Chapter 0 - i wrote this for myself

He promises you that this is exactly what he needs to get his inspiration back, that if you just help him, then he will be able to get back to work like he used to, and then everything will be better for everyone. You admire your teacher a lot, which is why you have been so willing to help him in any way that you can while he struggles with his art block. So when he asks you to model for him, promising that this will work, and that you are the only one who can help, that you are the one who inspired him, you do not hesitate to agree.

Madarame tells you that this will be something simple, that you just have to let him tell you how to pose, and he will handle the rest. He even promises that you can stay dressed, though you quickly remind him that you would not mind if that weren’t the case, because it nudity means something different to an artist than it does to the common man. He seems proud of you when you say that, so you are proud of yourself.

Even so, he wants you to dress casually, in the skirt and blouse from your school uniform. You are there right on time, and he locks the door behind you, so the two of you aren’t disturbed while he starts his sketch. At first, it is quiet, with him working and you just sitting there, not sure if you should be doing something different. You know how modeling works, but it still feels awkward for you, being in the position of the model, even though your job really is just to sit still.

In a way, you feel like it puts a lot of pressure on you. Madarame has been struggling for some time now, and the idea that you might be the one to offer the inspiration that helps with that is a tall order. You admire him so much that sometimes you wonder just how far your feelings for your mentor really go, though you have never admitted that to anyone else, and you want him to be happy with how this turns out. You want this to be a break through from him, so that he will be proud of you and grateful to you. And, just a little bit, you want him to be able to work on his own again, since you know that the others are starting to get frustrated, having to offer up their own pieces because of his struggles, as their “payment.”

You always wonder why it does not bother you more personally, but it must be the admiration that you hold, and your desire to earn his praise, more than anyone else’s. And you do feel that you owe any success that you might have to him, so isn’t that payment enough? But now you are helping him in a much more direct way, and it’s exciting and overwhelming all at once, and you worry that if things do not turn out, that you might disappoint him, even though all you have had to do is sit here while he works.

You are startled out of your thoughts by him saying, “Can you move just a little bit?”

“Oh, sorry,” you say. “Um, how did you want me to move?”

“Maybe into something a little more natural, relax a little bit. There, yes, sitting back like that is good, maybe don’t press your legs together quite so much…alright, that should do it,” he says with a nod, before getting back to work. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest for several minutes after he gets back to it, still nervous, still afraid that he might have criticism for how you are sitting.

It is certainly difficult to be relaxed when you are this keyed up, but what else can you do about that? He is quiet for a bit after that, and just when you have started to calm down, he speaks up again. “It might help if you showed just a little more skin.” He looks over to you and says, “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by that, I’m only saying that it might be more natural if you undid a few buttons. You’re relaxing here, it’s more of an after school image that I had in mind.”

This is the first time that he has actually mentioned anything that was on his mind, but you haven’t been asking about it, because you trust him and his process. You undo the top button of your blouse, and see he is still watching you expectantly. As you undo another, you say, “Just tell me when to stop.”

“Of course.”

When he tells you to stop, your shirt is falling open, your bra nearly exposed, and your heart is racing again, but then he gets back to his work, and you have to tell yourself to calm down. He already explained that this was to make things look more relaxed, and you were the one to tell him that you would be perfectly comfortable doing a fully nude session, because this is about artistic vision and nothing more. If he were to ask you to take everything off, you should be able to do it without question, because it doesn’t mean anything weird. Everything that Madarame is doing, he is doing because of his artistic vision, something that you should understand perfectly.

Several minutes pass before he says, “Can you fix your pose a little more?” Immediately, you try and relax more, not sure if such a thing is possible, but he sighs and says, “Here, let me…” He rises and kneels in front of you, so close now that you really can’t stop your heart from pounding, face growing warm. You know better than to get so excited by something like this, and yet you find that you can’t stop yourself, can’t stop the way that you tremble as he moves your arms.

Each time that his hand touches you, you feel like your skin is on fire. He moves your arms to either side of you so that there is no way for you to try and hold your shirt in place, and for good measure, he undoes the bottom button of your shirt as well, though you are not sure what that accomplishes.

What really sets you off is when he touches one of your legs, grabbing your calf to shift it to one side, hand drifting up for just a moment, lingering on your thigh before he decides that he is content, and wants to move on to adjust the other leg, just the same. You can hardly breathe by the time he is going back to his seat, to start working on his sketch again.

Can he see how much you’re sweating right now? Can he hear the way your breath keeps catching in your throat? Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if you found out that he could hear your heart with how hard that it’s pounding, and you find yourself wishing that this would end soon, not because you no longer want to help him, but because you aren’t sure how much more of this can take. You can feel his eyes on you whenever he looks away from his sketch, and you feel so exposed, like he can see right through you.

When he stands up again, saying that he needs to adjust your pose just a little bit, you swear you might melt into the chair. The idea of him putting his hands on you again leaves you terrified that you will somehow give away just how this is making you feel, but because of those feelings, you find that you really don’t want to resist his touch either. The only thing that you want to do is give in, give into him completely, even though this is just about artistic vision, not about whatever pathetic lust you might have for your mentor.

“Just one more button should do it,” he says, leaning over your from behind, and you can feel his breath against your ear as he speaks. His hands come down over your chest, and you hold your breath as he unbuttons another button, your blouse falling open more, exposing quite a bit more than you expected to, to the point that you nearly wonder what the point of wearing a shirt was to begin with.

You must imagine the way his hand lingers over one of your breasts as he pulls back, surely. It must all be in your imagination, but you still find yourself going stiff, completely overwhelmed by the notion that he might have touched you, even if you must have imagined it, even if it must have been accidental if you didn’t. He pauses behind you for a moment, and then he is leaning over you again, further this time, trying to move your legs from above, and you have to hold back a whimper when you feel his hand on your inner thigh.

It must be accidental, the way his hand brushes against your panties as he moves to your other thigh. It must be, but it causes you to outright gasp, unable to hold that back, and yet Madarame continues on as if he didn’t notice at all. If he didn’t notice the way that you gasped when he accidentally brushed against you, then he probably also didn’t notice the fact that your panties must be soaked through with how wet you are right now. He must just be completely oblivious to the completely obvious state that he has left you in.

Circling back in front of you, he gazes at you for a moment, assessing the work that he has done to pose you, making sure that you perfectly fit whatever his vision may be, before sitting down again. You are suddenly aware of just how far apart he has spread your legs now, that he can clearly see up your skirt from where he is sitting. Nothing about this pose or the way he has adjusted your clothes suggest the innocent, after school scene that he claims to have taken his inspiration from, and yet he had insisted that this would not be a nude sketch. And it isn’t, but if he is going for something more risque, you kind of wish that he had warned you ahead of time.

You’re blushing furiously, barely able to keep yourself from trembling, and definitely, completely unable to breathe right now. He looks up and his eyes linger on you for a second, his expression unreadable, before he smiles and puts down his sketch, rising again. You can feel yourself starting to panic, not sure if you can take another touch from him without going to absolute pieces, but as he kneels in front of you, he says, “I think that’s more than enough work for today. What do you think?”

“H-huh?”

“You’ve done a good job, but you’re barely holding it together now. I have what I need, so now I can give you what you need. Think of it as payment for the modeling,” he says, giving you a teasing smile as he looks up at you. “Now, let’s get these off.”
His hands are under your skirt, pulling at the waistband of your panties, and you gasp when you feel his touch. “Wait, what are you doing?” you ask. It should be obvious, but you have spent so long convincing yourself that this was not leading to that, that you can hardly believe it when that seems to be the case.

“I’m not stupid, you know,” is all he says, as he starts to pull them down. You lit up just a bit, to help him get them off, your body moving reflexively as your mind struggles to keep up with everything that is going on. He removes your panties entirely and pushes your legs spread again, and he kneels between them, and all you can do is cry out in surprise as he finally shows you exactly what he means.

There is a part of you that wants to move your hands down from your sides, to touch him while he eats you out, but you feel like you are rooted in place, as if you are still trying to maintain the pose that he put you into, even though he already told you that his work is done for the day. Your moans grow quickly pathetic as he works his tongue inside of you, seeming to know everything there is to know about making this good for you, making you fall apart for him. You already know that you have no experience and nothing to compare him to, and yet you understand that he must have a lot of practice, that this is another art that he must have dedicated a lot of time to perfecting.

Your head falls back a bit as you lose yourself in it, unable to maintain the pose perfectly, but again, the pose doesn’t actually matter anymore. You feel yourself trembling on the edge, barely able to hold back at all, when he stops, pulling back and looking up at you as he says, “Don’t want to get too carried away, right?” He reaches up, undoing the last two buttons so that your shirt fully falls open, and he leans up, pressing his lips to your stomach.

Slowly, he kisses up your stomach, his hands groping at your breasts, first over your bra, then pushing under it, and you feel yourself trembling that much more, each touch from him pushing you that much closer to your limit, though now you know that he wants you to wait, and you have a feeling you know exactly what he wants you to wait for. You are surprised by how willing you are to give even this to him, without hesitating for even a second. You have wanted this for too long, trying to hide your feelings behind your admiration, but there is no way to hide it anymore.

For just a little bit, he remains like this, groping you and nuzzling against your chest, and in that time, you try and hide your impatience, your desperation to be touched more, and to feel more. When he does finally pull back from this and ask you to stand up, you feel a strange mixture of relief and greater anticipation. You can hardly stand, your legs are shaking so much, but he only asks you to stand so that he can take your seat, so that he can free his erection and sit back, inviting you to join him.

“We can take this slow,” he promises you, “and you can take the lead. I know you’ve never done this before.”

You find that you can’t speak, so all you do is nod as you climb onto his lap, with his hands holding you steady, helping you into the position you need to be in. As you start to move down, you freeze up when you feel the tip of his cock against you, and you wonder if you’re really ready for this. There is still that reluctant part of you that has never done anything like this before, but then, it is quickly overpowered by the part of you that wants this, that is so turned on you are willing to throw caution to the wind.

The anticipation has been building for so long, perhaps since the moment that you met him and began burying your crush beneath your admiration, but it has certainly been building since the moment that he locked the door behind you. After spending so long just sitting there for him to gaze at, drinking every detail, it was no wonder you found yourself getting excited, and each subtle touch has only pushed you that much closer. In that moment, you realize that this must have been his goal all along, that everything must have at least been a little bit calculated, to put you in such a state of mind that you could not hide your arousal anymore.

It only excites you that much more to think that he might have been planning this, that he might have been watching you just as much as you have been watching him, that he might have wanted you for just as long. You don’t want to hold back anymore, and so, you let yourself start to sink down on him, remembering to take it slow, no matter how much you want to take him all at once, just to end this wait.

He holds you steady the whole time, not pushing anything, not moving at all, while he lets you take things at your own pace, a pace that you can handle, until you have taken him completely, gasping out to feel him inside of you. Vaguely, you are aware of him murmuring praises for you, and you wrap your arms around his neck, just wanting to be close, as close as you possibly can.
It feels good, once you start to get used to it, and it feels so good that you need more, that you can’t hold still anymore. Madarame still lets you set the pace as you begin riding his lap, following along with you as you bounce on his cock, slowly at first, to test things out, and then quickly falling into a hectic pace as you lose yourself in it, your voice coming out in loud and pathetic moans, so needy that you can hold nothing back from him anymore.

You love him, you are sure of it. From day one, this has been building inside of you, your crush that you have always known, in the back of your mind, was so much more than mere gratitude or hero worship. Even in the moment, you know better than to go so far as to confess your feelings, but you know, just as well as you have ever known anything, that you do love him, that you have for a very long time.

A part of you hopes, as foolish as it may be, that he returns those feelings, and you want to think that there might be a chance, because he is willing to go this far with you. No matter what, though, you know that you must be special, because you are the one he says inspires him, and you are the one that he brought into this room to sketch and to seduce, and for now, being special is more than enough for you. Clinging to him, you wish that this moment would never end, even though you know that you are getting closer with every movement, pushing yourself right over the edge.

He holds you while you come, the pleasure blinding in its intensity, like nothing you have ever felt before. You can feel him giving a few thrusts up into you, because you have stopped moving while lost in your orgasm, but then he goes stiff beneath you and he groans, and you can feel that he is there with you, coming inside of you as he joins you in it. And somehow, it all feels right; you aren’t worried about the fact that he didn’t even attempt to pull out, you aren’t worried about the lack of caution that either of you have practiced, and you aren’t worried about anything at all.

You have never been happier in your life, happy to sit in his lap and to cling to him, the two of you panting to catch your breath. He tells you that you’ve done a great job, that he’s proud of you and that you are an absolute inspiration, and you nuzzle closer to him, beaming. You still can’t find your voice to speak, but if you could, you would tell him that you feel the same, that you have never felt more inspired before. You would promise to do even more hard work for him, and to offer it all to him, once you are done.

After all, the more time you spend here in his arms, the more you know that you owe everything- your inspiration, your talent, your success- to the man you love.

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