Littlest Pet Shop of Horrors

Phoebe had taken more abuse tonight than she ever had in her life, and she had been in some wild matches before—not to mention a few rough and tumble encounters during her time in the rodeo. Between the painful shock of her collar, the fall from the cat tree, and the back-first, spine-crunching slam she had just endured, it was a wonder that the cowgirlâ€s body was still working. One more move like that and it might not be.

“Guuuuuhh…” Phoebe moaned, her mouth hanging open as she crumpled up pathetically on the mat. A small stream of drool dripped out of her mouth and pooled on the mat. She blinked once, twice, trying to clear her mind and focus. She was still in the ring…she still had an opponent to beat…

Phoebe got up onto her hands and knees and moaned again. Ahead of her, she could see a blurry vision of her opponent. Unfortunately, the cowgirl had no idea what she was doing—and she wouldnâ€t like it when she found out.

Gemma's eyes darted across her opponent's prone body, to the nearly vegetative look on her face, and the young Brit's own expression betrayed a clear twinge of guilt. She'd wanted to do her best, tonight, but she'd hardly wanted to put Phoebe into the state she seemed to be in, now. Biting her lip, however, Gemma tried to steel her resolve. She'd suffered more than her fair share of abuse in this match, for her own part. She blushed bright red, as she felt the cool arena air on her bum, exposed for roughly half the match, now.

With that feeling driving her, now, Gemma went down to one knee, one hand holding the bowl of wet dog food, the other trying to catch Phoebe's head by a fistful of hair. She could hear the rush of the audience, anticipating what would come next, and she winced. Gemma tried to focus on every nasty word and slur the cowgirl had directed her way, tonight, to try and steel her nerve.

"You look tired, Phoebe," she shouted, playing to the crowd and hoping that would help her resolve. "Do you need noms, pet? Hm? Nom time?" With that, Gemma drove the bowl straight into Phoebe's face, hoping to rub the full bowl of wet, gravy-laden meat into the American's clear, pretty face. With any luck, she hoped, this would be enough to get them closer to the submission that Gemma was now desperate to hear.

Phoebe shook her head, trying to un-rattle her brain and figure out what the heck Gemma was up to. Her vision was still a little blurry, though, as the British girl began talking to her, taunting her with pet talk. Phoebeâ€s cheeks burned red once again. She absolutely hated being condescended to. She couldnâ€t stand it!

“Fuck y—” Phoebe began, but, before the words were out of her mouth, Gemma shoved the bowl of wet, slimy dog food right into her face. Phoebe tasted the slop on her tongue, and immediately had the urge to vomit. It was meat, sure, and gravy, but, somehow…it tasted wrong. Very, very wrong. She didnâ€t like it. And she didnâ€t like being humiliated like this, either! She should be the one shoving a bowl of dog food into Gemmaâ€s face! Not the other way around!

“Uurrrrghblgh!” Phoebe gagged, spitting out the wet mess and walking backwards on all fours, as quickly as she could. Escaping now wouldnâ€t change the fact that the dog food had touched her tongue, however. That she now had the taste seared into her taste buds. That her entire face was now covered in dripping brown slop!

Gemma stepped back, quickly, hoping to keep herself form getting sprayed with the backwash of the dog food that Phoebe was trying to keep out of her mouth. Gemma felt guilty about pushing things so far, tonight; she'd never thought she could have been pushed so far in a match. Here, however, she was desperate to secure the win in an environment that seemed terrifyingly threatening. Even as dominant as she looked, at the moment, Gemma couldn't help but feel exposed and vulnerable, surrounded as she was by the various implements of violence and humiliation. She was hoping desperately that she could bring an end to this thing, soon.

Gemma bent forward at the waist, leaning over Phoebe as she staggered and choked on her mouth full of dog food. She couldn't help but sneer, slightly, at the stench of dog food coming off of the otherwise lovely young cowgirl. "Say the words, love," Gemma said. "Say it, and this whole things ends! Come now, pet, let's just call it a night, eh? You've been fed, time to go to bed!" If Gemma had been thinking, she might have gone for the lead, here. Instead, however, as she loomed over the stunned and sloppy American, each of her hands stretched behind her, still awkwardly trying to cover the rip in her shorts. It was a more unbalanced, indefensible position than Gemma would have liked, really. Still, she felt confidently that, after what she'd just subjected Phoebe to, that submission was going to be coming, soon.

Phoebe fell down onto her side and wiped at her face with both hands, trying to get rid of the sticky, persistent remains of the dog food. “Uuuuuuggh!” she groaned, convulsing with disgust, managing to keep herself from spewing vomit all over the ring only by a massive force of will. That had been one of the lowest points of her life, and she felt absolutely humiliated. Her whole face was bright red, and as she wiped the dog food away, doing as thorough a job as she could, the color showed through, giving Gemma and the audience a pretty good idea of just how embarrassed Phoebe was. She was not about to submit, though. Not even close. Phoebe slowly got back up onto her knees and looked up at Gemma with murder in her eyes. Did this limey bitch really think that would get her to submit? If anything, it had made Phoebe even more determined to win the match and avenge herself upon Gemma for humiliating her.

“You…bitch!” Phoebe yelled, lunging forward to try to tackle Gemma by her legs. “Iâ€ll fucking kill you, you stupid fucking cunt! Fucking stupid bitch!”

Watching Phoebe stagger through the ring, the gag reflex visibly working overtime, was insanely difficult for Gemma. She could see how humiliated Phoebe was, in this moment, and Gemma's heart truly went out to her. Still, the young Brit grappler knew she had to end this thing. One way or another, she had to force that submission out from Phoebe's lips, or she was going to be in this exact position herself. As the air raid siren loomed over her foe, trying to taunt those words out of her, a sense of dread hung heavy in her chest. Gemma's teeth tugged slightly at the corner of her mouth, as she watched Phoebe, as she desperately hoped for this match to end.

Hearing Phoebe's voice exploding at her, however, caught Gemma completely off-guard. The sudden explosion of energy and violence from her foe was entirely unexpected, and Gemma couldn't help but cry out in shock and pain as she felt Phoebe collide hard with her legs.

“Nghn- no!” Gemma grunted, as Phoebe took her off her feet. “W-wait,” she cried out, arms flailing as she was forced down to the mat, “no!” The explosion of energy, hate and profanity overwhelmed Gemma, leaving her shocked and bewildered as Phoebe took her down. It was all the poor girl could do, to pull her arms over her head in a half-assed effort at protecting herself, as she tried to get her bearings. For now, though, Phoebe was in direct control once again.

“Fuck yes!” Phoebe yelled, as she wrapped her arms around Gemmaâ€s legs and managed to tackle the British girl to the mat. Once she had her opponent down, Phoebe would quickly try to climb on top of her, straddling her stomach and glaring down at her face with fury burning in her eyes. “Come on…you stupid bitch…” she panted. “Why donâ€t you…take some of your own damn medicine?”

She would grab at Gemmaâ€s wrists with both dog food-covered hands, the slippery glop making it difficult to get ahold on them. Phoebe would hold fast, however, and she would try to pull her opponentâ€s arms away from her head and tuck them beneath her knees, scooting forward a little to turn her straddle into a schoolgirl pin. If she could manage to do all of that, Phoebe would then reach over to pick up the discarded dog bowl, letting it hover menacingly above Gemma for a few seconds before she turned it over and brought it down onto the British girlâ€s pretty face, smothering her with the smelly slop.

Gemma couldn't help but let out a quick, sharp whimper as Phoebe drove her body into the mat. Stunned by the quick turn of events, the only resistance Gemma could muster was a weak squirming, as the American mounted her. Listening to every sharp and nasty word the cowgirl spat down at her, Gemma knew she'd pushed her opponent too far. When Phoebe's specific threat registered, however, Gemma's eyes shot open wide, her face frozen in pure shock. She knew exactly what Phoebe meant by her “own damn medicine,” and she didn't like the sound of it one tiny bit.

Gemma's hips bucked, her feet pressed hard against the mat, trying to get some leverage. The entire time, however, Gemma could only feel Phoebe's lean and muscular thighs pressing down on her soft midsection, keeping her trapped. As fear and regret began to race through the young Brit's mind, she shook her head violently, her platinum blond locks swinging wildly. Her arms flexed and tensed as her opponent took hold, but Gemma didn't have the leverage to power out. “No! I- I can't, no! Don't do that, please!” she begged. Her frustration mounting, she added, “Oh, God, you cousin-poking Yank, please don't do this!” In any other match, Gemma would be in danger of getting pinned right here and now. Her face reddening with effort, her every muscle straining without the power or strength to break free, she was well and truly trapped. But this wasn't a regular match, and what would come next was far worse than a pinfall, for the young vegan. Gemma's cheeks shone brightly with the tears running down them, and all she could see was Phoebe, leaning over her to reach for the bowl, all blurring against the bright lights of the arena. When Gemma spied the metal glint of the bowl, she froze. It hung over her, like a wet, meaty guillotine, and her her heart sank in anticipation of its descent. “Please,” she sobbed, breathlessly, “please don't ...”

And then she did. Gemma took the full brunt of the bowl to her face, her alabaster skin suddenly drenched in a slop of meat and gravy. She could feel it across her skin, gravy running down the curves of her chest to creep into her top, and up her forehead to seep into her hairline. She couldn't help but get some of the pungent meat into her mouth, causing her to choke helplessly. All of the work and effort that the steampunker had put into her appearance had suddenly evaporated, completely wiped out by the torrent of horrendous meat-slop, any hope she had of carrying herself with dignity and grace for the global audience suddenly gone. When she'd spat out as much as she could onto the canvas, Gemma's head lulled back, slowly, her eyelids flittering shut, as she tried to recover from the ordeal.

Phoebeâ€s nostrils flared as she heard the way Gemma begged for her not to shove the dog food in her face. Unflattering adjectives like “cousin-poking” certainly stung, but actually, the thing that infuriated Phoebe the most was the sheer hypocrisy of the British girl! How the fuck did she justify throwing such a fit and casting Phoebe as such a villain for doing to her exactly what she had just done? “You shut your fucking trap!” the cowgirl snapped, as she poured the slop over her opponentâ€s face. “You did the exact same fucking thing to me—you remember that, bitch?”

Gemma was still sobbing, and Phoebe rolled her eyes and sighed as the girl laid her head back down on the mat. “Youâ€re such a wuss. For fuckâ€s sake, what is the matter with you?” She would toss the now-empty bowl of dog food off to the side and grab Gemma by her hair, slamming her head against the mat. Now might have been a good time to reattach the leash to the Britonâ€s collar, but Phoebe wasnâ€t really thinking about that. “Come on, why donâ€t you just stop fighting, huh? Wuss.”

Gemma hacked and coughed, still feeling tiny particles of mystery meat in her mouth and creeping across her skin. “I haven't had meat in seven years!” she coughed, trying to get her breathing back under control. More galling, though, was getting called out by Phoebe over her hypocrisy. Gemma hadn't expected the cowgirl to keep fighting like she had, after taking the faceful of pet food. Gemma had been desperate to end this match, but she hadn't counted on Phoebe's sheer resolve to pull out the win. Feeling intimidation settling in, Gemma tried to choke back the pain and shame, tried to get her head back in the game. She'd come to the AFW to try herself against a higher level of competition, and right now she didn't feel like she was measuring up at all. Feeling her roots sting in pain as Phoebe wrapped her fingers up in her blond hair, Gemma was shocked out of her funk as Phoebe slammed her head into the mat. It hurt like hell, but the pain was something to focus on that wasn't the watery gravy running down her top.

Taking a moment to catch her breath, Gemma stretched her limbs, her arms reaching upwards. Gemma hoped that Phoebe wouldn't notice her pawing about the ring behind her, feeling around for some sort of weapon. Pushing back her tears and suffering, now, Gemma managed a smirk, a glint in her eye as she said, “Well, you're American, love, I figured swallowing all of the meat was what you lot were all about!” Hoping to push the distraction a bit further, Gemma opened her mouth in a perfect “O” shape, using her tongue to push the inside of her cheek out, making her double entendre completely clear. She was prepared to catch hell from the cowgirl for that one, but if nothing else, Gemma hoped to distract from the large, rubber chew toy she was wrapping her fingers around ...