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In the earlier installments our perverted couple have manipulated a happily married woman into having kinky sex with them once again. Jean is revisiting their hometown with her husband, Dan, who has already been involved in one of their depraved games. Now they have set him up for some big surprises today, his forty-fifth birthday...
*****
My alarm clock did its unpleasant job at 8:30 the next morning. Not too early, really, even considering what we'd got up to the night before, and better than the day before's early start. The things we sheltered people do for love! I did (kinda) appreciate that Anastasia wasn't providing my preferred wake-up alternative because this was a day that might need a little something left in the bank.
I peed, jumped in the shower, and was done by 8:45. That was the time that we'd instructed Jean to wake up in the room next door. I imagined her waking up with that vacation hotel *quot;Where am I?*quot; feeling and I smiled to think that her very next thought might be: *quot;Oh God! What the fuck did I get myself into?*quot;
Hopefully her third thought was to expect and prepare for the arrival of the surprise room-service breakfast that she had supposedly ordered to kick off the celebration of her husband's 45th birthday.
In reality in (our very twisted reality, I'll grant you) it was me that ordered this breakfast and, for a second, I realized that I had no idea if they might be Jewish or Muslim and that the emphasis on bacon in my hurried selection might be something rather difficult for Jean to explain.
But, I rationalized, *quot;Tomlinson*quot; was probably more likely to be a pig-eating last name. And, if Jean's maiden name was happened to be Cohen, then she should just suck it up and tell Dan she was trying bacon in solidarity for His Big Day. Somehow I'd ended up with the birthday boy's cum in my mouth just a few hours before so my sympathy was minimal.
Nor did I feel guilty for all these sectarian thoughts - I had so many worse ones in other categories.
And, anyway, my respect was growing for Jean's intelligence and ability to improvise. That's probably a large part of what attracted us to her. Her three-part instructions from us were already underway. If she was still following Task 1 then she'd resisted any sexual relations with Dan and awoke with the remote-controlled bullet vibrator inside her. Nastya had done her damned best to ensure that Dan was unlikely to have pushed for the first and Jean was already wearing the bullet when she'd left us the evening before.
I pottered around until 9:50 which I felt was a suitable time in her schedule to send her some Good Morning Vibrations. I retrieved the remote marked *quot;J*quot; and set it to a neighborly level five. To that I added a *quot;crescendo*quot; pattern that made the vibrations start out low, build, peak, pause, and repeat. Why should Dan have all the fun?
Her second task was to begin with the arrival of the food and it was pretty simple: wear something revealing to answer the door, send us a pic of the result if she could, feed breakfast to the condemned man, and have him in the shower by 9:30 with promises of more exciting surprises to come. I could have instructed her what to wear for the arrival of the food but it was almost more fun to leave it up to her. And I hoped the vibrations might help. Best maybe to kick it up to a birthday-worthy level seven, I thought, and hit the appropriate buttons.
Nastya was still fast asleep in the big king-sized bed and there was no hurry to waken her just yet. By 8:59 I had opened our side of the door that connected their room to ours and had my ear pressed against theirs in case I could hear our diabolical plan working out live.
Barely late at all (I should have ordered for 9:05, I reflected, just to add some tension to poor Jean's situation), at 09:02, I clearly heard a knock on her door. After a moment I heard the sounds and muffled voices of a typical room-service arriva. Interestingly the sounds and voices grew much clearer for a moment before fading away and ending with a door closing noise. I surmised that breakfast had been set up near the connecting door which actually made sense given the similar layout of our room.
I heard Jean's voice:
*quot;Dan, Dan... wake up... birthday...
Over the next few minutes I used the various noises to put together a scenario where Dan was awoken and pulled out of bed by both bacon and Jean and after short (pee?) interval they sat at the table and began their day. Now I could hear them quite clearly:
*quot;So how was your night? How do you feel?*quot;
*quot;Well, um, it was fun. Yeah. Those people are... a lot of fun. I don't feel too bad, I wasn't too late... this bacon and coffee definitely help, thanks hun!*quot;
So, not Jewish, Muslim, or Mormon, I thought, that's a relief.
By now it was 9:10 and, much as I wanted to hear how Dan explained what he'd gotten up to the previous night, I had people to wake and diabolic plans to direct.
I wasted, no, certainly not, I spent several scarce seconds staring at the beautiful angel güvenilir bahis that was tangled naked in sheet on our bed before gently waking her. As always, Anastasia work easily and attacked her day with an envious enthusiasm. And, as my perverted equal, today was one that anyone should be enthusiastic about.
Nastya jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom to *quot;freshen up*quot;.
I pulled the duvet and sheets off the bed, threw them on the floor and went about attaching the *quot;Under Bed Restraint System*quot;. It was a pretty easy process after my two previous practice runs and I hope Intelligent Jean would be able to do hers (we'd given her an exact copy) on her first attempt and under pressure. Luckily in beds in The Grand, with its elderly unlevel floors, had adjustable legs rather than a solid base. The restraint was like a bed-sized cargo net (yes we'd bought *quot;king*quot;) with extensions in each corner that ended in plastic carabiner clips. On the surface were a variety of restraint attachments with velcro closures for four limbs, one neck, and a torso. All I had to do was to spread out the netting on the bed, thread each extension under a bed leg, pull it back to the netting and secure the clip.
Nastya emerged from the bathroom naked but with her preparations done so efficiently. We'd given her disguise a lot of thought but it only had to hold out for a few seconds, albeit seconds that might be burned in Dan's mind for a lifetime, and in the end we'd come up with something clever but simple. Nastya long blonde hair was (girl-magically) hidden under a convincing, bob-style wig. Even after close inspection my male but hair-appreciating eyes would have bet a considerable amount that this was natural brunette hair dyed an attractive red (plum?). The supporting cast were a pair of fashionable glasses (fake lenses since Nastya's eyesight was as perfect as the rest of her), a large fake flower tattoo that stretched from the top of her shoulder to the top of her breast, and a single fake nipple ring that was impossible, temporarily, to distinguish from one that required a piercing.
She looked amazing and my cock stirred immediately at the sight. Patience boy, patience!
She'd already laid out her outfit and she began to get dressed. No panties, no socks, an unremarkable black skirt, sneakers, and (procured with great risk and difficulty) a *quot;The Grand Hotel Housekeeping*quot; smock complete with a reasonable facsimile of the standard hotel name badge: *quot;Julia - Russia*quot; (procured hastily at ridiculous expense for being a wierd-to-request one-off).
My observations had concluded that most of her *quot;co-workers*quot; wore something light or a sports bra under their smocks but Nastya was topless and, buttoned up (actually pop-studded up) to a respectable height, her smallish tits didn't make it look obvious. It was 9:25.
This wasn't by far the most complicated operation that Anastasia and I had pulled off together so our efficiency was second nature. Nastya checked off the items on the credenza and placed them in the pre-planed pocket of her outfit: her smartphone, a keycard for 1422 (don't ask how), and our own keycard just in case.
I could smell her perfume which she'd applied a little liberally in the bathroom. I knew it was *quot;Beyond Paradise*quot; by Estee Lauder because I'd bought it for this very occasion and I'd chosen it for the following reasons: it was strong, it was nothing like the scents she occasionally wore in real life. Plus, one of its Amazon reviews seemed to have targeted her specifically: *quot;It's a little tropical wetness, some exotic blooms and it's got some woody notes too.*quot;
And, even dressed as a housekeeper my little wetness girl was definitely causing me some interesting woody notes for sure. 9:30.

I grabbed my robe, my only prop in my pocket was the connecting door key, and we waited. 9:32, 9:33, 9:34, ping! A text message arrived on the burner phone (still labeled *quot;Julie