Poolside terror Part Two
By The Masked Writer
Martha’s mouth went dry, and for the first time, she truly felt the disparity between them—not just in age, but in strength. Melina’s grip was immovable, her hand solid against Martha’s slender wrist. She tried to pull back, but it was no use. The younger woman’s strength made the attempt futile. Martha’s fear grew sharper, accompanied by a pang of humiliation.
“Melina,” Martha said again, trying to make her voice firmer. “This isn’t funny. Let go.”
“Funny?” Melina echoed. “Who said I was joking?”
Martha’s breath caught in her throat. She tugged at her arm again, more forcefully this time, but Melina held fast, her grip unshaken. The younger woman stepped closer, her face now inches from Martha’s, and for the first time, Martha saw not only ambition and determination but something darker in Melina’s eyes.
“I’ve always admired you, Martha,” Melina said softly, almost in a whisper. “But admiration only goes so far. You’ve had your time.”
Martha’s mind raced for a way out. Her free hand hovered uncertainly, her nails brushing against Melina’s forearm in a feeble attempt to loosen the grip. But it was no use. The physical reality of the situation hit her with brutal clarity: she was utterly powerless in Melina’s grasp.
The humiliation burned almost as much as the fear. Martha had always been in control. Now, here she was, reduced to struggling against someone who was clearly reveling in the power shift.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Melina,” Martha said, her voice strained as she fought to keep her composure. “But this isn’t the way to do it.”
Melina’s smile returned, but it was cold, calculated. “Oh, I’m not trying to prove anything, Martha. I’m just… making a point.”
Martha’s legs felt weak, her breath shallow. She glanced toward the house again, the open door taunting her with its proximity. If she could just get free, just take a single step…
But Melina’s grip just tightened slightly, enough to make Martha feel who was in control now.
Martha’s fear burned into something sharper, hotter. Anger. She’d spent her life commanding respect and now she was physically manhandled by someone she had once considered a protégé, a friend. Her pride wouldn’t allow it.
Her free hand shot up, clawing at Melina’s fingers as they dug into her wrist. “I said, let go!” she snapped, almost shrieking. She pulled harder, twisting her arm in an attempt to break the hold.
But Melina’s grip was not shaken. In fact, her expression only darkened, her lips curling into a smirk that carried an unnerving mix of amusement and menace. “What’s the matter, Martha?” she asked, her tone dripping with mockery. “Lacking strength?”
Martha’s struggles intensified, her movements growing more frantic as she tried to free herself. Her bare feet scraped against the tiles as she planted herself, using every ounce of strength in her slender frame to pull away. For a moment, she thought she might succeed—but then Melina’s other hand shot out, gripping Martha’s upper arm like a vice.
“No,” Melina said softly, almost teasingly, her grip unyielding. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Martha’s breath came in shallow gasps now, her pulse hammering in her ears. She was trapped, her smaller, older, lean frame no match for the younger woman’s solid strength. Melina’s fingers dug into her flesh, not enough to bruise—at least not yet—but enough to make it painfully clear who was in control.
“Melina!” Martha hissed, “This is completely unacceptable!”
“Unacceptable?” Melina repeated with a soft laugh, her grip tightening ever so slightly. “Oh, Martha. Always so proper, so in control. But not today. Today, I am in control.”
Martha’s face flushed with a mix of fear and humiliation. She tugged again, more forcefully, but it was no use. Melina held her fast, her strength overpowering Martha’s every effort. The older woman felt a knot of dread tighten in her stomach as she realized the sheer futility of her resistance.
“Stop this,” Martha said, her voice now trembling. “You’re crossing a line.”
“A line?” Melina echoed, her tone mocking. “You mean the lines you’ve been drawing for years, keeping me in your shadow? Let me tell you something, Martha—You’ve been the queen bee for long enough. But now it’s my turn.”
Martha’s eyes widened as the words sank in, their venom striking deep. She tried to not show just how terrified she was. But the sheer physicality of the situation, the humiliation of being overpowered so easily, was unlike anything she had ever experienced and never expected.
Martha felt her knees weaken, her body trembling as she stared into Melina’s unrelenting gaze. Her mind raced for a way out, for anything she could do or say to end this nightmare. But she found nothing. For the first time in her life, Martha felt truly powerless.
Melina smirked again. She loosened her grip slightly—not enough to let go, but enough to pull Martha closer, as though asserting her dominance. “What’s wrong, Martha?” she asked, her voice laced with mock concern. “Not so confident anymore?”
The words stung and Martha felt a hot flush rise in her cheeks, the sting of tears threatening to blur her vision. But she refused to let them fall. She would not give Melina that satisfaction.
“You don’t scare me,” Martha said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Melina’s smirk widened. “Don’t I?” she asked softly. Her tone was almost gentle, but she gave Martha’s arm a small, deliberate shake, as if to remind her of the futility of her resistance.
Martha’s breath hitched, the reality of her situation crashing down around her. She wasn’t just being threatened; she was being bullied, humiliated, dominated in a way she had never imagined possible. Her chest heaved as she fought to steady her breathing, her mind racing for a way out. The humiliation now paled in comparison to the fear now coursing through her veins. She had never felt so vulnerable.
Martha’s anger flared again, sharper this time, as she fought against Melina’s unyielding grip. “Let me go!” she demanded, her voice rising. She twisted her arm with all the force she could muster, but Melina’s fingers didn’t budge.
“Let you go?” Melina said, her tone laced with mockery. “Martha, you’re barely even trying. Is this really all you’ve got?”
Martha gritted her teeth and tugged harder, trying to pull her arm free. Her cheeks flushed with a mix of anger and shame, but she refused to stop struggling. She tried again, clawing at Melina’s hand and twisting her body to gain leverage, but it was no use. Melina’s other hand squeezed at Martha’s biceps, pressing firmly into the soft, untoned flesh.
“You know,” Melina said, her voice dripping with amusement, “for someone who’s always prided herself on being in control, you’ve got surprisingly little muscle.” She gave Martha’s arm a small squeeze, her smirk deepening. “I mean, look at this. So soft. I guess lifting a pen all day doesn’t really do much for your biceps, huh?”
“Melina,” Martha hissed, her voice trembling with barely contained fury, “this isn’t funny!”
“Oh, I think it’s hilarious,” Melina shot back, her grip tightening as she leaned in closer. “You’ve been lording over me for years. But now, it’s pretty clear who’s stronger.”
Martha’s breath came in short, shallow gasps as she tried again to wrench herself free. Her bare feet scraped against the patio tiles, her body twisting and straining, but it was no use. Melina was stronger by far.
“Face it, Martha,” Melina continued “You’re not what you used to be. Age catches up to everyone, even you. And stubbornness is not going to change that.”
“I’m not weak,” Martha spat, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.
Melina laughed again, this time more openly. “Not weak? Really?” She gave Martha’s arm another small shake, as though testing her resistance. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re not exactly putting up much of a fight. I mean, look at you: no muscle, no strength at all. This is too easy.”
Martha’s chest heaved with exertion and frustration. The younger woman wasn’t just overpowering her physically—she was breaking her spirit.
“Stop this,” Martha said, her voice now trembling with both anger and desperation. “You’ve made your point.”
“Oh, I’m just getting started,” Melina replied, her smirk turning into a grin. “You’ve spent years acting like you’re invincible but look at you now, Martha. You’re completely at my mercy.”
The words sent a chill down Martha’s spine, her humiliation now fully eclipsed by fear. She tried one last time to pull away, pouring every ounce of strength she had into the effort. But Melina held firm, her dominance undeniable.
“Pathetic,” Melina said, shaking her head again. “You really should have spent less time at those board meetings and more time at the gym. Might’ve given you a fighting chance.”
Martha’s vision blurred slightly as tears of frustration and humiliation welled in her eyes. She blinked them back quickly, refusing to let Melina see her cry. But the knot in her stomach tightened, and the truth became impossible to deny she was completely, utterly outmatched.
Humiliation changed into rage. Her free hand shot up, and with all the force she could muster, she slapped Melina across the face. The sharp crack echoed across the poolside, breaking the tension of the moment.
Melina’s head snapped to the side, her dark curls swaying with the motion. For a moment, everything was still. Martha froze, her heart pounding in her chest, her hand trembling from the force of the blow.
Slowly, Melina turned her head back to face Martha, her cheek reddening from the slap. Her smirk was gone, replaced by a cold expression. “Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be,” she said, her voice low and chilling. “Big mistake, Martha.”
Before Martha could react, Melina’s grip on her arm tightened like a vice, and she yanked her closer with a force that made Martha stumble. “Let’s see what you’ve really got.”
Martha struggled, trying to wrench herself free, but Melina was relentless. The younger woman shoved her back, forcing her to stagger and nearly lose her footing. Martha tried to steady herself, but Melina was already advancing like a predator on his prey.
Martha raised her arms defensively, her hands trembling. “Melina, stop this! This has gone far enough!”
“Not even close,” Melina replied, lunging forward. She grabbed Martha’s wrists with ease, pulling them down and holding them at her sides. “Come on, Martha. Show me that fighting spirit you’re always bragging about.”
Martha twisted and writhed, trying desperately to free herself, but Melina’s grip was unyielding, her athletic frame effortlessly dominating Martha’s smaller, weaker body.
“I expected more from you. All that talk about power, and this is the best you can do?” Melina said mockingly, her tone light despite the intensity of the struggle,
Martha, now decided to fight, let out a frustrated growl and tried to knee Melina in the stomach, but the younger woman easily sidestepped the attempt, laughing as she pushed Martha back again. “You’re pathetic,” Melina sneered “… it’s like fighting a wet noodle.”
Martha’s chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath. Her arms ached, her legs felt weak, and sweat was beginning to bead on her forehead. She tried to lunge again, but her movements were slower, less coordinated. Exhaustion was setting in, and she knew it. “Age” she had to reckon, was catching up.
Melina, on the other hand, was hardly winded. Her smirk returned as she grabbed Martha’s shoulders, spinning her around and pinning her against the side of the pool house. “Is this all you’ve got, old woman?” she hissed, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’re not even worth the effort.”
Martha let out a strangled gasp as she struggled against Melina’s hold. The younger woman was no longer just toying with her; her grip was rough, her movements brutal. Every attempt Martha made to fight back was met with swift, overpowering force. A shove here, a grip there—Melina was completely in control, and she knew it.
“Stop,” Martha pleaded, her voice breaking. She hated how desperate she sounded, but she couldn’t help it. Her body was failing her, her strength rapidly depleting. “You’ve made your point, Melina.”
But Melina wasn’t stopping. If anything, she became more aggressive. She shoved Martha again, this time sending her sprawling to the ground. The older woman let out a pained cry as her knees hit the tiles, her arms barely catching her in time to stop her fall.
Melina stood over her, her shadow looming. “Get up,” she commanded coldly. “Or are you giving up already?”
Martha’s hands trembled as she pushed herself up, her arms shaking with the effort. Her breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, and her vision blurred with a mix of tears and sweat. She wanted to fight back, to prove she wasn’t weak, but her body was betraying her. She felt utterly, devastatingly powerless.
As she knelt there, staring up at Melina, a wave of terror washed over her. This wasn’t just a fight—it was a complete and total domination. And Martha had no idea how to stop it.
Melina crouched down, her face close to Martha’s. “This is what happens when you underestimate me,” she said, her voice low and venomous. “You’re weak, old, and completely out of your depth. Nothing.”
Martha’s chest heaved as a tear slipped down her cheek. She had never felt so humiliated, so vulnerable. And as she looked into Melina’s cold, unrelenting eyes, she realized with chilling certainty that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.
Martha’s vision blurred with exhaustion and tears, but a flicker of defiance burned deep within her. She couldn’t let this end like this—not with her on her knees, humiliated and dominated by someone she had once trusted. Desperation ignited a surge of adrenaline, and her eyes darted around for anything she could use to defend herself.
Then she saw it: a glass poolside ashtray sitting on a small table just within reach. Without hesitating, she lunged for it, her fingers closing around the cool, heavy object. In one swift motion, she swung it toward Melina, aiming for her head.
The move caught Melina off guard, and she barely stepped back in time. The ashtray grazed her shoulder, but the unexpected aggression wiped the smirk from her face. Her expression turned cold as she stared down at Martha with newfound intensity.
“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?” Melina said, almost growling. “Fine. Let’s see how far you get.”
Martha scrambled to her feet, brandishing the ashtray like a weapon. Her arms shook with the effort, but she held it firm, her grip tight as she braced herself for whatever came next. “Stay back,” she warned, her voice trembling but determined.
Melina smirked, circling her like a predator stalking prey. “Oh, I don’t doubt that” she said coolly. “But let’s be honest, Martha—how long can you keep this up?”
Martha swung the ashtray again, aiming for Melina’s face, but the younger woman was faster. She sidestepped the blow and. before Martha could strike again, she darted forward, grabbing her wrist in a grip that, to Martha, felt like steel.
Martha gasped, her body jerking as Melina twisted her wrist painfully, forcing her to drop the ashtray with a loud clatter. The older woman cried out, her knees buckling slightly from the sharp, sudden pain.
“Nice try,” Melina sneered, as she held Martha’s wrist firmly, twisting it just enough to keep her subdued. “But you should’ve known better.”
Before Martha could react, Melina’s free hand curled into a fist. The punch came hard and fast, digging right into Martha’s stomach. The impact drove the air from her lungs in a sharp, pained gasp, and she doubled over, clutching her abdomen as she stumbled backward.
Melina didn’t relent. With a single, brutal shove, she sent Martha careening toward the edge of the pool. The older woman tried to catch herself, her arms flailing for balance, but it was no use. Her bare feet slipped on the wet tiles, and with a startled cry, she tumbled backward into the water.
The pool swallowed her with a loud splash, the cold water shocking her system as she sank beneath the surface. For a moment, everything was silent and still, a fleeting relief from the violence she had just endured. But then her lungs burned for air, and she pushed herself to the surface, coughing and sputtering.
Martha clung to the edge of the pool, her soaked hair plastered to her face, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. She looked up at Melina, who stood at the pool’s edge, her arms crossed and a triumphant smirk on her face.
“Pathetic,” Melina said, her voice cold and biting. “I told you not to fight me, Martha. You should’ve listened.”
Martha barely had time to catch her breath before she saw Melina move. The younger woman’s powerful frame loomed over her at the pool's edge for only a moment before she leapt in, the water splashing high as she dove with precision. Martha tried to back away, but she was too slow, too tired.
Melina closed the distance with terrifying ease. Grabbing Martha by the shoulders, she forced her downward with brutal strength. Martha’s head plunged beneath the surface, the cool water rushing into her ears and muffling the sounds of the world above.
Panic surged through Martha as she flailed against Melina’s hold, her arms and legs kicking desperately. She clawed at the younger woman’s hands, but her strength was gone, her body weak and uncoordinated. She was too scared to think clearly of a tactic. The weight of exhaustion and the pressure of the water wrapped around her like a suffocating shroud.
Her lungs screamed for air as Melina kept her pinned beneath the surface. Martha’s thoughts spiraled into chaos, fear and desperation mixing with flashes of disbelief. This is it. She’s really going to kill me.
Her thrashing grew weaker as her body began to surrender, the fight draining from her with each passing second. Just as her vision began to darken, the pressure lifted. Suddenly, Melina lifted her to the surface, letting her breath, and Martha’s body shot upward instinctively, breaking the surface with a loud gasp.
Then Melina grabbed Martha’s face and closed in on her. With a smile she said:
- “Oh! Not! I am not going to kill you. That will happen Monday at the board’s reunion. I have already arranged things with the other board members. After the meeting, you'll be out, permanently. I'm not the only one who's had enough of you. And there's nothing you can do.” She let the words sink into Martha’s mind. And Martha knew it was true. Then Melina smiled and, with a sudden movement, pushed Martha away, who almost sank like a brick, paralyzed as she was by terror. She nevertheless managed to rise to the surface, soon enough to see Melina nimbly emerge from the pool.
So, Martha, exhausted, swam to the edge, with difficulty, empty of energy. After several efforts, she managed to climb onto the edge of the pool and remained lying on her back, catching her breath, agitated by convulsive sobs. Her chest heaved, revealing her protruding ribs.
Melina leaned over her victim lying helpless, drained of all energy. She reached out and grabbed Martha's bikini top. With a sudden movement, she tears off the small piece of fabric, revealing Martha's pale, flabby breasts, rising and falling to the rhythm of her laborious breathing.
Melina smiled, savoring the moment. She looked contemptuously at Martha and said: "Pitiful: soft and flat." Then she threw the bikini top into the water and turned back, walking away without another glance.
Martha was crying.
Never had she so hated her own body, which had betrayed her at such a moment. His muscles atrophied by age had done him no favors. She had felt like a toy in the clutches of her enemy, and the only reason she was still alive was because the other woman had decided she wasn't worth killing.
She admitted defeat and decided not to even go to the board meeting the following Monday. She would no longer have the courage.
Good luck to Melina.
The End
