GameOverGirls
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Game Over free porn video
Synopsis:
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? Inspired by "The
Contest" by Suejrz, this is not a rewrite but a parallel story about
a different couple in a similar situation.
Story:
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 for the rest of the summer."
"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.
"A strange game. The only winning move is not to play." -- Joshua
(the WPOR computer) from the movie "Wargames."
© 2007 all rights reserved. Posted with permission of the
author.
Liesl
- 27.01.2023
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