Mixed wrestling, 180 pictures 1920x1080 (FullHD), no nudity, no blood.

Sandra had just retired. Divorced, and with grown-up children, she had left a full-time, demanding job teaching, and was now suddenly a woman of leisure. So she booked a quiet week away by the sea. Her days were spent as you would expect a retired teacher to spend them: when she wasn’t walking along the various coastal paths, she was visiting museums or archaeological sites.

But today she felt like “slumming it”. It was a lovely sunny day, so she thought she would go to the nearby popular beach, hire a deck chair, and spend the day sun-bathing, swimming, and gorging on ice-cream.

While she was sitting reading, a football landed beside her and showered her in sand. She looked up, none too pleased, and saw a group of young men. They were 18 y.o., laughing about one of their number being a useless goal-keeper.

“Fuck off!” he answered good humouredly to them, before running in Sandra’s direction to retrieve the ball. He picked it up, right next to Sandra’s deck chair and turned to go back.

“Young man,” Sandra addressed him, with a voice used to authority.

“Who, me?” he asked.

“Indeed.”

“Well?”

“Where are your manners? That ball half-covered me in sand.”

“Yeah, well it was an accident.”

“I accept that, but you should know how to behave, and apologise.”

“Are you a teacher or something, then?”

“Just retired. But I taught Ancient History and…”

“Thought so. You look like a leftover from those times.”

With that he ran back to his friends, and all Sandra could do was glare after him for a moment. Still, she wasn’t going to let a young lout like that spoil her day, so she brushed the sand off, picked up her things, and moved along the beach away from the game.

A few pages of her book later, she could hear the sound of laughing again. She looked up and saw that the football game had followed her, and was as close as it had been previously. Then, sure enough, the same thing happened, and the same young man was running towards her to get the ball. Without hesitating, Sandra picked the ball up and threw it in the opposite direction, noticing with satisfaction a dog go running after it.

“Oi, Grandma,” the young man said when he reached her, “you just threw our ball away.”

“I did, and it looks as if you’re going to have to dispute possession of it with that dog. That’s if your intellectual capacity is equal to the challenge.”

“That’s pretty tough talk for a book nerd.”

“I’d be delighted to back it up,” Sandra told him, squaring up.

“Come on then, bitch!”

They both heard the laughter coming from the young man’s friends at this unexpected entertainment for them, but they ignored it while they first stared at, and then warily circled, each other.

“If you need any help, Casey, just yell!” they both heard, but that young man didn’t even blink. Instead he kicked, but Sandra warded it off. Undeterred, he high kicked with the other, right, leg; Sandra was equal to that one as well, and blocked it with her left arm. He found the look of calm concentration on her face a little troubling.

Casey tried twice more to break Sandra’s defences. But she showed herself to be adaptable and quick, warding off one strike firmly with both arms, and leaning out of the way of the other. She tutted contemptuously and turned away as if she had lost interest – but hooked her right foot up smartly into Casey’s groin, while his right leg was still stretched out from a fruitless kick. She felt him freeze in response to her kick, and found the exclamations of surprise and “sympathy pain” from his friends most satisfying.

She slammed hard with her foot. Casey wailed and lost his balance. Seeing him partially collapse, Sandra instantly exploited her advantage. She was astride his back in a trice; she rammed him down hard on the sand by sitting on him, and hauled his left arm up into a twist.

“It’s a pity you interrupted me earlier, Casey,” she hissed at him, while manipulating his arm painfully, “because you would have heard that as well as Ancient History, I taught the final year girls self-defence. Once they turned 18, I took them for an intensive course so they could protect themselves against creeps like you.”

He tried to counter, by saying something clever, but it’s not easy when your arm feels as if it’s being mangled, and every time you go to say something you get sand in your mouth. So it was a relief – albeit temporary – when Sandra spun him onto his back and gripped his right leg in the crook of her right leg, and clamped it against her other leg. But then she began to use her formidable leg strength to prize his leg into the “pain zone”, meanwhile keeping up the torture on his left arm.

Trapped, and enduring steadily-increasing pain, Casey swore and cried out in frustration and alarm. His friends were now watching in silence, fascinated, as Sandra pinned him crossways, and turned her fearsome skill to his left leg, which she locked in her right arm. All the time she still had his left arm in its unrelenting trap. She steadily raised the pain dial on both these limbs, causing Casey to yelp again.

At last she relinquished his arm, but it would be useless to Casey for some time because she seemed to have extracted all the life from it. Before he could respond – before, in fact he even noticed – she had vaulted over him so she faced away from him. She grabbed his ankles in her strong hands and sat on his shins. Now she did the same with his feet as she had done with his arm, forcing them at unnatural angles away from each talus, which now felt as if it was burning.

“Christ, she’s strong!” thought Casey, while she worked away. He wouldn’t want to meet any of the young women who had been to her classes!

Now what was she doing? She turned round and sat over him, with her legs either side of him, and seized his arms. Then she hauled. Casey, who followed wrestling on television, felt it was like a camel clutch … now it WAS a camel clutch. Yes, she was sitting on the small of his back, with his arms trapped in her legs, while her locked hands under his jaw heaved. He couldn’t swallow, could scarcely breathe, and red hot streaks of pain shot from his neck to the small of his back, and around his ribs.

Sandra shot up and stood behind Casey. She grabbed his arms, forced him up to his knees, and shoved her foot into the small of his back. The effect on his back, neck and ribs was the same as the camel clutch, but she was able to put a strain on both his arms by stretching them backwards, while all the time her foot pushed his body forwards. Did he hear his bones crack, or was it his imagination?

Sandra cruelly ratcheted up the pressure. Despite himself, Casey shouted out in pain again. It was the signal she wanted. She let him drop back down, kept her foot in the small of his back, and took his right arm in both her hands. The armbar was now doing to this arm what the earlier twist had done to his left arm; indeed she began to twist it, keen to render this arm useless before the other one recovered.

Like some nightmare spider, Sandra maintained her grip on his arm, while she hooked her legs around Casey’s neck from behind, and placed him in a vice-like headscissors. But she soon abandoned it in favour of a leg lock, trapping his left leg in the crook of her right leg, and yet again pulling it at the “wrong” angle.

Casey was close to collapse. Every limb, every muscle, seemed to have been damaged, if not incapacitated. But she wasn’t going to ease up yet. She effortlessly swung him onto his back, and schoolgirl pinned him while clutching his throat. This was crisis. Casey clutched wildly, but vainly at her arms, trying to free his throat. But a moment of inspiration (or desperation) paid off, and he dislodged her fatal hold by hooking her neck down in his left arm.

He surprised her. His friends watched the confused thrashing, and heard the cursing, as both searched for an advantage. Sandra swung her left fist into Casey’s right temple, but he grabbed hold of her jaw with his left hand, boosted by the recovery of that arm.

But Sandra was still on top, and she had both hands free. She gripped his left arm in both of them, freeing her jaw, and then twisted. Slowly, she forced it behind him. Casey gritted his teeth, making an effort to stay silent, but it was in vain.

Once he yelled, Sandra swapped targets, and grasped his other arm. She was determined not to allow that one time to recover. Most of Casey’s friends had now turned away, unable to watch this grotesque twisting of his limbs. He cursed, then pleaded with her. She obliged, allowing him to drop onto his front.

Spontaneous applause broke out from some other spectators on the beach, at the finest display of skill and strength most of them would ever witness. For Sandra rolled onto her back, and trapped both his legs in her left leg, placed each hand under his chin, and raised the pair of them in a bridge. From the assailant’s point of view it was like a reverse camel clutch, with the added advantage of putting pressure on the victim’s legs, while pain scorched through his spine, neck, ribs and stomach.

Sandra’s seemingly limitless strength, her agility, and her experience shone in this one-sided contest. The arrogant, over-confident young man would never be quite the same again, after this public humiliation at the hands of a woman well over twice his age. As a finale she locked his head and arms in a rear naked choke, until he yelled, “Enough! Enough!” Sandra released him, stood up and grabbed his hair.

“Well, do you apologise for disturbing me and covering me in sand?” she demanded.

“Yes, yes!” he insisted.

“Tell me then! I want to hear you say it!” she demanded.

“Ok. I’m sorry I disturbed you and covered you in sand.”

Sandra let go of his hair and he sank down on the sand in the foetal position. She placed her foot disdainfully on his face, and smiled down scornfully at him. Then she acknowledged the cheering and more applause of the onlookers.