Chapter 5: The Taste of Power
The heavy silence in Mark’s new quarters was broken only by the low drone of the air conditioner struggling against the Riyadh heat. The space smelled faintly of the cheap sandalwood cologne Mark used, layered over the sterile scent of new linens and the lingering musk of their earlier encounter against the door. He was sprawled on the surprisingly comfortable single bed, still naked, staring at the plain ceiling, the unfamiliar luxury of having a room adjacent to the main house feeling more like a velvet-lined trap than a promotion.
The connecting door swung open soundlessly. Nasser stood silhouetted against the brighter light of his own opulent suite, wearing only loose, midnight-blue silk pajama pants that hung dangerously low on his hips. His dark hair was slightly mussed, and his kohl-lined eyes held a predatory gleam. He’d clearly showered, the scent of expensive cedar and citrus clinging to his skin, a stark contrast to the room’s cheaper aroma.
Without a word, Nasser crossed the small space, his bare feet silent on the thin rug. Mark tensed, bracing for another demanding encounter. Instead of words, Nasser simply pushed him. Hard. Mark grunted as his back hit the mattress, the springs protesting softly. Before he could react, Nasser straddled his waist, pinning him down. The cool silk of the pants brushed against Mark’s bare stomach. Nasser’s slender frame felt surprisingly strong like this, dominating him with practiced ease. A wicked grin spread across his face, sharp and possessive.
"You look comfortable, driver," Nasser purred, leaning forward, his hands planted on either side of Mark’s head. "Too comfortable. We need to establish the hierarchy in your quarters too." He shifted his weight, grinding his ass deliberately against the hardening length trapped beneath Mark’s navel. Mark sucked in a breath, the friction both infuriating and intensely arousing. "Remember the contract? Your duties extend beyond driving my father’s car."
Mark met his gaze, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, warring with the heat pooling low in his gut. "I remember the triple salary," he retorted, his voice rough. "And the unfettered access." He bucked his hips slightly, testing Nasser’s hold.
Nasser chuckled, a low, dark sound. He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing Mark’s ear. "Access goes both ways, habibi. You get my ass anytime you want it…" He paused, letting the implication hang. "But I get whatever I want from you. Whenever. However." His hand slid down Mark’s chest, nails lightly scratching the caramel skin, tracing a path past his navel. He stopped just above Mark’s cock, which was now fully hard, throbbing against the silk barrier. Nasser’s gaze dropped, studying it with open hunger. "Ever sucked cock before, driver?" His voice was a velvet whisper laced with steel.
The question hit Mark like a physical blow. His jaw tightened. He knew where this was going. He shook his head once, curtly, unable to find words. The idea felt alien, a line he hadn’t considered crossing. His encounters had always been about taking, dominating, fucking hard and fast. Submission wasn't his role. Not like this.
Nasser’s grin widened into something triumphant and cruel. He cupped Mark’s chin with surprising firmness, forcing him to meet his intense gaze. The possessiveness in that grip sent a jolt through Mark, a confusing mix of humiliation and a dark, unwanted thrill. "Mine will be your first," Nasser declared, his thumb pressing insistently against Mark’s bottom lip, forcing it down slightly. The pad of his thumb felt hot, slightly rough. "Open wide, Mark. Show your prince what a quick study you are." He leaned back slightly, maintaining the pressure on Mark’s jaw. His other hand hooked into the waistband of his silk pants. "And do it well," he added, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr, "because there’s a special bonus waiting for you down my throat if you make me come."
The crude promise, the blatant demand, twisted Mark’s insides. He was trapped beneath Nasser’s weight, pinned by his gaze and the threat inherent in his position. The power dynamic had reversed violently. He was the one naked, vulnerable, being instructed. Resentment warred with a sharp spike of adrenaline and raw curiosity. He couldn't deny the visceral pull of Nasser’s confidence, the illicit thrill of being commanded to perform this act. Slowly, reluctantly, he parted his lips.
Nasser didn't hesitate. He pushed his silk pants down just enough, freeing his cock. It sprang free, already erect, flushed dark and glistening slightly at the tip. It wasn't huge, but thick, perfectly shaped, the veins standing out starkly against the pale skin. He guided the thick, plum-shaped head towards Mark’s open mouth. "Wider," Nasser commanded, his voice tight with anticipation. He pressed the slick tip against Mark’s lips. "Tongue out. Taste me."
The salty, musky scent assaulted Mark’s senses. He instinctively flinched, but Nasser’s grip on his jaw tightened, preventing retreat. Obeying felt like surrender, yet the proximity of Nasser’s arousal, the sheer novelty of it, sent a confusing surge of heat through him. He tentatively extended his tongue, touching the slick slit. The taste was intense, salty and slightly bitter, uniquely male. Nasser hissed, pushing forward. The thick head breached Mark’s lips, bumping against his teeth before pressing onto his tongue.
"Fuck yes," Nasser breathed, his hips shifting minutely. "Just like that. Now suck. Gently at first. Use your fucking tongue."
Mark closed his lips hesitantly around the shaft, just below the head. He applied tentative suction, swirling his tongue experimentally around the sensitive ridge. It felt strange, intrusive. He gagged slightly as Nasser pushed deeper, the thick length hitting the back of his throat. "Relax your throat, you dumb fuck," Nasser grunted, his fingers tangling roughly in Mark’s hair, guiding his head. "Take it deeper. Don't just lick the tip like a nervous virgin."
Mark choked, eyes watering. He tried to pull back, but Nasser held him firm, forcing more of his cock into his mouth. Tears pricked Mark’s eyes. He concentrated on breathing through his nose, fighting the gag reflex. He focused on the feel – the hot, velvety hardness filling his mouth, the salty taste coating his tongue, the way Nasser’s fingers tightened painfully in his hair with every tentative bob of his head. Shame burned his cheeks, but beneath it, a perverse sense of accomplishment bloomed as he managed to take Nasser deeper, his throat muscles reluctantly relaxing.
"Better," Nasser moaned, his head falling back, exposing the elegant line of his neck. "Yes… fuck… use your mouth, driver. Suck my cock like the whore you are." He started rocking his hips shallowly, fucking Mark’s mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts. "Work that tongue… yeah… right there… under the head…" His breath hitched as Mark found a rhythm, hollowing his cheeks, sucking harder, his tongue working the sensitive underside of the shaft. Mark’s jaw ached, his throat stretched uncomfortably, but he was adapting, driven by Nasser’s filthy encouragement and the promise of that "special bonus." He could feel Nasser getting harder, thicker in his mouth, the pre-cum leaking steadily, making the slide easier.
Nasser’s grip on his hair tightened to the point of pain. "Deeper," he gasped, his voice ragged. "Take it all, you fucking cockslut. Swallow me." He thrust forward forcefully, burying his cock to the root, the thick base pressing hard against Mark’s lips. Mark gagged violently, his eyes streaming, his throat convulsing. He felt completely invaded, overwhelmed by the thick heat lodged deep inside him. Nasser held him there for a long, agonizing moment, groaning low in his throat. "Fuck… your throat is so fucking tight…" He pulled back slowly, letting Mark gasp for air, then slammed back in, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm. "Suck it! Swallow my fucking cock, servant!"
Mark lost himself in the rhythm, the pain, the humiliation, and the intense, raw physicality of it. He focused on breathing when he could, on relaxing his throat for each deep thrust, on the pressure of Nasser’s fingers in his hair, the desperate sounds falling from Nasser’s lips. The taste and scent of Nasser’s arousal filled his senses completely. He felt Nasser’s balls tightening against his chin, heard the pitch of his moans rise sharply. "Oh fuck… Mark… I'm gonna…" Nasser’s warning was strangled, his hips stuttering, losing rhythm. He shoved Mark’s head down hard, holding it immobile as his cock pulsed violently. A hot, bitter flood erupted deep in Mark’s throat.
Mark choked, swallowing convulsively as thick spurts of cum hit the back of his throat. More came, coating his tongue, filling his mouth with the overwhelming, salty-bitter taste. He gagged, struggling against Nasser’s iron grip, trying to pull away, but Nasser held him fast, grinding his hips, forcing him to take every last drop. "Swallow it," Nasser gasped, his body trembling. "Swallow your prince’s fucking load, driver. Every drop."
Finally, Nasser released him, pulling his spent cock out with a slick pop. Mark collapsed back onto the bed, coughing, spitting, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the taste lingering, thick and acrid. Tears stung his eyes, his jaw throbbed, and his throat felt raw and bruised. He glared up at Nasser, breathing heavily, a mix of anger, exhaustion, and a strange, hollow ache in his chest.
Nasser stood over him, tucking his softening cock back into his silk pants. He looked down at Mark, his breathing still uneven, his face flushed with exertion and satisfaction. He ran a hand through his dark hair, a smug, almost feral smile playing on his lips. He reached down, not to comfort, but to trace a finger along Mark’s spit-slicked lower lip. His eyes, dark and intense, held no warmth, only a predatory appraisal.
The bitter aftertaste of Nasser’s cum still coated Mark’s tongue, a raw, salty reminder of the forced submission. His throat felt scraped, jaw aching from the brutal thrusts. He glared up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the sting of humiliation hotter than the Riyadh heat bleeding through the walls. Nasser’s smirk was a razor cut across his flushed face, his kohl-lined eyes bright with cruel satisfaction as he traced Mark’s spit-slicked lip. "Look at you," Nasser murmured, his voice a low, dangerous purr that vibrated in the small room. "The big, tough driver, reduced to a quivering mess on his back, still tasting my cock." He leaned in closer, the cedar-citrus scent of his shower clashing with the musk of sex and sweat. "Did you enjoy sucking your boss’s femboy son’s cock for the first time, Mark? Bet you never imagined yourself on your knees like that, huh? Taking it deep like a cheap whore."
Mark’s anger ignited, a white-hot flare burning through the shame and exhaustion. It wasn’t just the words; it was the possessiveness, the sheer fucking arrogance dripping from Nasser’s tone. He remembered the ripped abaya, the money on his floor, the humiliation of licking the crop, the cold contract. This spoiled princeling thought he owned him. Triple salary. Unfettered access. The terms echoed, mixing with Nasser’s taunts. He didn’t just push Nasser off him; he exploded. A surge of raw power drove him up, grabbing Nasser by the shoulders with bruising force and slamming him face-first onto the thin mattress. The cheap bed frame groaned in protest. Mark landed on top, his heavier frame pinning the slighter man effortlessly, one forearm pressed hard between Nasser’s shoulder blades, the other hand fisted in his dark hair, yanking his head back. "Shut the fuck up, princess," Mark snarled, his voice gritty with rage and the lingering rawness in his throat. He pressed his hardening cock against the cleft of Nasser’s ass through the thin silk pajamas. "You wanted your cock sucked? You got it. Now you get what I want."
Nasser gasped, a sharp, surprised sound that quickly morphed into a low moan. He didn’t fight the hold; he pushed back against Mark’s erection. "Yes," he hissed, the word thick with desire. "Fucking yes. Show me what my driver wants. Show me you’re not just a pretty face who chokes on cock."
Mark wrenched the silk pajamas down Nasser’s hips in one violent motion, baring his pale, smooth ass. He spat roughly onto his fingers, not bothering with finesse, and shoved two digits straight into the slick, still-loose hole. Nasser cried out, back arching. "Fuck! Yes! Stretch your fuckhole, Mark! Make it ready!" Mark worked his fingers brutally, scissoring, twisting, finding the hard nub deep inside with unerring accuracy and grinding against it.
"Like that, you slut?" Mark growled, his lips against Nasser’s ear. He curled his fingers hard. "You like your driver’s peasant fingers tearing up your spoiled prince ass?" Nasser whimpered, nodding frantically into the mattress. "Answer me, cunt!" Mark commanded, slapping Nasser’s ass cheek hard with his free hand. The sharp crack echoed.
"YES! God, YES!" Nasser screamed, his body trembling. "Tear me up! Fucking wreck my hole! Please!"
Mark pulled his fingers out with a slick, obscene sound. He spat into his palm again, slicking his thick, steel-hard cock. He lined up the swollen head against Nasser’s fluttering, reddened hole. "This what you begged for, you fucking femboy bitch?" He didn’t wait for an answer. He slammed his hips forward, burying his cock to the hilt in one savage thrust. Nasser shrieked, a raw, animal sound muffled by the mattress as he was impaled, body jolting under the impact. Mark leaned over him, his breath hot on Nasser’s neck, his voice a guttural rasp. "Taking your boss’s son’s cock wasn’t enough? Had to have mine splitting you wide open on this cheap mattress too? Is your greedy little cunt ever satisfied?"
"No," Nasser gasped, pushing back desperately. "Never satisfied. Need it harder. Fuck me! Fuck your slut! Fucking own me!"
Mark obliged. He set a relentless, punishing pace, each deep stroke a brutal claim. His hips pistoned, driving his cock deep into the tight, clutching heat. He gripped Nasser’s hips hard enough to bruise, anchoring him for the assault. The wet slap of skin on skin, Mark’s ragged grunts, and Nasser’s choked sobs and pleas filled the small, cologne-scented room. "Whose fuckhole is this?" Mark demanded, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust.
"Yours!" Nasser wailed. "Only yours! Your driver’s cock! Ruining me!"
"Damn right," Mark snarled. He reached around, grabbing Nasser’s hard, leaking cock in a tight fist, squeezing the base. "Cum for me, you little prince slut. Cum on this cheap bed like the whore you are. Show me how much you love your driver fucking you raw." The dual assault – the relentless pounding deep in his ass and the rough hand on his cock – shattered Nasser. He screamed, back arching violently as his orgasm ripped through him, jets of cum spattering the thin sheets beneath him, his ass clamping down in frantic pulses around Mark’s driving cock.
The intense, rhythmic clenching was the final trigger. Mark roared, a primal sound, burying himself impossibly deep. He held Nasser pinned as he erupted, hot, thick ropes of cum flooding the convulsing channel. He ground his hips, emptying himself completely, each pulse wringing a shuddering gasp from the man beneath him. They collapsed together, slick with sweat, gasping. Mark slowly pulled his softening cock out, the sound obscenely loud in the sudden quiet. Nasser lay trembling, face down on the stained sheets, a wrecked, panting mess. Mark rolled off him, staring at the plain ceiling, the taste of Nasser still in his mouth, the scent of sex and violence thick in the air. The connecting door to Nasser’s suite stood slightly ajar. Voices, muffled but distinct, drifted through – the deep, authoritative tone of Nasser’s father.
The deep, authoritative rumble of Sheikh al-Faisal’s voice, filtering through the slightly ajar connecting door, acted like ice water thrown over the sweat-slicked heat of Mark’s quarters. Nasser froze beneath Mark, his ragged breathing hitching into terrified silence. His body, moments before shuddering through the aftershocks of brutal pleasure, now went rigid as stone. Mark felt the sudden tension, the absolute stillness radiating from the man pinned beneath him. He lifted his head, listening intently. The Sheikh’s voice was muffled, questioning – demanding answers from someone just outside Nasser’s suite. Probably Majid, the head steward, about the afternoon schedule. Too close. Far too close.
Panic flared in Nasser’s kohl-smudged eyes, wide and white-rimmed. He tried to scramble up, a desperate, silent flailing against Mark’s weight. "Get off!" he mouthed frantically, pushing weakly at Mark’s chest. "He mustn't... find me like this!" The raw terror on his face, the stark vulnerability replacing his usual haughty defiance, was a jarring contrast to the obscene mess staining the sheets beneath him. The scent of sex hung thick and damning in the small room. One step through that door…
Mark, however, didn’t move. The adrenaline from his own climax, mixed with the residual anger at being forced to his knees earlier, hardened into something cold and deliberate. He saw Nasser’s terror, the power it gave him in this suspended, dangerous moment. His heavy forearm pressed down harder between Nasser’s shoulder blades, keeping him pinned face-down, ass exposed. He leaned close, his lips brushing the shell of Nasser’s ear, his voice a low, dangerous rasp cutting through the muffled voices next door. "Not yet, princess." He shifted his hips slightly, grinding his softening cock against the reddened, well-used cleft, making Nasser whimper. "You crawled through that door demanding service. You got it. Now I want mine." His free hand snaked down, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh of Nasser’s ass cheek. "You worshipped my cock with your throat like a cheap whore. Now worship the rest of me."
Nasser trembled violently, caught between the immediate threat of discovery and the demanding pressure of Mark’s body. "Mark, please," he hissed, desperation cracking his voice. "He’ll kill us both!" His father’s voice rose slightly, a sharp command echoing faintly through the wood. Nasser flinched as if struck.
"Then you better be fucking quiet and do exactly what I say," Mark growled. He released his grip on Nasser’s hair and rolled him onto his back with rough efficiency. Nasser stared up, eyes wide with fear and confusion, his silk pants tangled around his ankles, his cock lying flaccid against his thigh, spent and sticky. Mark loomed over him, his muscular frame blocking the light from the single bedside lamp, casting his face in shadow. Sweat gleamed on his caramel skin, tracing the hard lines of his pecs, his abdomen. The air hung heavy with the smell of sex, sandalwood cologne, and now, sharp terror. "Start here," Mark commanded, his voice flat, cold. He tapped a thick finger against his own left nipple. It was dark, peaked from the recent exertion. "Worship it. Show me how grateful you are for your driver’s cock."
Nasser’s gaze flickered between Mark’s hard eyes and the connecting door. The Sheikh’s voice lowered, a continuous murmur of authority. Hesitantly, trembling, Nasser lifted his head. His movements were stiff, mechanical. He pressed his lips tentatively to the small, hard nub of Mark’s nipple. It was a dry, chaste touch, devoid of the heat that usually fueled their encounters. Mark grabbed a fistful of Nasser’s hair again, not gently, yanking his head back. "Not like a fucking virgin pecking her grandmother’s cheek," he snarled. "Worship it. Suck it. Use your fucking tongue, bitch. Make me feel it."
A choked sob escaped Nasser, but he obeyed. He opened his mouth, laving his tongue over the stiff peak. The sensation was strange, unexpected – the wet heat, the soft pressure of Nasser’s mouth. Mark felt a treacherous flicker of pleasure despite himself, his spent cock twitching weakly. Nasser sucked gently, tentatively swirling his tongue. "Harder," Mark demanded, grinding his hips down onto Nasser’s thighs. "Like you mean it. Like your miserable little life depends on it. Because right now, princess, it fucking does." Fueled by panic and the harsh command, Nasser increased the pressure. He sucked the nipple deep into his mouth, his tongue working roughly, urgently, mimicking the desperate energy of a man trying to appease a dangerous god. The wet sounds filled the space between them, mixing with the low rumble from next door. Mark groaned, a low, involuntary rumble. The humiliation was potent, seeing the spoiled prince reduced to this, frantically sucking a driver’s nipple while listening for his father’s footsteps. "Good bitch," Mark breathed, his hand tightening in Nasser’s hair. "Now the other one."
Nasser switched without hesitation, his mouth moving to Mark’s right nipple, sucking and laving with the same frantic intensity, his eyes screwed shut. Mark watched him, the play of fear and forced submission twisting Nasser’s beautiful face into something raw and exposed. The power was intoxicating, headier than any orgasm. "Keep sucking," Mark ordered, his voice rough. He shifted his weight, lifting his arm. The lamplight caught the dark, damp curls nestled in his armpit. Sweat beaded there, carrying the concentrated, musky scent of his exertion. "Now here." He pointed. "Worship it. Clean it. Taste your driver’s sweat, you spoiled little cunt."
Nasser froze for a split second, his mouth still on Mark’s nipple. This was new territory, even for them. A deeper degradation. He lifted his head, eyes wide with disbelief and revulsion, meeting Mark’s hard, unyielding stare. The Sheikh’s voice seemed to pause next door. Silence. Deadly silence. Nasser’s breath hitched. Mark didn’t relent, his gaze boring into him. "Do it," he whispered, the threat implicit, absolute. "Or I open that door myself and show your father exactly what his son does on his knees."
Panic flared anew. With a whimper that was pure despair, Nasser lowered his head. He nuzzled hesitantly into the damp, dark hollow of Mark’s armpit. The scent was intense, primal – salt, musk, the cheap sandalwood cologne turned sharp and pungent with sweat. He flinched visibly. Mark grabbed his hair again, shoving his face deeper into the damp curls. "Lick it clean, you fucking prince," he growled. "Taste it. Every drop."
Forced against his will, revolted but terrified, Nasser obeyed. His tongue, soft and hesitant at first, touched the sweat-slicked skin. The taste was salty, musky, overwhelmingly male and intimately pungent. He gagged softly but pushed on, driven by fear. He licked a slow, trembling path through the damp hair, his tongue collecting the salty tang of Mark’s exertion. The act was profoundly humiliating, a brutal assertion of dominance that stripped away every vestige of Nasser’s aristocratic armor. Mark looked down at the top of Nasser’s head, the dark hair clenched in his fist, feeling the desperate, wet strokes of the prince’s tongue against his skin. It was filthy. Degrading. Utterly intoxicating. A low groan escaped him, part pleasure, part dark triumph. "Yeah," he breathed. "Clean your driver’s filth. Lick it all, you royal fucking bitch."
Suddenly, the connecting door handle rattled sharply. Nasser jerked violently, his head snapping up, eyes wide with pure terror, a smear of sweat glistening on his chin. Mark instinctively rolled off him, landing silently on his feet beside the bed in a fighter’s crouch, heart hammering against his ribs. The rattling stopped. Not a turn. Just someone testing the lock? Or Majid bumping it accidentally? The deep voice resumed, slightly farther away now, moving down the corridor outside Nasser's main suite. The imminent danger receded, leaving a vacuum filled with the thick, oppressive silence of the room and the frantic pounding of two hearts.
Nasser scrambled off the bed, yanking his silk pajamas up with trembling hands, his movements jerky and panicked. He didn’t look at Mark. He couldn’t. His face was pale, stark white beneath the smudged kohl, etched with a mixture of residual terror, profound humiliation, and something else – a dawning, chilling awareness of the abyss he was balanced over. He stumbled towards the connecting door, fumbling for the handle. He paused, his back rigid, shoulders hunched. Without turning, his voice emerged, a raw, shattered whisper that barely carried across the small space. "Don’t… don’t ever make me do that again." It wasn’t a command. It was a plea, stripped bare. Then he was gone, slipping silently through the door and closing it with the faintest click, leaving Mark alone in the wrecked room, the taste of fear and sweat and bitter power thick on his tongue.