Chapter 24: The Debt Collector's Bonus
The thick wad of crisp Saudi riyals felt heavy in Jack’s fist. He fanned them out on the edge of the massive, silk-draped bed, the rustle loud in the humid silence of the opulent Alqahtani master bedroom. Omar stood rigid, the torn silk of his thobe hanging open, revealing the angry red mark on his neck where Jack’s fingers had pressed only moments ago. His skin felt cold despite the room’s warmth, the phantom ache deep inside him a constant, humiliating reminder of the desk. The scent of his own expensive oud perfume clashed violently with the lingering musk of sweat and sex clinging to Jack.
"Good boy," Jack murmured. The praise was ice down Omar’s spine. Jack didn’t look up, his dark eyes fixed on the money as he casually flipped through the bills with one hand. "Six months. On the dot. Efficient." He finally raised his gaze, a predator assessing wounded prey. "Now strip. All of it. And kneel."
Omar flinched. "Jack, please... Fatima... she might—"
"Now, Omar." Jack’s voice was soft, dangerous. He leaned forward, his hand shooting out to grip Omar’s throat again, not enough to choke, but enough to dominate, to control the airflow. His thumb pressed against the pulse hammering in Omar’s neck. "You think because you paid this," he tapped the stack of money with his free hand, "you get a choice? After what I did to your tight little ass? After how you screamed?" His fingers tightened slightly, forcing a gasp from Omar. "Strip. Kneel. Or I walk right now and tell every driver in Riyadh how Sheikh Omar Alqahtani likes to get fucked raw over his own desk." Jack released him with a shove. "Your choice, cuck."
Trembling, eyes downcast, Omar fumbled with the remaining clasps of his thobe. The fine silk pooled at his feet. The tailored trousers followed, then his underwear. He stood naked in the center of his own luxurious domain, exposed, vulnerable, the marks of Jack’s earlier possession still visible on his skin. Shame burned his cheeks as he lowered himself stiffly onto the thick Persian rug beside the bed, the cool fibers a shock against his knees. He kept his gaze fixed on the intricate pattern, unable to look at Jack’s imposing figure.
The thick rug fibers pressed into Omar’s bare knees, a small, grounding pain amidst the roaring humiliation. He stared fixedly at the intricate weave, the blues and golds blurring as his vision swam. Jack’s shadow fell over him, long and imposing in the chandelier light, the scent of male sweat and aggression cutting through the room’s expensive perfume.
“Look at me, cuck,” Jack commanded, his voice a low rumble. Omar flinched, forcing his head up slowly. Jack stood before him, already unbuckling his jeans, the heavy bulge beneath straining against worn denim. The hard lines of Jack’s muscular abdomen flexed as he shoved the jeans down his powerful thighs, freeing his thick, uncut cock. It sprang out, fully erect, flushed a deep red, the head glistening with pre-cum. “Open wide, Sheikh. Time for your real payment.”
Omar hesitated, a tremor running through him. The memory of Jack splitting him open over the mahogany desk flashed hot and painful. The threat of exposure was worse. He parted his lips, the cool air hitting his tongue. Jack gripped the base of his cock, guiding it roughly towards Omar’s mouth. The blunt, salty head pressed against his lips. “Suck it, you rich fuck,” Jack growled, pushing forward. “Like the whore you are.”
Omar’s jaw stretched painfully as Jack shoved the thick head past his lips. The taste was musky, tangy with pre-cum. He gagged reflexively, saliva pooling. Jack’s fingers tangled in Omar’s hair, holding him firmly in place. “Yeah, gag on it,” Jack hissed, grinding his hips forward, forcing another inch of his length down Omar’s throat. “Just like your tight ass gagged on me yesterday. Remember that scream? Choke on this cock like you choked on my dick, Omar.”
Tears welled in Omar’s eyes as Jack began a brutal rhythm. He pulled back just enough for Omar to gasp a desperate breath, then slammed deep again, the tip hitting the back of his throat. “Fuck, that’s it,” Jack groaned, his hips snapping forward relentlessly. “Your mouth’s almost as greedy as your ass was. Almost. Feel how hard I get fucking your face?” Omar could only whimper, his own traitorous cock stirring against his thigh. The obscene sounds filled the room: wet sucking, Jack’s grunts, Omar’s choked gags. “You love this, don’t you? Rich Sheikh on his knees, choking on a driver’s cock. Bet your useless wife never sucked you like this.”
Sweat beaded on Jack’s brow, his thrusts becoming faster, harder, losing rhythm. His grip on Omar’s hair tightened like a vice. “Gonna paint that pretty face, Omar,” Jack panted, his voice thick. “Gonna mark you. My fucking property.” Omar felt Jack’s cock pulse, thick and urgent in his mouth. Then Jack yanked him off violently, pulling his cock free with a slick pop. Omar gasped, coughing, spittle dripping from his chin. He looked up just as Jack’s hand flew to his cock, pumping furiously twice.
“Take it, you cocksucking bitch!” Jack roared. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted, the first blast hitting Omar squarely between the eyes, blinding him momentarily. The second spurt splattered across his cheekbone, thick and pearly white. Another hit his lips, warm and viscous. More landed on his forehead, sliding slowly down towards his eyes. Jack groaned long and low, emptying himself onto the kneeling Sheikh’s face. He gave his cock a final, rough shake, spattering the last drops onto Omar’s nose.
Omar knelt frozen, eyes squeezed shut, Jack’s cum a hot, sticky mask dripping down his skin. His own ragged breath sounded obscenely loud in the sudden stillness. Across the vast room, the ornate bedroom door handle silently turned.
The ornate brass handle completed its silent turn. The heavy oak door swung inward, revealing Fatima Alqahtani silhouetted against the softer light of the hallway. Her dark eyes, wide with practiced social grace a moment before, snapped instantly to the scene: her husband, Sheikh Omar Alqahtani, naked and trembling on his knees on the Persian rug, his face glistening under the chandelier’s glow, streaked and dripping with thick, white semen. Jack Ramirez stood over him, his powerful frame still radiating heat, his jeans undone and his spent, softening cock slick and exposed.
A strangled sound escaped Omar, a wet gasp muffled by the cooling mess on his lips and chin. He instinctively tried to turn his head away, but Jack’s heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle, pinning him in place. Jack met Fatima’s shocked gaze directly, his own expression a mask of cold, arrogant defiance mixed with a dangerous flicker of challenge. He didn’t flinch, didn’t attempt to cover himself. The scent of sex, sweat, and his own release hung thick and pungent in the perfumed air, an undeniable truth.
"Madame," Jack stated, his voice low and rough, devoid of the driver’s deference he usually wore like a cheap suit. He nudged Omar’s shoulder hard with his knee. "Look at her, you pathetic fuck. Let your wife see what a grateful little cunt you are." Omar flinched but couldn’t disobey the pressure, his tear-streaked, cum-smeared face tilting up towards Fatima. Jack’s hand slid from Omar’s shoulder to the back of his neck, gripping tight. "Now," Jack commanded, his voice dropping to a guttural rasp that vibrated through Omar's bones, "thank me. Thank me properly for the fucking privilege of wearing my load on your worthless face."
Omar’s body shuddered violently. His throat worked, trying to form words past the humiliation choking him. Tears welled anew, cutting tracks through the sticky residue on his cheeks. Jack squeezed his neck, a silent, brutal reminder. "Th-thank…" Omar choked out, the words thick and distorted. "Thank you, Jack." Jack leaned down, his lips close to Omar’s ear, his breath hot. "Louder, cuck. Let her hear how much you appreciated my fucking cum plastering your ugly mug." Omar squeezed his eyes shut. "Thank you!" he gasped, louder, the sound raw and broken. "Thank you for… for cumming on my face!" Fatima stood frozen in the doorway, her knuckles white where she gripped the doorframe, her expression shifting from shock to a dark, unreadable intensity as she stared at Jack. Jack straightened up, his gaze locking onto hers, a grim, satisfied smirk twisting his lips. "You’re fucking welcome," he growled, releasing Omar’s neck with a final shove that sent the sheikh sprawling forward onto his hands. Omar collapsed onto the cool rug, his face pressed into the fibers next to the stack of untouched riyals, his body wracked with silent sobs, the taste of salt and betrayal thick in his mouth. Fatima took a single, deliberate step into the room.