She physically dominates you.

The Cowgirl takes her time sauntering back up to you, before she suddenly cocks her hand back and slaps you full-**** across the face. Your head snaps to the side as a stinging pain rushes across your cheek.

“I wanna be real clear on somethin’, stud,” Dinah says. “You’re gonna say the word, or it’s gonna keep gettin’ worse for ya. And I can keep this up a lot longer. Got it?”

“Fuck you,” you say defiantly.

“Guess not,” she shrugs, and slaps you again.

This time it hits the other side of your face, leaving both of your cheeks a bright, raw red that has little to do with any humiliation you’ve suffered. But still, you remain silent.

“Still not ready to submit?” she asks rhetorically. “Maybe a taste of your own medicine can help ya along.”

So saying, she tilts her poised arm into a slightly different position—and instead of a slap to the face, she assaults your chest with a knife-edge chop!

“Wooooooo!” cheers the crowd as you wince, both from the pain of the blow and the embarrassment of having one of your favorite moves turned against you.

“Shame ya don’t have any boobs to chop,” she comments idly once the **** abates. “That’d let me really bring the pain. Ah well, guess I’m gonna have to just stick to hittin’ those nice firm pecs ‘a yours.”

The Cowgirl wastes no time escalating the attack, slamming chop after chop into your torso until it feels like it’s on fire. You’re slumped against the turnbuckle, unable to resist, utterly at the mercy of your opponent.

Then Dinah notices something that makes her grin. “Well, well, well, what do we have here? Your pecker’s still nice n’ hard after all that punishment. This a turn-on for ya? Do ya get all hot n’ bothered when a girl ties ya up and slaps ya around?”

You shake your head weakly, but it’s an obvious lie that she easily sees through. “Aw, that’s okay. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a man who enjoys bein’ on the bottom now and then. They make my job a hell of a lot easier.” She winks at you mischievously. “Maybe they should book a match for ya with Lady Grace. Betcha both of you would like that a whole lot.”

You shake your head much more emphatically at that, and mutter something like “no way”.

She giggles. “Whatever ya say, hon. Now...let’s get back to business.” Without warning, she slaps you in the face again, a blow that would have sent you reeling if there were anywhere to reel to. “Say it, bitch.”

“No...” you murmur weakly.

Another powerful slap leaves you seeing stars. “Say it!”

You shake your head once more, still denying defeat. A flicker of something crosses the Cowgirl’s eyes...is it admiration?

But in a moment it’s gone, replaced with determination to win. Her hand balls up into a fist, and as you look down at it you realize in horror that it’s aimed right between your legs.

“Last chance,” she warns.

“Okay, okay, uncle!” you gasp out. “Uncle...”

“Good boy,” she says, and finally steps away, smirking as the buzzer goes off.

The referee quickly unties you, but you have to lean against the turnbuckle and ropes for support for a few seconds before you can stand up fully again. The Cowgirl crooks a finger at you in a mocking come-hither gesture.

You’ve lost a point for a submission.