[amgy5]

The key clicked in the lock.

Margareth didn’t knock. She didn’t need to — she had the key. A gift from her son during “happier” times. As she pushed the door open, the scent of jasmine and candle wax drifted from the apartment’s depths. She stepped inside, her wide frame brushing against the edge of the hallway mirror.

“I hope you’re ready for this, Liz,” she muttered to herself. “You asked for it.”

She expected to find Liz alone. Vulnerable. Maybe even crying over Tom. But what she saw as she turned the corner into the living room stopped her dead.

Liz lay sprawled on the cream-colored sofa in a short white dress, one bare leg curled over the edge. Her fiery red hair glowed in the dim light. And lying beside her — half-dressed, shirt undone, breath slow and guilty — was **Jack**.

Margareth's **second husband**, the athletic **56-year-old** man she’d married for his good looks and strength, was sprawled across the sofa in an awkward position. He had once been the picture of masculinity — tall at 6’1” and broad-shouldered, a man with muscles that had withstood decades of grueling workouts. But now, his pride had been completely deflated.

Margareth’s stomach churned. **She** was 55, standing at a mere 5'3", and at **197 lbs**, she was far from the woman she used to be. She was still a force in her own right, but everything about Liz — from her 5'6" height and **139 lbs** of toned muscle, to her confidence, her appearance, and her obvious success — reminded Margareth of what she had never achieved.

“You—YOU BASTARDS!” she screamed.

Jack jumped up in a panic, fumbling with his shirt. “Margie, it’s not what it looks like—”

“Shut up!” she screamed, voice cracking with anger. “You — both of you — think I’m a fool? You really think I’m that stupid?”

Jack was already on his feet, desperately trying to calm her down, but Margareth wasn’t hearing any of it. She wasn’t focused on him anymore. Her eyes locked onto Liz.

“I never should’ve let you into my son’s life,” Margareth hissed, stepping toward her. “You’ve ruined everything. You destroyed him.”

Liz sat up slowly. Her **green eyes** fixed on Margareth, unblinking. “I didn’t destroy anything. Your son left because he couldn’t live in your toxic environment. I loved him... but I love myself more.”

The words hit Margareth like a slap. Her face reddened with rage, her body shaking. She needed to act.

Margareth launched at Liz with a guttural roar, grabbing a nearby vase from the table and hurling it at Jack. He ducked, narrowly avoiding the projectile.

But Liz... Liz didn’t flinch.

With the door slammed shut behind Jack, Margareth and Liz were alone. **The game was set.**



Margareth was trembling, her hands shaking with fury. She was **55**, standing at 5'3" and weighed **197 lbs**, yet she felt the fire inside her that had always made her powerful. She raised her fists, glaring at Liz, who stood perfectly calm before her.

Liz, on the other hand, had the advantage. Her **fiery red hair** fell in loose waves around her shoulders, the snake tattoo on her back a symbol of her freedom. Her body was lean and toned, muscles sculpted from years of consistent workouts. She looked, **at 27**, like the kind of woman who could take on the world — or in this case, Margareth.

Without a word, Margareth threw the first punch — a wild, untrained swing that caught Liz off guard for just a moment. The fist connected with Liz’s cheek, and the force of it made Liz stumble slightly. But she didn’t fall.

“Is that really all you’ve got?” Liz asked, her voice low and mocking.

Margareth lunged again, grabbing Liz’s hair and yanking her head back, but Liz barely reacted. She spun around, using Margareth’s own momentum against her, and **flipped the older woman onto the floor** with surprising speed. The impact shook the room.

“You think I’m some weak little girl you can push around?” Liz asked, her voice hard.

Margareth struggled, trying to push herself up, but Liz was already on top of her. Liz’s weight was not much more than Margareth’s, but her **fitness and precision** gave her the advantage. In a move that was both graceful and brutal, Liz **mounted her chest**, pinning Margareth down, knees pressing into her arms.

“You’re slow,” Liz observed, her calm voice cutting through the chaos. “You’re used to yelling and manipulating. I’m used to fighting. So if you want to keep going, go ahead.”

Margareth growled beneath her, trying to buck Liz off, but Liz just shifted her weight and slapped Margareth’s face, hard.

**SLAP.**

Margareth’s head jerked to the side, her cheek burning from the sting. Her rage exploded in her chest.

“You’ll regret this, you little snake!” Margareth screamed, trying to twist beneath Liz, but Liz was already ahead of her.

With ease, Liz slapped Margareth again.

**SLAP.**

And again.

**SLAP. SLAP.**

The slaps came faster now, each one harder than the last, ringing out through the room. Margareth’s face grew redder with each hit, her vision blurring as tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. **This wasn’t supposed to happen**. She wasn’t supposed to lose. She wasn’t supposed to be humiliated like this.

**SLAP.**

**SLAP.**

Liz’s calm voice was almost mocking now. “This is what happens when you think you can control people with your temper. But I’m not afraid of you.”

Margareth writhed beneath her, her mind spinning. She tried to claw at Liz’s legs, but her arms were pinned. Each slap stung worse than the last, and she could feel herself losing the fight — and her dignity.



Liz stood, wiping her hand on her dress like she had just brushed away a nuisance. She unlocked the door, her movements slow, deliberate. As she turned around, she met Jack’s eyes.

“Come in,” Liz said coolly. Jack hesitated but stepped inside, still clutching his leg where Margareth had bitten him earlier.

But before he could speak, Margareth lunged — her **55-year-old body** propelled by pure desperation. She **bit into Jack’s leg again**, her teeth sinking into his flesh.

Jack screamed in pain, stumbling back, but Liz didn’t flinch.

Without hesitation, Liz stepped forward. **She placed her barefoot** on Margareth’s face, applying just enough pressure to keep her still.

Margareth’s eyes widened, rage and humiliation fighting for dominance in her chest.

“Enough, Margie,” Liz whispered softly, her voice steady. She pressed her foot harder against Margareth’s face, silencing the older woman’s muffled growls.

Liz turned to Jack, brushing her hair over her shoulder as she kissed him deeply, her lips soft against his. The **defiance** was undeniable, the **symbolic victory** clear.

As Liz pulled away from the kiss, she couldn’t help but **chuckle** lightly. Jack joined in, a dark, amused laugh escaping his lips.

“Can you believe this?” Jack asked, shaking his head. “Look at her.”

Liz glanced down at Margareth, her foot still pressed firmly against her face, her body humiliated and defeated beneath them.

“Not much of a challenge after all,” Liz smirked, laughing with Jack again.

“Pathetic,” Jack added with a scoff.

Margareth’s muffled screams grew more desperate, but no one was listening. Liz and Jack stood there, victorious, their laughter ringing out in the silence of the apartment.

Margareth lay there, defeated and broken, unable to do anything but watch them kiss again — a mocking display of what she could never control.

[amgy5]

“The Snake on Her Back” – Part II

Two months had passed since Tom left the city.

He had tried everything—changing cities, jobs, even therapists. But nothing quieted the ache that gnawed at his chest each night. He missed Liz. Missed her voice, her scent, her arms. Despite everything, despite his mother’s endless spite, he knew deep down Liz had been right to leave.

So he came back.

He didn’t tell anyone. No messages. No calls. Just a key in his pocket, the same key Liz had given him when things were good.

When he arrived at her apartment, he hesitated. But before he could knock, the door opened. And what he saw inside left him paralyzed.


Liz stood in the middle of the living room, poised and stunning as ever. **At 27, 5’6”, 139 lbs**, her figure hadn’t changed—tight white tank top hugging her toned body, her **red hair** shimmering, and that **snake tattoo** coiled down her back like it belonged to a queen.

Across from her, breathing heavily, stood his mother.

**Margareth**, **55 years old**, **5’3”, 197 lbs**, wore a tight cardigan and stretch pants that strained at the seams. Her face was already red, her blonde hair slightly damp from sweat. And her eyes—those fierce, judgmental eyes—locked onto Liz like a target she refused to miss.

“You’re back,” Liz said, her voice calm, seeing Tom standing stunned at the doorway.

Tom could barely get out a word. “What’s… going on?”

Margareth turned, flustered. “You shouldn’t be here. This is none of your concern.”

“None of my—what is happening?!”

“This is overdue,” Margareth hissed, returning her glare to Liz. “She’s a snake. She broke you. She destroyed this family.”

Liz rolled her eyes. “You tried this already. You want another reminder?”

“Stay out of it, Tom!” Margareth barked. “If I don’t put her in her place now, no one ever will.”

Tom didn’t move. He couldn’t. He was frozen in place—confused, torn, powerless.



Margareth charged, louder this time, her pride still bruised from their first encounter. But Liz was already ready. She’d seen that wild desperation before.

She dodged Margareth’s first swing with ease. Then a second. The moment Margareth stumbled slightly, Liz swept her foot behind Margareth’s and brought the older woman crashing down onto the floor.

“Same as last time,” Liz muttered, stepping over her.

Margareth growled and got up, but Liz grabbed her by the wrist, spun her, and with perfect control **put her flat on her back** again, the floor vibrating under the impact.

Tom stared, mouth open. “Mom—stop! Liz!”

“No,” Liz snapped, as she **mounted Margareth again**, her toned legs pinning the older woman’s arms down. “She came for this. So she gets it.”

Margareth thrashed, but she couldn’t move. Liz was too fast, too strong, too balanced.

**SLAP.**

Tom flinched.

**SLAP. SLAP.**

Margareth let out a groan as her cheeks turned red from the rapid strikes.

“She doesn’t listen. She just attacks,” Liz said calmly, her voice rising so Tom could hear it. “Your mother never accepted that she can't control everything.”

“Get off me!” Margareth spat.

**SLAP.**

Liz leaned down, her face inches from Margareth’s. “I told you not to come back for more.”

She glanced up at Tom, who stood completely still in the doorway, eyes wide with disbelief. “I didn’t start this, Tom. She did. Again.”

Margareth’s face was flushed and sweaty, hair sticking to her skin, pinned and helpless under Liz’s control. She made one last attempt to escape, but Liz caught her by the shoulders and **pushed her back down with ease**, placing one hand firmly on her chest.

Then, with absolute confidence, Liz stood.

And in one final gesture, she **placed her foot on Margareth’s chest** in full view of Tom—**a victory pose**, calm and powerful.

She turned to Tom. “You want the truth? This is who your mother really is when she can’t win.”

Margareth, breathless and broken beneath Liz’s foot, stared at her son with glassy eyes.

Tom looked like his soul had been pulled out of his chest. He opened his mouth but no words came. His gaze shifted between Liz, standing tall, and his mother, flattened and humiliated.

Just then, the front door opened again.

-Jack.

He froze at the scene, set his briefcase down, and chuckled. “Round two?”

Liz smirked. “She came back for more.”

Without shame, Jack walked up to Liz, kissed her full on the lips, his hand casually sliding along her waist.

Margareth groaned in frustration, but couldn’t move. Her son and husband stood there watching, unable to stop what had happened.

Jack and Liz broke their kiss, and Liz looked over her shoulder.

Tom didn’t speak. His face was pale. The weight of everything hit him at once—the truth about Liz, Jack, his mother, himself.

He turned without a word, walked to the door...

This time, he didn’t look back.


Liz’s foot rested on Margareth’s chest, cool and commanding. The older woman’s breath came in ragged bursts beneath her.

The door creaked again.

**Tom.** He still hadn’t moved. Still standing in the doorway. Pale. Silent.

Margareth shifted under Liz’s foot, face red and streaked with sweat. Her voice cracked as she looked up at her son.

“Tom... please...”

Liz raised an eyebrow but didn’t move.

Margareth’s eyes filled with tears now—*real* ones. Not angry. Not manipulative. Just broken. “I ruined everything, Tom. I drove her away. I pushed you away. I... I was wrong.”

Tom blinked slowly, like the words were echoing in a place long closed off.

“Please... son. Forgive me. Don’t leave me like this...”

There was silence.

Then, slowly, Tom took one step backward.

His face didn’t change. No anger. No expression at all. Just exhaustion.

“No,” he said. Quiet. Sharp. Final.

He turned and walked out the door.

Margareth reached after him weakly with one trembling hand, but she couldn’t lift Liz’s weight off her chest. Her fingers curled in defeat.

Jack, now standing beside Liz, placed a hand around her waist. “That went well,” he muttered.

Liz exhaled through her nose with a small, victorious smirk.

Margareth lay pinned beneath her—abandoned, exposed, and forgotten.

And above her, Liz and Jack stood together—still, composed, and very much in control.

**The snake had struck again. And this time, the wound wouldn’t heal.**

[amgy5]

FINAL PART!

Grey clouds loomed over the bus station as Margareth waited with a small suitcase by her feet.

She wore dark sunglasses and a long coat, trying to blend into the crowd. She had been quiet for weeks, barely speaking, avoiding Jack, and especially Liz. The apartment, once her fortress, had become a gilded cage. Jack didn’t look at her the same. Liz barely acknowledged her. The balance had shifted. Permanently.

And now, at 55, humiliated three times, Margareth was finally trying to escape.

Her plan was simple: leave the city. Start over. Maybe upstate. A small town. Somewhere no one knew her.

But fate — or Liz — wasn’t done yet.


Liz appeared like a shadow on the platform. Her red hair tied back into a high ponytail. She was dressed sharply—white blouse, fitted black skirt, and black stilettos that clicked on the pavement like a metronome of confidence. The snake tattoo peeked out just slightly from her collar.

“Going somewhere?” Liz asked coolly, her voice barely raised.

Margareth turned slowly. She tried to keep her posture upright, proud. But she shrank slightly just seeing Liz again.

“I’m leaving,” Margareth said. “You’ve won. Isn’t that enough?”

Liz glanced down at the suitcase. “You don’t get to just disappear. Not after everything.”

“I’ve lost everything,” Margareth snapped, but her voice trembled. “What more do you want?”

Liz tilted her head. “Just a moment. Come.”

She gestured toward the public restroom just inside the terminal. The way she said it — calm, firm — made Margareth hesitate. But her feet moved on their own.


The door shut behind them. Empty. Silent. Cold tiles reflected the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights above.

Margareth stood by the sink. Liz leaned back against the counter. Her heels clicked once as she shifted weight.

“You know,” Liz said, adjusting one of the thin straps of her stiletto, “you were so sure of yourself. So loud. So controlling. But now...”

Margareth looked away.

“I thought if I could just get away, I’d have peace,” Margareth whispered.

Liz stepped forward. She didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t touch her. She just let her presence speak.

“You never had peace,” Liz said. “Not because of me. Because of you.”

Margareth looked down. Her eyes stopped at Liz’s feet — polished black stilettos, clean lines, red-painted toes barely peeking out from the front. Something about the sight stung. Not the heel. Not the foot. What it represented.

Control. Confidence. Everything she had once wanted.

She sank to the bench beside the sink, head bowed.

“I fought you because I couldn’t be you,” Margareth said finally. Her voice cracked. “And now I know... I never will be.”

"Down on your knees"  - said Liz! Margareth immediately fell on her knees in front of Liz. Liz grabbed Margareth's head and turned Margareth's face into her feet.
-KISS THEM! - she demanded.
Margareth started kissing Liz's feet and put Liz's beautiful toes in her mouth.
Liz was standing there proudly.


Margareth looked up, defeated but honest. “I’ll stay. I know I’ve lost. And maybe that’s better than pretending I ever had control.”

Liz gave a faint smile. Not cruel. Not victorious. Just… resolved.

She stepped forward and gently tapped her heel once on the tile, next to Margareth’s feet. Then turned.

“I’m glad you see it now.”


Margareth never left the city.

She lived in the same house with Jack and Liz — not a prisoner, not quite a guest. Just someone who had lost her war, dignity and found strange comfort in surrender.

She stopped trying to fight, or scheme. She stayed quiet during dinners. She handed over financial decisions to Jack. And when Liz entered a room, Margareth looked away. Not out of fear, but acknowledgment.

The snake had never needed to strike again.

She had already won.

THE END

[amgy5]

Here is a pic of them both

[SilvyZ]

Wow, great story. Thanks for sharing it