Littlest Pet Shop of Horrors

Phoebe scowled and rolled her eyes. “Maybe thatâ€s why youâ€re such a loser, huh? You arenâ€t getting enough frickin†protein,” the American girl hissed, feeling something almost akin to pity for her British opponent. The girl was actually—as much as Phoebe was loathe to admit it—a pretty close match to her, and they had been trading blows all night long. And yet Gemma just couldnâ€t stop sobbing! She had to have some serious self-esteem issues to break down so many times in a single evenly contested match.

She shook Gemmaâ€s head by the hair, as if trying to shake some sense into the girl. The way she moped was just pissing Phoebe off, for a whole host of reasons. Of course, a good old-fashioned insult still pissed Phoebe off more, and that was exactly what she got next from Gemma when the British girl talked about her eating meat. Phoebe couldnâ€t help but blush a little bit. Thankfully, her cheeks were still covered in some of that meaty slop, keeping Gemma and the audience from seeing her cheeks change color. “Oh, for fuckâ€s sake! Shut your fucking trap, limey slut!” Phoebe yelled, raising her hands up, then trying to deliver a stinging back-handed slap to Gemmaâ€s face.

Though she was still preparing for her assault, slender fingers wrapping around her intended weapon, Gemma still couldn't help but take in Phoebe's taunts. Inhaling sharply through her nose, Gemma's chest swelled in anger, at being called a loser. Possibly because the words stung more true than the Air Raid Siren would have liked; here, in front of the massive AFW crowd and those watching from her home town, she was falling apart. She felt like Phoebe had been owning her, tonight, and Gemma hadn't been taking that well, at all. More than anything, Gemma needed to collect herself, steel her nerves, and show the world what The Air Raid Siren was capable of.

Gemma was thown off, however, by Phoebe taking her hair and shaking the living hell out of her. Gemma couldn't see her foe's reaction, as her head was violently shaken, her field of vision becoming a blur of motion and loose hair. What Gemma did catch, however, was the cowgirl's invectives. Gemma didn't take too kindly to being called a slut, and the insult only served to further her resolve. Taking the chew toy firmly in hand, Gemma swung it full force towards Phoebe's face, hoping to unseat the cowgirl with a blow straight to the forehead. Through all of this, Gemma had no idea that Phoebe was aiming a slap towards her face, and wouldn't be able to put up any resistance to it. If the blow connected, she'd have to take it full-on, but nothing was going to stop her from trying to connect her strike to the young Oakley.

Phoebe gave Gemmaâ€s head a couple more hard shakes, then raised her hand and brought it quickly down towards the British girlâ€s face, looking forward to that lovely smack of palm against cheek. She wouldnâ€t get a chance to hear it, because, unexpectedly, Gemma swung a big plastic chew toy from behind her back, nailing Phoebe right in the forehead. “Guaaah!” Phoebe called out in pain. The toy was flexible enough that it didnâ€t hit her that hard, but it hit her hard enough to stun her. She would release her grip on Gemmaâ€s hair and fall backwards, bringing a hand to her head as she tried to regain her awareness, giving the Air Raid Siren a brief respite…and an opportunity.

Gemma let out a quick laugh, relief washing over her as she felt Phoebe tumble off of her. She heard the triumphant squeak of the chew toy as it collided with the cowgirl's face, felt Phoebe's muscular thighs finally let up on her, and Gemma realized the finally had an opportunity to get back in this match.

Rolling off of her shoulders, Gemma kipped up to her feet, and tried to take stock of her surroundings. Though she was still feeling like a sloppy mess, Gemma still wanted desperately to take control of the situation. Raising a fist to the air, trying to rally crowd support behind her, Gemma made a run for the ring ropes, hopping over Phoebe on the way. If she could make it, the young Brit planned on springboarding off of the ropes, hoping to land a harsh lionsault attack on the prone cowgirl. It was a risky move, but Gemma knew she only had a momentary lead, and she was desperate to take the most full advantage of it that she could.

Phoebe shook her head. She felt a little dizzy, and there was a dull pain in her forehead. She would shake it off, but she was still pissed. She had had Gemma right where she wanted her, completely under her control, and at her mercy. And now, the British girl had a chance to get up and strike back.

She would do just that. Phoebe would see the lighter-haired girl leap over her prone form, and then, before she could do anything about it, Gemma came down on top of her, the British girlâ€s high velocity eliciting a cry of pain as her body slammed hard into Phoebeâ€s. “Gaaaah! Fuck!” Phoebe called out, bringing her hands up to weakly slap at Gemma, trying to fight back, trying to hold her opponent off until she could regather her wits about her. Unfortunately, she just might not have the time.

Gemma let out a huge sigh of relief, as she felt the lionsault connect solidly with Phoebe's midsection. She felt Phoebe's slaps, and quickly rolled off of the girl so that she could focus her attention to trying to massage the pain out of her midsection. Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Gemma tried to gather her strength. She was sweaty, sore, and still mostly humiliated from some of the mishaps she'd endured earlier in the match. Still, Gemma promised herself she wasn't going to just lie back and let Phoebe submit her like a dog. She'd suffered far too much, tonight, to go down like that.

Pushing herself up to her feet, Gemma tried to figure out what she could possibly do next. Looking around the ring, she'd pretty much thrown an entire pet shop at the cowgirl, and nothing seemed to take her down. The poor girl had even been electrocuted, earlier, and she was still pushing Gemma to her limits. It this was the level of toughness she could expect out of everyone in AFW, Gemma was beginning to have a very bad feeling about her prospects, here.

Gemma bent down (and immediately regretted it, remembering the tear in her trunks), and tried to hoist Phoebe to her feet. If all these bizarre toys and weapons weren't going to work, maybe it was time to rely on something more traditional. Yanking on the cowgirl's wrist, Gemma tried to pull the girl into an Irish Whip at the ropes, hoping to catch the girl as she bounced back with a flying headscissors. What Gemma hadn't considered, however, was how much time Phoebe had to recover, and whether or not the American would even fall for such a move.

“Guoh…aah…ah, fuck…” Phoebe growled. Her entire body was aching now, after Gemma had landed on her with that powerful, high-velocity lionsault. Only a well-timed deep breath and an effort of will kept her eyes from welling up. She had a high pain tolerance, but being crushed between the solid floor of the ring and a hundred and twenty-pound living missile was not very pleasant at all. “You…bitch…” Phoebe growled as her opponent rolled away from her.

The British wrestler didnâ€t stay away for long. Soon enough, Phoebe would find herself hoisted onto her feet by the Air Raid Siren. Despite some weak protests, Phoebe would then find herself being launched towards the ropes, then rebounding off of them and hurtling back in Gemmaâ€s direction. Knowing that no good would come of reaching Gemma while still on her feet, Phoebe would do what she could to avoid her opponentâ€s attack. She would fall down headfirst, sliding along the mat like a baseball player trying to avoid a tag at the plate. The friction caused by her long slide across the mat was irritating, but it was not nearly as bad, she was sure, as whatever Gemma had wanted to do to her…

Listening to Phoebe's growls of pain, Gemma felt a pang of guilt for what the cowgirl was going through. Shaking her head, though, she reminded herself that it could be just as easily be her, dealing with all of that. As Gemma whipped the young American across the ring, exerting every muscle at shoving Phoebe's muscular figure towards the rope, she pushed deep. In that moment, the air raid siren resolved that she'd be putting this girl down, soon, and finally close in on the submission that would finally end this contest.

It seemed that Phoebe, however, had other ideas. Seeing the girl launched back towards her by the ring ropes, Gemma launched into the air, legs raised, ready to catch that slender neck in a takedown move. Unexpectedly, however, Phoebe dropped to the mat. Left with nothing to catch, Gemma felt her legs come colliding with nothing but one another, leaving his with nothing to support her full body weight in the air. As Phoebe slid out from below the steampunker from below, Gemma came crashing down hard on the mat below.

“Noooaaaahhh!” Gemma cried out, as her back his the mat. Pressing her hard against her aching spine, Gemma writhed in pain on the mat, her back arching into the air as her youthful face winced in agony. This was exactly the situation Gemma had been hoping to avoid; on her back, helpless, Phoebe open to take complete control of the match yet again, while Gemma knew she had precious little left in the tank ...

Phoebeâ€s slide was partially a tactical decision, and partially a product of her tremendous exhaustion. She had taken so much punishment, her legs felt like they were made of cement. She had barely been able to avoid tripping over her own feet as she was thrown into the ropes. If she had been caught by Gemma in that flying headscissors, she very well might not have been able to continue the fight. It could have easily been the end of her hopes of winning this strange, strange match.

As it was, she now had a chance to take control yet again. But she was still weak. Even with Gemma flat on her back, writhing in pain, it would not be easy for Phoebe to take advantage. She would turn herself over onto her hands and knees and would begin to crawl over to her British foe. When she got to her, she would drop herself on top of Gemma, pressing her hands against the girlâ€s shoulders and pinning her down to the mat, hoping the girl would finally be convinced to surrender. “Are you ready to give up yet, huh?”

Even as she writhed on the mat, Gemma's mind was scrambling to come up with some way to reply to this situation. Her limbs twitched, spasming ineffectively in pain as her lean body tried to get back to her feet. Gemma saw Phoebe looming over her, the athletic cowgirl taking a dominant position over the young Brit and pinning her shoulders firmly against the mat. Self-consciously, Gemma let out a whimper of pain feeling her shoulders pressed down against the mat.

Hearing Phoebe demand her surrender that way, Gemma blushed a bright red, from her cheeks to her chest. "H-How 'bout you ... try and make me, you cow-rustling slag ...?" Gemma said, her voice struggling to be heard. The young Brit knew she didn't have much fight left in her, and wouldn't be able to muster much resistance against Phoebe until she'd managed to gather her strength for a bit, and she knew all too well that she was at the cowgirl's mercy, still. Steeling herself, Gemma thought of all of her friends, fans and family watching from home, and her promise that she would fail them tonight. Still, it seemed like the entire arena was spinning, at the moment, and pulling out a victory was going to take a lot more than the poor young steampunker was going to be able to bring to the table, at the moment