Gwendolyn DuPont Bettencourt vs. Libby 'Liberty' Vella - Rage Against the Machine

God, how many kicks had Liberty taken? Five? Ten?Twenty? She’d lost count at some point, as her body was subject to a sort of pain it had never experienced. She was a hardcore wrestler, she was used to soaking up massive amounts of damage, but Gwen was pouring it on quicker than Liberty had ever though possible without a steel chair.

But she was okay now. She’d weathered the storm.

Liberty started push up and lumber back to her feet, when she felt a familiar dainty foot on her shoulder. At first she thought Gwen was going to stomp her, but then she looked up and saw the heiress shadow, casting down on her through the ring lights. No...no, this was going to suck much, much more than a stomp.

Gwendolyn couldn’t have weighed much - 120 pounds, max. But it hardly mattered. All of her weight came down at once, hammering Liberty’s spine and driving her into the canvas. Liberty screamed as her powerful body flopped about. It was a short, fleeting scream, as she quickly bit it back, but there was no keeping it all the way inside while the fiery pain tore away at her bones. She laid flat on the mat, shivering, groaning, hands weakly scratching away at the mat in a feeble attempt to get to the ropes.

And the match hadn’t even been going for much longer than five minutes. How did it get so bad so fast? How was Gwen - cheap, cowardly Gwen - dismantling her in record time?

Balancing herself upward after driving both her knees into Liberty's lower back took some amount of effort and coordination, but Gwendolyn nevertheless stuck the shaky landing to thunderous disapproval. The only acclaim she received from her spectacle would be the rousing ovation from her accompanying entourage, all of whom were earnestly thankful for apparently not needing to intervene in this particular match. Liberty not looking like the type who would show leniency towards some humble employees merely lending a helping hand.

Whomever was witnessing the unmitigated thrashing of her raven-haired opponent, whether it was the incensed rabble in the crowd or her well paid associates, the heiress' iron-clad control of the match up until this point was an undeniable fact. This uncomfortable truth demonstrated further as Gwen posed elegantly atop her languishing opponent with a nonchalant flick of her golden curls over her shoulder. Thrashing Liberty in convincing fashion was exactly the desired spectacle she pined for, demonstrating how grace and tactics superlatively trumps brute force without question.

After shifting herself off of the anarchists tortured back, Gwen would roll Liberty over and hook one of her legs over herself for added leverage in the first pin attempt of the match. The heiress adding a tinge of blatant disrespect by shoving her forearm against Liberty's slovenly face to angle her head to the side and away from even casting her eyes on the aristocrat pinning her down.

"1!"

Liberty wasn’t done. She wasn’t finished. Not yet.

She kept telling herself those words in her head, repeating them like a mantra, over and over. Somehow, though, she was having trouble believing her own party line. After all, it was bit hard to believe she was close to turning things around when her opponent was currently using her back like a bench, resting like this was a sunny day at the park.

The humiliation wasn’t over, either. Far from it, really, as Liberty was flipped over and flopped on her back, so Gwen could drop down and pull her up for a pin. The forearm in her face was a nice little touch, too, reminding her that she was getting beat around by someone with twigs for arms, solidly dominated by the dainty damsel.

So. Okay. She wasn’t winning. She was in a bad spot. Probably the worst she’d been in for a real long time, now. But was she defeated? Was she about to lay down for the pin? Was her backing hurting that much?

”2…!’

That was an unquestionable FUCK NO

As soon as the counthit, Liberty shot her shoulders up and broke the pin, shoving her grimy glove in Gwen’s face for added measure. ”Just for…” She grunted and started to turn over. ”Just for all this, I’m shoving your face deep in my ass when I’m done with you.”

She said it like a threat, but she meant it like a promise. She didn’t know how to make that happen just yet, but she stood behind her words.

Given the amount of times Liberty has had her face rearranged by Gwen's destructive kicks, their was an honest fear in the apprehensive audience that the anarchist was indeed down for the count. The fearful crowd pulling for her with distant cheers until Liberty would answer back by emphatically breaking up the count and pieing Gwen's face for good measure.

Gwen rolled off of Liberty with a vitriolic glare towards the anarchist, immediately yanking her groddy mane of hair to lift her head up and slam her repugnant face back to the canvas. The heiress was decidedly riled up at this point, both from Liberty's disrespectful shove and the very notion that this slovenly whelp intended to besmirch her heavenly visage in such a revolting manner. Gwen would reposition herself so she was draped atop the burly anarchist, snaking her arm across Liberty's neck until her throat was in the crook of her arm.

"Perhaps I can arrange such a fate for yourself, considering you may just enjoy the experience. But I'd wager whatever muddled thoughts are passing through that barren and derelict wasteland of a mind...I suspect they revolve around how much of a tragic misstep it was to have challenged someone of such superior wrestling expertise~..." Gwen elegantly enunciated right into Liberty's ear, offering her a lullaby of pretentious verbosity while constricting her air passage between her petite bicep and her forearm in the well-applied sleeper-hold.

Liberty didn't have good comeback for what Gwendolyn said. Partly because she could barely breath at the moment, but also because she couldn't think of anything fitting. It was like the snotty little brat was wrong or anything. She’d dominated this fight from minute one, and she wasn't showing any signs of slowing.

But Liberty could pull this out of the fire. She had to keep on telling herself that. Had to believe it.

”Just keep on dreaming…” Liberty wheezed out, as Gwen’s sleeperhold closed in on her windpipe. Upper body strength clearly wasn’t the smaller woman’s thing, but it didn’t really take all that much pressure to get some big results with this sort of hold. Gwen could choke her out, and the idea of being unconscious in the same ring as this woman did not appeal. It was time to get up.

Gritting her teeth and pummeling the mat, the former hardcore champion began to rise up, putting one foot on the canvas and straightening up from there. It was a slow, arduous crawl, but she was doing it, and with a few more seconds and lot of determination, she’d reach her full height. The audience once more began to rally behind her, starting a steady clap that grew louder and louder with every inch that Liberty gained.

Being this uncomfortably close to Liberty meant having to endure the anarchist's malodorous body odor, a sharp contrast to the delightful scent of Gwen's exorbitantly lavish body wash. Her refined senses strained to tolerate this unfortunate setback, the heiress clearly dead set on lulling Liberty into a nigh unconscious state in the draining sleeperhold.

Even someone of Liberty's grotesque mass and girth still needed a steady supply of oxygen to keep herself vertical. And after having been continuously pummeled for the majority of the match, Gwen assumed that Liberty's rattled sensibilities would have her succumb to a deep slumber soon enough...

...or at least that was the plan. Until Liberty would prove to be even more obstinate in her refusal to stay down than Gwen anticipated. The rallying cries and stomps from the audience were steadily ushering her back to her feet. The heiress remained stubbornly obstinate herself, gritting her teeth while clamping down tighter on the sleeper-hold and coiling her legs tightly around Liberty's pudgy waist. The burgeoning momentum was still in Liberty's favor however, the anarchist now supporting both her own hefty weight and the prim aristocrat begrudgingly riding piggy back.

Gwen - despite her amazingly big head - wasn’t exactly a heavy woman by any means. In any normal circumstances, Liberty would have had no problem standing up with her hanging onto her back like a lemur monkey. Hell, she probably could’ve done it with two Gwens hanging on, three if she was feeling particularly beasty.

But that was before she’d been beaten around like Gwen’s personal punching bag. Now, she was a bit weaker. A bit slower. And it took real effort to get the hauhgy heiresss up.

And yet, she still did it.

Up they went, up up up, until Liberty was standing tall. Of course, that just meant Gwen was choking her from an elevated position. But she had ways to deal with that.

Liberty reached back, her grubby hands snatching about until she found those lustrous curls, Gwen’s pride and joy. She leaned forward, gave them a hard yank, and brought her opponent flying up over her shoulders, trying to drop her flat on her oh-so tight ass.

The higher Liberty arose, the more noticeably anxious Gwendolyn was becoming about the precariousness of her position. Gwen's choking grasp doing little in curtailing the anarchists lumbering ascension, an entire audience rooting Liberty on in the momentous process. Liberty's unyielding endurance causing Gwen to clamp down tighter on the hold even once she was already on her feet.

The passing thought to abandon the hold and transition to something more impactful did pass through her mind, but no sooner did the idea to abandon ship pop up in her head than she would feel Liberty's grungy gloved hands patting around her fluffy head. Gwen shook her golden curled head emphatically with a supremely annoyed grimace to prevent Liberty from finding her grip, but once she did, Gwen would relinquish her hold and be abruptly yanked off her back and flipped onto the canvas, square on her royal rear.

"Hggh!!" Gwen snarled out once she landed in her seated position in front of Liberty, both of her hands attending dutifully attending to her illustrious curls and clearly more concerned in her appearance than with the sore pain in her backside as she shuffled forward to attempt get vertical once more.

While Liberty couldn’t exactly boast a broad repetoire of wrestling techniques, even she knew the basics. Enough to do a snapmare - or, if you wanted to fancy about it, a hairmare. Whatever the name, it worked, and it got Gwen down on her butt, putting a stop to her seemingly endless momentum for the time being.

It was a funny sight, but since Gwen was about as garden fresh as she could ever hope to be five minutes into a match, it wasn’t nearly enough. She was already trying to get back up. Lucky for her, Liberty intended to help her.

She bent down and wrapped her arms around the debutante’s svelte waist, getting a good grip and hauling her back up to her feet. LIberty kept the smaller woman pressed tight against her, heaving chest pushing away at her shoulders. Just this hold alone might have been bad enough for Gwen, and Liberty could have squeezed her like a tube of toothpaste with a bearhug. But she had something a little more fitting in mind.

Liberty lifted Gwen up, arched her back, and slammed her shoulders into the mat with a German Suplex, making sure to hold onto her waist after the impact. She didn’t have the flexibility for a bridging pin, but there were other options.

Gwen's illustrious and eye catching golden curls were a perpetually targeted source for her opponent's to latch their grimy hands on to. The heiress simply assuming this irritating attention stemmed from their own inherent jealousy of her divine beauty, but it nevertheless irked her greatly when her adversaries made a point of ruffling up her hair. Her last match with Akiha leaving them in perhaps their most disheveled state, causing her to take extra care with them this time around.

But with her attention divided and her back to her anarchistic opponent, the heiress was easily ensnared from behind once Liberty coiled her muscled arms around her petite waist. "Hugh!! Un...hand...me!!" Gwen growled out in frustration, emphatically pushing and tugging at the grasping waistlock with each uttered syllable but finding little leeway or room to maneuver. Being at the mercy of Liberty's brawny offensive was the exact situation she knew she needed to avoid at all costs, her point proven once Liberty would heave Gwen head over heels to slam her on her shoulders and upper spine.

"GAH!!" Gwen yelped out before landing with ring shaking consequences, flopping over to her side and wincing considerably from the jarring aches in her neck. The disorienting flip left her lingering on the canvas for a few seconds before attempting to rise once more, only just then noticing Liberty was still stubbornly attached to her!! Her squirming struggles to break free of the waistlock would be noticeably stilted from before though, the heiress rising back to her knees but still reeling from being suplexed with such massive force...