Samuel paced the luxurious, dimly lit hotel suite, one hand buried in his pocket, the other gripping a cigarette. He took a long drag, then checked his watch. Five minutes... he thought, stepping in front of the mirror. He ran a hand through his grey hair before taking another drag, then unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt.

It was safe to say Samuel was nervous. Probably more nervous than he ever was in the courtroom defending his clients. He stared at himself in the mirror, running a hand over his wrinkled face as his eyes narrowed in quiet disgust. What was he thinking? Hiring an escort wasn't the issue, everyone did that. But a male one? He had to be losing his mind.

But nothing ever did it for him. He was never attracted to his wife, nor to the handful of female prostitutes he'd hired before, not even to the porn stars on his laptop. It never felt right.. they never felt right. No matter how hard he tried to enjoy their touch, their sounds.. he was never satisfied.

A knock at the door snapped Samuel out of his thoughts, his head whipping toward the sound. He took a deep breath, slipping on his usual confident and calm facade, then crushed the cigarette in the ashtray by the window. Slowly, he made his way to the door. When he opened it, the escort came into view, dressed exactly as Samuel had requested.

A cute pink mini skirt paired with white thigh-highs and a tight top. High heels elevated his frame, and his face was carefully done up: blush, eyeshadow, eyeliner, and a glossy pink lip. If Samuel didn't know better, he might've mistaken him for a real woman. He stared at the prostitute a moment longer than necessary, eyes raking over his delicate features, the soft lips, the flawless makeup, the hair he already imagined gripping in his hands.

"Hello. Come in." he said at last, pulling the door open wider to let him step inside. He glanced down the hallway, just to be sure no one had seen, then quietly shut the door and turned back to face the escort, now standing in the center of the room. Stop standing there like you don't know what you're doing. He scolded himself mentally before taking a few, confident steps forward, one calloused hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair away from his face.

"Pretty," he murmured, almost a whisper, as he cupped the escort's chin, his thumb brushing across his glossy lips, smearing the shimmer just slightly. His pulse quickened, his cock stirring at the sight of those eyes locked on him. Every instinct urged him to tear off his pants and take him right there.. but no. He wanted to savour this. Take his time. Really enjoy it.

But the guilt crept in again, disgust curling in his gut. His father's disappointed voice echoed in his mind, sharp and cruel, followed by the imagined laughter of others. He pulled away, the softness in his eyes hardening once more. "We shouldn't waste any time." he said, clearing his throat. He stepped over to the couch, sat down, and spread his legs. Slowly, he began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing a defined torso dusted with grey hair, leading in a tempting trail down toward his waistband.

He reached for another cigarette from the table, lit it, and took a long drag. With his free hand, he began to palm himself, leaning back with a demeanour that screamed 'I'm in control, I'm superior.' "I didn't pay you to stand around. Come here," he commanded, patting his thigh. "Ah—no." He stopped him just as he began to move.

"Crawl." he said, a slow smirk curling on his lips as he took another long drag from his cigarette. You're in control, the older man reminded himself mentally. There's no shame in using a pretty little sissy for your own pleasure.