Gil "Arma-Gil-O" vs Karla "Ray" Reinhardt - Collar Match

[Monsy]

There was a therapeutic sound to a choke. The struggle and war for air; pitied attempts and hopes their next try would succeed; that look on their face she can’t quite see, but knew by their voice, the sounds and sensations that aroused the imagination. She bit her bottom lip, and tints of red blemished on her cheeks, topped off by a grin and this laugh after Gil gave in to her demands.

“No, no, no! Don’t give into your opponent’s demands so easily, you imbecile!”

Her head shook; the pressure on her leg dialled down until it did little more than allow its weight to sit between their shoulder blades while she combed a hand through her hair.

“You don’t apologise either.” She said through a slow breath, then reached forward to grab their hair and yank it back so their faces could align. Karla’s over Gil’s. “If you know how to fight, then why don’t you hit me with something that isn’t your assets… Because if you won’t...” Her voice trailed off with a cackle.

She came to their side and slid her dominant left leg in front of them. The leash was ravelled more onto her knuckles until her fist could almost kiss their chin. “THEN I WILL!” She yelled and yanked her slack down while she threw up her knee so it would smother their visage in one little hate-tap - if you could call it that.

[Arista]

She wanted too, no, she had too. She couldn't not give in to those demands, no matter how demeaning they were, or how embarrassing they were. A fire burnt through her stomach, rising up into her face, which was practically steaming from the heat build-up. That gut feeling wasn't brought on by anger, or motivation to comeback out of this, but rather... Lust...?

She pulled down on the leash, all her weight just barely pulling it down enough for her to breath. She panted like a dog, her tongue stuck out and all as she desperately tried to pull in a hint of air. Karla's cruelty didn't see this as any reason to let up though, if anything, it seemed to encourage her to keep going. Gil realized something, Karla didn't want her to be submissive, she wanted her to fight back, she wanted to reduce her to having no choice but to submit, she wanted it to be the only thing she could do, and doing it so early wasn't bringing on any satisfaction for the red-headed dominatrix.

Karla gave a harsh yank on Gil's hair, pulling them close, face to face, Gil's heavy, labored breathing puffing right up into Karla's face. As soon as her face pulled away, her knee came crashing in as a replacement, busting into her nose. Gil instinctively shut her eyes, tearing being squeezed out the sides and rolling down her cheeks. "S-stop it...!" Gil begged, one hand gripping the leash and the other locking itself tight against Karla's wrist. She had no intent on letting go, she dug her nails deep into her flesh, she needed out somehow, and was getting desperate. Her face was glowing red, her lungs were burning, her body ached. There wasn't much time to wait around for something else, so she had to bury her nails into her wrist. "I SAID, STOP IT!"

[Monsy]

Her knee drove into a pleading canvas. A home that baked in those tears and seemed so malleable by the introduction of a Reinhardt’s will. She had just as much sympathy for them than a lamb that marched to a slaughterhouse; to be put down, perhaps played with if the executioner was sick enough. And she was just that woman - someone who wanted her toys to fight, to make something worth beating than let her anger play the dominator, even though it built up so much inside her lungs that she could scream, there was so much more that she felt. It just couldn’t be expressed by one knee alone.

“Stop?!” She said, snapping into a growl. Those fingers bore deep into the leather of her wrist, sheathed from any nerve to cause that lovely sting, but enough mounted pressure to miff her. One hand came to try and tried to thrust between Gil’s arms and clutch her throat. She took a deep breath with eyes gaped, unblinking, stiffer than iron that grew molten veins around a red iris core. Her feet came under her and pushed towards Gil, wanting to send their back against the canvas, where Karla could straddle their stomach and press her weight onto the hand that choked their throat. The one that held the leash kept firm; her lip twitched as she watched their clutch, that excavation to cause harm against her wrist or perhaps stop any other pull.

“If you want me to stop, then you’ll have to fight! You useless waste. I’ll humiliate and torture you until I get bored, so come on! Do something if you want me to stop!”

[Arista]

Useless waste. Gil held herself together well in most cases, she'd been called more than her fair share of names. In this match alone, she'd be belittled over and over again, as was par for the course for Karla, it seemed, but it stoked a fire within her. Every, single, time. She knew her value better than anyone, she knew just how much ass she could kick, and the one place she knew she didn't belong was on a leash, much less being choked by one. Karla wasn't dealing with a rowdy puppy, she was dealing with a great beast, one that could not be tamed!

Her clutches held the leash tight, trying everything she had to pull it down and prevent Karla from choking her. But even her full strength proved to be lacking. Her vision grew dark, the edges of her visions became un-clear, and dark, she was fading. "Ka-rla..." Gil grip began to loosen the match was moments away from being over, but Karla wouldn't leave it at that, and Gil wasn't going to let her play with her like a doll while she fell out of consciousness. Gil's grip became as tight as it could, she leaned her body just slightly to the right, before rolling hard to the left, taking the leash, and Karla with her! The death roll, a perfect technique for breaking out of just that, taking inspiration from alligators came in handy this time around...!

The roll helped her break free, and knock Karla off balance, and maybe off her feet. Gil's focus was set elsewhere, she took in a loud gasp for air, the relief washed over her immediately as she stamped her fist into the mat, hard. Helping herself up to her feet, her legs wobbly, her head spinning, and everything moving in slow motion, but standing. She leaned heavy back into the ropes, looking up at the lights, focusing on just one until her vision cleared, it took a second but once she could see straight she threw her head back down, locking her eyes onto Karla. "...You've done it now, Karla...! You've awoken the beast of Armagilo...!" Gil shouted out, a batty look in her eyes and a devious smile spread wide across her face. Her heart was pounding out of her chest, it burned, but she was high on adrenaline, and she felt so good...

Gil tour her accessory pieces from her arms, and tossed her bow out of the ring. "You took off your collar, good puppies don't take off their collars, Karla...!" Gil spotted her pink and silver collar, the glitter pieces shimmering from the bright lights overhead. Gil tore after Karla, snatching up the collar on her way and pounced, tearing Karla down flat to ground, wrapping her legs tight around her waist in a scissor-hold, locking her in place. "...Here we go...!" Gil snickered, brushing the German's red, flowing, hair to the side, wrapping the collar around her throat once again, tightening it probably a little to much before hugging her arms around her from behind. "You dared me to ask again, so I will, bark for me, and them, Karla...!" Gil pointed at one of the ring-side cameras. She was hell-bent on getting Karla to give in, and if she did, she'd have victory in the palm of her hands...!

[Monsy]

The situation was heaven’s gate. Just outside, feet tapped the clouds, weightless and endeavoured to adventure past those glistening iron bars, to seal what she sow; a victory carved from the sweat of her hands and the sacrifice of her time. In the best way possible, where mercy was a resource with a Reinhardt monopoly; torture which she dispensed and life that she took with her own two hands that choked. And those eyes could only flutter in delight, watching as their eyes slipped from this world into another; the struggle at its sputtering conclusion, and she’d drink in every second.

“What’s that? I can’t hear your last words over your gargling spit.”

There was a laugh, relished loud enough for the front row and beyond. The moments became palpable, so much that a hand came up to cup her own cheek; the fingertips set ablaze by her blush. A knee came to press on their chest, just as Gil turned right, then whipped left. They unscrewed her balance - cursed to tumble alongside them into a pool of twisting pink, brown, red and black. They came apart, and Gil had moved away, and left on her hands and knees; her head jarred from the whiplash, headache reinvigorated into a pound, so she clutched her crown and hissed, then brought herself onto a singular knee.

“Du unbeduetende kakerlake…” Those eyes darted into dagger-slits, brows into the razors that fitted them. A hand came across her thigh as they spoke through whatever fumes their second-wind had produced. Theft is what it was. They were no better than a criminal, those who came after what she owned - and there was hell to pay for it. So she steadied herself onto her feet, bore a smirk that was lopsided and scoffed. “Those words have unmitigated consequences, dog.”

Her foot came back and readied to bear their charge, though the larger frame and momentum crashed like a hammer upon a thin steel wall. Pointed heels gave good offence, but against the pressure? They already rattled and caved, so she toppled onto her back and squeaked as the breath punched from her mouth, left a cackling disdain in her rock-filled lungs. They took her back, surrounded her waist in legs to become the python against her pelvis. The collar came next, perhaps a familiar warmth where the very panic it induced kept her from swallowing. Then an arm reached around to complete the trio of envelopment; around her throat that put her on her elbows to arch up, teeth clenched until drool seeped out the corners of her maw, though her upper-lip snarled into a rattle. Her legs kicked, meanwhile, a vie for an inch of ground towards the ropes if she could; nails that scraped the canvas so hard - there would be blood if not for the leather.

[Arista]

Both Gil, and Karla, had a fought match far beyond their own well-beings at this point, their bodies tired and beaten, maybe Gil's more than Karla's, but now in charge of the match, Gil was going to make up for it, even if her body was running on auto-pilot at this point. She hadn't been made this exhausted by a match yet in L.A.W, and she loved it. Every second of it was pushing herself further and further, giving it her all, truly, everything she was made of spilled out into this match, and the fruits it would bear would be a great treat, but she shouldn't get so caught up in that yet, after all, the match wasn't over, and Karla was still a raging bull ready to unleash hell's fury at any given moment if given the chance to.

"...I don't hear a bark, maybe you need to be taught one final lesson, and then you'll know what to do...!" Gil's breaths were ragged, exhausting out of her with every word. "It looks like this doggy needs a muzzle...!" Gil released her scissor-hold from around Karla's waist, but didn't really let go of her, clambering over her and holding her still whilst she quickly transitioned to her next move. Keeping Karla up-right in a sitting-position, she wrapped her legs up around her head and neck, molding her thighs around her, pressing her face against her backside as she bent her knees, using one hand to grab ahold of the back of her foot, to tighten the lock, and using the other, to hold herself up.

"That collar is around your neck now, so remember, if you want it to end, just tap-out...!" Gil spoke, her heavy breathing slowing down to it's regular, calmer rate. Her arm wobbled, just barely able to support her own weight, even with Karla's help, at this point in the match. The crowd roared, hoping the Reinhardt had been put in her place, but even if with a move like so, or even with a loss, Karla's flames wouldn't go out so easily, and besides that, Gil didn't seek to change Karla, not now, at least, for now, she wanted to win.

[Monsy]

This kindling wrought another chapter within their bout. On the back foot with an arm around her throat that cinched the muscled. Legs around her waist, the burden of weight pinned against her spine. They were a leech, a parasite that spoke treachery. For her hands that now gripped the opposing forearm, pulled down, she could bear her teeth and grind them into dust. The fumes inside her lungs turned to magma, pushed against the throat and rumbled out with growls, snarls and a hiss that sent spit on the corners of her lips. Gil enveloped her head in one swoop; skin put upon her flanks, smothered her ears that made the canal for Karla’s visage to smash deep into their rear. “GMMPh-”

Breath fleeted, the rapid pattern before left her with little reserves. She kicked her shins against the mat, swung them out towards any nearby rope and found nothing. Her hands came to grab handfuls of Gil’s hips and stab them with her nails. Those eyes wound shut and brimmed with sweltering cheeks, where sweat mouldered on it like a playground and the pulse inside her brain thumped, and inside her chest too, growing size sizes until it felt like her whole body became a singular twitching muscle. Her eyes outlined a cancerous black; the colour of her iris bled dull, and her mouth opened to exhale whatever breath might’ve been left. She was flat, arched at the shoulders and into the pocket of Gil’s smother hold. Hands that unwound from their dugouts now rested on their back, and one slipped off onto the canvas.

Both eyes closed. Then one opened.

Her knees shuffled up, wedged themselves beneath her hip; her hand pushed the canvas down so she may rise and come to all fours. They skid up further until she stood upon the joints, and she returned to Gil’s waist, but not with hands; whole arms to envelop and finger-lock at the back. A foot slammed into the canvas, and she pushed; the limb rattled, and she could raise the second just an inch before she fell onto one knee again. Her second eye opened, and she tried one last time, where her second foot slammed into the canvas and gave her a small bounce to fall back down onto her knees and see to their head be spiked.

Karla would be hurried to move her knee across their chest should it break the hold and leave them sprawled. A hand struck up towards the air, proclaiming with an index figure that could pierce the heavens. The referee came to their side and struck.

“ONE!”

[Arista]

It all came together, every moment of this match led up to Gil holding Karla's head tight between her thighs and forcing her face right into her ass, a fate that no-one would ever want to face, say for a masochist! But for a Reinhardt, a family that from what Gil could guess, held their pride close to them at all times, feeling themselves to be above everyone, and un-fit to lose to the lowly peasants such as Gil, for them, it could only be worse. "Take it all in, Karla, it's alright, you can go to sleep now..." Gil cooed, a hushed tone as if to comfort Karla. Even with the nails burying themselves deep into her flesh, she didn't let up, she was putting this away, right here, right now!

"...Just go to sleep..." Gil closed her own eyes, seeing from over her shoulder that Karla had, and feeling that she had won, but that wasn't the end. Karla wrapped her arms tight around Gil, forcing her own eyes wide as she tightened her hold even more, enough to pop Karla's head right off her shoulders, but nothing could stop an angry Karla...! She rose, slowly, but she rose, up onto her feet, holding Gil upside down. The inevitable was upon her. "Please...! Don't-" She dropped, smashing Gil's head right into the canvas, her headscissors releases as she went limp and fell flat against the mat, her body sprawled wide-out, she was out-cold.

A knee pressed down on her chest, and began the count. She had fallen hard, a match where neither one was willing to throw in the towel would come to and end. If only Gil was awake, maybe then she could jolt herself back into again, enduring the torture that Karla would put her through was better than laying down and taking it, becoming the dog Karla believed her to be. But that wasn't the reality she lived in.

"ONE!"

"TWO!"

"THREE!"

DING DING.

[Monsy]

Uncertainty is the majesty of life, whether it comes by tragedy or stroke of great fortune. Endless dirt roads, asphalt streets and weed-stricken paths twist, turn and invert our ways, the scenery ever-changing by our daring, cunning and lust. But beyond what may feel like an uncontrollable ride, there were always a few things certain. Death — taxes — and Reinhardt.
Though her throat ached from the air that she sucked in from every choke, her chest that throbbed, lipstick and sweat smeared from the sweltering heat, there was the inevitable end. A skull to write a poem with upon the white canvas, dropped and hoped it would crack like a watermelon, but this outcome was also acceptable.

A foot pinned on them and a finger high — the referee who slapped the canvas to count what she knew was inevitable. One, two, three.

The bell’s ring tasted like roses to her ears. She grinned ear to ear, then used Gil’s cheek to push onto the balls of her feet and stand. The finger jutted towards the lights now wagged, and the grin dropped on one side into a lopsided smirk. She rolled underneath the bottom rope, landed at ringside where she combed back her hair, bent over and fished her hand beneath the apron until something cold and solid came into her leather grasp.

A black steel chair was raised above her head with one arm, the other grabbed the middle rope as she pulled herself onto the apron. She squatted between the middle and lower rope, then rose to lift the chair overhead again. The referee stepped in her path and Karla was first to crack their skull with a steel clap.

〝Out of my way!〞

Her breath lugged heavy as she raised her chair again, arched back and said, 〝Wakey-wakey mein kleiner Hundchen!〞And right after came the song of her steel chair. A barrage against Gil’s stomach, legs, and head. Again and again. Again and again. Again and again.

[Arista]

Karla was everything Gil wasn't; This high and mighty, pompous, royal blooded, cruel woman, who seeked victory by any means possible, but victory was just a part of the general process it seemed, her true goal was domination. She wanted to put her leather-boot down and crush those she saw to be lower than her, squash them like bugs under her heel. The best example to be given was the one right now, Gil laid unconscious, defenseless, beaten, and worn-out completely, yet still, Karla wasn't done...

CRACK.

The metallic crash of the chair smashing into the middle of her stomach was maybe the rudest of awakenings one could get, but it was only the beginning of the fun for Miss Reinhardt, she kept the party alive with a crack into her knees, shins, chest, and then, one final blow before a break right onto the back of her head as she writhed on the canvas like a worm. She laid still for a moment, reaching out her arms slowly, weakly gripping either of Karla's ankles and pulling herself closer, her face down at her feet. "...Please stop, you won, I can't fight anymore... So please, just have mercy, I begging you..." She gargled out, drool running down the side of her face and dripping onto the mat, and onto Karla's boots.

At this point, Gil was willing to pay any price for mercy, she hadn't ever been this exhausted, this beaten down and hurt, she wanted, no, she needed it to end... "Please, please, please..." On the verge of tears, she pleaded with the merciless woman. It was hard to watch, hard to stomach, outside of sadists who were watching, and Karla herself, who most definitely fit in with the rest of the sadists, no-one could take any pleasure from watching this unfold...