The room was south facing, bright at 2pm. On the bed, my wife and I looked at the large, gift-wrapped box that had been left on Reception, when we'd checked in, minutes earlier. "It was left here for Mrs D., by the two dark gentlemen. They told me to tell you that they're staying in Room 8, next door to yours." We'd arranged to meet them here, talked about it for months. Since her experience with them before our sex life had been more than active and this further meeting with the two black medical specialists, though in less formal surroundings, would charge our batteries even more. She opened the lid. A note. She read it out loud, a slight tremble in her voice: "You are our maid for the afternoon. You wear only the three items of clothing in this box. In case you are not smooth where it counts, a razor and foam are enclosed.Knock on our door at 3pm." She blushed, pulled out the bottle of champagne, the two glasses (they knew I'd be along to observe), the razor, the shaving foam and then the three garments; first a short white apron. "This'll barely cover me!" she compalined. "I think that's the idea, luv," I replied, already turning hard. Next came a pair a plain, quite stern looking black shoes, with barely an inch of heel to them. "I'll be all of 5ft 7 in these!" she moans. Finally, the flimsiest of white thongs - a frilly number. It felt like ages before she reappeared from the bathroom, my lovely dark-haired wife, bare-breasted, in her tiny white apron, black shoes and, mmm, when she turned around, the narrowest frill of white thong covering her perfect arse. She walked, diagonally - she'd drunk the whole bottle of champagne for Dutch Courage - towards the bed. I wanted to fuck her there and then but knew she had another appointment. It was two minutes to three. They were waiting in the next room, two guys who were keen to inspect their maid. "Let's do it," she said, "confident with the booze." I followed her onto the landing and she knocked loudly on their door, afraid of being spotted in her semi-dressed state." "Come!" came a stern, matter of fact voice from the other side. .... (to be continued, perhaps)