Littlest Pet Shop of Horrors

Phoebe breathed deeply as she pinned Gemma down against the mat, trying to recover enough strength herself to be able to finally dispatch with this annoying, whiny, hypocritical British bitch. Her body was sore all over, aching terribly from her electrocution, from her tremendous fall, and from all the other little things which Gemma had done to her. The match had been humiliating. It had been exhausting. And, if she couldnâ€t get Gemma to submit soon, Phoebe just wasnâ€t sure how much longer she could keep going before her body began to fall apart.

She growled as Gemma, rather than surrendering, hurled yet another insult at her. “Try and make you? Iâ€ll try and fucking make you, you lousy pus-dripping cunt…” Phoebe replied. She meant it, too. She just needed to figure out how.

First…the leash. It was still attached to her own collar, actually, and Phoebe had been largely unaware of it until this moment. Grabbing onto it, she would unhook it from her collar and, instead, hook it onto Gemmaâ€s. Now, at least, when the girl decided to give up, Phoebe had her in position to do so.

Desperate to find some effective way of forcing Gemma to surrender, Phoebe would look around. The only thing nearby was the large, rubber chew toy that Gemma had clobbered her over the head with. Phoebe paused for a second, then snatched it up in her hand. Sneering down at her foe, Phoebe would try to shove the toy inside of her opponentâ€s mouth, pushing it as deep as she could to humiliate and terrify the British girl. “Choke on it, bitch!” Phoebe yelled as she shoved the toy into the other fighterâ€s mouth. “Choke on it and die!”

Exhausted and battered, Gemma could only half-process Phoebe's actions, for the moment. She did let out an “Ew,” at her initial comment. Mostly, though, the young Brit was trying her best to gather the strength to get up. She could still feel Phoebe's firm body pinning her to the mat, and Gemma was grateful that a pin wasn't a method of victory, in this match. Her every muscle ached, her head was swimming, and being able to kick out likely wasn't a possibility.

Of course, part of Gemma felt like getting pinned, right here and now, would almost be a blessing. For her second match in AFW, tonight had been a nightmare. Gemma felt completely powerless against Phoebe, despite every time it she had manage to gain the upper hand. The worst of it all was, her entire reason for coming to AFW in the first place was to find better, tougher competition. And now that she had, Gemma was finding herself failing to measure up. Had her previous win just been a fluke?

She snapped back to attention, however, when she heard the click of the lead on her collar. More than anything, Gemma wished she'd taken more advantage of that, when it was still attached to Phoebe. Now, however, it was clearly too late. Hearing the cowgirl shout her down, Gemma barely saw the flash of purple plastic in Phoebe's hand before she rammed the chew toy straight into Gemma's mouth.

“Agck-!” Gemma let out, as the toy rammed into her mouth. The young Brit's slender throat tightened, as she found herself fighting her own gag reflex. While Gemma convulsed slightly, her body trying desperately to reject this thing being shoved down her throat, she wrapped her hands around Phoebe's wrists. Attempting to wrestle the toy out of her mouth, Gemma possessed neither the strength nor leverage for that to work. Instead, she had to lie back and take the debilitating, debasing attack, listening to Phoebe's threats filling her ears. As the toy filled her throat, cut off her air, Gemma became increasingly frightened that she might pass out, or even worse, if this continued. As if she hadn't been humiliated enough, yet, Gemma couldn't think of a worse way to go out. Tears running down the young woman's cheeks, she continued to struggle, even as her eyelids began to grow heavy, and flutter shut.

Phoebe got the leash attached to Gemmaâ€s collar. The British girl did not resist, or else she was so exhausted that she could not. Finally, she thought, as she picked up the flexible rubber toy, victory might be hers. This match had been utterly humiliating for Phoebe, and she wanted to end this right now with a decisive victory over her opponent. She knew that her body wouldnâ€t be able to take much more if this went on.

“Yeah! Thatâ€s right! Choke on it!” Phoebe spat, as she kept on shoving the toy into Gemmaâ€s mouth. The British girl appeared to really be choking, as her eyes began to tear up and her eyelids began to flutter. Phoebe growled. She almost felt bad doing this to Gemma, just because the girl had so little self-respect that it was completely and utterly pathetic.

Phoebe would pull the toy out of her opponentâ€s mouth, but would keep it dangling above the girlâ€s face threateningly. “Are you ready to submit, huh? Are you done?” she asked, waving the toy around.

Gemma gasped desperately for air, when Phoebe finally pulled the chew toy out of her throat. Her entire torso bounced off the mat, violently shaking as she struggled for oxygen. That had to be the single most terrifying moment she'd faced in a match yet, Gemma thought, as she massaged her tender neck. Phoebe had very nearly choked the young Brit out, in front of the entire audience. She winced, listening to Phoebe loudly demanding her surrender.

Gemma very nearly gave up, right then and there, just to end the pain and embarrassment of it all. However, a quick glance at the toy in Phoebe's hand, waving menacingly above her, actually steeled Gemma's resolve. Mustering as much strength as she could, Gemma swung her arm up, attempting to deliver a slap with whatever strength she could, to Phoebe's face. "N-not ... I'm not going down like that ... I won't, damn you ..." she rasped, through her still-aching throat. Gemma felt like her fate was quite nearly sealed, already, but she hoped that this final act of defiance (and her refusal to lose the match to choking on a purple rubber chew toy) might at least win her some crowd support, and perhaps some of her dignity back.

Phoebe would watch dispassionately as her opponent flopped like a fish out of water, desperately sucking in air following the removal of the long rubber chew toy from her windpipe. The girl was a pathetic mess, but still she refused to submit. She refused to end this torture. Phoebe growled. The cowgirl wanted all of this to be over. She was tired. Her whole body ached. She had suffered through nearly an hour of this grueling duel, and she just wanted to come out of this with a victory, then go back to her apartment and crash on the couch. That was all Phoebe wanted. A win and some rest.

But Gemma just had to go and make it hard. Phoebeâ€s head snapped to the side when her foe delivered that slap to her cheek, and she reflexively dropped the purple chew toy on the mat. Her free hand came up to rub at her cheek. “Fucking limey bitch…” Phoebe growled. She would yank on Gemmaâ€s hair hard, pulling the girlâ€s head back and forth roughly. “Come on! Just…give it the fuck up already!” Phoebe demanded.

Gemma breathed a sigh of relief, upon hearing the chew toy hit the mat. Still trying to get her breath back, fully, and still pinned under Phoebe's firm, muscular legs, Gemma knew she was in a bad spot. Grimacing, Gemma tried to tell herself Phoebe hadn't won this one yet, but the young Brit wasn't convinced. She'd just put everything she had into mounting one last offensive, and it had ended with her being pinned down and dominated by the cowgirl yet again.

Gemma told herself she'd put up a good fight. Once or twice, she'd even been in control of her American foe. Still, it was too hard not to dwell on her current condition. Weak as a kitten, every muscle in her body aching, completely at the mercy of her opponent. Still, Gemma had wanted to up her level of competition, here. As much as she wanted this match to end, she couldn't let herself go down without putting forward her best effort.

Gemma let out a sharp cry of pain, as Phoebe thrashed her head about the mat by her hair. “Eaagh!” she shouted, “Bloody hell!” Gemma grabbed Phoebe's wrists and, with whatever strength she could muster, tried to at least slow the cowgirl's violent shaking. She shouted back up to Phoebe, between swings of her increasingly aching skull, “How about you, ack, knock it off with the hairpulling, catfighting bullshit, ow, you codswallowing bint, and actually try, nnh, wrestling me?”

Phoebe could have picked up the chew toy again—it was probably a more effective means by which she could force a submission out of Gemma than simple hairpulling would be—but right now, as she used up her last reserves of strength in an effort to finally force a submission out of her British foe, Phoebe was not thinking very clearly. Taking a ten-foot fall and being electrocuted could scramble some things up in a womanâ€s brain.

“Give up! Give up!” Phoebe yelled at her opponent as she shook her by the hair, little pieces of wet dog food flying from her lips as she hollered and hitting Gemmaâ€s also-messy face. This match had taken everything out of Phoebe. She was running on fumes right now. She was lucky that she had managed to inflict just as much damage on Gemma, and that she had managed to get on top of the British girl and plant herself there. She kept on trying to shake her opponentâ€s head, but, when the girl grabbed onto her wrists, Phoebe could do little more than lightly yank on the platinum blonde hair. “You want me to stop pulling your ugly hair, huh, you cunt?” Phoebe hissed. “You want to wrestle? You know what, thatâ€s fucking fine with me!” She would let go of Gemmaâ€s hair and let the girlâ€s head drop to the mat. Then, slowly, Phoebe would stand up. Her legs shook beneath her, but she stayed on her feet.

“Iâ€ll show you wrestling, you fucking limey whore!” she growled. Phoebe would grab onto Gemmaâ€s legs and hoist them up into the air, stepping in between them and folding one under the other. Then, unless Gemma tried to stop her, Phoebe would turn around, turning Gemma onto her belly and locking her into the sharpshooter submission hold.

When Gemma felt Phoebe release her hair, she couldn't help but fall back in relief. Shoulders flat against the mat, Gemma's lean arms stretched overhead as she tried to relax her muscles, the young Brit tried desperately to gather her bearings and get back into this match. At the moment, however, all Gemma could feel was the pain and humiliation that had been heaped on her through this match; Phoebe's body, pinning her down and dominating her; the layer of disgusting meat and gravy that still coated her face and chest, despite Gemma's best efforts. Lying back, striving to stretch out the aching pain in her every muscle, Gemma tried futilely to put that pain out of her mind and focus on whatever might come next.

When the poor young Brit got her focus back, however, it was well after Phoebe had gotten back to her feet and was putting her into her next move. "Oooohhhhh, no ..." Gemma muttered, helpless as she watched Phoebe's muscular arms twisting Gemma's legs into place. "Nonononono ..." Gemma was already clearly helpless to resist, try as she might. Her arms flailed aimlessly, pathetically, as Phoebe turned the young Brit's body over to her toned belly, bending the poor girl helplessly into a sharpshooter submission move.

Quickly, acting on pure instinct, Gemma began tapping the mat frantically in submission, as she began helplessly screaming for mercy. Phoebe had completely broken her, at this point. What Gemma hadn't realized, unfortunately, was that the match wouldn't end that easily. The lead trailing behind her collar, limp, she still had to say the utterly humiliating phrase that would give Phoebe her victory, tonight, if she wanted this all to finally end.

“Give up! Give up you little piece of shit!” Phoebe screamed as she twisted Gemma into the sharpshooter submission hold. The cowgirl leaned back, lowering her butt down onto the small of the British wrestlerâ€s back, stretching the platinum blonde girl out as far as she possibly could. She might have snapped Gemmaâ€s spine and wouldnâ€t have given it a second thought right now. She just wanted to end this match!

And, sure enough, Gemma started tapping on the mat almost as soon as Phoebe put her into the sharpshooter! The cowgirl smiled wickedly. But the bell didnâ€t ring, and the referee girl didnâ€t put a stop to the match. Then, Phoebe remembered the stipulation. The stupid stipulation. “Fuck…” she growled. Making sure she still had a firm hold on Gemmaâ€s legs with one arm, she would let go with the other and reach down to grab the leash. She would give it a hard tug, pulling Gemmaâ€s head back in what she hoped was a very painful manner. “Say youâ€re my pet, you worthless cunt!” she demanded. “Say youâ€re my pet!”

Gemma was too out of it to even hear Phoebe's taunts, at first, her every sense overridden by pain. Her tapping on the mat had gotten slower, weaker, as Phoebe maintained the hold. Already aching and exhausted, the constant pain of Phoebe's sharpshooter had Gemma on the verge of passing out in the ring. The moment that Gemma felt Phoebe's toned bottom make contact with her lower back, torquing the angle of the move, another loud cry of pain came from the young Brit. The hold was agonizing, and even if she had the strength to try doing something about it, Gemma had abandoned all hope of escape.

Making matters worse, Gemma had completely forgotten about the submission stipulation, for the match, right up until the moment that Phoebe yanked on the collar. Forcing Gemma's head up, she stared out to the screaming audience, bright lights filling her eyes, snapping her back to some degree of lucidity. Gemma realized how she must look, right now. Usually, The pretty, fit young steampunker generally put so much work into her appearance, her hair, her workout and custom gear, knowing her look would help encourage the crowd to get behind her, on top of her wrestling skill; at the moment, however, with her body glistening with sweat, a revealing rip in her trunks, tears running down her cheeks and mixing with wet sloppy dog food on her face and chest, all as the cowgirl continued to dominate her. Gemma could only imagine how pathetic she looked. But none of that was as bad as what was going to have to come next.

Gemma gripped the collar, trying to take some of the pressure off of her slender neck. “Oh, God,” she choked, gathering herself, making sure she could still even use her voice. She thought of every single fan she had in the audience, watching her right now, unable to tell who was cheering for her to fight back, and who was eagerly awaiting her submission. She thought of everyone watching at home, hated to think of them seeing her like this, after the way she'd been talking up her first big AFW win. But, mostly, she thought of the sadistic American, threatening to snap her in half, and the leash she'd been choking in her half, with.

“I … I'm your pet,” she whimpered, finally. “I'm your pet!”