You can't. The Cowgirl continues to dominate you.

By the time her fist slams into your midsection for the umpteenth time, you nearly collapse in a wheezing fit.

Unable to break free of her deadly clinch, you had been taking Dinah’s wrath for nearly a full minute now. Punch after punch, each one more devastating than the last.

“And right about now John’s getting just a taste of the Cowgirl’s good ol’ Southern hospitality,” the announcer exclaimed bemusedly, as Dinah continues dishing out blow after blow at you.

Continuing to unload on you like a professional heavyweight boxer, the Cowgirl finally relents when she feels you finally starting to fall forward.

Keeping you upright with both arms still wrapped around your waist, she smirks confidently as your drooping head lands directly in her well-defined bosom.

Letting your arms hang to the side limply, you can only groan into her soft breasts as she coos into your ear, “What’s a-matter, honey? Can’t take a few of my love taps?”

Unable to respond, you only wince as she suddenly tightens her grip over you.

“This might hurt just a bit,” she tells you, with your head still buried between her cleavage.

Before you could even process what was just said, Dinah lifts you off the floor with both arms and with a quick pivot of her hip slams you to the ground in a belly-to-belly suplex.

Deflating upon impact, you could only look up in an almost frozen horror as the blonde beauty looms over you with confidence exhuming off of every inch of her triumphant form.

After a dramatic whip of her blonde hair over her shoulders, the Cowgirl clicks her lips together disapprovingly before looking you over. “Wow! I suppose I did one _hell _of a number on ya.”

Still feeling like your ribcage is on fire, you could only glare at her as she drops down into a crouching position, her expression feigning concern as she examines the damage dealt by her hands.

“It’s almost a shame I had to kick your ass so early on in the match. Usually, this whole thing is a lot more fun when the guy has a bigger pair than me,” she muses with a taunting smile, running her dainty hand across your sore midsection.

Groaning audibly as her hand traces over the angry bruises now adorning your bare chest, you attempt to push yourself up only to be stopped by her hand forcefully pressing down on your ribs.

She wags one finger at you in a scolding manner. “Nope. You had your shot, John boy, and ya blew it. Why don’t you just lay there like a good little boy and let me think, alright?”

You begrudgingly swallow your pride and conserve energy as she looks up at the JumboTron in mock thought.

“Tell ya what, I've got an idea,” she suddenly tells you with a smile.