Test of strength

You step forward, your eyes locking onto Chloe. She stands up from the couch slowly, her movement casual, almost bored, as if she’s not taking this seriously at all. Her long, tanned legs seem even more intimidating now that she’s on her feet, her denim shorts riding up slightly as she shifts her weight. Her white crop top hugs her slim but toned frame, showing just a hint of her athletic abs, and her dark ponytail sways behind her as she approaches you.

Your gaze drops down to her feet for a moment. She’s still wearing those black Converse sneakers with white ankle socks—the ones with that frilled edge, which somehow makes her mocking, bratty attitude even more pronounced. The contrast between her playful, almost childlike socks and her cocky confidence stirs something in you, but you push the thought aside. This is about proving yourself, after all.

You square your shoulders, trying to regain focus. You’ve got the muscle—this should be easy. You glance over at Amanda, who’s smirking, holding a piece of rope in her hands. She steps up to Chloe, securing her right arm behind her back with a swift, practiced movement, making sure it’s tied firmly but not too tight.

“One arm, as promised,” Amanda says with a wicked grin, stepping back to give you both space.

Chloe wiggles her fingers in her remaining free hand, rolling her shoulders as if to loosen up. “Ready when you are, little man,” she taunts, her blue eyes gleaming with amusement.

You snort, stepping forward until you’re face-to-face with her. You can’t help but feel a surge of confidence—there’s no way she can beat you with one arm tied behind her back. Not in a test of strength. You’ve spent hours in the gym, building up your muscles, and now it’s finally time to show her just how outmatched she is.

Chloe lifts her left arm, the one still free, and raises it towards you, offering her hand. Her grip feels soft but firm as her fingers wrap around yours, her nails painted a light shade of pink.

“Test of strength?” she asks, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Think you’ve got what it takes?”

You nod, gripping her hand tightly, already feeling the adrenaline pumping through your veins. You know you’re going to overpower her. There’s no doubt in your mind. She might have been a gymnast, but that doesn’t compare to raw strength.

You both plant your feet firmly on the ground, your sneakers squeaking slightly against the hardwood floor as you adjust your stance. You feel the tension in your muscles building as you brace yourself. Chloe, however, seems completely at ease. Her legs are spread slightly, her Converse flat on the floor, her frilly socks peeking out just above them, and there’s a slight tilt to her hips, like she’s barely even trying.

“Whenever you’re ready,” she purrs, raising an eyebrow.

You take a deep breath and push with all your might, feeling your biceps flex as you try to **** her hand down. For a second, you expect her to crumble under the pressure—after all, she’s only using one arm, and you’ve got the strength advantage.

But nothing happens.

Chloe’s arm barely moves. In fact, she doesn’t seem fazed at all. Her grin only widens as she holds you steady, her fingers tightening around yours just enough to remind you of her presence. You grit your teeth and lean in, putting your full weight into it now, but still—no movement.

She chuckles softly, her eyes never leaving yours. “Is that all you’ve got, Tom?” Her voice is dripping with amusement, and the sound of it sends a flush of embarrassment crawling up the back of your neck.

You push harder, straining, your muscles burning now as you try to shift her. But she stands firm, her stance barely shifting, her one free arm overpowering your full strength with shocking ease. There’s a gleam in her eyes, a playful cruelty, as she begins to push back.

Slowly, agonizingly, you feel her hand start to move. Not yours—hers. She’s forcing *you* back.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. She’s playing with you. Even with one arm tied behind her back, she’s completely in control.

Chloe lets out a soft laugh as she begins to overpower you, her arm moving effortlessly now. “You really thought this was going to be easy, huh?” she whispers, her voice low and taunting.

Your hand is trembling now as you fight desperately to regain control, but it’s no use. Chloe’s strength is relentless, and no matter how hard you push, she doesn’t even seem winded. Her Converse squeak slightly as she shifts her weight again, and with one final surge of power, she slams your hand down, forcing you to your knees in the process.

The room feels heavy with silence for a moment as you kneel there, breathing heavily, your hand still trapped in hers, now at an awkward angle as she looms over you. You’re staring at the floor, trying to process what just happened. Your mind is racing, a mix of disbelief and humiliation flooding your senses.

Chloe, still holding your hand, leans down slightly, her voice barely above a whisper. “That was… pathetic,” she says, her tone laced with amusement. “And that was with one arm tied behind my back. What’s your excuse?”

You glance up at her, your pride stinging like never before. She releases your hand and takes a step back, her frilly socks brushing the floor softly as she gives you one last smirk.

Amanda’s voice cuts through the haze of your embarrassment. “I told you, Tom,” she says, her voice calm but firm. “This weekend isn’t going to be as easy as you think.”

You swallow hard, your confidence shattered as Amanda steps forward, clapping her hands lightly. “Alright,” she says, that familiar gleam of control in her eyes. “Let’s get started for real.”