Kelli: Cowgirl

Kelli: Cowgirl

Kelli: Cowgirl

It was Superbowl time yet again. You were a little upset that your former employees, the Dallas Cowboys, had made it to the Superbowl AGAIN. Having just quit after last month after being a Dallas Cowgirl, you had hoped that they would never win another game. After the Cowboy owner had approached you for sex, you left disgusted (even though you were putting out in the locker room for some of the other Cowboys). “There’s no way, I’m sucking that old man’s cock!” you thought. So, you took your trim athlete’s body, your popular team twat, and your gorgeous looks and quit the world famous cheerleading team.

Things hadn’t been going that well lately. Everything in Texas is somehow related to the Cowboys, so everywhere you turned it was Cowboy this and Troy Aikman that (former UCLA quarterback). You didn’t think that getting a new job would be so hard.

Down on your luck, you were finally forced to see if this dinky, white-trash sports bar by your house needed help. You were upset to see it decked out in Cowboy silver and blue. That alone almost made you leave. You went in with the intentions of filling out an application and trying to flirt your way to getting the job. Instead, you saw everyone glued to watching the Cowboys game.

“What’s going on?” you asked (you had already forgotten that it was the Superbowl).

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A fat, young cowboy responds, “Lady, it’s only the most fuckin’ important game…hay, you’re Kelli the Cowgirl! Hey guys we have Kelli the Cowgirl here!”

Since it was a commercial, you had attracted a lot of attention. Everyone there knew who you were, since they always gawked at the Cowgirls prancing around on TV in their skimpy outfits. You were being treated like a celebrity, you were moved to the front table near the big-screen TV, people were buying you drinks, and everyone was asking you to do a cheer.

“Why aren’t you at the game Kelli!” someone yells.

“Ummm, I’m injured, I was injured, I injured my knee during practice, umm, yesterday,” you say. Everyone believes you.

Half time is approaching and the Cowboy’s opponents, the mighty Miami Dolphins are driving down the field. With 3 seconds left in the half, the Dolphin’s quarterback Dan Marino throws a hailmary pass and it’s caught in the end zone for a touchdown. You yell up and down enthusiastically, yelling for the Dolphins. Silence covers the bar, not only because Miami has scored, but because you’re cheering like you’re having an orgasm. All eyes are on you.

“Little lady, THEY scored,” says the bartender.

“YEAH! I FUCKING LOVE IT, FUCK THE COWBOYS, WOOOHOOO GO DOLPHINS!” you say. It wasn’t exactly the wisest thing you’ve ever said being in the middle of Texas, in a bar, cheering against the Cowboys.

“Kelli, are you sick or somethin’?” asks one man.

“Nope, Cowboys are pathetic, that’s all. They suck, the whole organization sucks, and #54 has a small dick,” you boast.

“Kelli, if you haven’t noticed, we all LOVE the Cowboys, and we thought you did too” says one white trash female barfly.

“Well, I feel sorry for you guys cause I’m guaranteeing a Dolphin victory!” you say.

The bartender speaks up, “Did you say, GUARANTEE?” You nod your head. “Well, baby, I’m gonna make you test your words cause we’re a bettin’ type of folk.”

“I’ll bet ANYTHING that my Dolphins will beat your Cow-hicks! I knew I should have tried out to be a Dolphin girl instead of a Cowgirl. If I lose, I’ll work here for free for two months!”

“Lady, that ain’t enough, I said we was BETTIN’ folks. The score now is tied at half time 14-14 so all is fair. You win, I give you that 1966 Thunderbird parked right outside. See it? It’s a classic, in mint condition. It’ll all be yours, lock, stock, and barrel. It ain’t much, but it’s what I have. I win, and you gotta go through a purification ceremony till you’re forgiven for bad-mouthing our Cowboys.”

You’d had close to 6 beers by now, so you didn’t give much of a fuck what he said. “What are you gonna do, take my confession, Father?!” you laugh.

“Nope, I just want to make sure that you show that you forever love the Cowboys and that you never work as a cheerleader for any other team.”

You nodded in agreement as the second half was starting.

Dolphins start out with the ball, Marino marches the fish down the field and is smokin’. Pass down the middle. Complete. Pass on the curl. Complete. Run down the middle by Karim Abdul-Jabbar (UCLA running back). 16 yard gain. Marino to endzone. TOUCHDOWN. The bar is silent. You go into an obnoxious cheer, taunting everyone.

21-14 Dolphins. They shake their heads. Cowboys have the ball. Aikman steps back to pass and the pocket begins to collapse. SACK! Aikman takes a punishing hit and fumbles, Zach Thomas of the ‘Fins picks up the ball and lumbers into the end-zone for anohter quick touchdown. 28-14 Dolphins. You start gyrating your hips in a “fuck y’all” type of dance as you laugh and start throwing food. Aikman is hurt but stays in.

Cowboys have the ball. Aikman moves them downfield quickly but all they get is a fieldgoal. 28-17 Dolphins. Marino returns and is on fire. Two bombs later and the Dolphins have easily scored again – 35-17. Dolphins fake the kick off and recover. Marino hands off to Abdul-Jabbar who breaks 3 tackles and goes 55 yards for a miracle score 42-17 Dolphins after 3 quarters.

“It’s all over you hicks! I’ll take the keys to my new car now!” you say drukenly.

“Not so fast lady, 12 minutes to go” says the bartender.

Cowboys start out with the ball and a seemingly insurmountable deficit. Cowboys have the ball and waste 4 minutes, but score a touchdown, plus a 2 point conversion – 42-25 Dolphins.

Marino takes over and is in the shotgun formation. He looks and looks and finally passes – to Cowboy Deion Sanders! TD! 42-32 Dolphins. As Deion does his little end-zone dance you feel a little sick as it is suddenly a game. Marino is in a pile and has twisted an ankle. He can hardly walk, but tries to play. Dolphins have the ball. Marino wobbles and gets sacked, Cowboys get the ball. Aikman throws a bomb, TD!!

42-39 Dolphins with 3 minutes left. You are really feeling sick now. The bar is a zoo as everyone celebrates a monster comeback. The Dolphins try to sit on the lead, but finally must do a risky 3rd down play to protect the lead. Marino passes, and the ball is caught in the end zone 49-39 with 57 seconds left. You jump up celebrating and dancing around. Your boobs are bobbling up and down as the nail has been placed in the coffin for the Cowboys. Suddenly, the ref blows a whistle -INELIGIBLE RECEIVER DOWNFIELD, NO TOUCHDOWN AND LOSS OF DOWN! Score remains 42-39 and the Dolphins have to punt giving Dallas one more chance.

Dallas have no time outs and just passes on every down. They are at the 50-yard line with 4 seconds left. They have one chance at a bomb. Aikman goes back to pass, Michael Irvin is open, Aikman passes, Irvin catches, two Dolphin corners come to make the tackle but COLLIDE! Irvin sprints to the endzone for the most dramatic comeback in Superbowl history. Final: Dallas 45 Miami 42.

You try sneaking out while everyone is hugging and mobbing. The bartender steps in front of you with a shotgun. “Pay-up time little lady. Rosco, turn the sign off, we’re closed now.” Everyone stares at you as you have to pay up the bartender.

They take you to the pool table. The light above shines brightly. They take your arms and tie them to two corners of the table. Your legs they leave loose. “Time for a make-over darlin’ – Cowboy style.”

The over-the-hill female barfly starts undressing you as you blush and start crying.

“Please, I love the Cowboys, please let me go, I’ll work here for free.”

The barfly carefully disrobes you as she wants to keep your clothes for herself “I can’t afford Wallmart a lot you know” she says.

Your skimpy blouse is off (the one that showed your tight stomach and inny bellybutton to the world). She pulls off the short “I can see up your cute little ass” mini-skirt and everyone hoots and hollers. Underneath, your panties are a little moist.

“Looks like she got a little too excited during the game, boys.” They all laugh.

“Don’t I get a last request?” you ask.

“This ain’t no fuckin movie babe. You can’t dance ‘Tequila’ and think we’ll free you! Not with your appointment tonight, cutey-pie.”

They unfasten your bra and everyone comes in to take a closer look. The breasts they imagined naked on TV as they bounced up and down are now on the pool table in front of them, ready to be fondled against your will. Everyone, including the women, get in line and start feeling you up roughly. You moan and cry no, but you’re the loser tonight. Two big men slip off your Calvin Klein panties and toss them to the crowd. One sniffs your pussy and gets an idea. He takes a cold bottle of Miller Genuine Draft and starts slipping it in you, then out, then in, then out. You moan in ecstasy and pain as the ice-cold bottle gets warm inside you. “Now this would make a fucking great beer commercial!”

The bartender comes around all pissed. “It’s time to go to work guys, screw the horsing around. Boys, spread her!”

The two men get your legs and spread them WIDE. As a cheerleader, they are able to flex your legs almost 180 degrees apart, exposing your luscious, ripe red pussy to the world. You are in a daze, but know exactly what is going on. You notice a bunch of laughs, a lot of noise, music, flashes, and a camcorder trying to get closer. The bartender takes a pair of clippers and starts working around your Cowgirl vagina. You’re embarrased since your bush isn’t well kept. Since it’s winter, you usually don’t bother to trim it and let it grow out naturally. It’s particularly bushy now and you’re blushing as you wish you had been less lazy and tended your garden. The vibrating gets you off and you start coming. He looks unhappy as he doesn’t want you to enjoy this. He continues to work the clippers around your crotch, then around your lips trying to depube you. You are openly enjoying this, trying to free your arms just to rub yourself. He lathers your crotch.


He lathers your cunt till it’s nice and foamy and begins razoring it. You moan more. He always rubs you to make sure your cunt is, indeed, getting shaved clean. Then he goes to the bar and takes a bottle of vodka from the bar. Why you wonder. He pours the vodka around your newly shaven cunt (and a beautiful, radiant, cunt it is compared to some of the hideous slits around). Your vagina is drenched in vodka. He lights a match and tosses it at your crotch. You try and jump away, but can’t. Your cunt is on fire although you can’t feel anything and no skin is burning. He puts a towel on it and the fire goes out.

“Hair roots are burned away Kell, now lets finish.”

You are over being scared and actually admire the work he’s done. Your proud cunt is now clean-cut and beautiful and you’ll never have to worry about begging your girlfriend to shave your vagina bald (only she could make it bald bald, although she acted annoyed whenever you asked her to trim you “down there”). You see him bringing the clippers up to your head. You know what he is gonna do.

“Please, not my HAIR!” you yell. You recognized the power of the clippers ever since you drugged a girl during Cowgirl practice tryouts. It was you or her for the last spot. You drugged her after practice, waited for the locker room to empty out, and clippered her long blonde hair to stubble. You laughed throughout as her beauty was lost and you knew that she was a model that had even done shampoo ads. You just sneered as you selfishly shaved her waist length hair off. You remember with pleasure as the poor girl’s eyes were shut as she was knocked out cold while changing her panties. You sat her bare ass on a chair and started hacking away at her locks. You shaved her BALD. Now it was pay back.


He ignores you and starts running the clippers down the middle of your head. 18 inches of curly brown hair are severed. You start crying. The women in the crowd start gasping and pulling away the long strands of hair as he shaves them. You think a swarm of bees is surrounding you as the clippers make quick work of a mane that was never cut above the shoulders. He is rough with the clippers, running them over and over the pale patches of your scalp to make sure the stubble is microscopic. They lift up your head and start shaving the length of long hair off the back of your head, making a pillow of your own hair for you. One girl takes your hair and lifts it for him so it’s easier and quicker for him to shave off. Your soft sideburns become rough stubble as he shaves them off. One girl takes all your long hair and pretends to wear it like a fur scarf. Your hair is all over the place and being spread around. The pool table is now just a table of hair. It’s amazing how much hair you had, but now it was all gone. ALL SHAVED OFF. He looks at your tearing eyes and lifts the clippers to your eyebrows, shaving them off. You then feel the lather as they rub it on your hand. Another lady starts trimming your fingernails, then taking off the hot pink nailpolish. She cuts them short, painfully short. He lathers your head and starts scraping away at the stubble.

“We’re cleaning you up! We’re gonna make you not worry about trims, shampoo, or barettes for along time. My sister loves pay-back.”

His sister? You are confused. Then you saw her coming out from behind the bar. It’s the Cowgirl you drugged and shaved bald. You recognized the face, but her hair was gone too (you still pictured her with long blonde hair). Instead, she had a military high and tight, with a flat top and bald around the head. She looked intimidating with a 1/2″ of blonde flat top. “So, Kelli, we meet again.”

You smile dumbly and know you’re in a shit hole.

She says, “I’m so happy about what you did to me that one day. You gave me that haircut I would have never done. You changed my life. I cried for weeks, but you changed me Kelli. NOW I LIKE IT SHAVED and now, I’m gonna make you like it too.”

They finish toweling off your freshly lathered and razored head and she brings the vodka. You cry as she pours it on your head and brows. She lights the match.


She smiles, “Shit happens bitch.” She throws the match at you and your head burns in the fire. You don’t feel anyting but you know your roots are being burned close, making you bald forever. They towel the flame off and rub your head.

“No more conditioner, Kelli! If you’re 22 now and live to be 70 you’ll be bald for another 48 years!” Laughter dominates the bar.

They untie you and turn you over. They walk you to the bar and prop you up over the bar so that your ass sticks out and your head is dangling from the other side. You swing your legs as they hold you down and rub down your right butt cheek with oil as it is propped up high. SIZZZZZZZZZZLE SIZZZZZZZZLE SIZZZZZZLE. You yell as all you feel is hot pain. They pull off the branding iron.

They throw you into the 66 Thunderbird and drive you off to a mall in downtown Dallas. No one sees them drop you off in the alley. You waddle out and turn the alley, right in front of an armada of holiday shoppers. You are bald, ugly, and naked. Everyone starts laughing, including little children. You try and feel your head, expecting long locks to hide your face from the embarassment. Nothing but smooth skin is there. You don’t know whether to cover up your head, breasts, or crotch. You are totally humiliated. One man trys to give you some change and laughs (“Get some clothes” he says). You hear people mumbling and giggling “Nice haircut.” One kid points at your ass (the one that is numb from too much pain). You look over your shoulder and see “PROPERTY OF DALLAS COWBOYS” branded on your ass. Everyone points and you, the former envied Cowgirl, now a freak.


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