The sound of her heels clicking against the hardwood floor echoed through the silent house. Amanda stood in the doorway of the living room, her arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. In her hand, she held it—the frilly black-and-white sissy maid uniform, complete with the tiny white apron and lace-trimmed stockings. She didn’t even have to say a word. John, sitting on the couch with a beer in hand, froze the m...