After my initiation at the ABS, I was looking forward to my first motel session with excitement mixed with trepidation. I now knew that pleasure for me would not be something I could expect at every session, or, indeed, any session. In my head, I knew that was the point and that Mr. King was correct: this was what I needed to become who I truly was inside. However, my body was still hoping for the orgasms that I feared would become all too rare, especially since I was now forbidden from any self pleasuring, or, indeed, any form of sexual activity outside of my assignments and keeping my wife happy.

The following Monday was my first duty shift. To my surprise, Mr. King was in the room waiting for me. He had apparently turned down the bed so clean sheets were visible instead of the standard top blanket.

“Good day, PG,” he greeted me. Apparently, he had decided that would be my designation. “For your first official client, I thought I would give you to someone with interesting tastes that you will appreciate. We like to ease in new employees,” he added, without a trace of a smile.

I grimaced, thinking about my ordeal last week. “I’ll try not to disappoint you, Sir.”

“Try not to disappoint the client, PG. After all, you exist to give him pleasure. Never forget that.”

“Yes, Sir. Is there anything special I need to know?”

“Not much. He’s a first time guest here, spending his lunch hour seeking to indulge his pantyhose fetish. Given your proclivities, I thought you would find him interesting. Your clothing and instructions are in the usual places. He’ll be here in about 30 minutes. I’ll leave you to it.”

He left the room and I looked at the desk for my instructions. Besides the paper, there were two packages of stockings, one containing tan thigh highs and the other tan pantyhose (with support top) and a soft cotton button down pink shirt. I read the instructions.

“After you shower, shave (you only need to shave your face today) and brush your teeth, put on the thigh high stockings, followed by the pantyhose. Then, put on the shirt and wait on the love seat for your client’s arrival. You are to introduce yourself to him (and to all other clients, unless otherwise instructed) as Soma. Don’t forget your usual etiquette.”

I undressed and put my clothes away in a drawer. Seeing no enemas in the bathroom, I shaved my face and hopped in the shower, thankful that, today, it appeared my ass was gonna be spared any use. However, to be on the safe side, I soaped it well, to ensure it would look and smell clean if needed.

After finishing my shower and brushing my teeth, I walked into the main room and started dressing. The stockings were medium grade, which told me they would likely only be used today. I opened the package with the thigh highs and removed them carefully. Starting with my right leg (at all times begin on the right), I rolled up one stocking, inserted my foot carefully and rolled it up my leg, enjoying the feel of the nylon on my skin. The elastic band was snug, but not too tight. They wouldn’t sag. The beige color darkened my skin slightly and helped minimize the appearance of my leg hair. I repeated the action with my left leg, noticing that my cock was rising along with the stocking.

The next package contained a pair of shiny tan pantyhose, with a control top. I rolled them up my stocking clad legs and pulled the top up to my navel. The panties pulled in my tummy a bit. The double layering was warming up my legs, but in a pleasant manner. My erection was pressed tight against my body. After throwing away the packaging, I walked around the room, enjoying the sensations and consciously shortening my step.

I took a deep breath and blew it out gently, closing my eyes and feeling my inner helpless maiden beginning to emerge once more. I placed one foot on the bed and ran one hand over my thigh while pinching my nipples with the other. I felt the precum start to form and knew it was time to stop: it wasn’t yet time to stain the hose.

Next, I picked up the shirt and examined it. It was pink and made of a soft cotton. I slid it on, noticing short sleeves and the odd placement of the buttons. I buttoned it up and realized it was a woman’s shirt. It was a comfortable fit, showing my nipples but not highlighting my dad bod. Mrs. King must have a good eye for sizing, I mused. Most likely, she had recorded my clothing sizes during my visit to the ABS. I rubbed my nipples through the cloth and shivered with the sensations. It was time to put my glasses in the desk drawer, increasing my feelings of vulnerability and helplessness. Then, I sat on the love seat, tucked my legs up and waited for my client’s arrival.

I turned the radio on to the local classical station to help me relax and slow down my breathing. As my breathing slowed, my cock returned to its flaccid state. That set me thinking: should I tuck it to give me a more feminine look? There was nothing in the directions about that, but it seemed appropriate. I pulled down the panties and tucked my balls into my inguinal sacs. Holding them in place, I pulled my cock down and pulled up the pantyhose, the control panel holding everything in place. I licked the precum from my fingers and returned to waiting.

In a few minutes, there was a tentative knock and I slid my legs off the love seat and walked to the door. Looking through the peephole, I could make out a fuzzy shape of a man with grey hair, wearing a polo shirt and khakis. A professional, from the looks of him. I opened the door and welcomed him in.

“Good afternoon, Sir. How may I pleasure you?”

He walked in, closed the door and put his hands on my shoulders, holding me at arms length while he gave me a cursory head to toe glance. At the same time, I took him in. He was a bit taller than me and, from the wrinkles on his face, appeared to be just on the other side of 60. His grey hair was thinning and he had just a hint of midday stubble on his cheeks. His arms had a light layer of hair on them. He had the slightest hint of a middle age spread, but had a better overall create than I did.

Then, he drew me in for a quick hug, which surprised me. Just as quickly, he pushed me back to arms length.

“My name is Soma, Sir. I hope your day is going well.”

“Since you dressed the way I wanted, it’s off to a good start. Have you worn pantyhose before?”

“Yes, Sir. I enjoy the sensations of the fiber against my skin. It’s sensual and makes me feel more feminine.”

“Well, I’m not looking for a tranny today. I just want someone I can have some fun with.” He moved to the love seat and sat down. “Undress me, starting with my shoes.”

I assumed his gruffness was a way of asserting his dominance and showing who was in control. That was just fine with me, as it got my submissive juices flowing. I could also begin to feel some other juices flowing onto my taint. I knelt at his feet and untied his brown shoes, which appeared to be a size larger than mine. I pulled them off and set them to one side. Then I noticed his feet. Even without my glasses on, I could tell they were covered, not by socks, but by stockings of some sort.

Above me, I heard his belt unbuckle and felt him squirm to unbutton his pants. I lifted my head and saw he was ready to remove them. I pulled at the waistband as he lifted his tush to allow me to slide them down, revealing a pair of briefs over a pair of black pantyhose. The bulge in the pantyhose told me he was glad to see me and that I was fortunate he wasn’t planning to put it in my ass. I resisted the impulse to feel him out and finished pulling down his khakis and pulled them off his legs, being careful not to spill the contents of the pockets. I stood up and folded them carefully over the desk chair, making sure the pockets were facing up. When I returned, I saw he had already slipped off his briefs and placed them over his shoes. He patted the love seat.

“Sit with me.”

I sat next to him and curled my legs up. The motion forced me off balance and onto his shoulder, where I instinctively laid my head. His arm wrapped around my shoulder and held me there. I kept my eyes focused on his crotch and snuggled close to him, waiting for him to take charge.

I felt his hand rubbing my shoulder as he reached his other hand over and started unbuttoning my shirt. One, two, three buttons, my breath gasping as each one fell away. He stopped and slid his hand in my shirt and fondled my chest and nipple, rubbing it, pinching it gently and moving his leg closer to mine. I felt the smooth pressure of warm stocking on warm stocking and sighed contentedly.

Not wanting to break the moment, but wanting more, I slid my hand under his shirt and moved it up his chest, feeling the wiry hair, to his nipples, which were at least twice as big as mine. We played with each other’s nipples and I felt the pressure of my tucked cock growing toward my ass.

He pulled me closer to him and continued unbuttoning my shirt. When he finished, he slid his hand down the pantyhose and rubbed my crotch. Then, his hand faltered and he felt around the crotch.

“Where’s your cock?”

“I tucked it, Sir, so it wouldn’t ruin the shape of the pantyhose.”

He reached into the control top and pulled my cock up. Then, he pushed on my scrotum until my balls descended. I hissed with the pain.

“I said I wasn’t looking for a tranny. I want to see your cock and balls through the pantyhose, just like mine.” He grabbed my hand and guided it to his own pantyhose. I could feel his erection and, as he rubbed my hand over it, I confirmed my earlier observation: he was much larger and thicker than me. His balls felt substantial. I looked into his eyes and was surprised, and a little alarmed, at the intensity with which he was watching me.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I did not mean to displease you.”

“No more talking. Get your mouth working on me.”

I started to move my head down to his lap, but he stopped me. He pulled off his shirt, threw it to the desk and pulled my head to his chest.

“Work those nipples, boy. Suck them good.”

I flicked my tongue over his nipples and got a hair on it. I didn’t dare stop to take it out, but latched on to one nipple and twirled my tongue around it, feeling the roughness and thickness of his nipple and tasting a drop of sweat. It was hot outside and he had that early afternoon musk that developed when deodorants begin to lose their protection. I knew I was pleasuring a real man.

I moved my tongue toward the areola while starting to press down on the nipple with my teeth. He hissed with appreciation and started squeezing my now erect cock. My own hands were running through his chest hair and I slid my mouth over to his other nipple, ignoring the hairs that stuck to my tongue. He tasted delightful, but I needed more.

Raising up a little, I swung my legs over his and started kissing my way down his chest. He opened his legs to welcome mine and I knelt in front of him, his stocking clad legs pinning my own stocking clad legs together. My head made its way down to the gusset and the wet spot that showed his excitement. I ran my tongue over it, tasting the precum and letting him get a preview of what I hoped would be a challenging lunchtime feeding.

He held my head there. “Oh yeah, boy, suck my panties. Get them wet and lick out that cum.” He was grinding his crotch in my face and I was humming happily in subspace, losing track of the time, sucking on the precum that was soaking through the pantyhose, until he pulled my head away.

“I’m about ready to explode. Let’s take this to the bed.”

He stood up, lifting me up with him. We were practically touching and I did a bump and grind against him, enjoying the smoothness of his thighs. He finished unbuttoning my shirt and let it fall to the floor. His chest hairs scratched my nipples gently and I moaned as he backed me to the bed.

He pushed me back onto the bed. Before I could react, he grabbed one leg in each hand and pushed me back until my body was fully on the bed. He lowered my legs and climbed on top of me. He raised himself above me in a pushup position and watched me as he started to grind his crotch against mine. The sensation of the hose rubbing on my cock was amazing. I wrapped my legs around his and ran my stocking clad feet up and down his legs.

He moaned and ground even harder and faster into me, his larger cock pressing into mine and sliding it back and forth in the panties. I gasped with pleasure and my breathing was growing rapid and raspy.

“Sir, I’m going to cum if you don’t stop rubbing me.”

“Then go ahead! Shoot that cum in your pantyhose for me…rub it into my cock.”

And then, with a sudden upward thrust, I cried out and started pulsing. One, two, three, four, five squirts, trapped in the control top and soaking my crotch and the gusset. Through it all, he never stopped grinding, even when I stopped shooting. My cock head, hypersensitive after the intense orgasm, moved toward that special post-orgasmic pleasure-pain. I tried to slide out from under him, but he held me down and continued the slow grind.

“Please, Sir, it’s starting to hurt.”

His only response was a growl and an intensification of his attack on my crotch. His pantyhose were making his cock feel better and better, even as mine was feeling the post glow sensitivity and sharp jabs of pleasure-pain. My cum was spreading and leaking out of the panty and began to seep into his hose and onto his cock.

And then, he arched his back, threw his head into the air and pushed down hard as his cock released its load. I don’t know how long it had been since he had last had an orgasm, but it must have been a while. His eyes shut tightly and he gurgled in pleasure. I felt the heat in my crotch as his panty filled with his cum and oozed out of the waistband, seeping into my panty and mingling with my own sperm.

He collapsed on me and I stroked his head gently, not sure what kind of afterglow he would have. I rubbed his back and slid my hands over the smoothness of his ass, waiting for him to regain his composure. He rolled over next to be and stared at the ceiling, still breathing heavily, but starting to relax.

I propped my head on one arm to face him and ran my fingers through his chest hair. He closed his eyes and smiled. I smiled in return: I had brought him pleasure, and received some much needed relief for myself. I hoped the bed wouldn’t get too sticky…

…sticky. He was gonna have to return to the office soon and he wouldn’t have time for a shower. I returned to my knees and moved my head down to his crotch. The gusset of the pantyhose was covered in a sheen of cum that had filtered out. Steeling myself, I lowered my head and started to lick the white goo from the gusset. I’ve never been a fan of room temperature cum, as it loses the taste and consistency I enjoy and becomes the sexual equivalent of boiled okra. Nevertheless, he needed this service and I was there to serve. I swallowed it as quickly as I could, but the bitter taste clung to my tongue. Through the fabric, I could feel his cock, still long and thick, but softer.

Apparently, he had the same wondered. He sat up suddenly and looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

He stood up and turned to me, pulling his pantyhose down to his thighs. “I don’t have time for a shower, so you’ll have to lick me clean. Don’t miss any spots: I don’t want be smelling like sex. And use your tongue, not your mouth: I don’t want a tranny and I don’t want a faggot cocksucker.”

For a moment, I was outraged. Here I was giving him pleasure and even cleaning him up myself and he had the nerve to call me a faggot? What does he think I am, a cheap whore? I looked up ready to tell him to get out of my room, but then I saw his eyes, which belied his words and tone of voice.

They were uncertain, not able to maintain eye contact with me. And then it hit me: It wasn’t that he didn’t want a faggot: he didn’t want to BE a faggot, or a tranny. The pantyhose and the macho act were his way of transforming his inner desires into something he could live with. After all, many “normal” men had a fetish or two, and wearing pantyhose wasn’t that bad. Joe Namath had worn them, and he was an NFL quarterback, for Pete’s sake! And, so far, he hadn’t actually put his cock into another my mouth or ass, so he wasn’t really having sex with another man. He had rubbed one out; that was all. As long as he kept his cock out of another man, he was safe in his masculinity. He wasn’t the first man to have post-orgasmic regrets.

I certainly understood that: I had been in that position for much of my adult life. Or was I simply projecting my past insecurities onto him? It didn’t matter. He wanted a quick, impersonal cleanup, and that’s what I would give him. I would be his personal cleaner, doing a professional job without showing any outward emotions. I was very good at that.

I got to work. Starting at his waist, I looked for any telltale signs of wetness and licked it off. The white patches were the worst: they were already gelatinous and slimy, the textures I hated the most. I was careful not to lick areas that didn’t need it. I worked my way down his crotch, doing my best to ignore the occasional hairs that were clinging to my tongue. The gusset had absorbed much of it, but some had dripped down his thighs. The pantyhose made it difficult to get the insides of his thighs, but I did my best.

I lifted his scrotum gently and cleaned the folds, where several globules had hidden. He was a prodigious shooter, and there was a lot to swallow, none of it pleasant. I worked around the area, then picked up his flaccid cock gingerly and ran my tongue over it, admiring the veins and squeezing out the remaining cum. I looked up and smiled: mission accomplished.

“It’s still a mess. I’ll need to wash it off quickly. No, don’t you get up. You couldn’t handle a simple cleanup here and I don’t need you to slow things down. Get on your back and wait. I’ll give you something to chew on.”

As I lay back, he pulled of his pantyhose and smiled at me.

“Open up.”

I opened my mouth and he pushed the gusset in, making sure the inner part was on my tongue, making sure I’d get the full taste of his cum. He bunched up the rest and placed it over my face, covering my eyes and making sure the aromatic footie section was over my nose. In spite of myself, I inhaled deeply. It was clear he had been wearing them all morning, and that his feet had a issue with sweating.

“There’s something to remember me by. Don’t move until I’m gone. Thanks for the fun, Soma.” He slid his hand down my leg and gave my foot a squeeze. “Next time, I may let you suck on my toes.” With that, he left me alone with my thoughts and the taste of stale cum. I inhaled the scent of his feet and thought how they would taste…

My sense of time was out of whack again. I heard water running, the sounds of dressing, then the door opening and closing. How long was it? I didn’t know. I was sucking absentmindedly on the gusset. I closed my eyes and relaxed, eventually dozing off…

“Wake up, PG.” It was Mr. King.

I opened my eyes and thought if I had slept through the day. Then, I remembered the pantyhose covering my eyes and pulled them off my face and out of my mouth. It was still daylight and Mr. King was standing over me with a look of concern on his face. I was gratified he wanted to be sure I was OK…

“You’re a mess. Hop in the shower and get yourself cleaned up. There’s another man arriving at the airport in two hours. His plans were mixed up and he’s getting in earlier than he thought. He’ll be tired and wants stress relief: a good foot rub and blowjob. He may or may not want you to join him in the shower. You’ll need to play that by ear. He’ll be in room 305. I’ll call you when he checks in. You won’t need to wear anything special. He’s been here before and just likes to relax before his meetings. I’ll have housekeeping up here in five minutes to clean up around here. Get moving. And don’t forget to shave.”