It's a delightful double shot from the Walkin' Dude!Different people called it different things.
Ombudsmen working at events sponsored by major studios referred to it as the
Penalty Phase. Certain tape producers called it
Winner’s Privilege while journalists covering such things preferred the phrase
Punishment Round. And the fighters actually participating in such contests?
They’d dubbed it
The Humiliation Game. Whatever the name, the gist was always the same. A period of anywhere from one to five minutes following the conclusion of the match where the winner is allowed to impose her will on the loser in any way she sees fit.
Below are just two examples…
********
Emily proved maddeningly tenacious.
The blonde had avoided, countered, resisted or flat out denied Gal her Triangle Choke for the better part of thirty minutes, all the while punishing the brunette with (among other things) a series of Bear Hugs applied from various angles. These repeated constrictions took Gadot’s vaunted cardio to the absolute limit, yet a war of attrition was never one sided and the brunette gave as good as she got with numerous Scissors and other body-bending stretches.
Through it all she never stopped looking for the Triangle, but in the end it was VanCamp’s determination to defend against the hold that proved her undoing.
In a scramble to keep her arm from the brunette Emily left her head exposed and in that moment Gadot caught her in a
snug Figure Four Headscissors. With her left calf snug against the other woman’s throat, Gal planted her left hand like a kickstand and pushed up and forward to drive her hips into the back of VanCamp’s head. Doing so put an ungodly kink in Emily’s windpipe and strong as she was, it took less than ten seconds for her to tap a worried little tattoo on Gadot’s left knee.
Gal released the Scissors at the sound of the polite chime that signaled the end of the match, but rather than get to her feet she crawled around to Emily’s right and shoveled her onto her stomach with a rude two-handed shove. “This has been a spirited battle. Almost a shame that someone had to lose.” the brunette’s tone was simultaneously contemplative and teasing as she went about the business of removing her foe’s fightin’ sports-bra. “Yet one of us did lose and since we both agreed to a punishment round…” Gadot claimed VanCamp’s wrists, pinned them together behind her back and secured them with the blonde’s shorn top. “…it is only fair that I claim my prize.”
“Guuuuhhhh…. get on with it.” the blonde rasped, her voice still ragged from the crushing pressure of the Scissors. “Just because you won doesn’t mean you get to be insufferable about OOOOOOWWWWWW BITCH!”
Gal snatched a massive handful of the blonde’s gunmetal gray trunks and made a good three quarters of the material disappear in a single yank. “That is exactly what it means,
bitch.” Gadot punctuated with a hard swat to each bared bun.
Relinquishing the wedgie after another teasing jostle, Gal twined her fingers in VanCamp’s hair and hauled her to verticality in a series of mean fits and starts. “Did you know a particularly odious executive suggested I use a lasso in my punishment rounds?” the brunette asked her foe as she looped her arms around Emily’s biceps and clasped her hands in the hollow of her back. “It is an amusing enough gimmick I suppose, but I politely declined on the grounds that I-”
“Am an arrogant bitch who loves the sound of her own voicHHHNNNNNGHH!” VanCamp’s retort collapsed into a agonized groan when Gadot bore down on the Bear Hug with enough force to put the blonde up on tiptoe.
Savoring the flash of humiliating realization that flashed across Emily’s face, Gal beamed, then leaned in to whisper, “On the grounds that I need no magic to compel the truth from a sniveling brat like you!”
“Rrrrggghhh… go fuck yourseAAAAARRRRHHHHH GAAAAAAAAAHHH!”
Gadot dipped her knees and slid the Hug a little lower so she could muscle VanCamp into the air, the thrashing blonde now in the extremely uncharacteristic position of fighting for purchase against another woman’s Bear Hug. Not content to simply hold her rival in place, Gadot set her feet and whipped the blonde back and forth in a violent rag-dolling Emily often gave and very seldom (if ever) received. Gal delivered several bursts of this merciless shaking over the course of perhaps thirty seconds before she set VanCamp down just to haul her up even higher than before! Emily fought the pressure as best she could even managing to get her shins braced against the brunette’s hips for a moment, but in the end Gadot jounced her from the mount and those usually strong legs hung heavy and slack, her toes almost six inches off the canvas.
Only letting her foe’s feet return to solid ground when she was little better than a dishrag in her grip, Gal touched her forehead to Emily’s and murmured, “The time has come to tell the truth, little girl. Who won the match?”
VanCamp started to shake her head ‘no’ only to burble in exhausted hurt when Gadot drew the coil even tighter. “Yuuuuhhhhh…. you did.”
“And who lost the match?”
“…I didNNNNGGGGHHHH!”
“Who lost?”
“I did!”
“What did you do?”
“I lost!”
“I’m sorry, I could you repeat that?” Gadot purred as the Bear Hug wrung out the last of VanCamp’s pride.
“I LOST!”
“But I thought you were tough?” Didn’t you tell me you were going to win?”
“I didn’t!” Em snuffled in abject misery.
Gal on the other hand was loving every second of her hard-fought victory. “Why didn’t you win?”
“I’m a loser.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m a loser.”
The towering brunette hoisted her prey skyward and leaned back for a final crushing constriction!
“WHAT ARE YOU?”
“A LOSER!” VanCamp bawled. “LOSER! LOSER! LOS--”
Gadot released her hooks and stepped back, finally allowing the blonde to sprawl at her feet in a gasping heap.
Hands on her hips, Gal nodded, then placed a foot on Emily’s chest. “Yes.” she agreed. “Yes you are.”
********
They’d been after each other’s tits all night.
That in and of itself was hardly surprising, though it was a bit unusual for a match with a Penalty Period attached. Usually such a stipulation meant the cattier tactics wouldn’t make an appearance until the match was decided, tonight however…
Troian couldn’t even remember how it started. She was
fairly certain she’d spilled Naomi out of her top with a particularly stiff Knife-Edge Chop no less than five minutes after the opening bell, but part of her brain insisted she’d concentrated those Chops on the other brunette’s boobs in retaliation for some particularly vicious (and unprovoked!) tweaking on what should have been a clean break in the corner. Of course it might’ve started because they’d both come to the ring in differing shades of pink, and while this was more a lapse of their respective management than the fighters themselves, it guaranteed both wrestlers were hostile before the opening bell ever sounded.
Regardless of reason, the bout quickly shifted from competitive wrestling to an exhaustive study on how to punish your opponent’s breasts from every conceivable position.
Catch her in a Camel Clutch? Hook her rack instead of a Chinlock.
Secured a Bodyscissors? Slap her tits to make things worse.
Got her in the Abdominal Stretch? Leave the tummy alone in favor of merciless tweaking.
Sometimes such meanness was inflicted and endured with an icy sort of silence and sometime each fresh slight was greeted with a shriek of infuriated Valkyrie rage. Naomi and Troian found themselves among the latter, each finding new ways to demean and denigrate her foe’s bounty at every opportunity. The brunettes wrestled in this fashion for almost forty-five minutes with none of the usual late-stage shift or drop-off usually seen in particularly long matches. Indeed they were still battling at a fever pitch when Troi countered a Back Body Drop attempt with a Piledriver that
DROVE the crown of Naomi’s skull into the mat with a heavy thud. Bellisario settled into a Crossbody more out of instinct than belief the match was over and she looked as surprised as anyone when the official counted…
ONE…
TWO…
THREE!
Clambering to her feet at the sound of the bell, Troi started to raise a hand, then dropped to her knees when Scott rolled over onto all fours.
“Guuuuhhhh… got lucky, dammit.” Naomi huffed to no one in particular. “Had to pin because you couldn’t make me subNNGGHHOW!”
Bellisario cracked a slap across her opponent’s cheeks before treating the spangly ‘NS’ insignia emblazoned upon the seat of Scott’s trunks to a sharp pinch. “Never would’ve gone for the cover if I knew you weren’t going to kick out, honey.” Troian replied as she pressed her battle-weary chest against the other brunette’s back. But since you didn’t, it’s time I took what’s rightfully mine. Can you guess what I want?”
Naomi didn’t have to guess. They’d both made the same promise several times throughout the course of the match. “Couldn’t make me submit all night, slut.” she answered. “No way you’re gonna do it in three minOOOOOOOHHHHH!”
The time constraints didn’t seem to phase Bellisario in the slightest, if anything she looked quite motivated when she reached under Naomi’s arms and clamped down on her hanging breasts.
“You were allowed to wriggle and squirm your way to the ropes during the match, Scotty.” Troian explained as she kneaded the other wrestler’s tits like a baker working particularly stiff dough. “For the next two minutes and forty seven, no, six, seconds, you can’t do anything but plead!”
“Good luck with that, bitch. I’ll never plead for GGGGGRRRRHHHHH!”
Bellisario tugged Naomi’s breasts apart only to ‘smack’ them together half a dozen times before resuming that methodical, stress ball-esque squeezing. Troi wiggled in the mount, her smile growing wider when she felt Scott groan against the encroachment of her own modest curves. “Why can’t you take your eyes off the mat, honey? Afraid of how much time is left on the clock?” she purred in Scott’s left ear.
“Only afraid of how much more of your shit I’ll hear before AAAAIIIIIIEEEEE F*CK YOOOOOOOOOU!”
There was a minute left on the clock and Troian made it count by taking her foe’s nipples between thumb and forefinger. The victrix didn’t actually twist the sensitive flesh. Rather she pulled, then she rolled and finally she tweaked, an agonizing three part dirge that she repeated over and over again until Scott pounded a palm against the canvas and wailed, “STOP! JUST STOP!”
“Not until you’re FINISHED.”
“I….AM.” Naomi growled through clenched teeth. “
“On your knees.” Bellisario ordered. “On your knees, hands behind your head!”
Scott cursed, but did as she was told, the exhausted brunette settling into a position that grew even more galling when Troian gave up the tweaking for a possessive ‘hand bra’.
“These are mine until I say otherwise or you’ve got the guts to take them back. Understand?”
“You’re going to pay for OOOOOOOHHHHH! YES, YES,YES!”
Releasing the latest titty twister with a nasty little flourish, Troi snuggled her chin into the side of Naomi’s neck so she could peck a kiss against her cheek. “Keep these safe for me, sweetie. I’m not through with ‘em, not by a long shot.”
“Yuuuhhhh… you’re fucking through.” Scott rasped. “Next time we fight--”
“You’ll get more of the same.” Troi promised. “Now keep your hands up until the time runs out. I’ve still got twenty-three seconds and I’m going to use all of it!”
