When the moment comes, it comes suddenly.
Camellia Kwan opens her mouth. A tiny whimper comes out, almost inaudible, but Dahlia is almost right beside her and hears the heartrending sound.
And then, Camellia collapses. She first sinks to her knees, her legs no longer able to support her weight. Her entire core gives way, and Sheila’s weight bowls her over. Her back smacks against the mat, driving the remaining wind out of her lungs.
The cheering dies in Dahlia’s throat.
All around them, a great cry comes up: whooping exclamations at the conclusion of this incredibly grueling, tortuous contest. “Ohhhhhh!” “Holy cow…” “Fucking... Look at all that…” “Wow… just… whew! Wow!”
Sheila lies sprawled atop Camellia, spreading their arms out to either side. She raises her head and makes a few gurgling and snorting sounds. “Hurrrghh… glarrrkk…” She swallows a few times, hard. Then she turns her head slightly to the side and expels air from her nostrils in a couple of gusts. Globs of blood fly out, but less than before. Her broken nose is red and purpling, and visibly swollen, but the bleeding seems to have slowed; likewise for her cut tongue. Still bleeding, but by a combination of spitting, snorting and swallowing she has finally managed to clear her airway.
Sylvia is screaming from the sidelines. “Yes! Yes! YES! YEEEEESSS! Mooooom! GO MOM!”
Slowly, painfully, Sheila pushes herself to a straddling position across Camellia’s chest. Camellia lies motionless, her face on its side away from Dahlia, with only a slight rise and fall of her torso to indicate she is still conscious. Sheila wipes her face roughly a couple of times with the back of her hands, hawks and coughs a few more times, and then raises her head to look straight at Dahlia.
Dahlia is just beside them both, on her knees. Her strong shoulders are slumped. She stares hollowly at the sight before her, at her supine mother. “Get up, Mom,” she whispers. “Get up.” She sounds broken and hopeless.
Camellia stirs slightly but doesn’t respond.
A slow smile spreads across Sheila’s face. “Dahlia. Look at me. Look at me, girl.”
Unwillingly, Dahlia does so.
“I’ve won, Dahlia.” She is breathless, but her voice is redolent with insufferable smugness. “I’ve beaten your mother. I’m stronger and better than her. Look.” She flexes her arms. The powerful muscles ripple all over her body. The blood streaks make her look extra-savage, like a victorious warrior queen sitting astride her defeated opponent. “You see, Dahlia? You see?”
“Kiss those guns!” Sylvia hollers, and is quickly echoed by the others. “Kiss my momma’s guns! Your mom’s done, Dahlia! Your mom’s done!”
“Mom. Mom, get up.” Dahlia moves forward and bends down, closer to her mother’s face. “Mom, can you still fight? Mom, please.”
Camellia turns her head weakly. Upon seeing the look on Dahlia’s face, her own face crumples. She takes an agonized breath. Her arms move, slowly. She reaches up towards Sheila, her fingers clutching useless at Sheila’s chest muscles, shoulders, biceps.
“Submit, Camellia? Do you submit? Ask her, Dahlia. Ask your mom.”
She lowers her left hand and grabs hold of Camellia’s chin, and she raises her right arm slightly, still cocking her fist. The threat is clear.
Dahlia has to blink tears out of her eyes. “Mom, do you submit?”
Camellia’s hands clutch uselessly at Sheila’s left wrist, at Sheila’s right shoulder. She cannot stop the punch if Sheila throws it. Her eyes close. Then her eyes open. Her lips move.
“No.”
Sheila’s fist comes hammering down on Camellia’s helpless face. Dahlia screams. Everyone else, including Sylvia, is open-mouthed in astonishment – for Sylvia and a few others there is also sadistic delight.
A thin trickle of blood comes out of Camellia’s nostril. She holds Sheila’s gaze defiantly.
“Come on, Camellia. You’re finished. I’ve won. Submit. Now.”
“Never.”
Growling angrily, Sheila swings again, and her fist smashes into Camellia’s mouth in a spray of blood – Camellia’s lips are cut.
“Mom,” Dahlia sobs.
Camellia bunches her left fist, swings her arm and strikes Sheila’s jaw with it. She can put no force into that feeble blow, with limited range of motion. Still, it rocks Sheila back slightly, and seems to daze her for a moment.
Then she glares at Camellia again, her eyes wide with sheer outrage.
“C’mon Sheila, let her up,” some of the women begin saying. “Dahlia, make the call. Throw in the towel. Your mom put up a hell of a fight, but she’s lost.”
Dahlia’s hands trembling. Slowly, her fists bunch up. She raises her voice. “As long as my mom refuses to surrender… she hasn’t lost yet!”
“You really want me to knock you out, Camellia?” Sheila’s voice is low and dangerous. “You really won’t submit to me?” She addresses Dahlia without looking up. “Dahlia, you really want to see me do this to your mother?”
Dahlia’s heart is in a million pieces, and she feels her mother’s pain as her own. Half of her wants to break down and beg Sheila to stop, to throw in the towel on her mother’s behalf as the women are saying she should, to save Camellia from any more hurt.
But the other half is her mother’s loyal daughter. She knows her mother better than anyone. Despite not thinking of herself as such, Camellia Kwan is a valiant warrior through and through. Her will is indomitable. She has never forgiven herself for submitting to Sheila the way she did in their first match, especially not after seeing the way Dahlia won hers against Sylvia. Mother and daughter have never spoken about it this way, but in her heart Dahlia knows that Camellia was ashamed by what she considered a poor showing. It was galling, to see Dahlia kiss Sheila’s pussy while Sheila posed with one foot on Camellia…!
And so with this match, this fight that she consented to… Camellia will fight to the end. She will put her body on the line this one last time. She knows of course that Dahlia is proud of her no matter what, but this is about her pride as a woman. When she told Dahlia before the match that no words of surrender or submission will pass her lips today, she meant it. Dahlia knows it.
So, though it burns her inside, though her heart is pounding with fear for her mother’s well-being… she will respect her mother’s wishes, as a devoted daughter should. And Camellia will know that Dahlia believes in her to the bitter end, even when no one else does.
“Then let’s finish this,” Sheila snarls suddenly.
She clambers to her feet, reaches down to grab a hunk of Camellia’s bunned hair, and drags her over to Sylvia. Camellia cries out and grabs Sheila’s forearm, trying to lessen the pain as her back gets dragged along the mat. Dahlia scrambles to follow.
Then Sheila dumps her in front of the grinning Sylvia, and rolls her body over with a painful toe kick to the ribs. Camellia grabs her side. Her muscles are still too fatigued for her to put up any meaningful resistance as Sheila moves to sit on her lower back, pinning her firmly down.
Dahlia watches this horrific sight in slow motion, knowing every step of what is to come but utterly unable to do anything about it. It is a nightmare come true. While Sylvia practically slavers at this gift from her mother, Dahlia sinks to her knees again, slack-jawed and despondent.
Sheila takes hold of Camellia’s arms – she had worked out so hard to make them so sculpted and strong, adding thickness that had never been there before – and drapes them over her thighs. Already this position puts some strain on Camellia’s abs and lower back. Then Sheila reaches down and laces her fingers underneath Camellia’s chin with exaggerated care.
“Oh, yes,” Sylvia sighs orgasmically as her mother slowly leans back, presenting Camellia’s bruised and bloodied face to her like a gift. The pain of the camel clutch stretch twists Camellia’s face, and Sylvia shivers violently all over. “Ahhhh… I think I can cum without touching myself, Mom… this is so good…”
“Yeah, I’m good to you, aren’t I?”
“You’re the best, Mom.”
The other women are now quiet. Everyone is watching with bated breath, vibrators or hands pressed firmly on clits. Surely… surely now… surely this is enough. Surely Camellia will have to submit now, stubborn and foolish though she is… surely her body can’t take this punishment anymore.
Camellia’s body trembles finely all over now, uncontrollably, and she cannot prevent herself from uttering soft, weak cries of agony. Her feet flutter and thump the mat.
Dahlia bends low and leans in. “Mom… do you submit? Can you continue?”
“Yes… yes… submit…” Sylvia moans in ecstasy.
“No…”
Sheila has already leaned back as far as she can go. Now she changes tack. She wraps her beefy right arm around Camellia’s neck.
“Hurkh…” Camellia begins to choke.
“Give it up, Dahlia,” Sylvia says softly. “Give us our victory. Come on, Dahlia. It’s time for your pussy pounding. My mom has already broken yours. Don’t you see?”
Silence.
Dahlia gazes at her mother’s slowly reddening face, squeezed tightly in the crook of Sheila’s massive arm. She is etching this moment in her memory. Her mother’s final defeat at the hands of her nemesis, her rival. Defeated by the flexing of superior muscle.
This is the only way she can honor her mother now. She waits for the moment when Camellia’s eyes begin rolling upwards.
“Mom, can you continue?” she asks softly, lovingly.
Camellia can make no reply. And doesn’t. Still conscious, but unresponsive. She can neither speak nor move her head. Her hands dangle limply. Her legs have stopped moving.
Dahlia moves in and plants a quick peck on her mother’s cheek.
She straightens up. Still on her knees, she looks at Sheila, at Sylvia, at the other women in the room.
In a clear voice that betrays no weakness, she says, “Camellia Kwan is unable to continue. The winner of this fight… is Sheila Steele.”
