In the Giant's Shadow

"Yes, I suppose you could add in a work semester, but—"

"And not lose too much of the time if I continue to take and turn in assignments?"

"Yes, but . . . this is hardly the time to . . . oh shit, oh fuck, do that again."

Mark Carlson, who had stopped rising and falling on his professors' cock in a cowboy ride to ask the questions, moved his hips from side to side and then forward and back, caressing every surface of Sydney's buried cock. The twenty-three-year-old graduate architecture student at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology was having an evening session with the famous modernist architect, Sydney Stone. They were trysting in the latter's Boston pied-à-terre on the penthouse floor of the controversial almost-completely glass-walled high-rise building Stone had designed. Stone's apartment, where he lived when he was giving lectures at MIT, was totally glass walled, giving the two men fucking on his platform bed the sense they were suspended in space over Boston Harbor.

"Oh, Christ, Mark, I can't deal with these questions now. Take my cock; take it deep. Pull the cum out of me just like that."

Mark did as the fifty-four-year-old famous architect at the peak of his profession bid, concentrating on giving his faculty adviser at MIT a good ride. They paused, both concentrating in being one, unified, fucking machine, and each lost in his own world of pleasure. Good rides for good grades. Stone laid back and surrendered to him, watching the young, perfectly formed, dark-haired, sultry young man palm his chest and rise and fall and revolve on his cock, the young man's eyes slitted, both of them panting and moaning, suspended in time and space over Boston Harbor as Stone's orgasm started and rolled on and on, the young man pulling every droplet of cum out of him.

Very few of Stone's students could make the sap rise in him and drain from him as Mark Carlson could—and Stone had much experience in the comparisons of his male students' sexiness. Stone was a possessive teacher. A student couldn't become one of his favorites and enjoy being in his light if he wasn't being fucked by Stone. His students knew and accepted that before they bid for his mentoring.

Later, when Mark was standing in the shower stall—visible from the rest of the apartment through glass walls—and Stone was standing in the doorway, already showered, clad in a robe that was open in front and pulling on his cock as it protruded from his gray thatch of pubic hair, they resumed the interrupted conversation.

"You want the time away because he's down there, because Jemal Seljik is in Charlotte Amelie, working on a resort design, don't you?" Stone tried not to let his jealousy show. He was at the pinnacle of success as a modern architect. Seljik was rising above that pinnacle and still soaring.

"He has sent for me. I have to go."

Stone bridled at learning Seljik had sent for the young man. Seljik, like him, had to fully possess his students. Asking for Mark was encroaching on Stone's territory. Mark wanting to go what be a loss on the sexual as well as professional plane for the architect.

"You still have work to do for this semester," Stone said. "I could arrange a work sabbatical for next semester but not this soon." He obviously didn't want Mark to go.

"There's just the paper on Frank Lloyd Wright's Midway Gardens in Chicago to turn in, and I've about finished that and can turn it in before I go. I've started the earth house design project. I can send that to you from the Virgin Islands."

"I can't condone shoddy work just because you want to go panting after being a junior draftsman for Seljik on a hotel project."

"When have you known me to do shoddy work?" Mark asked. "Was that shoddy work just now back on the bed?" He was smiling, but there were times when he had to remind Stone of everything Mark was doing for him to get this graduate degree. He had prostituted himself for this degree. This was one of those times.

"Is this perspective shoddy?" He turned to the far glass wall of the shower stall, palmed the wall and jutted his buttocks back at Stone. The older architect took in a heavy breath. He moved forward, grasped Mark's hips between his hands, put himself in position, thrust his hard cock up into Mark's ass, and "went downtown" with the young man for another round. No one could make him go hard multiple times as Mark could. No one could pull the cum out of him like the beautiful, young, sensual student could.

And, he would never admit it to Mark, but Stone had never had as gifted a student as Mark was. It would kill him to give him up to Jemal Seljik.

For several minutes the two were lost in the resumed fuck. Mark was giving Stone all the right sounds and exclamations to keep an older man engaged and going at it. After Mark had come, Stone continued fucking him, and Mark had a series of secondary orgasms, not producing the cum he first had, but going to a higher level of pleasure and explosion than with the first. That was his experience; if the man didn't stop after his first ejaculation, there would be more, and more explosive orgasms. Few men had discovered that with Mark. Those that had could have him anytime they wanted him. After he had ejaculated again, Stone pulled back to the doorway into the bathroom, if a glass cage could be called a room, and Mark stood under the shower again.

"If you can get those two projects in, I guess I can let you go." Mark couldn't possibly understand how painful it was for the professor to let him go, Stone was thinking. "But," he added, "You do realize the real reason Seljik has removed himself down to the Caribbean, don't you?"

Mark didn't answer. He was turned away from Stone and soaping himself up again. But Stone knew the young man had heard and understood him. He could see the concerned expression on Mark's face in the reflection of the glass wall.

"You know that he's left his family—that he's taken Philip Brandon down there with him—and not just as his assistant. Seljik has gone down there to escape the scandal. If he wants you down there just to—"

"He just wants me down there to be his draftsman," Mark said, having rinsed off again. "As you yourself say, he has Philip Brandon with him down there." He shut off the water, quickly ran a towel over his body, and brushed by Stone and into the living area. He hadn't looked at Stone as he passed. The invitation had only mentioned the need for a draftsman. But, in fact, Mark was hoping for much more. The presence of Philip Brandon, of course, was a problem.

"You'll finish both projects before you leave?" Stone asked?

"If I stay the night, can I send the earth house design in from the Virgin Islands before the end of the semester?"

"Can I tie you up and we play rape?" Stone asked.

"Yes."

"Then I think I can arrange that."

* * * *

As prestigious as MIT was for graduate-level architecture studies, it wasn't as prestigious as the program of the nearby Harvard University was. That Sydney Stone taught classes at MIT and Jemal Seljik taught them at Harvard was probably what stuck in Stone's craw in his sense of competition with Seljik for honors as a modernist architect. For that reason Mark hadn't told Stone that he was working part time in Seljik's Boston offices as a draftsman even while he was studying at MIT. Somehow Stone had heard this, though, and he'd heard about "the incident," even though it was the only time it had happened.

"You are certainly staying late," Seljik had said that snowy night when he was preparing to leave the office and found only Mark out on the drafting floor.

"My father once told me that a dedicated employee never leaves before the boss does," Mark had answered. The architect had turned off most of the lights in the room before discovering that someone was still there. The only light was the one illuminating Mark's work surface. It provided somewhat of a halo around the young man, accentuating his sultry sexiness. Mark knew he had a look that attracted men who sought out men, and he hadn't been shy about using the attraction to his advantage. He already was being fucked by Sydney Stone, with favorable effect on his grades and on the opportunities that were accorded him in the MIT program.

He also was attracted to Seljik. He worshiped the man for his unique architectural talent, his specialty being floating pavilions with a delicate Oriental flare. Beyond that there was the man himself. He was a handsome, muscular Turk, with an aura of authority, drama, sexiness, and danger. Mark's mother was Greek and had tried to instill in him a wariness of and animosity toward Turks, but, in the rebelliousness of his youth, finally encountering a Turk in the form of Seljik just imbued the man with mystery and attraction.

The first man who had fucked Mark had been of Turkish origin, and the illicitness of letting a Turk get his cock inside a Greek in Mark's mother's perspective had combined with Mark's curiosity and blooming realization of what he wanted from sex and too much to drink into letting a stranger cover him and fuck him in his truck outside a road house the summer before Mark went to college. Mark hadn't looked back in choosing to lay with men since.

Thus, Mark surrendered easily to Seljik's seduction and to being fucked by him on his work table that snowy evening.

With a seductive smile—the first that the man had bestowed on the graduate student who was temporarily working there to cover Christmas leaves of some of the permanent draftsmen and to keep projects on schedule—Seljik had swept the room with an arm. "That work ethic doesn't seem to have caught on with the others here," he said. "And I thought I ran a dedicated shop."

"It's Christmas Eve and it's snowing out," Mark said. "And I'm only working here a few more days and want to finish this project. Besides, I don't have to go as far as the others do in this snow. I can walk back."

"To a dormitory?" Seljik asked.

"Yes," Mark said.

"I'm just up the street at the Hilton," Seljik provided. "It's where I stay when I'm in Boston. So, the two of us alone on Christmas Eve in the snow. That doesn't mean all that much to me. I'm a Moslem. But you—?"

"I'm Greek Orthodox or Anglican depending on which side of my family is present," Mark said, with a laugh. "But I don't really practice either," he added.

"Ah, a Greek," the architect said. He was standing close behind where Mark was sitting, facing the blueprint he was working on on his table. Seljik put his hands on Mark's shoulders and leaned over him to look at the blueprint on the table. "Ah, the Parson's building."

"Yes," Mark whispered, the touch of the master on his shoulders and the man's cheek next to his like an electric current running through his body. The atmosphere was permeated with sensuality—the dim filtered light across a sea of empty desks, the snow falling beyond the glass wall, their lowered voices into hushed tones despite them being the only ones in the vast drafting room. The touch of Seljik's hands on Mark's shoulders, one of them intimately sliding down Mark's torso to palm the young man's lower back. That alone was a mark of intended possession, Mark not moving away from it a signal of his surrender. Lest Mark not fully understand, the hand pulled Mark's shirttail up to rest on the flesh just above the rise of his buttocks.

"Good job."

"Thanks," Mark murmured. "Mr. Seljik . . ." He had no idea what he intended to say. He knew his voice was shaking. In any event, he didn't have to ask the architect anything.

Seljik took a breath in and whispered, "Your smile is nice. Young and vital. So sexy. I've never conquered a Greek before. I hear that you take cock. Would you go with a Turk?"

Ah, the bane of giving it at the office. One acceptance of an invitation from a supervisor to have a drink after work and then a shared bed in a hotel room, just a half hour of sexual calisthenics in bed, and the news rockets across the office floor. What will they be saying tomorrow morning? Mark gave a little smile.

"Yes," Mark responded in a low, thick voice. He had thought being a Greek would be a disadvantage with Seljik, a Turk, but it seemed that a Turk conquering a Greek was a come-on for the man.

"You took Paul's cock. You'll take mine too." The arrogance of not asking, just telling. But I couldn't say I wouldn't take it. I wanted to take it.

"Yes."

"You will take it in your throat too."

"Yes."

"So, I do not need to romance you?"

"No. All you need do is tell me what you want, and I will give it to you."

That was all Seljik needed. He leaned over and swept the blueprint off the side of the table and onto the floor. Mark was turned, and set down on the edge of the table, as Seljik unzipped himself, pulled out his cock, and brought Mark's mouth down to take it in. After a few minutes, he laid Mark on his back on the table. Mark was panting hard and looking at Seljik with "I surrender" eyes.

"You will bare and raise your tail for me and I will fuck you—here, like this."

"Yes," Mark answered.

The Turk manipulated the young man's body as he wished. Seljik pulled his trousers and briefs off, sat in the chair, and spread Mark's legs with his hands as the man's tongue and mouth went to the student's cock, balls, and hole.

Crouching over Mark and holding the young man's arms to the surface of the table over his head and looking commandingly down into Mark's face with an expression of challenge and dominance that was met with a look of surrender, the man, who was some twenty-five years Mark's senior but a commanding god in his profession, worked a thick, long cock inside the student's channel and fucked him in long, deep, hard, prolonged strokes.

After they both had come, Mark first and then the Turk, they remained in position for several minutes, panting and cooling down.

"I wish to fuck you again, to take my time with you. My hotel room is nearby," Seljik murmured.

"Yes," Mark responded.

The Turk fucked the adoring graduate student into Christmas morning on his hotel room bed. In repeated takings, Seljik discovered the secret of the importance of Mark's secondary orgasms, and as the night progressed, he took the young man higher and higher into the realm of sexual pleasure and willingness to take whatever the Turk wanted to pull from him. The next day, in the office, it was like nothing had ever happened.

The two were never alone together in the office through the next week of Mark's temporary employment at Seljik's Boston office and they didn't speak again in that week, nor did Mark meet with the architect when his stay was up. By then he'd learned that Seljik had a family in Chicago and that he was spiking his assistant, Philip Brandon, a saucy blond not more than a year older than Mark but also finished with his masters in architecture. Philip's family lived in Philadelphia, and he'd had Christmas Eve and Day off to see his family. Other than that, one of the draftsmen whispered to Mark, Philip was in Seljik's bed when the master architect wasn't in Chicago.

The next time Mark had any contact at all with Seljik's firm was when he received the invitation to work for a semester on the hotel project in the Virgin Islands—and that invitation had come from Brandon, not Seljik.

But Mark was so smitten with Jemal Seljik that he gave no thought to turning the offer down. He would have pulled out of his MIT course if Sydney Stone had not agreed to the sabbatical. Somehow Stone probably had understood that and accommodated the young man with the hope of not losing him. He was one sweet fuck—and he showed more promise as an architect than any student Stone had had—or had fucked—before.

* * * *

Philip Brandon met Mark when his Virgin Airways flight landed at St. Thomas's Cyril E. King airport. There was no reason why Mark would expect Jemal Seljik himself to meet the flight, but he was disappointed that hadn't happened. He was even more disappointed on the drive in a Land Rover down to Magens Bay, where the resort hotel was being built and where the trailers were located that were being used for offices and housing for Seljik's staff, when Brandon disabused him of the circumstances of his invitation.

"I am honored that Mr. Seljik thought to hire me for this project," Mark said.

Brandon's response had been deflating. "I doubt Jemal knows. He has so much on his mind that he leaves staffing details to me. We needed another draftsman—he's making sometimes major changes on a daily basis that have to be redrafted overnight—and we used you at Christmas time. I just went down the list of those who would be available and who were familiar with our routines."

"Oh." At least Brandon must not have known about Christmas Eve and morning in Seljik's bed—or he was so confident in his hold over Seljik that he didn't see Mark as competition. Maybe Seljik had said Mark hadn't been satisfying, although he'd seemed satisfied enough that night to keep rolling over on top of Mark as soon as he could get it up again. And Mark had denied him nothing.

The young man must have caught the disappointment in Mark's voice, because he quickly added, "Of course the list only includes those Jemal has found acceptable. It means something to be on his list."

"Oh, yes, thanks," Mark had said a bit more happily. "So, you say the plans are still being changed?"

"Yes, you'll have plenty of night work to do. I've put you in with three others who are working as site supervisors. You'll probably be getting most of your sleep during the day and they at night, so, although the trailers are tight on space, you shouldn't get into each other's way."

"I guess if you've endured it—"

"Oh, I'm not staying in one of the trailers. Jemal and I are in hotels."

"Hotels?" Not the same one? Mark wondered. He was quite aware that Seljik was bedding Brandon.

"Jemal's at Frenchmen's Cove and I'm at the Mafolie," the young man said, his tone clipped. It was obvious that no more was going to be said about that, but it lifted Mark's spirits a bit. And then they were there, at the resort construction site. The main structure was starting to go up, and there he was, the man god himself, Jemal Seljik, standing in a group of men, holding blueprints in his hands, and giving direction. The men were closely attentive to him, as Mark thought was justified. The man was truly a god to Mark in both talent and authority. And in bed. Throughout the night, he'd rolled over on top of Mark again and again. He'd been hard each time. He had worked Mark with great stamina and vigor each time. Mark had given him access to his soft core each time and had melted for him again and again.

"This way. The trailer you'll bed down in is over here; then I'll show you where your drafting table is." Philip Brandon was pulling Mark away in the direction of a small collection of dusty construction trailers. Mark kept glancing back at Seljik as they walked toward the trailers, but the architect was focused on giving directions and didn't look in his direction—as far as Mark could tell.

Four days later, Mark hadn't spoken to Seljik yet, let alone been in his presence. There was no indication that the great man even knew Mark was there and on the job. Mark did have work to do most nights, though, but it was either Philip or a Virgin Islands native, a young black man named Terrence, who would bring him the instructions on how to amend the blueprints for the next day's work. It would have been so much easier, Mark thought, if Seljik told Mark directly what he wanted, but Philip and Terrence must be understanding the architect's intent well enough, as nothing came back to be redone for lack of understanding of what was wanted.

What Mark did gather, though, was that there was tension between Philip and Terrence. On the one evening that no changes came for him to redraft, Mark found out why. He was free for the first time in an evening. And he couldn't take it any longer that he hadn't connected with Seljik yet. The last time they had been together Jemal had been fucking him in his hotel bed half the night. There was no reason for Mark to believe that the great man had not been satisfied with him in bed. Surely it hadn't been just for that night. If only Mark could establish with Jemal that he was here—and available. Seljik and Brandon weren't at the same hotels, and Mark had checked—the hotels weren't that near to each other. If they were sharing a bed, there was no reason to have separate hotels.