Phoebe vs Ayami

"You're losing, bitch! You're losing and you're losing and you're gonna lose for the rest of your sorry, primitive cow-wrangling life!" Those words were as much for Phoebe as they were to keep Ayami going; anger kept her going when the pain threatened to slow her, anger gave her that extra edge.

When her underpunch hit and the redneck doubled over, Ayami yelled out in an exaltation of venom and triumph. She was done, wasn't she? 4 hits to that same spot. She swore she saw the purple on the skin. But the next thing she knew, the redneck charged forward. The unexpected move caught her by surprise, and they connected, and painful yelps came as Phoebe rained blow after blow after blow on her sides. Ayami backstepped as the redneck pushed her, taking her ground.

Not good, not good, not good. Panic flooded her.

She managed to drive Ayami all the way to the turnbuckle before Ayami could steady herself for a solid counter. She brought her elbow raised up high, and drove it right down into the back of the redneck's head. She would repeat it again and again, Phoboe's punches punctuating her own attacks.

“Shut up! Shut up!” Phoebe would scream, trying to drown out Ayami’s taunting with her loud hollering. She couldn’t stand the sound of Ayami’s voice, and, to put a definite end to Ayami’s attempts at verbally humiliating her, she rammed her head into the girl’s gut, then began to pound her sides into pudding with punch after punch after punch. Hooks poured into Ayami’s tender body and forced the Japanese girl backwards. She slammed into the turnbuckle, and Phoebe just kept punching her, over and over again.

“Come on, fight me, bitch! I’ll kick your ass!” Phoebe would hiss. Ayami seemed to take that challenge to heart, because, after letting Phoebe pound on her for almost thirty seconds, Ayami struck back, and struck back hard. She slammed her elbow down onto the back of Phoebe’s head, and suddenly Phoebe found her vision blurring, her head spinning, and she would drop down onto her knees on the canvas, clenching her teeth to keep from crying out in pain.

She wasn’t going to stop attacking Ayami, however. Phoebe would swing an arm upwards, trying to slam her forearm in between her foe’s legs, trying to pound her crotch so hard that her pussy would disappear up into her stomach!

Ayami cried out in triumph as Phoebe fell to her knee once again, the agony in her tenderized sides so so worth it for that decisive blow. That, cry, however, turned to abject pain when Phoebe slammed her arm up to smack into her sex; the second direct low blow she took this match.

Ayami clutched her crotch, swaying around a bit, before falling back towards the turnbuckle. Hot tears fell from her half-lidded eyes, and her screams turned to incoherence. Her defense was forgotten, the match in the background next to her pain. She had barely recovered from the first low blow, and the second one brought it right back.

“Fucking…bitch…” Phoebe would growl, as she would bring both hands up to clutch at the back of her head, pressing her forehead down against the mat as she tried to recover from the hammering blows right to the back of her head. She hoped that her blow to Ayami’s crotch had bought her enough time to try to soothe her own pain. While Ayami crumpled back against the turnbuckle, Phoebe would slowly run her fingers over her cranium, feeling a very tender patch of scalp where Ayami’s knuckles had struck repeatedly. A small wetness underneath Phoebe’s fingers told her that Ayami had broken the skin.

“Fuck…” Phoebe groaned, shaking her head slowly as she would sit back up on her knees and glare furiously at Ayami. The referee didn’t seem to be willing to count either of them out while they were both on the mat, and so Phoebe would very slowly stand up, her legs wobbling a little, as she hoped Ayami would stay down and let the referee count her out.

As she stood up, Phoebe’s stomach protested, very painfully, the bruised midsection threatening to make her buckle. Phoebe would fall to her left and clutch the ropes for support, holding herself up as she glared down at Ayami.

"Fuck...Fuck...Fuck...Fuck." Ayami murmured inaudibly, her teary red eyes glaring daggers at the similarly struggling Phoebe. She very, very tenderly removed her hands from her sex, the throbbing like searing flames through her cunt. She was sliding down the turnbuckle, she felt it. The haze in her head had returned, her vision was blurred by tears and strain, and Phoboe, the ring, and even her hands were slowly losing focus.

Then suddenly, she stood up with sudden ferocity, practically pouncing off the turnbuckle and launching a haymaker-

That fell short of the redneck by a full feet. She stumbled forward even as she performed the ill-placed punched, even as she realized what she had done, and fell onto one knee, her head bowed, her eyes closed, her panting heavy, sweat dripping off her body and staining the mat below.

One last...

One last time.

Teeth clenched, eyes opened. This close, she couldn't miss, right?

She swiped upwards at Phoboe, screaming out with all her hate, her own low blow to return the favor. She wasn't sure where she was going after this, or how she would continue, but all there was left was to return the favor.

Phoebe was barely able to make it up onto her feet. She needed time to recover. The match had only been going for a few minutes, but those few minutes had been absolutely brutal, with the two topless girls exchanging punches to every part of each other’s bodies, at such a rapid rate that they had ruined each other faster than anyone could have anticipated. Hundreds of blows had already landed, and there would be more.

The next one was particularly terrible for Phoebe, as Ayami’s arm swung upwards to slam into Phoebe’s crotch, the Japanese girl’s fist burying itself between Phoebe’s legs. Phoebe couldn’t stop it from happening. She could only scream out in pain and grab at her crotch as she toppled backwards, tears forming in her eyes as her opponent took revenge upon her. Her body slammed down hard into the mat, as Phoebe would twist around, trying to get onto her front, hoping that she could have a moment to soothe the searing pain in her crotch before trying to get back up…

“Fuck…fuck…fuck…” Phoebe would croak.

Ayami didn't even register whether her blow had struck home or not, though even in her addled state, she knew she had hit something. Her hand kinda trailed downwards as she succumbed fully to her fatigue and her injuries, her head pressed against the mat and her heavy panting only intensifying. She felt it keenly now, perhaps more than ever, the damage done to her body: her battered breast and her swollen jaw, her broken nose and her tenderized sides. She must look like hell.

She would get up, she told herself. She would get up. Shaky, distraught, and wounded, but she would get up and end that bitch. She just needed to find the strength to do just that. For now, she was content to wait it out, marshaling herself for what she assumed to be the finishing moments of the fight. There was no count. Was the bitch down as well?

She really hoped Phoebe was suffering just as much as her.

Phoebe kept her head down on the mat, forehead pressed against the canvas warmed underneath the bright arena lights. She knew she had to get up—she had no idea what Ayami was doing, and knew that, eventually, the referee would begin to count her out, whether or not Ayami was down as well, if she did not show any signs of life—but right now, she just needed to recover. Her gut was bruised and purple, with several ribs likely crackled. Her crotch was throbbing, burning with intense pain. Her face was bloody, her lip split, her nose dripping red. Her breasts were tender, bruised, and almost flattened. The match had taken a terrible toll so far, and there was still more to go.

Phoebe needed to land the decisive knockout blow on Ayami very, very soon, or else she might run out of fight herself.

For now, though, she would just stay down on the mat. She would shuffle her knees across the canvas, slowly turning herself around, trying to face in the direction of Ayami, or at least where she thought Ayami had been. Meanwhile, the referee hovered above the downed fighters, watching them both, waiting to see if one or the other or both would need to be counted out.

Ayami got up first. It took awhile, and it took so much out of her, but she managed to drag herself out of the daze of hurt and tears and get up on her two shaky feet. She didn't even have the strength anymore to glare down at the still-struggling Phoebe, nor did it seem that she even noticed her. She just stared across the ring with tired, half-closed eyes into nothing in particular. her swollen mouth gaping open. Her legs buckled once or twice, but by some miracle she managed to straighten up and hold on. The count began for Phoboe, but if there was any indication that Ayami could hear it, she didn't show it.

Phoebe wasn’t watching when Ayami got up, and, for a few seconds, she couldn’t hear the referee starting to count. It sounded very distant, very remote. But, soon enough, she heard it.

“…three…four…five…”

Phoebe knew that sound, and she hated hearing that sound when she was in this sort of state. With a roar, she would grab onto the rope and haul herself up to her feet, rising so quickly that her head started to spin and her vision became spotty as the blood rushed from her head. “Nnnn…” Phoebe groaned, as she would rub at her head with one hand while hanging on tightly to the rope with the other, holding herself off and preventing her wobbling, unsteady legs from taking her back down again.

“D-damn it…” Phoebe murmured, waiting to hear the count stop so that she could breathe a little easier.