{Lei}"Mens Et Manus"(MF, (mild)exhib) *

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From: Lei Bluet
Subject: {Lei}"Mens Et Manus"(MF, (mild)exhib) *
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X-Original-Message-Id: .Net Warning: this story contains sexually explicit material This story is copyrighted by the author. You may not
post it to a website or repost it to the newsgroup without
my permission (I will most likely grant it, but I want to
be informed in advance). You may download and keep a copy
of this story as long as this warning and my email address
() are kept with it. This is my first story, and any comments and criticisms are
appreciated. Please, send them to ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mens Et Manus I always meant to find out the name of the architect for the school library
and send him a note praising his work -- it is important to thank people
when they do something well. The construction itself was fairly
unremarkable -- ordinary three story building, filled with books and
periodicals. There was a feature, however, that redeemed it all for me --
the windows. They were huge, spanning almost entire riverside wall, from
the floor to the high ceiling. Their grandeur was ingeniously simple and
uncluttered, so as not to take the attention away from what really
mattered: the breathtaking view outside. I often came to the library to study. The noisiness of the main hall
irritated me, but I discovered a truly remarkable place -- the map room.
Although its entrance was just to the right of the main entryway, most
students seemed to pass by without ever noticing it. And there, beyond the
tall glass doors, lay the little kingdom of sunshine and quiet. Most of
the time, I was its only visitor, sharing my space with the huge maps on
the wall and carelessly thrown volumes of some forgotten encyclopedia.
The windows were covered by heavy shades patterned with the seal of the
institute -- two not entirely Roman-looking men busily proving to the world
that everything in life could be achieved through some work of "mens et
manus." The shades moved quietly apart as I pulled on the strings, and the
room was filled with the light and sunshine. Outside, past buzzing Memorial drive, Charles River lazily moved its
waters, dotted with the white sails of boaters and cut by the
blazingly fast crew teams. And behind the Charles, beyond the shallow
shell of the Esplanade, lay Boston in all its glory. I never tired of
looking at the Boston skyline - businesslike skyscrapers and old
churches and squares seemed to get along so beautifully in the midst
of the architectural cacophony. The streets, the buildings, the
parks, the river, and the endless Institute hallways all radiated the
unbounded vitality of life, in all its intricate confusion, mess, and
undeniable glory. In one of my usual visits to the library for a night of study and
Boston-gazing, I picked my favorite table in front of the huge window
and tried to focus on my homework. The probability problem set I was
working on turned out to be not as dull as I expected, so it was quite
late when I closed my notebook, feeling good about having completed
something. The sun had set by then, and the lights of the city played and
glistened, forming a myriad of ornamental chains. The view always
aroused me. Maybe, it was because of the secret exhibitionist in me
that liked to sit there in the well-lit room, or because the
excitement of the city called for the similar response from my body.
The thoughts of copulations, active and passionate, flashed through my
mind; the confetti of images of beautiful women and men, convulsed in
pleasure of intimacy and raw sexual power, danced in my head. It's not common, even for a woman, but ever since I was twelve, I
have known that just the right combination of grinding my legs
together and squeezing a particular set of muscles, coupled with some
very intense fantasies, would invariably cause me to orgasm. The
action was simple and fast: no hands involved, and nobody needs to
notice. I've done it in public places - in that very library, in that
very seat. It was not spectacular, but it was satisfying enough, and
it helped me quiet my ever-active imagination. That time, however, filled with the inspiration of having completed
one problem set, I wanted to continue working. Reluctantly turning
away from the view, I picked another desk, facing away from the
window. But I was too busy battling with my own sex drive to be able
to concentrate on the problems of good system design. I read for a
bit, then closed my eyes and sat still, welcoming the images that came
to mind. I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew was a feeling of warm
hands on my shoulders, massaging away the knots acquired during the day.
Yawning, I tilted my head back until it hit a flanneled stomach and I was
looking up at one of the most gorgeous chins I've ever seen. There is a
spot on a male body that fascinates me -- it's the place where the chin
meets the neck: the confluence of shared curves is breathtaking in its
natural fluidity and beauty. "Hi, Dave," I mouthed, still half-yawning, "I saw you when I came in. Are
you done working desk now?" "Well, seeing how it's midnight, it's about time, don't you think? I'm
closing the library - you're the last one left." "Do you always give the last person a neck rub?" "Well, it's a special service from the library to our last customer of the
day." He smiled, as I relaxed against his nimble fingers. "Mmm, you have good fingers - strong and expert. I see you've had plenty
of practice on your 'last customers.'" "Jealous, aren't we?" "What is there to be jealous of? All the better for me now." "Good," he said and bent down to kiss my forehead. Dave and I have been flirting for a while now. Neither of us was looking
for anything permanent, but we exchanged hugs and occasional kisses and
cuddling. His hands became gentle now. Instead of massaging my back, he pulled aside
the collar of my turtleneck and started moving his fingers over my neck,
gently, softly, barely touching my skin. The action was both tender and
arousing. "That feels nice," I said. "Glad you like it." His fingers were on my face now, moving in circles over my temples, on my
cheeks, by my mouth. His thumbs touched my lips and I stuck out my tongue,
trying to draw them into my mouth, but he quickly moved his hands away.
"Shh, patience," he smiled, placing his hands back on my face only to move
them to my chin, then ears, then the front of my neck. His slow,
deliberate, light motions had their effect: my head was now comfortably
resting against his belly, as I took deep breaths to draw in his musky
scent. There exists a stage in woman's arousal levels, at which she is not
yet enveloped in all-consuming passion, and yet every movement, every
tentative touch, registers with magnificent clarity across every tiny
part of her body, spreading in waves of most exquisite pleasure. The
most that she can do then is to lie back, enjoying the caresses; the
languid warmth prevents any active moves, but makes receiving so much
more acutely sensual. At those times, even the surrounding air seems
imbued with growing sensuality. I was in such a place then - swimming in the warmth of my own
response. His hands, encouraged by my sighs and content smile, grew
bolder, lifting my turtleneck and caressing the exposed strip of flesh
right above my jeans, teasing my sides and dipping lower, below the
waistband to play with my belly button. He must have been getting
uncomfortable in his position; he was bent over the edge of the chair
to reach down to my lap. Grasping my sides, he pulled me up, and I
stood in front of him. Holding me from the back , he continued his
exploration, reaching up to my breasts and teasing the nipples through
the layers of fabric. Growing restless, he started to lift my turtleneck. I neither resisted nor
helped him in that endeavor, and he tugged further, lifting it with one
swift motion until it was over my head, forcing my arms upwards. But
instead of continuing his motions, he grasped my wrists above my head with
one hand, using the fingers of the other to unclasp my bra. "Are you nuts?" I gasped in surprise. "What are you doing? Someone will
see us from outside." "Anyone wandering on Memorial Drive at this time wouldn't care what's going
on inside here." "Oh yeah, what about campus police?" "I saw their car drive by right before I woke you up - they won't be back
for at least another half an hour. " I relaxed a bit, thinking that he was tall enough that nobody would be
able to see me from behind him anyway. Meanwhile, his right hand
continued its quest, pulling my bra upwards and letting it rest on top
of my breasts, while his fingers reached for my right nipple. I
couldn't see anything because of the turtleneck draped over my head,
and my arms felt awkward sticking up like that. I tried to free my
wrists, but his hand held me tightly. Suddenly, he grabbed me roughly
and swung me around, so that I was the one facing the window; he was
now standing behind me. I froze for a moment, not believing what he
had done, then became angry. "Let me go! Stop this! Let go of me!" I was struggling to free myself as
hard as I could, shaking my body in outrage. But he was stronger than I,
and already had control of my arms; the folds of fabric getting in my mouth
muffled my screams. Holding my body close to his, he replied softly: "Come on, I am not
going to hurt you. Nobody you know would be out there at this time.
As for possible passers-by, it might tickle your fancy to be on
display like this for a little while. They don't know you, you don't
know them, but I bet you look absolutely stunning here, in the bright
light." "Fuck you!" I was angry, but not scared. Somewhere in the back of my
mind I made a mental note to be careful what I wish for in my
fantasies. These thoughts coupled with his words had a calming
effect, and I no longer struggled against him. Thinking that I had no
choice but to resign myself to his power, I steadied myself, resting
my body against his. "You are wonderful," he whispered, feeling me relax next to him. His
right hand, no longer needing to control me, moved back to my breast.
He kneaded and molded it, stretching my skin and making it surge with
blood. Suddenly, he stopped his onslaught and instead moved his
fingers on slow spiraling trajectory around my nipple. I gasped when
he finally landed on the swollen center, erect under his probing
fingers. Twisting and pulling it, he elicited from me moans of
pleasure, which only encouraged him to continue his ministrations. At first I tried to block out any thought of my position - perhaps, if
I forgot where and how I was, I could concentrate on the pleasure Dave
was giving me. My only reassurance was that my face and hair were
covered by my turtleneck -- at least the passers-by would not
recognize me. But even that wasn't enough to take my thoughts off my
situation. Instead, the image of Boston lights filled my mind, and I
could not help but picture myself: standing in the middle of a lighted
room, in front of the huge windows, exposed to anyone on this side of
the river and beyond, sweater over my head, arms high up, top bare,
chest exposed, Dave pulling on my nipple, my body contorted in
pleasure... or would they think it was in pain? Worried again, I
tried to mention it to Dave. "You are far too reasonable." He chuckled. "OK, have it your way." He
released my wrists, lowering his hand to cover my breast. I was free
now -- free to pull down my shirt, free to push him away, free to yell
at him or run away. Instead, I stood still, as if in indecision. But
who was I kidding? I sighed and pulled my arms slightly back, arching
my back further, pressing my breasts into his warm hands. Now nobody
could suppose I was being forced -- it was my choice, my shame, and my
pleasure. Meanwhile, Dave lowered his mouth to the back of my neck, flicking his
tongue on my skin, licking and teasing it. His arms wrapped around
me, his hands were pulling on my nipples, more insistently now. He
started grinding his body into mine. His breath grew ragged and the
soft flicks of his tongue changed to bites. I pushed back at him,
increasing the tempo, breathing hard and moaning. He let go of my breasts, unzipped my pants and pushed his hands under
the elastic of my underwear. But the tight jeans didn't leave much
room for roaming, and, impatiently, he withdrew the hands, grabbed the
sides of the jeans and underwear and tugged them down almost to my
knees in one fast motion. I was completely exposed now. The jeans on
my knees, the sweater over my head and the bra hanging above my breast
only magnified the feeling of nakedness: feeling their fabric on my
legs and arms reminded me of what they were not covering. Cool air,
combined with the heat of Dave's breath and the ravishing movements of
his hands made me dizzy; the images of passers-by watching me in
ecstasy made me progress from dizziness to almost swooning. My knees
were shaking, but I tried not to fall, so as not to lose the eagerness
of Dave's fingers, now busily buried in me. I knew that I was close and didn't want to hold the release any
longer. Grinding myself against Dave, I urged him on, hither and
hither towards the ultimate pleasure. The images in my mind spun
around, colliding and twisting into an infinitely complicated and
exciting collage that pulsated in rhythm with my vibrations. Dave's
thumb reached slightly higher and started moving in tiny circles; and
as it slid around the slippery surface, I shook with feeling, ready to
crumble under the pleasure waves. The orgasm, so powerful that I would
not dare to compare it to anything I've experienced before, possessed
me until I could no longer stand up and slid along Dave's body, still
glowing in the aftershocks. Did Shakespeare use "little death" as a euphemism for orgasm? Was it
a standard thing to say at that time? A little death, indeed. Well,
momentary loss of consciousness and reasoning are certainly there; but
the trouble is, no matter how little of a death it is, you must awake
to face the consequences. Strong emotions have a way of transforming
into each other -- grief into happiness, pleasure into sadness. In
this case my pulsating joy suddenly turned to almost hysterical panic
as I came out of the sweet narcosis of sexuality: what had I done?
What if someone saw me? What if someone I knew had seen me? What
will Dave think? I was at once terrified, fearful, and angry with
myself. Unreasonable? Perhaps, but at that time I wasn't thinking
clearly. Almost crying now, I hastened to get my clothes into some semblance of
order. As I started nervously to tug the sweater down, it occurred to
me that the first thing I should do was turn away from the window.
Caught in the folds of fabric on my shoulders, neck, and chin, but
having freed my eyes, I twisted to get away from the haunting window.
And then, glancing at what I expected to be my last view of the
now-feared street, I froze in mid-turn. Where I expected to see
convoluted strings of lights and the glare of rushing past cars, was
just a gray wall. It took a moment for my eyes to focus and for me to
realize that I was looking at the mass of fabric hanging from the
valence bar. The wide gray folds were covered by burgundy ovals with
outlines of two men, one with a book, another holding a hammer, and
the words "Mens et Manus" underneath. The shades were closed. Speechless, I pulled down my turtleneck and freed my arms. Still
wrought with emotions, now confusing and contradicting, I turned to
Dave and pounded on his shoulders with my fists: "You, you, you...."
Obviously impressed with my eloquence, he drew me in his arms and
squeezed tight. We stood motionless for a while, clinging to each
other. I was still reeling from the experience, not sure whether I
was pleased or disappointed. After a while, I raised my head and he
kissed away the errant tear on my cheek. "I drew the shades before I woke you up; and since you were enjoying
yourself so, I though it better not to point that out." There was
genuine amusement in his voice. "Oh, don't think you'll get away just like that," I finally had my mind
under control, "You'll have to pay for this dearly." "And what kind of punishment would my mistress desire to bring upon my
sorrowful head?" he asked, obviously musing on the possibilities. "Don't smile quite so much," I snapped. Then I immediately smiled
wide myself. "It will be cruel and unusual, so incredibly horrifying
that you'll wake up at night remembering it." "Will I want to stroke myself while lying there awake?" " I sure hope so. You are such a wonderfully conceited louse," I
mumbled as I pushed my body closer against his. "Such a fool... Such a
liar... Such an inconsiderate ass," I whispered, breathing heavily and
kissing his face tenderly in the intervals between words. The
intervals grew longer: "You kept the sweater over my eyes... You made
me believe I was watched by all of Boston... You led me astray... You
liked being in control.... You liked it when I acquiesced.... You
enjoyed my exhibitionism.... You.... You.... You...." "Of course," he easily agreed, shifting his face and covering my mouth
with his. Our jokingly antagonistic wordplay changed into a game of
tongues, twisting and sliding around each other. While our lips remained locked, my hands moved to his shoulders, back,
and buttocks, exploring the curves of muscles and kneading his skin
through the layer of flannel. The shirt decidedly got in my way, so I
released my mouth, stepped back and unbuttoned it. Feeling impatient,
I was almost disappointed to see a t-shirt underneath. "You wear too
many layers," I mocked, pulling it off together with the shirt above.
"There, that's far better." I bent my neck, bringing my mouth to his
left nipple, licking it with my tongue while my fingers traveled the
furry expanse of his chest. "Hey, that tickles," he complained when my hand touched one of his
sides. "You'll live," I retorted, moving my head to the right nipple."
Besides, you only deserve it." But I was careful not to tickle him --
I had different reactions in mind as I trailed my fingers above the
line of his jeans. "Let's see how you perform, my dear," I unfastened the button on his
jeans and pulled the zipper down, pushing my hands into the opening
and playing with his obvious erection through so boringly-white
underwear. I tried to push his jeans down, and he moved his legs
closer to make it easier for me, but in doing so he lost his balance
and we both tumbled down. "Hey, we don't want any injuries," I said, placing his back against
the large metal cabinets that held hundreds of rarely-used maps. Now
that he was resting against something, I returned to my explorations,
moving my adoring mouth and hands over his chest and groin. "Oh God,"
he groaned as I lowered my mouth on his erection. "Oh God," he repeated, as I licked and sucked it. The briefs were
stained and wet now, but he didn't seem to mind, breathing hard as I
continued my manipulations. He pushed his hips higher, and I used the
moment to draw his underwear over his hips and to his knees. He was gorgeous, exposed to me like this. I reveled in the silkiness
of his skin. I remember the first time I touched a man's penis -- I
was surprised by how soft and good it felt against my hand: so warm
and smooth. Gliding my hand on Dave's hard cock, I told him how
beautiful he was. "Thank you," he said softly, and I leaned to kiss
him deeply, still letting my fingers travel across his skin. Stopping
my kiss, I trailed my tongue down to his neck, kissing the spot I so
liked, then still lower, to his chest, his stomach. I dipped my
tongue into his belly button, and continued downwards. "No, you deserve a punishment, not a reward," I said, lifting my head. "No
such luck for you today." "Oh. . . ." He sounded genuinely disappointed, "We can stop, if you want." "Not quite" I didn't want to stop, just to continue in a different
fashion. "I want you to touch yourself for me." He blushed under my
gaze, moving his hand uncertainly. There is something amazingly beautiful about a man pleasing himself:
the motions are graceful and natural, gorgeous in their fluidity.
Little fascinates me more than watching a man I adore as he touches
himself. The curve of the fingers, the pace of the strokes, the flush
of the skin, the arousal and excitement it brings -- every detail is
precious and sensual, arousing and enticing. And the scent of a man,
so intoxicating and addictive, so comforting and exciting! So much
pleasure lies in leaning close and watching someone stroke himself,
enjoying the sight and the scent, the radiating warmth and wetness! "Don't be shy," I encouraged Dave. "I do love watching it so much. And
you'll like it as well -- we all have at least a bit of an exhibitionist
inside of us." Shrugging, he brought his hands to his cock and started his motions.
Fascinated, I watched him, indulging in the view and the sound of his
heavy breathing. I savored those moments, relishing the exquisite
pleasure of watching him. My breathing became ragged in tune with his
as my arousal grew with the speed of his strokes. Knowing that he
would come soon, I urged him on by licking his nipples and bringing my
hand to join his in the escalating manipulations. When he finally
came, when the stream of warm fluid hit his stomach, forming puddles
around the belly button, when I spread the remains of it on his slick
member, we both breathed heavily with relief and pleasure. "Messy," I murmured, "I like this kind of mess. See, wasn't it fun?" "Yes," he sighed with content. Dave drew me close with his arm, tenderly holding me. "Thank you," he
kissed me. "You are welcome." I kissed him back. I put my head on his shoulder,
still delighted by what happened between us. I was almost falling asleep again when a loud sound startled me.
Quickly raising my head, I was suddenly surprised to find myself still
sitting at the table, with my back to the window. Instead of resting
on Dave's shoulder, my head had been lying on my book, and my back
was stiff from being bent so much. Still not sure of what was a
reality and what was a dream, I turned my head to see Dave closing the
window shades. He was dressed and showed no trace of the disarray
that I imagined him in. "Good morning," he smiled, noticing that I was awake. "The library
closes in fifteen minutes, and I thought I'd close the shades while I
am at it." He tugged impatiently at the fold that got caught between
the desk and the window. "Hey, careful with that," I protested. "You might rip the emblem." "Since when are you so school-spirited?" he inquired. "Do you even know
what "mens et manus" means?" "Sure do," I replied. "Do I get a prize?" "No, but you get fifteen minutes to get your books together while I check
up on the rest of the library and then, if you're nice to me, I'll walk
you home." "I can walk by myself, you know." "Sure, you can, but wouldn't you like the benefit of my company?" "Well, I suppose." "Sounds like a deal," he said. Boston and the river disappeared from my
view as he closed the shades tight and walked out of the map room. I sat quietly, wondering what exactly had transpired earlier. Did I
dream my up wonderful sex adventure while I was asleep, or did I sit
there fully awake, composing it in my mind, making every detail
brilliant with description? Probably the latter, but the difference
didn't matter now; what mattered was that I was extremely excited and
aroused and needed a relief. If I concentrated, I knew I could bring
myself off, thinking of the situation I drew in my mind just few
minutes earlier -- me in front of the open window, Dave's hand on my
skin, Dave's naked body and his graceful motions... But in my
impatience, I felt I needed something more direct -- my body ached for
contact. Looking around, I noticed how quiet the library was --
everyone had probably left by now, and Dave. . . well, he did say he'd be
back in fifteen minutes, which gave me some time. Still furtively
glancing around, I brought my hands under the desk and drew open my
zipper, pushing my fingers inside, under the waistband of my
underwear, down to where the slippery surfaces ached to be rubbed. I
orgasmed almost instantly. Shuddering from the pleasure, I tried to
hold on to the feeling, to the story still fresh in my mind. I sat motionless for a while, calming myself down; then I closed my zipper
and rose from the chair to go back to the table in front of the window to
collect my books. "Ready?" Dave asked cheerfully, walking in the room again. "Almost," I smiled, checking to make sure I didn't forget anything. Dave turned off the lights and the ensuing darkness suddenly made me
excited. I stepped to him, kissing him hungrily. Our embrace grew closer
as we got bolder, fervently exploring each other. "Hold on," I said and found my way to the window. He followed me, not
letting go for a second. Pulling on the cord, I exposed Boston again. As
I drew the shades open, Dave's hands found their way under my clothes.
Distracted, I glanced at the seal on the shade: "Mens et Manus." Indeed.
Mind and hand. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyrighted by Lei Bluet, March 1999
Comments and criticisms are welcome.
Please, send comments to
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