I woke with a sore ass and throat. I had a cup of hot coffee to ease one of my symptoms from the night before. Only time could alleviate the other one, but until then it would be a delicious reminder of the night’s events.
As I dressed for work I sighed at the thought of leaving all of my lingerie and toys behind for a day of dull meetings. I especially wanted another round in the hijab and niqab. I don’t know why I found wearing them so fucking hot!
Hours later as I sat in with my boss staring at a screen covered in reports and sales figures, my mind wandered to the night before. I guessed this type of sex club was exactly the type of thing that warranted the reception I received that fateful day in the airport years ago. I had seen women (and other men dressed as women) being used all over the place. I thought about that dark little corner that Haroun had led me to, that couch I had knelt on, offering him my ass. All the different pairs of hands that had been on my head and my hips...
My buttplug! It hit me like a bolt from the blue. In my haste to flee, I had forgotten about the buttplug! Shaken from my reverie I sat bolt upright, disturbing the meeting, and the boss looked at me sideways with scowl.
“Everything okay, Wilson?”
“Oh, yes sir,” I said, nodding with no explanation. My mind whirled. What lengths might the police here go to to bust that kind of sex club ring? DNA testing? The floor must have been covered in cum and other sex juices. Could they possibly track the buttplug back to me? My stomach churned.
As we broke for lunch the boss pulled me aside.
“Everything good?”
“Yeah, sorry; just thinking a few steps ahead. We’re good.”
“Listen, they just told me their boss wants to see me after we’re done today. Some sort of rare treat he wants us to experience before we leave. I’ll call you later when we’re back at the hotel in case we need to extend a few days.”
“Yeah, no problem,” I said.
I got back to my room and the red light on my phone was blinking. I called the front desk and was told that there was a package for me to pick up. I couldn’t imagine who would have delivered a package for me, but I went downstairs and picked it up.
It was wrapped in brown paper and smaller than a shoebox; it was simply addressed “Mr. Wilson” with no return address to indicate who might have left it. I took it back to my room and ripped it open. The contents were wrapped in white tissue paper but laying on top of the paper was another Club Niqab card! I felt my ass twitch at the thought.
Like the last one, one side was covered in hand-written Arabic. The “Club Niqab” side of the card, in addition to the printed Arabic, was written in red ink. It read: “Taxi 10:00 pm, Wednesday.” The single letter “H” was below the time and day. I picked up the tissue paper to unwrap the contents. Inside was a drawstring cloth bag and inside that was my Doc Johnson Thin Tool buttplug! Haroun must have grabbed it as we left and didn’t want to hand it to me in the taxi.
It suddenly dawned on me that I could probably use Google Translate at least on the pre-printed side. I grabbed my phone and turned on the camera function and lined up the card. The words blurred into focus:
Club Niqab
The city’s premier sex club
non-members may gain
admittance by bringing
one female or transgender
sex partner
So that was Haroun’s angle! My sissy holes were his ticket inside this illicit sex club! That dirty dog!
It was over drinks at dinner that evening that the boss revealed to me exactly what the “special treat” was that the company’s boss wanted to share with us.
“We won’t need to extend, because the event is this Wednesday. Apparently, it's some sort of sex club or other. He helps run the club so he can get us in without any problem. What do you say, Wilson? Are you in?”
My mind whirled. It couldn’t possibly be anyplace other than Club Niqab, could it?
“I have plans that will run late that evening. Do you know what time? Is it during the day or early evening?”
“I think he said 10:00 pm. I think it might be interesting to spend time with him in that environment — give us a better measure of who we’re dealing with. What do you say?”
It had to be Club Niqab! I had to think fast. What possible plans could I have that would trump this kind of meeting with an important and influential client?
“I have late dinner after ‘Isha prayers with a guy I met at the airport on my way in. He is looking for a back door into our markets at home and wanted to get the lay of the land as it were. Could be a solid lead for more local jobs and work.”
“Well hell, that sounds too good to miss. Do you think I should go with you instead?”
“I don’t think you should bail on an important invitation from our current clients. I fear that might be considered an insult on some level. I understand that these underground sex clubs are very elite so being invited is a really big deal — it means he trusts you implicitly! I will know when the time is right to bring you in, if necessary. This other guy may not even want to pursue an investment with us, though I will make a very tempting offer — irresistible even.”
“Okay, Wilson, That sounds like the best plan. Let’s plan to meet after lunch. I would say breakfast but I don’t know how late I will be out.”
“You got it, sir!” I said brightly. “It certainly sounds like you’ll be having more fun than me!”
Preparing for Wednesday I took special care with my selections. Now that I knew that mainly my bottom half would be visible, I focused more on something that could easily be hidden under my male clothes for a quick exit!
I selected a pink bra/panty/garter set. The bra was a plunge-front style made of pink mesh with embroidered polka dots. Pink bows were placed between the cups as well as where each shoulder strap joined the top of the cup.
The panties were a high-waisted thong made of the same material — sheer pink mesh — and had the same embroidered dot pattern across the front and a completely sheer back. An inverted “V” of lace framed the front panel running down from a small pink bow at the center of the waistband to the middle of the leg holes.
The pink dotted mesh of the garter belt ran from hip to hip, with another smaller inverted ”V” and bow centered on the front. I paired the garter belt with the same black seamed stockings I had worn the previous night, along with the same four-inch black patent heels.
With more knowledge of what I was getting myself into, I minimized the makeup I brought, keeping it to just lipstick and eye makeup. Knowing it would make me appear more voluptuous, I still brought my breast forms, wanting to have “bumps” in all the right places under my hijab.
As I had before, I skipped dinner and prepared my sissy hole. I cleaned myself out thoroughly, injected a fair amount of lube inside my anal canal, and slid my Doc Johnson Thin Tool in place to keep it all together. Again, now that I knew what to expect, I slipped into the thong panties, figuring that I could safely wear them under my mundane clothing and expedite my transformation at the other end. I rolled my stockings up my legs and attached them to the garter belt. I checked my seams in the mirror to make sure they were straight, making just a few adjustments.
My sissy brain told me that I should wear the panties over the garters like a good slut would. The sensible gurl inside told me that I didn’t want to get separated from them, and making sure they stayed attached to me was the best way to not worry about where my panties went. Besides, the thong wasn’t going to pose much of a barrier and for as much as I moved around last time I didn’t feel it would be a problem.
I skulked around the lobby area, staying out of sight until I saw my boss get into a limousine and leave the hotel headed to wherever he was going. As his limo pulled away I ventured outside, my bag containing my bra, breast forms, makeup, and heels in hand. A taxi pulled up and the driver called my name. I hopped in, relishing the way my garters and thong tugged as I situated myself.
I handed the driver the card. He smirked, handing the card back to me. I wondered what else might be written on the other side of that card, or what the driver might suspect. Like last time we drove a random and varied route — almost like the driver expected to be followed and was trying to lose a tail.