When Frank lost a bet with his wife, it turned out to be the beginning of the game, and not the end. Can he figure out the rules and find a way to win, before he loses everything?

Frank Warren stood by the pay phones in the shopping mall, fuming.

'I must have been crazy to make that stupid bet with her,' he thought again. 'Wrestling? I mean, come on! I knew she was stronger than me. Hell, she lifts weights! But I figured it was just the start of some sort of silly game between us. I thought she would let me win, and she would play the maid long enough for us to make it to the bedroom and have a little fun. After all, she does like to play. Or did, before this.'

'Well, it was a game all right.' Frank shook his head ruefully. 'Her game, and I'm still trying to figure out how to win.' He looked at his reflection in the store window across from the row of phones. His body was padded and perfumed and wrapped in a flowered sundress that framed the two faux breasts glued onto his skinny chest. He knew without looking that the skin color of his unwelcome additions matched his own exactly, creating a deep cleavage that no man's eye could resist. His hair had been lengthened with extensions and dyed a rich auburn, and his eyes took in the carefully arched eyebrows and perfectly shaped lips.

'Everyone knows I never back out of a wager,' he grumbled. 'She knew it, too. That's how I wound up here. So now I've got two whole months of being her maid! I'm a tenured professor of English literature, damn it! She's had me working fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, for three weeks straight already. Almost half the summer... gone! My entire vacation shot!'

Frank felt his eyes filling with tears and fought it back. 'Scrubbing the whole house until it shines! Cooking her gourmet meals, bringing her breakfast in bed, drawing her bath -- and all in those stupid black uniforms. First, she banishes me to the guest room and takes away all of my regular clothes, so all I have to wear are the maid outfits. Then when I complain, she buys me stuff like this to wear, and orders me to wear it during the few hours each night I'm not doing everything else. She says an employer has the right to ensure her employees dress to impress in their off-time, and since I'm hers for the summer, I have to do as she says.'

'Still, dragging me out of the house and arranging a makeover at the salon was too much,' Frank remembered. He stood in the entryway of their home and put his foot down, only to be cowed into submission by his wife's sharp-tongued reply.

"Do you want people to know you're a man in a dress? You look absolutely precious, but there are still enough rough edges to make people wonder. Would you like this to get out? All your friends, laughing at you? And everyone at the school? All of your colleagues? I'm doing this to save you embarrassment, 'Frannie.' So get in the car and let the girls at the salon make you pretty, or I'll call everyone and let them know what English professors are really wearing this season!"

So Frank went, although part of him was ashamed his protest ended so quickly.

Afterwards, Debbie insisted on going out to the mall and having lunch in the food court, supposedly to prove to Frank that he was completely passable. Who should be there buying his own meal but her old boyfriend Paul from college and a friend of his named Stan. Instead of letting Frank fade into the background and hide, she dragged him forward and introduced him as her cousin Fran, visiting from Cinncinnati. She told Paul that she and Frank were separated, and would probably be getting divorced soon. Frank was surprised to the point of speechlessness, and when Paul asked Debbie if she and Fran would like to double-date that night, he was stunned when Debbie said yes!

With a mumbled "excuse me," Frank turned and stalked off, his heels making his padded bottom sway from side to side. Walking faster only made it worse, but all he wanted to do was get away from that woman and her unbelievable attempts to humiliate him.

He turned the corner, out of Debbie's line of sight. He crossed his arms under his breasts and began to pace. 'She lied to those men!' He was still surprised and more than a little hurt. 'Or was she really thinking of divorce? What did I do to deserve this? Why is she doing this to me? What sort of game is she playing?'

Debbie came around the corner, her face red. She stopped inches from Frank and hissed, "What are you doing? Get back out there this instant!"

"What am I doing? What are YOU doing?" Frank replied, leaning forward until his nose practically touched hers. "Setting us up on a double date? Telling Paul we're separated? Practically divorced? What is THAT all about?"

"Well, you didn't want me to tell him the truth, did you? 'Oh, Paul, this is my husband Frank -- isn't he pretty?'" Debbie's face suddenly changed, and Frank was close enough to see it all. Her joy and hatred mixed with undercurrents of malicious glee, capped by the sudden smirk that let him see she thought she had him trapped. "All right, Frank. If that's the way you want it. I'll give you a choice. You march right out there and tell them the truth, or keep your mouth shut and go out on that double date tonight!"

The threat of exposure hit him hard, but the look in her eyes when she delivered it hit him harder still. The hatred. The triumph. Everything stopped for Frank as his mind replayed the whole summer -- everything that had happened to him since that damned bet. Up until this point, Frank had spent all his waking hours playing catch-up, with little time to think about his situation other than to kick himself for his own stupidity. Now that he could take a step back, he saw the cruelty in her face for what it really was -- the reason for this entire charade.

She had used his male pride and his love of gambling to set him up for a summer in dresses as her slave. She forced him to work for her non-stop, and humiliated him over and over again.

And because she had him dressed as a woman, she could use it as a club whenever she needed it. By threatening him with exposure if he didn't do as she commanded, she could push him further and further into her web and make him more and more feminine, so she could control him even more.

It was a vicious cycle, designed to cut him down an episode at a time until there would be nothing left but a beaten bit of fluff where Frank Warren used to stand.

And here he had thought that she loved him.

Frank came out of his freeze with a strange resolve. 'No matter what game she's playing,' he thought with a smile, 'maybe it's time I changed the rules a bit.' With that thought, he threw his shoulders back, thrust his chest out, and left Debbie behind as he marched back around the corner to where the two men still waited in the center of the food court.

Debbie watched him walk towards Paul and Stan with an evil grin. 'There was no way Frank would ever "out" himself to anyone,' she thought, 'let alone to one of my old boyfriends.' She had won ... again! When she first thought about doing this to him, it was just another game -- a way to spice up her happy but boring life with her husband. She had always secretly wondered how Frank would look in women's clothing, and this seemed like a good way to find out. She had never intended it to go quite this far, but pushing poor, clueless Frank around all summer was rapidly becoming her favorite pastime -- especially since Frank had no idea what was really going on!

The trip to the salon was priceless, and left Frank both confused and vulnerable. Even she was having trouble still seeing the man behind the illusion. Debbie wondered how girly she could make Frank before the bet ended. After all, she had just upped the ante to a price her husband never imagined he would have to pay, yet he went back out there prepared to pay it to avoid discovery. Frank would go on this date and play the single girl looking for love. He thought he had no choice.

How far she could push things? Just how far would her husband go, running on a mixture of male pride and raw fear? She couldn't wait to find out.

But for now, she decided that Frank's first punishment for walking away earlier would be to go out there alone and try to make conversation as a woman for a few minutes. Then, maybe ... just maybe ... she'd bail him out!

"Oh, God," she whispered happily, warm all over as she watched her husband walk back into her trap. "This is a blast!"

"Excuse me, Paul?" Frank's regular voice cut across the sound of the crowd, and Paul and Stan turned to find Frank standing in front of them. "I'm afraid you've been lied to. The truth is, I am Frank, Debbie's husband. Remember, we met at the wedding?"

"F...Frank?" Paul was clearly stunned, and Frank stuck his hand out. Paul shook it numbly. "Goddamn, it IS you! What the hell are you doing dressed like that?"

Frank blushed under his make-up. "Believe it or not, I lost a stupid bet earlier this summer. The loser had to be the winner's maid for two whole months. Debbie's been holding me to the bet -- making me dress as a woman and working me like a dog for the past three weeks. I'm stuck like this until the end of August."

"Whoa, that's harsh," Stan said, shocked. "Why is she treating you this way?"

Frank shrugged. "I don't have a clue. I'm starting to suspect she rigged the whole thing to turn my summer into a living hell, but I can't figure out why. I've never been anything but loving towards her. I'm just ... stumped."

Paul just shook his head. "That's wild, man. And sad."

"I'm just really surprised she took it this far." Frank shook his head and folded his arms under his faux breasts. "It's bad enough she makes me work hard every day when we were both supposed to be off for the summer, but then to force me to go out in public ... like this? I thought she loved me. I mean, we've been married for years, and I never once saw this side of her. Not once." His voice became a bit rough. "What really hurt the most was having her stand there right in front of me and tell you we're practically divorced. It's like she just wants to hurt me. A lot."

"What a bitch!" Frank turned his head and gave Stan a disapproving look. Stan backed down, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, Frank, but it's true. You're being shafted big time."

Frank nodded. "I know, but she's still my wife. Maybe I still love her, or maybe ... maybe standing up for her is just what I'm used to. Just ... go easy with the name-calling, okay?" Stan nodded.

"Frank," Paul asked gently, "why are you putting up with this shit at all? I mean, if you think she rigged the contest, why keep doing it?"

"Well, it’s partly my fault." Frank looked down at the floor. "She challenged me to a wrestling match. Hell, I knew she could beat me -- after all, she works out all of the time and lifts weights. But I knew she knew it too. So I made the mistake of thinking it wasn't a real bet, or even a real contest. I thought it was just a silly game we were playing." He looked up and smiled. "Besides, I had my pride, and I wasn't going to just admit she could beat me, even though we both knew she could."

"Anyway, I broke the first rule of gambling, and now I have to pay the price. Never make a wager without considering what it would happen if you lose. I made the bet, so now I'm stuck with it." Frank shrugged. "You know how it is. A man always keeps his word. I've never backed out of a wager before, and I'm not going to start now. I'm in it for the long haul."

"Well, I've got to respect you for that, Frank, and that's a fact. We both do." Stan grinned and Paul nodded.

Then Stan's face lit up. "Listen," he said, "what do you say we wait on you for a while, huh? I bet that'll really piss her off when she gets back." He pulled out a chair with a flourish and a smile. Frank smiled back and sat down with an audible sigh, being sure to sweep his skirt under him to avoid giving the whole food court a free flash of panty.

"Thanks," he said, relaxing fully for the first time since the bet began. "I'm still not used to wearing heels. At least Debbie lets me clean the house in flats."

Paul grinned and walked over beside him, pretending to hold a pad and pen. "So what'll it be, Frank? My treat!"

"Ummm ... I could do with a cheeseburger, fries, and a Diet Coke, if that's okay?"

"Sure thing! I'll be right back."

As Paul walked away, Frank looked furtively around the food court.

'Where was Debbie, anyway?'

Debbie watched as Paul wandered off and Stan sat down across from Frank. He leaned forward intently.

'Better than I had hoped,' she thought, smiling. 'Stan really seems interested in "Fran." Maybe later, Stan's wandering hands will keep Frank busy long enough for me to get Paul into bed. That'll make Frank suffer in all sorts of awful ways. I can't WAIT until tonight!'

Deciding it was time to resume the game, Debbie made her way across the food court just in time to see Paul delivering a tray of food to Frank.

"Oh, how gallant of you, serving Fran that way," Debbie squealed, smiling. "But you really should be serving me. After all, I'm going to be your date tonight, remember?"

All three men turned to look at her, and with a shock she realized something had gone terribly wrong. Both Paul and Stan stared at her with a mixture of disgust and loathing, but Frank's face held a strange triumph. Somehow, the game had changed -- and she wasn't winning anymore.

Debbie felt sick.

Frank, on the other hand, felt liberated and excited. His fear was gone, and he was finally in control for the first time since this awful summer began. Instead of emasculating him as she had hoped, Debbie's offer had empowered him. Instead of facing Debbie's cruelty all alone, Frank had friends who saw her as she was, and would stand behind him. With one wrong move, she had actually given him a way to take charge again.

He almost laughed at the simplicity of it.

Thanks to Debbie, the truth really had set him free.

And with a sudden rush, Frank knew exactly how to pull Debbie's claws and keep himself sane until the summer's end.

"Oh, Paul?" he asked sweetly. "Can I borrow your cell phone? I need to make a few calls."

"Sure, Frank," Paul replied, his eyes never leaving Debbie's. He reached into his pocket and handed his phone to Frank. "Be my guest. After what you've been through, I'm happy to help any way I can. Just say the word."

"Thanks."

Debbie opened her mouth to try and forbid him from making the call, but Paul stood very close and looked down at her with an expression that clearly conveyed his true feelings. Her heart sank. She had as much chance of getting him in bed -- ever -- as she had of competing in the next Olympic games.

How did it all go so wrong so fast?

Almost numb, she heard Frank's voice.

"Rich? Hi, it's Frank. I know you haven't seen me for a while, and I'm sorry. But actually, that's the reason I called. Is Carrie there? Well, get her on the phone, would you? I've got something to tell you both, and I don't want to have to tell it twice. Heck, I'm going to have to tell everybody eventually, so might as well cut down on the repetitions while I still can, right? Thanks."

"Are you there, Carrie? Great! Now, this is going to sound really crazy, but you see, I made this stupid bet with Debbie at the beginning of the summer, and ..."

Debbie Warren sat in the dark living room, lit only by the glow of the wall-mounted flat-screen television. She stared at the game show on the screen without actually seeing it, her mind a million miles away.

The house around her was cleaner than it had ever been, and she had just finished eating a delicious filet mignon with asparagus tips in a white wine sauce, accompanied by a tasty, yet moderately priced Chablis. It had been prepared for her by her lovely, attentive maid, who stood silently behind her and politely replied to all of her attempts at conversation with as few words as possible

'I should be happy,' she thought, 'but I'm not. I'm not ... anything, really. Numb. Empty. Because I lost. We're still playing the game, but we both know it's over.'

There was noise coming down the stairs from the second floor. Although Debbie pretended to ignore it, she preferred the sounds to the heavy silence that had descended on her house since Frank's marathon telephone session two weeks ago. He had called everyone they knew, as well as all his colleagues at the university, and told them the truth. They were shocked, stunned, disgusted, and ultimately appalled at what Debbie had done.

Apparently, Frank had far more friends than she gave him credit for. And she had fewer allies than she thought she had, before this all began.

Overnight, she'd become a pariah. And perversely, Frank had become a hero, just for standing by his wager no matter how much she abused him, and for standing up to her when she gave him the chance.

She heard the clack of heels on the stairs and turned to find Frank looking down at her. One hand rested on the railing while the other held a leather clutch. He wore a little black dress that emphasized his padded curves, dark stockings, and sling-back pumps with three-inch heels. His hair was artfully arranged, his make-up flawless, and his eyes totally devoid of feeling.

"Where ..." Debbie stopped and cleared her throat. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Frank replied, his voice calm and controlled. "Fred and Jeannie have asked me to have dinner with them tonight. Afterwards, we might go see a movie."

"Can I come?" Debbie asked softly, then cursed herself inside for asking.

Frank shook his head. "You weren't invited. Besides, you've already eaten. Wasn't the meal prepared to your satisfaction?"

She nodded. Frank nodded back and started walking towards the door. Debbie turned.

"Why are you dressed like that?" Frank stopped and turned towards her. She couldn't see his eyes in the semi-darkness, and it frightened her somehow. She spoke quickly. "I brought all of your male clothes back. I've admitted that your off time was never part of the bet in the first place. You can wear your old things again."

Frank said nothing. Debbie raised her voice. "Do you hear me? You don't have to dress that way anymore!"

He shook his head. "Yes, I do. I need to wear these things to remember how things really are between us. If I accept your 'generous' gesture now, I might weaken and remember the way it used to be. I might decide to just let your cruelty slide and take you back once the bet is done. I might even forget how you treated me like dirt, and played games with my mind and with my heart, just for kicks. I might forget how mistaken I was when I fell in love with you, or how you broke my heart. Or just how much it still hurts."

Frank turned and walked to the door. He stopped, one hand on the knob. "If I let myself forget, even for an instant, I might actually come to trust you again. And I can't afford to let that happen. Not ever."

He opened the door and spoke out into the night. "I might be late, so don't wait up. But don't worry. Breakfast will be delivered on time in the morning, just the way you like it."

Debbie felt lost, as if everything she had ever known was falling apart around her. "You don't have to bring me breakfast anymore. None of it ... it's over." She felt the tears start, and her voice shook. "I just want you back, that's all. Please?"

For a moment, Frank just stood there. Then he sighed and shook his head. "That's not how it works, Debbie. I lost. I owe you. I will keep my word and pay my debts, like you always knew I would. You'll have the perfect maid for the next three weeks."

"And ... after that?"

"Well, you lose her, of course." Frank's voice took on the slightest edge. "But that shouldn't bother you much. After all, you've already lost a husband. What's losing a maid compared to that?"

The door closed silently behind him.

Game over.

NOTE: This story was inspired by two things -- a forced feminization story currently unfolding on FictionMania called "The Contest," and an aside about the genre by Jezzi Stewart, who wished that, just once, the "hero(ine)/victim" would choose to reveal himself rather than be controlled and manipulated through fear of discovery. I hope you liked where I took it, hon. *hugs* -- Randalynn