It had started with a DM on Instagram. Marinette had rolled her eyes when she saw it.
She was his latest muse, Theo claimed. He never before had become so enchanted with a subject. He had been scrolling through her feed for hours, touching himself, studying the curves and contours of her form. He begged to see her, to touch her, to get her exact measurements himself so he could create a perfect statue in her likeness.
Curious, she clicked on Theo's profile. His Instagram feed was filled with exquisite marble statues of women, all nude, all posed in stages of apparent ecstasy. She didn't know if he was an amazing artist, some kind of sex god, or perhaps both.
She had blocked him of course. He was just some guy she followed on the app, a friend of a friend. He was cute, but she didn't go for creeps. She never thought he would pursue her further.
She was wrong. A week after she blocked him, she went on the subway to go to her internship, but she never arrived. An email from her account, one that she had never written, was promptly sent to her boss explaining her sudden absence.
Theo was an artist. He never let a muse pass him by.
And, in the end, they were all grateful. It took some coaxing, but they were grateful.
Marinette woke up in a standing position, her arms bound high above her head. She was still wearing her white blouse and pencil skirt, but her hair was loose about her shoulders and her feet were bare.
She had no idea how she got there. Her brain was so foggy, she could barely remember her own name. Her mouth felt dry. She blinked the spots out of her eyes, trying to focus on the blurry figure before her.
Theo stood in front of her. The bulge in his pants was impossible not to notice, even in her groggy state. He smiled at her, his impossibly handsome face bordering on sinister. "Good. My muse is awake."
Her eyes widened. "Theo."
Now she was alert. She began to struggle, pulling hard with her wrists to try and free herself.
He smiled, eyeing her squirming form. His gaze locked on her breasts, which were heaving with her panicked breaths. His palm went to his groin, lightly stimulating it. "You're perfect, Marinette. Much better than my other subjects. I've been waiting weeks for our consultation. Shall we begin?"
There was no give. The knots were tight. She'd scream, but she knew no one would hear. They were in his house. She knew from Instagram that he lived way out in the mountains, in a solitary cabin on his own. Supposedly, according to his profile, this inspired his artistic genius. Now she wondered how many other women found themselves in this same position.
"Theo, you don't have to do this..."
He kept stroking himself through his pants, letting out deep, labored breaths. Then he removed his hand, pulling a long measuring tape out of his pocket with a smooth flourish.
He approached her. She cringed back, but there was no escaping this.
Before he even touched her he leaned in close to her throat, taking a deep breath in. He was a mere centimeter from her neck. She felt his breath tickle her skin. She closed her eyes tight.
Then his lips were on her, pressing light, fluttery kisses across her jaw. He moaned. "Marinette... your skin is just as soft as I imagined." He licked her, nipped her with his teeth. She flinched. "Tastes just as sweet, too."
She forced her eyes open. His pupils were blown wide. "I'm going to try and take my time," he whispered. "But I don't know if I'll be able to resist. You have no idea how much I want you."
To prove his point, he pressed his body flush against her own. The stiffness of his pants rubbed against her. Then he pushed into her harder, grinding against the juncture of her thighs. He let out a shuddering breath, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force. "God, Marinette. I've never wanted anyone this bad in my entire life."
The measuring tape was out again. With practiced fingers, he whipped it out and slid it seductively across her throat. She let out a noise as he tightened it against her and ducked in for a quick nip.
"Fourteen inches," he whispered hoarsely. "You're so delicate, my love. I can't wait to sculpt you out of marble."
His hips were still rubbing against hers. The stimulation was causing an unwanted wetness that she could feel pooling in her panties. She whimpered as he nipped at her throat again, sucking at a particularly sensitive pulse point. He definitely left a hickey.
He released her, admiring his work. "My artist's signature. Alright. Now your waist. But I need to make sure this is accurate, dear. No clothes in the way."
He grinned wickedly as he took a step back and began working the buttons of her tight blouse. He let out another low moan as he slowly revealed her pale breast, now covered only by her nude bra. He pressed against her again, more urgently. When he rolled her hips, she cried out.
"That's right," he soothed, bucking against her again. She tried to bite back her moan, but wasn't successful. "I knew you'd come around."
His hands were warm around her waist when he finally exposed her front, the buttons all undone. He allowed himself one last grind, tipping his head back with a throaty growl. She whimpered alongside him, feeling herself dripping wet now.
Out came the measuring tape. He wrapped it around her waist, pulling it tight so she gasped.
"Twenty-three inches." His eyes raked across her breasts. He licked his lips. "Almost done."
"Please, no--"
He silenced her with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. He moaned against her mouth as his fingers slid down to her ass, crushing her against him.
"A-ah!" She cried out helplessly as he hoisted her thighs around his waist, pushing further forward. He humped her frantically, panting against her throat. His hard cock, still restraining by his pants, slid firmly across her soaking panties as her pencil skirt rode up to her waist.
She felt herself edging towards release, so turned on already. She had always been extra sensitive. But then he stopped, leaving her aching and desperate.
"I want to be inside you now," He groaned, giving her ass a tight squeeze. She moaned again, and he grinned at the sound. "But I promised I'd take my time."
Reluctantly, he pulled away. Marinette was a quivering mess, held up only by her restrained arms as her legs gave out on her. She was helplessly turned on and terrified, her exposed breasts heaving, a slick wetness dripping down her leg.
He pulled out his measuring tape. His erection looked painful at this point, but he was a man on a mission.
In seconds, her skirt was pooled on the floor, leaving her just in her bra and panties. He wrapped the measuring tape around her thigh. "Seventeen inches," he breathed.
His hands rode up. He snaked the measuring tape along her skin so that it brushed against her quivering core. She gasped.
The wicked grin was back. "One more, darling. We're almost there."
Her eyes were glazed over at this point. She was overwhelmed with sensations.
In one sharp movement, he ripped the shirt off her shoulders so that it was no longer hanging loose from her arms. Then he ripped off her bra, watching with unfiltered lust how her bare breasts trembled when freed from the restrictive garment.
He took the measuring tape, sliding it deliberately across her sensitive nipples as he found her chest measurement. "Thirty," he breathed.
Then his mouth closed around her nipple, his tongue flicking against the stiff peak. At the same time, his hands returned to her hips, and he was pressed against her again.
Marinette moaned helplessly. She was so overstimulated it was almost painful. When he nibbled at the rosy nub, she screamed.
"Yes," he moaned, his breathing labored. "God, yes, Marinette. Make that noise again."
"N-No--anh! No, I-I--"
