Dona Irene (continued)

[MuscleWomanBR]

The text of this post was removed because it was in Portuguese... Sorry!

[MuscleWomanBR]

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[MuscleWomanBR]

Marcos was moved by the story. Under the mask, two tears ran down his face. Sitting on the floor, with his arms crossed over his knees, during the story he even forgot about the mask and the chain, the captivity, the beatings, the more than two months there, confined in a small house by the woman who now moved him. But Dona Irene wasn't finished.
- It hurt a lot, but I understood the lesson. I didn't have to be a man. In fact, I didn't even want to be one. I just wanted him to like me. But he never loved me. He wanted a son, not me. So now it was up to me. He would have to put up with me. - Dona Irene shifted on the bench, stretching briefly. Marcos cringed, thinking that she would suddenly start beating him, like the other times, apparently for no reason. But she was just stretching her hard muscles to continue her long story. - He would have to put up with the fact that I'm a woman. I think my father didn't like women. He mistreated my mother a lot. He beat her. And after he beat me, he never missed a chance to humiliate me, because I let my hair grow, put on earrings and bought skirts, dresses and high heels. I continued working hard on the farm, without receiving a cent, just for the house and food. He gave me increasingly heavy tasks. It seemed like he wanted to finish me off. My hands were covered in calluses. He took me out of school before I finished high school. He said he wouldn't support a tramp. He started calling me a "transvestite". He said I was neither a woman nor a man. One day he introduced me like this, to a visitor: "This here is my pet freak." - She shed a tear. After a short pause, she moved her athletic shoulders in a circle, as if she were about to box, and assumed a haughty posture. - I was already nineteen when I started dating. When I brought my boyfriend home for the first time, he immediately said: "Be careful what you find between her legs, okay?". After the boy left, I found my father in the kitchen, looked him in the eye, and said quietly but angrily: "I am a woman, I am your daughter, I work as hard as you do, and from now on everything is equal." He smiled in the most disgusting way. And he slapped me so hard on the ear that I fell, hitting my head on the edge of the sink. He opened a wound on my forehead. I still have a scar. That was when I learned another lesson. If I wanted to be a woman, I had to fight for it. – Another pause. Another stretch. Marcos sensed the outcome. – I didn't know I wasn't like other girls. I was strong. Very strong. Inside and out. I found that out when the tractor wheel fell on his leg. I picked it up by myself. And then I picked him up. I carried my father, a 90-kilo man, all the way home while my mother called the ambulance. After that, he never humiliated me again.
Marcos stretched out his legs. He was tired of the position. He wanted to get up. Walk around that small space a little. Think about that story alone. But Mrs. Irene gave no sign that she was finished. She was the one who got up, this time to stretch completely. The former fighter let out a sigh, but out of impatience.
"Today I feel sorry for my first boyfriends. Because I discovered that they all looked like my father. Only they weren't him. And I had to show that to one of them. He wanted to have sex with me. I told him I didn't want to. He insisted. I told him no. Then he stuck his hand under my skirt. I slapped him so hard... Then he punched me in the face. And another one... I didn't know how to fight, but I rushed at him in a bear hug." Mrs. Irene was visibly excited. Her face was on fire. The arms reproducing the hug. – And he punched my head. Then I slammed him so hard against the wall that the guy passed out on the spot. – His face took on a sadistic expression. – I've never felt so good. – Dona Irene approached her spectator and sat on her titanic thighs. Her face was almost glued to her former trainer's. – Do you understand? I've never felt so good. I discovered the beast. And I learned to unleash it.

[MuscleWomanBR]

The text of this post was removed because it was in Portuguese... Sorry!

[MuscleWomanBR]

In the lower middle class neighborhoods of São Paulo, so-called "semi-detached houses" are common. Most of them were built between the 1930s and 1970s. Although modest – but dignified – they are solid, well-built, and usually have a small backyard, separated from the neighbors on the sides by a narrow and high wall. What Marcos and Dona Irene didn't know is that, that night, at that exact moment, Dona Isolina was hanging out the laundry on the clothesline in her backyard when she heard strange sounds coming from the lonely neighbor. She listened carefully. They didn't sound like Dona Irene's grunts while lifting weights. She had the impression that a fight was going on there. She heard fragments of shouted words along with the grunts of someone who was suffering. Sometimes they were grunts. Sometimes they were moans. The voice was male. But the screams were from the fifty-something neighbor, whose words Dona Isolina couldn't quite distinguish. Holding a shirt that smelled of laundry, she was torn. "What could be happening, my God?" she thought. "Could it be a robbery? Or has Irene found a boyfriend and is having fun?" She thought that perhaps she should call the police. After hesitating for a few seconds, she decided to take a peek. She grabbed a ladder from her outbuilding and, with difficulty and very afraid of falling, climbed up to the edge of the wall. Dona Irene's yard was deserted and dark, but light came in under the door of the outbuilding. Now she was sure that it was a fight. And a very violent one. She heard banging on the closed door, as if a body was colliding with it. Dona Isolina's heart started racing. And she ran downstairs as fast as she could. She ran upstairs, to her son André's room, who was stretched out on the bed, watching something on his cell phone, wearing only a pair of loose shorts.
"Son, run to Irene's!" shouted Dona Isolina, out of breath. – There's a big fight going on over there!
– A fight?!
– Run, son! No, no, go just the way you are!
Barefoot, and pushed by his mother, he hurriedly went down the stairs, opened the door of the house in desperation, jumped over the wall of the widow's little garden and rang the doorbell several times in a row. Until the sound reached the ears of the fifty-year-old woman, who at that moment was holding Marcos by the collar after a series of punches to his face. Kneeling, with his arms hanging down at his sides, he was bleeding from the holes in his mask. He seemed conscious, but defeated. He moaned softly. The doorbell rang incessantly. Dona Irene let her prisoner collapse on the floor and left, hurriedly, locking the door. "Coming! Coming!" she shouted, while putting on her robe.
– Dona Irene! – shouted André, while the "old woman" was still unlocking the door. – Is everything okay there?!
The lady opened the door a little, feigning sleepiness.
- What do you mean? Of course everything is fine... I was already lying down...
André was a young man with big black eyes and dark, curly hair. He was almost two meters tall. He was so thin that his ribs were visible.
- It's just that my mother heard some strange noises in your backyard. It sounded like a fight...
Dona Irene smiled sympathetically.
- Your mother was drinking, huh? – she said, good-naturedly. – There's no fighting in my backyard. Who would have thought of such an idea...
- Isn't there a thief there, Dona Irene? If you want, I'll go and take a look for you...
- No! – she shouted, furious, but soon lowered her tone, trying to compose herself. – No... It's fine. I'll go and see for myself. – She flexed an arm, felt her biceps under the sleeve of her robe and winked at the young man, smiling. – You know, this old lady here works out. If there's someone in the yard, I'll make sure.
André also smiled, but awkwardly, embarrassed by the gesture, which he found ridiculous in a woman his mother's age.

[Wookey]

Enjoying the background

[MuscleWomanBR]

Thanks!

[MuscleWomanBR]

When she returned to the outbuilding, Mrs. Irene found Marcos still lying there, moaning. And she feared that this time she had overdone it.
After telling her her memories and sitting on her thighs, the obsessive bodybuilder clasped Marcos's head between her hands and violently slammed it against the wall. The former fighter had no time to react or prepare himself. He lost consciousness for a few seconds, and when he regained consciousness, still dazed, he was unable to defend himself from the series of punches to his face, which was protected by the mask. Marcos was moaning. His moans excited the woman, who screamed repeatedly: "Hang on!", "Where's the stud?!", "Where's the male?!", "Where's the strong guy?!", "Where's the champion?!", "Who's in charge here?!" Mrs. Irene dragged her former trainer by the collar and threw him against the door. Bloody drool was dripping from the mouth hole in the mask, and sad moans were escaping. The athletic fifty-something woman held the former fighter against the door and stood him up, while she threw the remaining chain onto the steel clothesline. With that, she was able to hold him up with one hand, which was pulling the chain, and beat him with the other, now mercilessly punishing his torso, while she repeated her screams. Until she heard the insistent doorbell.

For the first time since she had put it on, Mrs. Irene decided to remove Marcos' mask. A foul smell emanated from the piece. The man's masculine and handsome face was unrecognizable due to the swelling. Blood was running down his mouth. The woman examined it carefully. All his teeth were there. But there were cuts on his lips and the inside of his mouth. His gums were also bleeding. "Nothing serious," she concluded. "He can handle it better."

* * *

[MuscleWomanBR]

– I've said it a thousand times, Mom: the woman wouldn't let me in. She didn't even open the door properly.

André was at the breakfast table in the kitchen, a little impatient with his mother's insistence, who apparently hadn't slept well.

– But that's not possible! Am I going crazy? Because I could clearly hear the sounds of fighting, the screams, the moans... André, someone was getting beaten up in there!

– Mom, go over there and talk to her! I didn't see anything. She seemed normal. I think she was even sleeping. And the woman wouldn't let me in...

Dona Isolina leaned back in her chair, admiring her son, dressed in his work uniform. He was a good "child" – as she saw that skinny 22-year-old giant. At 1.57 meters tall, she felt tiny next to the boy she had adopted when he was just a few days old. She was overflowing with love for him.

After André left, Dona Isolina tidied the kitchen and went to see Dona Irene. That story needed to be clarified. Something had happened to the neighbor the night before.
"What's wrong, Lina?" the aspiring karateka asked, wearing the newly purchased white kimono with the door ajar.
"Irene, what's going on?"
"What do you mean?"
"I heard the sound of fighting and moaning in your backyard last night. What's going on?"
Dona Irene threw open the door. She planted both bare feet on the ground, with her hands on her hips. Her gaze was fulminating.
"Are you spying on me, Lina?! Do you know that's a crime?! I'm going to report you to the police!"
Dona Isolina had never seen her neighbor so angry and threatening. She felt intimidated.
"And now get out of here! You interrupted my training." And she slammed the door.
Late in the afternoon, Dona Isolina told her son about the scene. André was furious.
"What is that old woman thinking?!"
– Calm down, son, let's forget about this...
– How can we forget? That crazy woman mistreats you, humiliates you and gets away with it?! You're worried about her and that's how she responds? I'm going to go get some explanations.
– No, André! Leave Lina to her craziness...
But the young man had already gotten up, striding furiously towards the neighbor's house.
Ms. Irene opened the door a little with undisguised irritation. Sweaty, she was wearing a sports bra with leggings. The young man noticed the athlete's muscles that the woman displayed.
– What happened to you?! Why don't you leave me alone?!
– Look, Ms. Irene, you can do whatever you want with your life, but don't treat my mother like that...
– Or what, brat?! – Ms. Irene shouted, throwing open the door. From the bottom up, she stared at the giant 35 centimeters taller.
André didn't back down. – Or I'll be the one to report you to the police.

Mrs. Irene, ready to show off her fighting skills, turned her shoulders and then her torso, still staring at André. She imagined grabbing him by the collar and saying: "Would you rather be beaten up out here or in there?" And, without waiting for an answer, she would drag him inside and grind that mountain of bones with an avalanche of punches, elbows and knees. But she knew it was time to contain the beast.

"Listen here, kid, go back to your mother's skirt and tell her not to snoop around in my life anymore." – And she slammed the door.

André was outraged and started ringing the doorbell countless times. The door opened abruptly and suddenly, and a mae-geri knocked the young man onto the plants in the small garden. Mrs. Irene jumped on him, landing her feet between his shoulders. – I could beat you up right now, kid, but this is just a warning: leave me alone! If you or any other son of a bitch comes to bother me again, I'll show you what I'm capable of...
With a sharp pain in his ribs, André groaned and crawled backwards. He wanted nothing more than to get out of there. From the sidewalk, leaning against the garden wall, Mrs. Isolina watched the scene, open-mouthed.
* * *

[MuscleWomanBR]

The day dawned cold.

Marcos had learned to tell time by the lines he drew with his fingernail on the bathroom door. According to his calculations, he had been confined for three months. His hopes had faded. He was certain he would die there. His body would not withstand the repeated beatings, no matter how much Mrs. Irene took care of his diet and physical conditioning. He exercised a lot, with or without her, who strictly applied a rigorous program to strengthen all of the ex-fighter's muscles. But he used the equipment available for most of the day. He had no choice, including to keep from going crazy. However, this was not enough to alleviate the anguish of loneliness and the prospect of spending the rest of his life in that room, exposed to the madness of a woman who only thought about defeating him, humiliating him, subduing him, breaking him. That was how he felt. The "old woman's" repertoire of perversions seemed endless. Nothing satisfied her. The last time she had come to show her "who's boss here", the woman had grabbed his underwear from behind and lifted him up, squeezing his scrotum and tucking the underwear between his buttocks, like a thong. And she paraded around with him like that, inside the outbuilding. The pain was excruciating. There was no way to react or defend herself: her arms were handcuffed behind her back. But it wasn't enough. While she did this, Mrs. Irene told her about Sandra. And about everything that was happening between the two of them.

After their first meeting, encouraged by her new black belt friend, the sporty fifty-something woman enrolled in a Kyokushin style karate class – the same as Sandra. She was placed among the beginners, but the following week they gave her an orange belt. Which soon proved to be insufficient. So she jumped to the blue belt and, after just over a month at the gym, which she started going to every day, she was already in the yellow belt. Dona Irene tried to find times that coincided with Sandra's training sessions, always at night, always trying to meet her in the bathroom of the locker room, always looking for an opportunity to be alone. She never managed to do so. Until a storm cut the power for hours, emptying the gym. The black belt stayed to close the establishment, after everyone had left. Dona Irene did not train that night. She was ready to step onto the mat when everything went dark. Dressed in her impeccable kimono, she sat in a corner of the room and waited patiently.
When everything quieted down, she saw the beam of light from the flashlight that Sandra was using to inspect the facilities, before closing them. She was startled when the beam illuminated the hieratic figure of the woman who had been dominating her erotic fantasies. Dona Irene, barefoot, stood up, put her hands on her waist, highlighting her yellow belt, and smiled.
- Hello, Sandra.

[MuscleWomanBR]

The sexual pleasure to which the two women gave themselves, almost without prior words, exceeded the sensuality and creativity of pornographic films because it was real and sincere. They allowed themselves what was socially forbidden, especially due to machismo. Neither of them had ever felt so free sexually from taboos and prejudices. A 29-year-old woman and a 58-year-old woman, together, finally allowed themselves to fulfill the repressed homoerotic desire of two women who knew they were athletic, powerful, and vigorous. It was an explosion of inventiveness, excited by the unusual capacities of their bodies, whose limits they explored intuitively. Each desperately wanted to feel the strength of the other. Each eagerly showed off her strength to the other. They did not compete. They simply fed off each other's reciprocal excitement.
Although Mrs. Irene was a titan, Sandra showed that her weight training was not just for "keeping in shape." He lifted the woman several times in bear hugs, falling with her onto the mat to try out new lying positions, before getting up once more to try out other forms of sex standing up. They would make any man envious of his most radical fantasies as a voyeur watching two women having sex. It was an explosion of energy and desire, in a voracity for shared pleasure that is very difficult for machismo to understand. At first, an unsuspecting person would think that, under the dim light of the lantern left on the floor, it was a fight. The screams accentuated the savagery of the scene. But no. There was nothing wild or abominable. These were two female bodies breaking the barrier of physical strength monopolized by men, and putting it at the service of erotic experimentation that was also denied to them by patriarchal culture. No, there was nothing absurd there. The two women had conquered the freedom to fulfill their fantasies without asking the men for permission – and even without them. Of course they got tired. And they needed long breaks to recover for another virtuous cycle towards the unfathomable limits of pleasure. Then they would lie side by side on the mat. Sweat dripping. A calm but contagious joy. The feeling of satiety and fullness after the shared orgasm. Until they began to get excited again, first with speeches that wandered through their most unspeakable, hidden and stimulating fantasies.

[MuscleWomanBR]

– I feel a volcano consuming me when I see you in a kimono and a black belt...
– And I run to the bathroom to masturbate every time I see you training, Irene...
– It's for you that I train...
– I want you in my class right away...
– I'll show you what I'm capable of...
– I want to see you fighting, Irene...
– I'll break all the black belts when I get to your class...
– I love your muscles... Your strength...
– I train to become stronger and stronger...
One had already found the other's clitoris while they exchanged compliments, requests and promises when Mrs. Irene threw herself on Sandra's thighs in a double biceps pose.
– I'll be the strongest woman you've ever seen, Sandra.
– I already am.
– No. I'll be stronger. I train all my muscles. Every day. Thinking of you...
Sandra began a series of sit-ups, nibbling, every time she went up, the swollen nipples of the muscular fifty-something's small breasts, who interspersed her speech with moans, now with her hands on the back of her neck, showing off her phenomenal abs to her partner.
- I lift... 20... on each... arm... I want... to reach... 30... by... the... end... of the year...
- Is that so, my goddess? – And Sandra interspersed her speech with nibbling, going up and down in her erotic series of sit-ups. – I like it. I want it. I want you strong. Very strong. I want you as a black belt. I want you, Irene...
Suddenly, the mature lady remembered Marcos. She had been at the gym for hours. She couldn't leave him alone for so long. She knew he wouldn't give up on his escape. Mrs. Irene stood up abruptly and went out, gathering up the pieces of clothing scattered on the mat. Sandra feared the worst.
- Was it something I said, Irene?
- No, no, my dear, I remembered that I need to be home... I forgot... – she tried to remember something plausible – ...the fish was out of the fridge. In this heat, it's dangerous for it to spoil...
Sandra wasn't convinced. She thought that perhaps the athletic lady had suddenly been overcome by guilt. After all, not even with Marcos, who was a virtuoso in bed, had the girl experienced so much boldness. And so much pleasure. It could have been too much for Mrs. Irene... But, when she realized that she had remembered her boyfriend, Sandra was the one who really felt guilty. The shadow of remorse fell over her. Mrs. Irene quickly left for the bathroom. The sound of the shower seemed to fill the entire gym. Such a drastic departure deepened Sandra's sadness, confused by the feeling that she was falling in love with the muscular aspiring karateka. It is obvious that Mrs. Irene was unaware of her partner's feelings, and above all of the confusion that had set in. For the kidnapper, everything had ended with the quick but hot kiss that the two shared when the "old lady" left the gym, leaving behind a scent of lavender that Sandra inhaled with longing. For Marcos, the story ended with the kiss. And with the loosening of his underwear.
- That's how I fucked your girlfriend, champ.
The prisoner squatted down to relieve the pain in his scrotum, but his underwear continued to divide his buttocks. For his macho pride, there could be nothing more humiliating. No less, however, than knowing about his girlfriend's sex with his kidnapper. Marcos felt shattered. And he gave in to the most desolate and overwhelming cry of his life.
* * *

[/cen[/font]ter]

[MuscleWomanBR]

* * *
– This isn't going to stay like this...
– Calm down, André.
– Calm down, Mom?! Calm down?! The crazy woman punches me in the ribs, almost breaking me, and you want to calm down?! Give me a break!
– And what are you going to do? Report it to the police?
– Of course!
– Who's going to believe that a man who's almost two meters tall was beaten by an old woman?
– But she's not just any old woman, Mom! She's a neurotic woman who works out all day and does karate... This woman is dangerous! Nowadays, there's no such thing as the "weaker sex" anymore. Didn't you see the Olympics? A bunch of women boxing, judo, karate, lifting weights...
– This is Brazil, André, not the Olympics. No one in the police will believe this story. You didn't break anything. That's fine. Now we'll forget about this and never talk to this crazy woman again. Leave her alone!
– Mom, didn't you see what she did to me?! Who can guarantee that she won't do it with someone else?
- It's not our problem. We'll stay quiet in our corner. Whoever wants to fight with her can pick a fight with her. I don't want any headaches for us. Forget about that woman!
* * *

[MuscleWomanBR]

* * *
André felt relieved when he finished registering the assault on the police website. It was really embarrassing to describe the violent blow inflicted on him by a woman in her late 60s, as well as the threats she made to him. "But the one who's going to get screwed is this bitch," he muttered, because he knew the police were obligated to investigate, no matter how absurd the situation seemed. "At the very least, she's going to be really embarrassed. I just want to see her face..." The most important thing, however, was that he was convinced there was something strange in that house. He didn't know what, but it was obvious that the "old lady" was hiding something. Could she be a drug dealer? A lady like that would be above suspicion...
In the house next door, there was no suspicion whatsoever that André had called the police. Mrs. Irene didn't even remember the episode. When she closed the door, after leaving the boy moaning in pain in the care of his mother, she was certain that she had frightened him enough so that he would never bother her again. While the young man was reporting her, she was busy answering Sandra's insistent messages – completely in love with the athletic fifty-something, as if she were a teenager experiencing her first love. Dona Irene made a point of reading them to Marcos – or making him listen to the scorching recordings of his girlfriend, reliving the night of pleasure they had shared. In the most recent session of this humiliation, the former fighter knelt before Dona Irene, with his hands clasped, crying and groaning, since the mask made it difficult for him to speak. She took pity on him. She knelt down and caressed that hard, tight leather mask that covered the sad face of the defeated man. But she didn't turn off the audio, which was playing a monologue by Sandra, recorded the night before:
– And not even Marcos had the strength to lift me like that, Irene... Putting my thighs on your muscular shoulders... Your strong hands holding my ass... Me holding your steel biceps... Feeling your strength as a woman... As a strong woman... Feeling your tongue deep in my pussy... Oh my... I'm masturbating here... for you, Irene...
The man remained kneeling with his hands clasped before his tormentor, begging. His shoulders were shaking in convulsive sobs. The woman stopped playing the audio and, in the oriental style of martial arts fighters, knelt before the kidnapped man. She was wearing a kimono with a yellow sash. Wearing it excited her. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her torso was straight. Her chest was projected forward. Her shoulders were aligned. Her hands were resting on her steel thighs. She was the very embodiment of power and self-confidence. – There is no way back, Marcos. As I told you, you had the misfortune of crossing paths with me. I feel sorry for you. I swear. I feel very sorry. – The former fighter cried painfully. – To get out of here, you will have to kill me, understand? You want to kill me, I know. I understand you. But the beast inside me will not let you. – The kidnapped man bent over, sobbing, touching the ground with his head. His shoulders were shaking. Dona Irene caressed the back of his neck. – Strength, boy, courage... – She whispered in his ear.

[MuscleWomanBR]

* * *
Nunes was the youngest investigator on the team, eager for a murky case that would satisfy his need for adrenaline or allow him to demonstrate his detective acumen. He had joined the police force more for the "taste of adventure," as he said, than for the salary, as well as the stability. However, when he was assigned to investigate Dona Irene's house, his first reaction was to burst into a torrent of curses. But he restrained himself. Any more aggressive stance would earn him more ostracism. "I'd better be content with the bone until they give me meat," he thought, repeating the resigned saying his father had taught him.
When he rang the lonely widow's doorbell, therefore, his expectations were insignificant. He assumed it would be yet another quarrel between neighbors, motivated by petty reasons, that would end in a reconciliatory barbecue between enemies, until they found another reason to fight. "People who have nothing to do...", he cursed, as he kept ringing the doorbell.
"Coming soon! Coming soon!" – Mrs. Irene shouted furiously. And she continued, even before opening the door, still shouting: – If it's you again, brat, I'll break your face!

When she opened the door a little, however, she found a man in his thirties, with dark green eyes, brownish hair cut close to his skull, a square jaw covered by the sexy stubble that accentuated his masculinity. Broad shoulders under an elegant gray blazer. He must have been about six feet tall. He was very convinced of his beauty.

He smiled politely, showing the gleaming results of the teeth whitening that had cost him more than half his salary.

– Mrs. Irene Angelucci de Oliveira?

– I'm not interested in buying anything, sir – she replied dryly, about to close the door.

– No, no... – Nunes, affecting good humor, accentuated his smile and charm, holding the door. – Actually, I'm a police investigator. My name is Afonso Nunes, but you can call me Nunes. – And he showed his credentials, renewing his dislike for his own name. Dona Irene turned pale. But she kept her haughtiness, opening the door wide. She was already thinking about what she would do with Dona Isolina's son.
- Yes?
- We received a complaint from André Luís Marques de Almeida. Do you know him? – Dona Irene nodded, impassive, with a nod. – He claims that, last night, you physically assaulted him, and then threatened to repeat the assault if he...
- He was bothering me...
- Bothering me?
- Yes, he came here late at night, with a story about a thief in my backyard... There was no thief... I was already asleep. He woke me up by ringing the doorbell like a madman. – Dona Irene tried a failed diversionary maneuver. – I think that boy had ulterior motives. – In the complaint, he says that Mrs. Isolina Tolentino de Almeida... Do you know her?
– She's his mother.
– That his mother had heard strange noises in her backyard. And that he had come here, at her request, to see if she was okay.
– Lies! – She yelled. Nunes stared at the interlocutor, indignant at her uncontrollable change of mood. – That kid and his mother were snooping around in my life!
– Do you confirm the assault and the threat, Mrs. Irene?
The muscular fifty-something woman hesitated for a few seconds before convincing herself that it would be more prudent to tell the truth.
– Yes.
With discretion and trained speed, Nunes examined the woman in front of him. Only then did he notice her extraordinarily athletic physique, displayed in the skimpy gym attire. Her sweaty hair betrayed the intensity of the exercises interrupted by the police investigation. The figure impressed the investigator, who was still uncertain about the true reasons for the attack.
- And the strange noises your neighbor heard?
- I don't know where Lina got that from. I didn't hear anything. I didn't see anything strange.
- Didn't anything disappear?
- No, nothing.
Nunes looked Mrs. Irene straight in the eyes. She answered him with a hard look. In the few seconds in which the silence broke through the distrust with which they studied each other, in a kind of ring where they were about to fight through words, the woman examined alternatives to take control of the situation, protecting her secret. The policeman was masculine and attractive - the kind that excited her. He could join Marcos... Or she could invite him to come in and surprise him with her karate, perhaps giving him a fatal blow. The idea of ​​murdering a man - and a policeman - made her regain her cool. But the bureaucratic outcome took her out of that dead end. – Well, you will be summoned to appear at the police station for questioning and will be charged with the crime of physical assault. Article 129 of the Penal Code.

When she closed the door, she felt fragile for the first time since she had discovered her strength – physical and emotional. Her heart was racing. "My God, what am I doing?"

* * *

[Wookey]

Bullying is still bullying. Assault is still assault. Kidnapping is still kidnapping Irrespective of which gender undertakes it.

Story and character arc is at an interesting place.

Looking forward to next chapter. K++++