled on a bed of what looked to be straw. She had also been stripped completely naked. Terrified she shrieked a little, her well-endowed chest heaving a little quicker.

‘What the fuck is going on?

She began to struggle against her bonds but it was a no-win situation. She began to shout.

‘HELP! PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP!’

She had been calling out for about twenty seconds when three men appeared near her and when she saw them she went deathly silent, and deathly pale. All three were scruffy, unkempt and dressed in rags. Even through the candlelight she could see they were heavily scarred. They looked at her for ten seconds without any emotion, their eyes raping her near perfect, naked, deliciously helpless body.

She realised at that precise moment that she was in serious trouble but still whimpered:

‘Please! Help me! Let me go!’

One of the men had let his hand slip under his clothes and it was obvious where he had put it and what he was doing. He was toothlessly leering at Kirsty. The beautiful television presenter was terrified now. Who were these people? What did they want? One of the men turned around and led the others out. Kirsty breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe they were going to get help? That was it.

What else could it be?

She got her answer about three minutes later.

He was an absolutely huge man. Easily 6’3” tall and like the others the possessor of a huge, thick beard and long hair. His hair was long and balding on top. He was covered in a cloak of animal skins and wore frayed trousers. Even though it was covered with the cloak, Kirsty saw the enormous gut that existed underneath. He stood there looking at her without saying a word, his eyes boring into her naked form, an evil smirk etched on his lips. She looked at him now, goose bumps erupting all over her body, and began to struggle fruitlessly against her bonds:

‘LET ME GO YOU BASTARDS! LET ME GO! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?’

Her reply was a toothless leer and with that, the man began to disrobe. Kirsty began to struggle even more wildly against her bonds when she saw him do this:

‘NO! NO! DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME YOU BASTARD!’

She was panicking now as the man took off his pants and stood before her naked, his penis standing to attention camouflaged somewhat by his large gut. He knelt down between her spread legs and this caused Kirsty to scream and struggle even more. She was not going anywhere though being tied so securely, ripe to be defiled. Knowing this the man took his time and placed his huge hands on her tits. Squeezing them, he lent down and started sucking and biting her nipples causing Kirsty to scream and sob some more.
She knew there was to be no escape.

After several minutes of sucking, biting and pawing at her tits, the man drew closer to Kirsty and began to force his cock inside her cunt. Kirsty went wild when he started doing this, thrashing her head and body like a wild thing. She was screaming profanities while at the same time begging someone, anyone to help her. The man just looked at her and grinned evilly continuing the process of impaling her on his cock. It was slow going as her cunt was as dry as sandpaper, but this only seemed to excite the man who started pillaging Kirsty’s tits again. Kirsty was in pain as the man’s cock forced it’s way inside her. She was sobbing and screaming now knowing that there was no-one to help her.

Once fully buried inside her tight cunt, the man laid himself down on top of her so that he was nose to nose with her and his full weight was on top of her. Kirsty thrashed her head from side to side as the man began to kiss her face thrusting his cock deeper and deeper inside her. The smell from him was dreadful; she actually thought she was going to vomit from it.

He was fucking her hard; pumping her pussy as hard as he physically could, leering down at her. She tried turning her head to avoid looking at him, but he gripped her head in his hands and held it still grinning at her. Without warning he forced his lips on hers and began to kiss her. Her eyes went wide as he mouth was filled with his noxious breath. He was pumping his hips harder and faster now and sweating profusely. Kirsty found herself covered in his vile sweat and gagged hard as he removed his mouth from hers. She was wailing now as his cock pistoned in and out of her fast-moistening cunt. He was lying on top of her again and starting to breathe a lot more shallowly, grunting and moaning a little as well. Letting out a savage moan his cock started to twitch and finishing with several rough thrusts it spewed its contents inside Kirsty’s tight snatch.

Kirsty broke down in tears as the man pulled his cock from her and stood up jelly-legged. He didn’t even look at her as he grabbed his clothes and staggered off. She was caked in sweat, grime and tears. She felt the man’s semen oozing out of her cunt and she let out a scream of anguish.
Almost instantaneously another man appeared in the ‘room’. It was the leader of the gang that had captured Kirsty. As the man before had done, he began to disrobe and quickly mounted Kirsty, despite her screams and struggles. He began to fuck her roughly, pile-driving his cock deep inside her. He kissed her deeply and again his breath was rank. He pumped his hips so hard and quickly that Kirsty thought that he would break her hips. Her well-lubricated cunt responded to the vicious thrusting by humming along and Kirsty found she was nearing an orgasm. It wouldn’t be this man who made her come however.

It was only after her cunt had been filled with the third man’s seed that Kirsty had orgasmed. She orgasmed again when the fifth man had fucked her. In total her first ‘night’ within the confines of god knew where saw Kirsty raped by 8 men. By the time they had all finished, her vagina was sore and oozing semen.

The next morning saw the process begin again. The first savage to rape her, mounted her again and filled her snatch with a fresh helping of seed. He was followed by two others in quick succession. She was then fed before another man came and raped her. Throughout the day, some of the men returned and raped her. She was fed again and then raped by almost all the men again. She lost count but reckoned she had been raped at least 13/14 times that day.

Every day was the same. Kirsty was raped three or four times before she was allowed eat. Raped again once or twice before the men would disappear to do whatever it was they did. She would be raped three or four times throughout the day before she was fed and then raped by almost all the men in the evening.

After a few days of this she had another visitor, a female in her fifties who cleaned her up. Kirsty pleaded with this woman to help her. The woman looked at Kirsty and stroked her hair and face and kissed her forehead but shook her head. Kirsty was crying and pleading with the woman.

‘Please! Help me! Please! I’m begging you!’

The woman again shook her head. Kirsty screamed:

‘WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE!’

The woman whispered:

‘McKlintock....’

That reply hit Kirsty like a hammerblow. The McKlintocks! No! How could that be!

The days of rape turned into weeks as Kirsty’s body was violated hundreds of times. And as the weeks became months Kirsty, and her captors, realised that the repeated infusions of McKlintock semen had planted within the fertile environs of Kirsty’s once proud body the beginnings of a new life. As Kirsty’s belly swelled the rapes stopped. Now completely broken Kirsty would just lie in silence wishing for death, or at least that whatever spawn growing in her belly would disappear.

Once the female child had been born, and the agonies of childbirth abated, the rapes began again. And once again Kirsty found herself with child.

.....and so this was to be her fate....to continue the McKlintock line...............