When I returned to my apartment, I opened the door. "Honey, I'm back early!" Samantha called out. "I'm in the kitchen!" she called.
I walked into our kitchen and saw my wife wearing the most racy outfit I had ever seen her in. The tight red latex skirt left nothing to the imagination, and the bright red patent stilettos screamed, "Fuck Me". Her beautiful hair was up in a simple ponytail, and her makeup was garish. She laughed at my reaction as she posed on the counter. I really didn't know she had it in her.
"Honey, you look like you're in a very naughty mood," I ventured, not quite sure what Samantha had in mind here.
"See, I can give you all the clues in the world and you're fooled," Amanda said in her usual voice. She got off the counter, strutted across the floor, and kissed me with my wife's lips. "I'm a billionaire slut," she giggled in Samantha's voice.
Now I realized that she wasn't kidding. She had told me exactly what she could do. She changed herself into a doppelganger of my wife, but put on a trashy outfit, and I was still fooled.
I had just convinced myself that my wife was skipping my father's funeral - And that she decided to dress up in fetish wear when the kinkiest she ever got was Chanel. I came up with this unbelievable fiction because Amanda was even more incredible.
As soon as she spoke, the illusion wore off. The way she walked and held herself, her facial expressions - it was like she was wearing a Samantha mask. At closer range, I could tell that she wasn't Samantha. Her jaw was too pronounced, and her nose was different. Her breasts were larger and it seemed that her legs weren't as long. Her voice was a good impression, but far from perfect.
"This is just great Amanda, and an incredible turn-on," I said, "but I don't want an affair right now."
"Let's have a talk, darling," she intoned in her facsimile of Samantha's voice. "But first, let me change into something more comfortable." She walked past me and down the hall towards the bedroom.
I noticed there was a bottle of vodka on the counter, so I poured myself a scotch and refreshed Amanda's vodka tonic. When I walked into my bedroom, Amanda sat on a desk in some of my wife's lingerie.
I admitted to myself that she was more convincing when she dressed the part. But when she spoke or moved, it wasn't Samantha. We sat down and had a long discussion. After she explained her plan to me, I was skeptical, but saw the appeal. But I knew that if we were caught, Samantha would divorce me. I'd still get a good size chunk of her estate, but I would be socially ostracized for "cashing in" so quickly after her father's death. But if her plan worked ... wow. I wavered for a moment and then asserted myself.
"I'm sorry, but I just don't think it would work, Amanda. You've got an incredible talent, but I think you'll need to find someone else."
"Let me remind you of something," she said, and walked over to the photo album she was looking at this morning. Turning past the photos of my wedding and various vacations, she handed me the book, open to a page.
It was a picture of Amanda. She was wearing my wife's leopard-print dress, and posing in front of the dressing screen in our bedroom.
"Turn it over," she said. I flipped the photo over and there wasn't anything on the back besides "Kodak" and some numbers.
"What about it?" I asked.
She walked over to me and kneeled in front of me. She started to cry, and in Samantha's voice, said "I can't believe you were cheating on me while daddy was alive." I realized that the numbers were a date! If my wife got her hands on a photo like this, she would divorce me. Our prenup basically "pre dated" any divorce to the date of the infidelity - which meant that I wouldn't be entitled to a cent of her father's fortune! Amanda had me cornered. In a strange way, she had just removed my concern about losing my Samantha's billions.
"You're clever, aren't you?" I asked. She looked at me with puppy dog eyes. "Ok, you're forgiven. Every part of me wants to do this, except my fear of risk. And you've solved that." She had just blackmailed me, but I was fine with it. Instead of extortion, it felt more like liberation.
"Well, let's get to work," she said. She went behind the screen into my wife's closet. A few minutes later, she returned in a black sheath and a fur coat, and Amanda's face and hair. "Let's do Barneys first," she said, as we went shopping.
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