Cheerleader Katie (18) Fights Blonde Bartender Chick Oliva (28)
Bad blood still exists between the cheerleaders and Rodeo Cowgirls' chicks, who work at the bar as Coyote-Ugly-like dancers or bartenders. Katie Tisdale is head cheerleader Allison Parker's best friend. You remember her -- the one who's been picking on Brooke Wilde, the barrel racer? Brooke has still not shown up to fight Allison at the old park, so she might have to do what her friends do here, and that's go and get her at the bar. In these three scenes, the target is a slim blonde named Olivia Prescott, who is about to fight Katie Tisdale so Katie can become a member of a violent high school girl gang. All of the girls, besides Olivia, go to school at Madison High School in rural Central, Ohio. They are all at least 18.
Part 1
“Do you need anything else?” Jessica Draper asked Olivia, as she was counting down the register drawer. It was 2:25 a.m. and the bar was already closed.
“No,” said Oliva. “I just need to fill out a bank slip for this deposit and drop it in the safe, then we’ll head on out.”
It was company policy for the workers closing the bar to leave together. The closing manager, which was Olivia tonight, would then wait for the others to walk to their cars, then lock the door. Olivia had just stepped outside with Marcie and Jessica when she said, “Silly me. I forgot my purse.”
“Do you want us to wait for you?” said Jessica, who had ridden to work with Marcie.
“No, you two go on. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, it’s late. Besides, look around. There’s no one here.”
Jessica and Marcie scanned the Rodeo Cowgirls’ parking lot. Marcie’s Toyota Camry and Olivia’s BMW were the only cars in the lot.”
“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Olivia,” said Marcie.
“All right. See you two tomorrow afternoon.”
Olivia reached into the pocket of Wrangler jeans and pulled out the keys to the bar. She then unlocked the door, walked back inside Rodeo Cowgirls and retrieved her purse in the back office. She had just locked the door and turned to go to her car when she saw Julie Federman standing in front of her.
Olivia gasped, placing her hand on her chest. “What are you doing here?”
“You mean what are we doing here,” said some punkster chick, who stepped away from the outside wall of the building. These were the same two girls she and Bella had seen at Perkins Tuesday after work.
Olivia’s heart pounded as both girls stood in front of her. They towered over her.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” said Olivia, as she stuck her right hand out in front of her. “It’s late and all I want to do is go home and get some sleep.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Julie, as she ripped Olivia’s purse out of her left hand.
“Hey, give me back my purse.”
Julie handed the purse to the punkster. “Take everything of value in it, including credit cards, then throw the purse in the back trunk of your car.”
“Okay,” the girl said.
“Where’s your phone, cowgirl?” said Julie.
“I’m not telling you.”
“Julie glared at the blonde. “You will tell me where it is or I’ll pound you into oblivion.”
Olivia raised her hands in front of her. “It’s in the back pocket of my jeans.”
“Hand it over.”
“What for?”
“Just do it, bitch!”
Olivia’s heart pounded even harder with fear. She could barely breathe. Her throat churned as she pulled her cell out of her jeans and handed it to the tall, stocky girl.
“Great,” said Julie. She tossed the phone on the concrete and smashed it with her gym shoe.
“What are you doing?” shouted Olivia. “That’s an eight-hundred-dollar phone!”
“You won’t be needing where you’re going.”
Olivia tried to run around the girl, but Julie grabbed her and slammed her against the outside wall of the building. Olivia’s cowboy hat flew off as her head and back slammed against the cedar boards. She had just opened her eyes when Julie’s fist connected with her jaw. Olivia dropped to the sidewalk -- facedown and unconscious.
“Help me get her into the back seat of your vehicle,” Federman said to Bella, who had just returned from putting Olivia’s purse in her trunk.
Julie reached down and flipped the thin biker chick on her back. Bella then grabbed the ankles of the blonde’s boots as Julie picked her up by her armpits.
“Where are we taking her?”
“To Gretchen’s basement. Her parents went out of town for a funeral and won’t be back until Saturday.”
“What’s Gretchen going to do with her?”
“You ask too many questions, Chambers. I’ll let you know our plan after we drop this cowgirl bitch off at Gretchen’s.”
“All right.”
The girls carried the woman to Bella’s Chevy Impala and lay her across the back seat. Julie then called Allison on her cell.
“Hello.”
“Where are you?” said Julie. “I asked you to meet us here at two-thirty.”
“Sorry, I fell asleep.”
“Well, get your ass over here in fifteen minutes and bring Katie with you.”
“She’s already here. We both fell asleep.”
“Just get over here. I need someone to drive the woman’s car to the old park.”
“Okay.”
“Fuck,” said Julie, as she stuck her phone in her sweatpants. “I don’t have the keys to the BMW.”
“They were in the purse,” said Bella. “I have them in my pocket.”
“Give them to me.”
“No ‘thank you’ or anything?”
“Fuck you, Chambers. Just give me the keys.”
“Tes-ty.”
Bella pulled the biker chick’s keys out of her pants and handed them to Julie.
“Grab the cowboy hat and let’s get out of here.”
Part 2
Ten of the Fiends met at the old railroad grounds in Perryville on Thursday night. They parked their cars in a circle near the tracks and kept their headlights on. Gretchen showed up at ten o’clock with the slim, blonde biker chick. She had kept her handcuffed in her basement all day with a cloth stuck in her mouth, but had fed her two meals. She wanted the biker chick to keep her strength up for tonight’s big occasion. The woman had a canvass bag covering her head as the fat girl escorted her to the center of the circle—with all the headlights beaming at her.
“Hey, bitch,” said Allison, as Gretchen walked the blonde past her. “Ready to get your skinny ass kicked?”
Gretchen unlocked the handcuffs around the woman’s wrists, then removed the bag from her head. She then ripped off the gag.
Olivia gasped for breath as the gag was removed. She then touched her lacerated lips, which were now stinging.
“Screaming will do you no good out here,” said Gretchen, “because we’re miles from any homes.”
“What do you want with me?” cried Olivia, as she looked at all the girls surrounding her. Most were glaring at her. Some were sneering. “I haven’t done anything to any of you girls.”
“It’s just who you are, Sweet Cheeks,” said Gretchen, “and that’s a drug-dealing biker cxnt.”
“But I haven’t sold any drugs in Perryville for weeks.”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re still going to pay for your misdeeds.”
Gretchen pulled a license out of her stretch pants. She shone her cell phone flashlight at it. “Okay, everyone, this is Olivia Prescott. She’s twenty-eight years old and weighs one hundred eight pounds.”
“Wow,” said Julie Federman. “I haven’t weighed less than one-ten since I was eight or nine years old.” Several of the girls laughed. Olivia eyed the girls who had just started forming a circle around her.
“Katie Tisdale, step forward,” said Gretchen.
The small cheerleader walked into the circle and eyed the biker chick. She then looked at Gretchen.
“We all wanted to wish you a happy eighteenth birthday today.” The girls cheered. “And for this special occasion, we’re about ready to make you an official member of the Fiends. All you have to do is knock this biker chick out to become a Fiend.”
Katie smiled. Her throat churned. She was both frightened and excited. Julie saw the fear in the girl’s eyes and pulled her outside of the circle between two cars.
“You’ve got this bitch,” said Julie. “She’s about the same size as you—even a bit smaller.”
“I know but I’ve never been in a fight before.”
“You think that biker chick has been in any fights? If she has, she probably got her ass kicked. Look at her. She’s got arms the size of pipe stems, small tits and no muscle to speak of. All she’s got going for her is a nice ass in tight jeans. You’re a cheerleader, girl, which means you’re athletic and fit. I’ll bet you twenty bucks this bitch comes out slapping instead of punching. All you’ve got to do is punch her in the chin, jaw or nose and she’ll go down. Trust me.”
“Okay,” said Katie.
“After that, just jump on top of her and let your instincts take over. Kick her if you have to. Just knock her the fuck out and you’re a Fiend.”
Katie nodded.
“We about ready over there?” said Gretchen.
“She’s ready,” said Julie.
“Then let’s get it on.”
]
Part 3
Katie squared off against the blonde. The one-hundred-fifteen-pound redhead balled her fists and watched as the woman swiped her hands against her jeans and got set to fight. Their eyes met. The blonde’s throat churned. She then started stepping forward and backward in an awkward manner, panting with anxiety as she waited for the cheerleader to make her move.
Katie recalled how Allison had circled the blonde she’d beaten last month -- Lexi What's Her Fuckin' Face. She did the same with her adversary, taking a few steps to her right, then moving back to her left. The woman raised her arms up further and followed the girl’s movement. She then stepped forward and tried to slap Katie with her right hand.
Katie blocked the blow and punched the woman in the mouth, feeling the biker chick’s lower jaw shift under her knuckles. The woman stumbled backward in her boots—eyes widened. Katie lunged forward and hit her in the mouth again, then drove her foot into her midsection.
“Uhhhhh!”
The woman grabbed her stomach and leaned forward. Katie swung her right leg up and kicked the biker chick in the face, knocking her on her back. She landed on the dirt with a thud.
“There you go!” shouted Julie.
“Kick her ass, Katie,” said Allison. “I mean really fuck her up. That biker chick’s got nothing.”
The blonde held her broken nose with both hands as she writhed on the grass in agony. She started moaning as blood poured down her face to the dirt. Katie kicked her in the cxnt between her outstretched legs, then jumped on top of her. She then straddled the blonde’s midsection and delivered a brutal flurry of punches to her face. The biker chick flung her arms out several times, attempting to block the blows, shuffling the heels of her boots against the ground in an attempt to get out from under the ruthless cheerleader. But Katie’s punches continued thudding off the woman’s face, evoking the disturbing sound of fist pounding flesh.
Katie continued beating the woman, even after her head rolled to the side and her arms dropped to the ground.
Gretchen hustled over and pulled Katie off the hapless blonde. She raised the cheerleader’s arm.
“Our winner by knockout, Miss Katie Tisdale.”
Katie beamed as the girls cheered. She then looked down at the biker chick whose face was covered with blood—arms and legs splayed, head canted right. She was surprised how easily she’d beaten the woman.
“And I do believe the knockout came in record time.”
“One minute and sixteen seconds,” said Julie, “according to my timer.”
“Amazing,” said Gretchen. “Now, go get yourself a souvenir.” Gretchen held up a pair of scissors.
“What do you mean?”
“Take the scissors and cut something off?”
“Like what?” said Katie. She suddenly looked worried. She knew these girls were brutal, but this was vicious.
“Hair, finger or piece of clothing,” said Gretchen. “Anything you want. It’s your birthday.”
“Cut the crotch out of her fuckin’ jeans,” said Allison. “Let’s see that bald little pussy of hers.” The girls howled. “That’s right, you all. Biker chicks and strippers usually shave their cxnts.” More laughter. “And they don’t wear panties under those tight jeans.”
Katie stood there for several minutes. She finally walked over and cut a lock of the woman's blonde hair.
“Here’s a plastic bag for you,” said Gretchen. She handed it to Katie. The girl placed the hair inside the bag, sealed it and stuck it in the left pocket of her shorts.
And so the girls continue to hand the biker chicks and cowgirls -- some of whom are both -- their asses. Meanwhile, another biker chick named Bev is getting ready to fight the cheerleader who called her on the phone after that absurd slapping contest in Creedmore, Texas. If you haven't read that story, it's probably a couple lines down. Perhaps Bev can beat that cocky cheerleader and start earning some respect for the older chicks.
For more of my stories, go to my "About Me" page and see the list. I've got about 60 listed there. Until next time.
BMR
