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.

Unlike last time, we drove deeper into the city, nowhere near the warehouse district we had been before. Although we drove around for twenty minutes, I could tell by some of the landmarks I had seen that we were less than a mile from my hotel. The taxi pulled up to what looked like a deserted conference center. There was a small queue of cars dropping people off at the front, but my taxi drove around to the back near the loading docks.

I saw the familiar hand-lettered sign for the women’s entrance. Well, whatever was written on that card at least explained the smirk of the cab driver. I paid the driver — again about 150 Riyal. Just inside the same matronly woman greeted me. Whether she recognized me or not I couldn’t tell, but her reaction was the same. She speared me with a disproving glare, whispering “mutakhanith” under her breath as she pointed me to one of two doors off to the left.

The music was not as loud this time, but since this location was built to house a convention it had a lot of extra rooms in the back with actual walls. I saw a steady stream of women leaving the other door, all dressed in the same hijab and niqab, with various flashes of lingerie or bare flesh. They went down a main hallway. I saw a door open at the other end and saw lights flashing through and heard the music swell before the door closed, dampening things.

I stepped through the door and with a glance around the room I saw four others in varying states of dress — three were men cross-dressing but one was a woman, which I thought was odd.

Greeting me was another young woman — not the same one as last time — but similarly dressed in robes and a hijab with no niqab. She greeted me in Arabic.

“Sorry, honey, I don’t speak Arabic,” I said.

“Not to worry,” she said. “I am here to help you. Is this your first time?” She gestured toward where the others were getting ready. This time I saw nice padded benches.

“No,” I said. “I will need help with the hijab and niqab, though.” I made my way over to the nearest bench and started undressing. I lowered my pants, revealing my pink garter belt and thong panties. I kicked off my shoes and opened my bag.

“Oh my God, another American!” I heard the woman exclaim. She rushed over to me wearing just her lingerie.

She was dressed like a classic model from the fifties. Her lingerie was all in pale blue which contrasted beautifully with her dirty blonde hair. The top half of her shelf bra cups was delicate lace that clearly showed off her nipples and surrounding areolae. Her stockings — beige but with a welt in matching light blue — were held up by a six-strap garter belt with alternating panels of shimmery satin and lace. Her panties, from what I could see, were lace with an inverted triangle of satin centered on the waist.

She gripped me in an unexpected hug. She was about five-foot-five, but stood to nearly my height in her heels, a pair of beige pumps showing the perfect amount of toe cleavage. As I hugged her back, I could feel my cock growing between us in my panties.

“I’m Kelli,” she said brightly.

“I’m Stacey,” I said. “If you don’t mind my asking, why are you on this side of the hallway? I thought this area was just for us trans girls.”

“I guess someone must have told on me,” she said. She lowered her voice to a pretend whisper. “I used to be just like you, but I finally took the plunge and had the surgery.”

She pulled away and turned around, revealing the satin back of her thong panties. She backed her ass up and wiggled it, rubbing against my cock, which grew even harder.

“It looks like someone is glad to see me,” she said. She giggled.

“Well, I may be a sissy cock-whore, but I’ve always considered myself a trans-lesbian.”

“Let’s finish getting you dressed, Stacey,” she said. Without waiting for permission she opened my bag and started laying out my things. I stripped off my shirt and picked up my bra. I slipped my arms into the straps and turned, allowing her to fasten my bra from behind. I inserted and adjusted my breast forms into my bra cups.

I sat down to put on my heels. When I looked up, she had picked up my makeup.

“Let me, sweetie,” she said. As she applied a light coat of foundation to my forehead and around my eyes I steadied myself by placing my hands on her hips. I eyed her up and down, taking in her feminine form. Holding her close in a near-intimate embrace, I could feel my cock growing hard again. What had been a small spot of pre-cum was now a growing wet spot.

“I can’t believe you were once like me,” I said. As she applied my eyeshadow I caressed her hips.

“You’re being an incredible tease,” she said. She stepped between my legs, turning slightly to apply my eyeliner. Encouraged by her new position, my right hand cupped the left cheek of her ass. She “mmm’d” and rubbed back, rotating her hips. She bent her leg forward, bending it enough to make contact with my crotch.

“Now who’s being naughty,” I said. My left hand moved to her right breast and I moved my hips, humping her leg as best I could from a seated position. She moaned and started on my mascara. When my eyes were done she stepped back to appraise her work.

“Gorgeous, hon!” she declared. “Just the lipstick now.” I stood up and pressed my body against her, my hard cock pressed between us, panty-to-panty.

“You can’t possibly let me go out there like this.” I grasped her right hand and placed it on my panty-covered raging hard-on. “How about we ruin your lipstick before we do mine?”

With an unmistakable glint in her eye, she kneeled, rubbing her cheek against the bulge in my panties. I looked over at the attendant, expecting disapproval. She didn’t even look remotely interested in what we were getting up to.

“Ohh, Kelli,” I moaned. “Suck me. Suck my throbbing clitty.” She tugged my panties to one side, freeing my member. A huge drop of pre-cum surged from the tip and she caught it with her tongue, licking up the shaft and enveloping the head with her mouth.

“It will be my pleasure, Stacey,” she purred. She bobbed her head up and down as I carefully rested my hands on her full and fluffy hairdo. She sucked my cock like a pro, doing everything I would have done.

“Let me return the favor,” I said, pulling back. I took her hands and pulled her over to the bench. She laid on her back, spread wide with one leg on each side of the bench but leaving her head hanging off the end. I dove between her legs, pulling her thong to one side giving me access to her sweet pussy. She opened her mouth, taking my cock back inside.

We were locked in a hot 69; I lapped at her pussy and licked her clit as my hips rose and fell, using her throat with my cock. She writhed under my ministrations, and soon I inserted one finger into her beautiful ass. That finger was quickly followed by a second and in just a few more minutes we were both too far gone to stop.

She came first, clamping her thighs around my head. As she moaned her pleasure around my cock, it sent me over the edge and I pumped my load into her stomach. She sucked on the head of my cock, milking every last drop and making me squirm as she prolonged my orgasmic sensation. I returned the favor, burying my two fingers in her ass as my mouth applied suction to her sensitive clit.

I collapsed, falling to the side. We shared an intimate kiss and she passed me what little of my load had made it in her mouth.

“That was amazing, Stacey,” she said.

“Absolutely,” I said, “but now I think I’m ready for some cock.”

“Me too!” She rolled off the bench and made her way over to her things, reapplying her lipstick as she watched me apply mine.

The attendant came over and fitted both of us with hijabs and added our niqabs before we hit the door.

We chatted like we hadn’t just been intimate with each other while she dressed up. It was Kelli’s first time here, but she was looking forward to the idea of a room full of men waiting to use a bunch of anonymous women. I briefly talked about my first experience, only serving to increase her excitement.

Kelli went first and as I watched her disappear down the hallway the attendant caught my arm by the hand. She lifted the front of her robe and placed my hand between her legs. I could feel her heat and wetness through the satin or silk material of her panties — she was soaked!

“Maybe if you have time, kas alwalad, you can service my mahbal later,” she said. She slapped me on the ass, sending me on my way down the hall.