The New Girl
Martin Kane
A new girl arrives at work.  Young, pretty and centre of attention.


Author's note:

Should anyone out there wish to get in contact with me, I happily 
invite you to do so, via the messageboard for readers and writers.
I welcome any comments and only refrain from leaving my e-mail 
address here and now due to previous problems encountered with spam, 
worms and virus.

Copyright is mine.  If you do wish to use this tale elsewhere I ask 
you to please seek permission first.

This story is purely a fiction and all characters contained herewith 
are merely the products of the author's imagination, not to mention 
a degree of wishful thinking.

As for the adult content warning... what else would you be expecting?



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I met Steph at work.  She was the new girl, and as such subject to the 
flocking effect.  A dozen testosterone fuelled salesmen turned on their 
spiel and fell upon her with the hard sell.  Knowing this I actually 
held back, not wanting to be associated with the swamping, her first 
impression of me should not be as just another one of the jackals.

She was working with the engineers, doing what, I never asked, but she 
was still fair game for the force.  (But then, who wasn't?)  Normally 
there's an unofficial policy of no mixing between departments, or at 
least unstated rules to follow.  HR, can mix with resources, admin with 
damage control, no one mixes with tech support (voluntarily), that kind 
of thing.

You have to understand of course, none of these rules apply to the 
force.  After all, have you ever tried to persuade a salesman to do 
anything?  A degree of single-mindedness is necessary for the job.  
It's a focus thing, without it you couldn't do the job.  End of.

And so, when a pretty young thang, with skirt just above the knee but 
showing off lovely hard-toned calves, a blouse tight enough about her 
chest for you to examine the lines of her Giorgia balconette brassiere, 
her hair long and blonde, tied tight in a French plait, joins the firm, 
then it is generally considered to be open season amongst the force, 
irrespective of which department the prey falls into.

It's also worth remarking that another unspoken rule states that there 
are no rules.  It is said by some that all is fair in love and war?  
Fuck that.  War has very distinct and complex rules, and to play that 
particular game requires a level of sophistication and subtlety that 
can topple men of power for the price of a tabloid.  Love however, when 
played as a game, can be just as vicious and vindictive on the small 
scale, as can the most sadistic Generals.  And what's more, love does 
not adhere to the same rules of conduct.  The consequences may be 
devastating to all those involved but karma rarely raises its head, 
probably preferring to keep well out of it.

Put two men in a room to compete over the affections of a woman and the 
results will be messy.

I made my own move in the afternoon, knowing the lunchtime session 
would have exhausted her with new faces and small talk.  I also did my 
research, the key to any good sales strategy.  I know she had attached 
herself to Ellen, a middle-aged PA.  She was a smoker and smokers 
attract other smokers in offices, another useful factoid.

They were heading to the fire escape when I nabbed Ellen.  She was just 
ahead of Steph and the smoking break was due.  Another recruited 
assistant, an elderly perv moved in on my cue.  He began to chat up 
Steph in his own inimical fashion, his eyes everywhere, his lechery 
unpleasant and unmistakable.

She squirmed the requisite length of time for courtesy and then slipped 
away.  She exchanged a glance with Ellen and then our eyes met.  I held 
it long enough for confidence, strong and assured.  I smiled 
graciously.  She returned it, still a little flustered, then 
disappeared to smoke.

I followed after her with Ellen, still chatting amicably.  
Introductions were made and we shook hands.  Her skin was cool and 
smooth.  I noted that she had recently applied hand-cream.

'How are you finding it?'

'Good so far.  Picking everything up.'  Her eyes flicked to Ellen to 
see if this was indeed true.  She giggled; a subtle and self-derogatory 
smile played on her lips.  She slid a cigarette between them in the way 
only a beautiful woman can.  Lit it.

I watched her take in the smoke, tilt back her head, exposing a smooth 
throat, set off with a silver chain as fine as thread.  She exhaled a 
long, satisfied plume.

She noticed my scrutiny and smiled, highlighting a subtle flirt and 
careful curiosity.

She offered me a Silk Cut but I declined, taking out my own pack of 
Dunhill.  I don't smoke except socially.  It's a useful skill to have 
in business as well as social intercourse.

She offered me a light and this I accepted happily, bending forward 
towards her lighter.

I was close enough to smell her perfume, applied perhaps a little 
heavily, as smokers are wont to do.  Extravagance d'Amarige by 
Givenchy.  It filled my head, a wonderfully dark and spiced aroma.

She offered the same flame to Ellen who suddenly cursed and put her 
cigarette back.  Offering some excuse she disappeared back into the 
building, giving me a salacious wink on route.  Always remember to keep 
the right people sweet; you never know when a simple favour could help 
grease the right wheels.

'Yeah, everyone's pretty friendly here,' I remarked, offhand.  'It's a 
good atmosphere to work in.'

'I've actually had guys hitting on me all day.'

'Oh sorry, I'll leave you alone then...'

She laughed.  'I didn't mean that,' she said quickly.  Her fingers 
brushed my arm gently, an unconscious reassurance.  'I mean the real 
in-yer-face crap.  I guess it is kinda flattering, but it does 
overwhelm you.'

'Especially on you first day,' I agreed.  'Don't worry too much.  
People just get excited when they see a new face.  Especially a pretty 
one.'

She grinned coyly at this.  'Too many salesmen, that's what the problem 
is.  All going for the hard sell.'

I raised a wry eyebrow to this, prompting her next question.  'You're 
not in sales... are you...?'

'Hi, I work in the sales department.'

She blushed appealingly, giggling a little through her apology.  'Oh 
God, I didn’t...'

I waved it off easily.  'Don't worry, I know what salesmen are like.  
After all, I have to spend all day with them.'

This bought me another smile.  God she was pretty.  'I tend to skive 
off when I can, spend time with some real people.'

'Oh, I see.  You're another of these wastrels, sponging off the 
company's resources and making life hard for everyone else.'

Her voice was scolding and rich with beguiling provocation.

I grinned and shrugged.  'Guilty.'

'What do you sell?'

'Confidence.'  I smiled, as though to prove the point.

'God knows, you have it to spare.'

The banter continued for the duration of a cigarette.  She backed away 
from me, stubbing out her cigarette and grinding it beneath her foot 
with uncommon relish.  She smiled flirtatiously.  'Later.'

'Definitely.'

We headed back into the office.  Ellen caught me as I passed.

'Well?'

'She's a nice girl.'

'That I know.'

'Give me time.'

'You're losing your touch boy.'

'Never.'

Later came in the form of an after work drink.  The bar was mobbed in 
force by the commuter capital of the city.  Shirts were loosened, ties 
removed.  No room for sitting down, no way to hear the ambient music 
over the white noise of chatter.

I sent in a colleague to bore her with some erroneous information.  It 
was some little nugget of info I had "accidentally" let slip about her 
previous workplace.  I watched from a distance as the scene played 
itself out.

She looked confused and then a little abashed.  He covered his own 
embarrassment and managed to stop himself shooting me a scathing look.  
He was reasonably professional, I'll give him that.

I was standing alone, solitary amongst a dozen small groups of 
conversation.  When her eyes sought an escape, we accidentally caught 
each other's glance.  I smiled and nodded a polite acknowledgement.

I took her only seconds to make her excuse and head over.

'Hi.'

'Hi, how's it going?  You OK for a drink?'

'Yeah, I'm great.'

'Day one done.  You survived it then?'

'No sweat.  You know, I've been warned about you.'

'Me?'

'Bit of a Lady's man I'm told.'

I laughed gently.  'Oh, how I wish that were so.'

'I guess I'm going to have to be on my guard.'

'I think you should be on your guard from gossip too.  I'm single so 
people have to shove me into some kind of category.'

'Oh.  You say that like image is beyond you.  Tell me, what label is 
that suit?  I'll bet you've got a set of shades still kept in their 
aluminium case in the inside pocket.  How much were they?'

'OK.  I'll admit, image does play a part.  It's inevitable in what I 
do.'

'Don't tell me, behind all the suave decorum and designer assurance 
you're really just a sweet little shy guy.'

I shrugged.  'Who isn't?'

This caught her.  She smiled - silent, genuine and interested.

A small bundle of people moved off of a table in the corner and we 
grabbed it quickly.  Sitting opposite one another, we leaned closer 
effecting a more intimate ambience, if only marginally.

'You work out, don't you?'

The words hung between us.  

I could see she was fit.  She'd replaced her blouse with a slightly 
tighter top, a skinny tee that hugged at her modest breasts intimately.  
The sleeves were cut high and tight to her arms, almost at the 
shoulders.  Her upper arms were smooth and fantastically well toned, 
giving that delicious little twitch of definition wherever she moved 
them.  A small vein lay subtle but tight on the inside of each elbow.

'You do, don't you,' she continued, insistent.

'I used to a little,' I admitted.  'I guess I've been pretty lazy of 
late though.  I've not been to the gym for longer than I care to say.'

'That surprises me, you seem to be in pretty good shape.'

I shrugged.  'Nice of you to say so.  I used to be fit when I was 
younger.  Throughout my childhood I was actively into all sorts of 
sports.  That lasted well into my teens.  I guess it helps in later 
life.'

I switched the focus.  'You not too slack yourself.'

She smiled, her expression a little sly here.  It didn't take me long 
to find out why.  She evaded my probing into her own training habits 
but it wasn't through being coy, as I shortly discovered.

'You're trying to score with me,' she declared, suddenly and bluntly.

'No,' I protested, quite blatant and obvious with the lie.

'That's OK, I don't mind.  I just thought I'd warn you however.  I have 
this rule see, I only let guys score with me if they can beat me in an 
arm-wrestling match.'

'I've not heard that one before.'

She grinned.  'A little offbeat I'll admit.  But there you have it, 
that's the rule.'

I was hooked.  My arm went down on the table between us.

Steph matched the pose and we held hands.  That was when I saw her arm.  
What I'd noticed before, the sweet, subtle twitch, proved to be far 
more substantial than I'd previously believed.  Her arm bulged into a 
wicked peak.  The girl had biceps.

She saw the direction of my gaze and her mouth curled into a wry grin.

'Why do I get the feeling I've just been hustled?'

'Count to three.'

I did so.

Then she won.

It was a short match, her power smooth and immense.

I pushed with all my might, genuinely trying to hold my own.  I was way 
out of my league however and we both knew it.  I saw from her eyes that 
there was no point either before or during the match that she did not 
know exactly how it would go.

'Don't feel too bad,' she consoled.  'Trust me when I say you're not 
the first guy I've beaten.'

'I believe you.  That's quite a talent.'

She patted her upper arm proudly.  'Most people call it a bicep.'

'You kept that secret.'

'Hardly.  You could say I wear my heart on my sleeve.'

I laughed.  'All the same, I bow down to your superior arm-wrestling 
skills.'

She smiled at this but it seemed a little ingratiating somehow, almost 
false.  I couldn't help wondering if this foreplay was just a part of 
the game for her or if she actually meant what she said about her rule.  
She only let's guys who can beat her score with her?  If that were 
indeed true, then she would surely be severely cutting the field.  If 
it were true then she could only ever date bodybuilders for they would 
be the only ones with the requisite strength to defeat her.

A noisy bustle then.  There was a bunch of girls from the firm's call 
centre who were off out on a girl's-night-out.  They'd finally finished 
dolling themselves up and were ready to down as much booze as possible 
to reduce the excessive expenditure of nightclub prices.  Their 
appearance was loud and boisterous.

The small pockets of people merged and our solitude was broken as more 
chairs were pulled up and the various hordes descended.

I didn't think of the arm-wrestle again, concentrating more on how to 
win her affections.  It was Ellen who brought it up.

'Didn't I see you two arm-wrestling?  What was all that about?'

I shuddered inwardly.  Praying that no one would ask the question:

'Who won?' someone asked.  It was a quip rather than a question and 
taken as such.

When someone else asked: 'what was that all about?' fortunately Steph 
chose to answer that question instead.

'Oh you know, got to be a modern girl, prove you can hang with the 
guys.'

'God, you're not one of those obnoxious lad-ettes are you?'

This was from one of the loudest and most obnoxiously extroverted of 
lad-ettes I'd ever met.

'Hardly.'

'So who did win?'

It was a straight question.  Thank you Ellen.  She smiled mischievously 
at me, her eyes far too innocent for my liking.  Bitch.

Steph didn't answer.  At first I thought she was waiting for me to 
answer, letting me dig my ego out of this one however I could.  It was 
one thing to be overpowered by a chick.  It was another thing to have 
it declared to the entire workforce.

Then I realised what that she did intend to answer, only in actions 
rather than in words.

She placed her arm in front of her, elbow down, challenge extended.

'Come on,' she cooed.  'Give us a rematch.'

'Not scared she'll win are you?' some mocking voice cut through the 
amused and excited rabble.

'Go on,' Ellen prompted.  Oh God I was going to get her back for this.

It was one thing to have the entire workforce told a chick could 
overpower you, it was other to have them witness the defeat.

But how could I bow out?  

Quite easily in fact.  If there was one thing I'm good at then it's 
talking my around difficult situations.  I could bluster through this 
one.  I could quip my way through.  I could lose minimal face by simply 
declining the offer.  I could propose another in my place.  Another 
woman probably, I know there's enough guys here to want to see that.  I 
also know one of the girls who would jump at the chance, loving to 
prove her own strength whenever the opportunity arose.  Though 
doubtless Steph would floor her in seconds.

The reason I didn't was simple.  It was Steph herself.  That look in 
her eyes as she held her arm out towards me.  It was an invitation I 
knew would not be offered again should I reject it.  This was all a 
part of the love game and to back down would prove I wasn't in that 
game.

I leaned forward and took her arm.  What the hell, egos heal 
eventually, right?  I pondered briefly what companies I could move too 
without taking too much of a salary loss.

Steph exchanged the briefest of glances with Ellen and I knew then that 
I had been set up.

Steph winked salaciously at me.  'Count to three.'

I did so.

The match began and I could tell straight away she was holding back.  I 
could tell simply because my hand was still upright.  We struggled, 
wavering between the middle point.

'Oh my God,' I heard a voice exclaim.  'Look at her arms.'

'Shit girl, you're got some serious definition.'

'You go girl.'  This from one of the already semi-drunken party 
princesses.  'Break his fucking arm off.'

'She's beating you, man.'

As if I needed to be told.  Her arm had eased me down a little, proving 
her superior strength.

'Oh shit, she's winning.  Come on Steph.

'Steph.  Steph.  Steph.'  A recurrent pulse that continued through the 
match.

The bustle and noise had all others there present leaning in to see 
what the fuss was about.  Upon seeing a fit chick beating a guy, all 
focus fell on us.  If the room had a spotlight beam, I'm sure it would 
have fallen on the table.  That's certainly what it felt like.

I met her eyes, fixed unwavering on mine.  They held a sadistic glint.  
Oh, she was enjoying this all right.

'Beaten by a girl, that's sad.'

'Come on Steph, you've almost got him.'

Then she did something I wasn't expecting.  She wavered.  She drew a 
breath between clenched teeth as though struggling.

I began to ease back up, equalising positions.  Was she feeling sorry 
for me, letting me save face?  Or was she just messing with me?

'You're playing with me.' I told her.

'Don't hold back just because I'm a girl,' she told me.  'I want to 
beat you at your best.'

I almost laughed at this.  Me holding back?  'This is my best,' I 
assured her.  I'd given her my best on the previous match and that 
hadn't lasted a fraction of the length of this one.

Her arm eased me back down, slowly but definitively.  But again she was 
holding out on her strength and failed to close her victory.

And then I saw it in her eyes.  She wasn't about to win, though we both 
knew she could.  She was waiting for me to take victory.  And when I 
threw everything into a last ditch effort, she'd let me win.  As if to 
test this hypothesis, I used my little remaining strength to ease her, 
struggling, back up.

This wasn't just some game so that she could defeat me with all the 
more spectacular flourish, making my defeat humiliating.  She was 
sparing my ego from the flaying it would receive should she win.

Instead of taking her offer, I leant forward to kiss her, pressing my 
lips confidently and tenderly upon hers.

It was a sweet kiss, yet slow and sensuous.  She kissed back, her lips 
parting.  She also took the opportunity to thump my hand down flat as 
she did so.

It was OK, though, my macho pride had been sated.  She hadn't defeated 
me, only distracted my focus with her feminine wiles.  After all, if 
she were really so much more powerful than I was, she would have beaten 
me before that point.

Plus, my reputation as a Lady's man, however ill deserved it may be, 
countered the possibility of being seen as a wimp.  How many women were 
attracted to wimps?  Especially young and extremely attractive women.

A woman who at this moment in time was centre of attention, her biceps 
causing much comment and interest.  I think I saw her flex them more in 
that pub that night then I ever did in total in public afterwards.  
(Inside the privacy of the bedroom however is a different matter.)

I'd walked her home.  For her protection, though perhaps that should 
have been the other way around.  It was certainly quipped as such.

It was a warm night with bright streets, neon like glitter in a pseudo-
starry night.  Beauty housed stubbornly within the most dreadful tack.

'Why did you let me win?'

'I didn't let you win, I won,' she reminded me.

'You know what I mean.'

She grinned.  'What was I gonna do.  Embarrass you in front of all your 
little salesmen friends.  I'm not that cruel.  Besides, not everyone 
can appreciate that a tough chick can still be feminine.  I don't want 
a reputation as some geezer-bird.'

'Oh, I think you're safe on that front.'

'So if you thought I was going to slam your arm to the floor and give 
you a reputation as some sissy-boy who can't even beat an ickle girl, 
why did you do it?'

'How could I get out of it.'

'Quite easily, I imagine.  You don't exactly lack when it comes to 
sweet talk.  Gift of the gab I believe they call it.'

'You want to know why?

'Yeah.'

'Because you asked me to.  You put your arm forward and looked straight 
into my eyes with your own huge baby-blues and you asked me.'

'Never one to resist a pretty girl?  Even at the cost of your precious 
image?'

'Apparently not.  So why ask me to arm-wrestle if you didn't intend to 
prove to all and sundry what a cool and tough chick you are?'

'I still got to show off my biceps, remember?'

'Do I ever?  That's not something I'm gonna forget in a hurry.'

'I guess I just wanted to see if you would.  Even with you knowing that 
I could defeat you.  I wanted to see if you'd back down rather than 
risk your precious ego.  I wondered if you'd be prepared to risk being 
shown up by a girl.'

'Test my humility?'

'Something like that, yeah.'

'And did I pass?'

She smiled, slow and sly.  She glanced around at our surroundings and 
gestured to a house we'd arrived at.

'Well, this is me.  I would like to invite you in for coffee but you 
know, I have that rule thing.  I'm really sorry but you just couldn't 
beat me.  I even gave you a couple of opportunities.  Guess it isn't 
meant to be.'

I nodded sceptically.  

'You know, we don't need to play it that way around' I told her.

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I have this rule see.  I only let girls score with me if they 
can beat me in an arm-wrestling match.'

'Really?  Well that's good.  Because I can you know.'

'I don't know about that, the last match we had was pretty indecisive, 
I think I could have taken you.'

'You think so?  Well I guess you better come inside for a rematch.'

And so we arm-wrestled.  And that wasn't all.

In her bed, or rather on it.  The areas of her body hidden by the 
T-shirt proved to be as hard and toned as those that weren't.  Her 
belly was a wash of muscles, every crease responding to my tongue, the 
soft ripple of her breath alternately hardening and relaxing the smooth 
round muscles.

I kissed the crook of her neck and her shoulder and she wrapped her 
legs around me.  She squeezed.  Hard.  I gasped in real pain and fell 
sideways.  Keeping her legs tight about me she rolled our bodies, 
putting herself on top.  Her ankles were beneath my back, trapped 
uncomfortably against my spine.

She squeezed again, showing off her strength with relish.

I ran a hand down her powerful thighs.  They were like concrete.

'I just noticed,' I remarked carelessly, as though the merest flex of 
her muscles could not render unspeakable pain.  'You have very 
impressive legs.'

'You just noticed?  Just now?'

That bought me another python squeeze.

'You do realise that if I put your head between my thighs and did that, 
I'd be washing your brains out of my sheets for a month.'

But it was a threat she wasn't going to carry out.  When my head found 
its way between her thighs later, it was a slow and tender act.  We 
took our time, a beautiful and languid act.

At least, that's how it began.  By the time we were done, her body was 
sweating and writhing, her muscles taut and fluttering.  My mouth was 
locked upon her, my jaw and tongue ached with both desire and effort.

We bucked on top of the bed like animals, thrashing in rapture.  My own 
orgasm had spilt through the motion and friction by the time she was 
done.

It was the first time I'd known a woman anything like her and she had a 
rejuvenating effect upon me.  Her physical allure, not to mention her 
insatiable appetite kept me in the game long after I would normally 
have rolled over in sated exhaustion.

But to say it was a night to end all nights would be to detract from 
those that followed.  I leant something about muscular women from Steph 
in the months that followed - sex drive increases in proportion to 
fitness level.   

But despite this, the story of our love doesn't have a happy ending.  
My relationship with Steph didn't last.  I won't dwell upon the 
arguments, the attempts at reconciliation or the failures.  Bitterness 
plays out in unfortunate ways and love can bring out the worst as well 
as the best in people.  

We're both over that period now, I'm glad to say, and I hope that we've 
both grown as people.  I know that I no longer get a sliver of racking 
pain in my gut every time I happen upon her in the office.  That's 
enough for now I guess.

I'll end on a positive note however, in the form of my redemption.  I'm 
a changed man.  Before I met Steph, I'd never dated or slept with a 
woman who had more muscle than I do.  And since, I've never been with a 
woman who has less muscle than me.  This is especially significant 
since I started hitting the gym, the best place to meet women of a more 
athletic disposition.

I still see Steph from time to time, just around the office.  We're not 
close though; I'm not the kind of person who can easily stay friends 
with someone I've split up with.  Occasionally we meet at some 
function, such as one recently.

I noticed a bit of a commotion around one table.  Going over to 
investigate I saw Steph in the process of destroying someone's ego by 
effortlessly defeating him in an arm-wrestling match.  The jeers and 
catcalls would be remembered for a long time after.  I felt little 
sympathy for her victim however, he was a salesman I work with - he 
genuinely needed to be taken down a peg or two.

I said hi to her, exchanged a few pleasantries.  'You're still single I 
hear,' I remarked.  'Little wonder if you pick on all men like that.'

'Oh don't worry, he had it coming.  And yes, I'm still single, unlike 
you; I hear congratulations are in order.  Have you set a date for the 
wedding yet?'

'Early next year.  I'm surprised you haven't been snapped up yet 
though, pretty little thing like you.'

She raised an eyebrow at this but let it go.  'I like to keep my 
options open.'

'So they say.'

'You've not been listening to gossip again have you?  I've warned you 
about that.'

'Never.  You look good babe.'

'You too.  You been hitting the gym?'

'I have actually yeah.  In fact, it's where I met my fiancée.'

I introduced then, calling her over.

Steph asked to see the ring and was obliged.  I saw her eyes note my 
wife-to-be's arms as she lifted her ring hand.  They were thick with 
muscle, short sleeves containing biceps that would rip through anything 
tighter.

I saw a smug grin spread across her face.  It was that which ended a 
dilemma I'd been holding onto until that very moment.  The past was the 
past and the future was the future.  I made a mental note to add Steph 
to the guest list.