Author's Note: The original version of this story was the first mainstream story that I ever wrote. Recently, I got the idea to rewrite it with a bondage theme, and in some ways I think it actually works better (at the metaphorical level) this way.

That said, the story is definitely a bit heavier on the story than it is on the bondage; but that's not all that uncommon for my work, I think.

Part 1

Trystl tried to ignore Little Sasi.

Slowly he typed a few more words then stopped to think for a moment as he looked over at the tiny sprite frolicking on his desk with her long, little legs in the air. She lay near the corner of his desk on a stack of printouts. Her long curly hair hung over the desk's edge, her graceful arms connected by slave's chains to a tight metal belt around her waist. Another set of chains led from the belt down to cuffs on her ankles, which were padded by a pair of fluffy blue leg warmers. The pastel color looked nice enough against her pale skin, but the fuzzy material was almost too bulky to look right with her toothpick body, which was otherwise uncovered.

Trystl typed a few more lines of his story, pausing frequently to consider an alternate word or the right punctuation. When he finally reread the whole paragraph he realized that it didn't really work with the rest of his story; so he erased the last few lines.

Sasi had her comically long legs wrapped around a retractable ball-point pen. The slave chains rattled softly as she ground her pubes against the bouncy, plastic clicker-part.

As usual, Trystl didn't know whether to smile at her antics or frown.

"Stop that, Sasi," he said, flicking the little sprite in the ass with his finger, just hard enough to make one of her cheeks bounce. It left a bright little red mark, and she looked up at him with an angry pout. Then, twisting around to rub the sore spot, she examined her new welt more closely. Little Sasi was extremely flexible; and surprising durable. Occasionally, when he was first learning how to flip his finger just right, he would hit her so hard that the force of the blow would literally knocked her down. The first time that happened, he'd been very concerned, but it didn't seem to bother her any more than the lighter taps had. She picked herself up, glowered at him for a moment and then rubbed her sore spot for a moment before loosing interest in it. The over-flicks didn't happen very often anymore, unless he wanted them to. Sometimes, it literally took one of those knock down flicks to get her attention, but he'd gotten very good at striking his intended target with just the right amount of force to create the effect he wanted.

When Sasi had adequately examined the red mark on her ass (and kissed it with a sort of reverence) she seemed to put the incident out of her mind, as usual. Walking over to a tube of stick glue that was sitting upright on the desk she jumped lightly up onto the cap, balancing on one leg as she sat down, crossing her legs and resting her head against her knee. She glared up at him, obvious irritated at being ignored.

Sometimes he enjoyed playing with her, tying her up in strenuous positions that kept her occupied and out of mischief; but today he just wasn't in the mood. Tonight, his total inability to get the words right had him even more frustrated than usual.

"You just going to sit there and watch me?" Trystl asked.

Sasi nodded.

"Suit your self," he said with a shrug

Pushing away from the desk, he headed into the kitchen to investigate the inviting smell of sassafras tea. Meg was standing over the stove in her nightshirt, stirring at the boiling roots that he'd dug up only a few days before.

"God, I needed a break," he said, as he kissed Meg on the neck, wrapping one arm around her waist and cupping her breast with the other.

"It's almost ready," Meg answered, leaning her head back against his shoulder. "Why don't you get some cups?"

He squeezed her breast gently, letting his other hand slide down between her legs for a moment so he could rub his palm against her pubes.

"Don't start something unless you intend to finish it," she said, turning her head to kiss him.

"Waiting for it is the good part," he said with a chuckle.

Reluctantly he released her before retrieving the cups from the cupboard. Then he went to the fridge for a carton of milk and snagged the sugar bowl on his way back over to Meg. She was pouring the tea into a decorative silver pot that was sitting on a serving platter. For some reason, she preferred to wash the extra dishes instead of pouring her tea from the same pan she made it in. When everything was ready they walked into the living room and sat down on the couch.

"So! How's the story coming?" Meg asked as she mixed her tea with milk. She liked to read his bondage stories when he was finished with them, although she wasn't very good at giving him helpful criticism.

"That's disgusting, you know," Trystl said, as he watched her tea turn white.

"You should talk," she said, as he mixed his own tea with two heaping spoon full of sugar. "At least milk is good for you." She shook her head then cuddled against him. "So, how is it going? Or was that your way of saying you don't you want to talk about it?"

He shrugged, studying the wall by the stairs. "It's coming, I guess. I'm just frustrated. Nothing ever seems to come out quite the way I want it to." He set his cup down.

"It'll come," she said. "You just have to be patient."

"I know. I just wish it wasn't so hard to get it right."

"You'll get it, darling. You're a good writer!"

"So you keep telling me."

"Why are you so hard on yourself?"

"I don't know." He frowned as he sipped his tea. "Sometimes I just ... I guess I'd rather not have to write it at all."

As usual, Sasi had followed him. Unless he left her tied up, Sasi tended to follow him wherever he went in the house. Sometimes she'd even follow him to bed. She'd sit on his head board watching him, or lie on his pillow, twirling her limbs in his curly hair. The first few times she'd done that, he'd had a heck of a time trying to get to sleep.

Now, using a length of rope with a grappling hook in the end, she'd managed to scale the leg of the table and was pulling herself up over the edge.

"I thought you said it was a good story," Meg said.

"It is," Trystl said with a self-deprecating laugh. He kissed her neck, right on the spot where he knew she was ticklish and nibbled on her hear. "I just wish you could write it and I could be the one who gets all hot and bothered by reading it."

Meg frowned. "That's silly? We both know that I'm not the writer."

By now Sasi was climbing up on the edge of his cup, sniffing at the steam from his tea. "I know, it's just that sometimes trying to write is a bit like trying to go to sleep when I'm really, really tired. I'm walking around, dead tired, barely able to keep my yes open; but the moment I lie down it's like I'm one of those dolls where you lay them down and their eyes close-except my eyes keep trying to close while I'm walking around; then as soon as you lay me down they snap open."

"You lost me," Meg said. "What does that have to do with writing bondage?"

"It's how I feel when I'm trying to write. When I'm not sitting at my keyboard, I know exactly what to say. The words flood into my mind; I feel like I'm about to burst with the need to write it all down. But as soon as I sit down at the keyboard it evaporates; my mind becomes a total blank and it's like pulling teeth get the words down on paper. "

Sasi had been walking along the lip of his teacup, using the weight of her chains to help keep her balance, the way a tightrope walker uses a pole. Now she did a graceful little spin and sat down on the cup's edge, looking up at him with a curious look as she began to work her fingers between her legs and pinch her nipples.

Trystl looked away, ignoring Sasi's taunting as he usually did when he was around Meg.

"If you don't enjoy writing then why do it?" Meg asked. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining, but it's not like you're getting paid. I like reading your stuff, but I can find someone else to read if I have to."

"You'd bring another writer into our bed?" Trystl asked teasingly.

"I'm poly-amorous, that way."

Suddenly, Sasi fell over backwards into his tea. She sank under the surface then came up sputtering, her long frizzy hair plastered to her head and shoulders like a half-drowned cat. Trystl couldn't help chuckling for a moment then he turned more serious. "I don't write for the money, Meg. I write because it's inside me, trying to get out."

Steam was rising from the surface of Sasi's brown skin, but other than her clothes and hair she seemed to have weathered the hot liquid rather well. Trystl dipped his spoon into the tea, slipping the bowl end between Sasi's legs. She rocked back and forth, stretching her legs out with toes pointed and playfully waving her arm like a cowgirl riding a bucking bull, as she rode the spoon into the air; grounding her crotch against the neck with obvious pleasure. Trystl placed the spoon on the table so his little muse could get off if she wanted to. Instead, she leaned back into the rounded hollow part, letting her long legs drape over the spoon's edges as she went back to probing her private parts.

Sasi was virtually insatiable and she would try to fuck just about anything. Her snatch was like a snake's mouth. It seemed to be on a double hinge, letting her ram unbelievably large things inside her. Trystl had experimented to see just how large an object she could handle without complaining. Some of the things he'd used were actually wider across than she was; and he could see her belly being pushed out as he forced then inside her.

Apparently she was insatiable, for Sasi never complained; and he decided to stop before she did.

Now, her cuffs and chains and the metal belt were all gone, as if they'd melted in the hot liquid. Trystl had no idea how she did that, but she could make her bindings come and go at will. Apparently, she enjoyed wearing them simply for the pleasure they gave her. Her blue legwarmers were also ruined. They'd slipped down around her ankles and now she kicked them off contemptuously, stretching her long pale legs like a ballerina.

Trystl flipped his spoon, tossing Sasi unceremoniously onto the table before placing the utensil back in his cup. Sasi landed on all fours and looked up at him with an angry scowl for a moment, before shaking herself like a wet dog, spraying tea all over the table.

"I guess being a writer is just what you are," Meg said. "That's one of the reasons I love you."

Sasi sat down with her back against the carton of milk, listening to the conversation as she began to wrap some rope around her ankles.

"I guess... I just wish I was a little better at it."

Wiggling her toes, Sasi held her feet up for a closer examination of the tie she'd just made. She smiled in satisfaction then began to wrap her knees.

"Well, I think you're very good at it," Meg said, picking up the carton to pour a little more milk in her tea.

Since she wasn't paying attention, Sasi fell flat on her back.

"Of course you do," Trystl grinned. "You're my wife; that's sort of your job, isn't it?"

Sasi sat up, rubbing the back of her head as she glowered at Meg.

"My job is to keep you happy," Meg said. "And your job, mister, is to keep me happy. Don't forget that, because I expect to see you in our bed before ten tonight."

"I'll be there with a hard on," he said, dipping his little finger in the tea then holding it up to pacifier Sasi's mercurial temper. Forgetting her bumped head, she eagerly grabbed his finger. Like a cat, she wrapped her arms around his pinky, her legs clinging to his palm as she hung upside down, lapped the liquid from his fingertip. She held on, long after the liquid was gone, but he didn't complain. Most of the time he enjoyed doing what he could to keep her calm and happy.

As he waited for her to grow bored with her new game and let go, Trystl glanced idly around the room and noticed a small, slightly off-colored patch in the hardwood floor. It was located below a section of wall that was also a little discolored. This wasn't the first time he'd noticed the odd patches. But tonight, for some reason, he found them a little more fascinating than usual.

Sasi still hadn't let go of his finger, so he dunked her head into his tea until she let go. Then he picked up his cup and drained the last of his tea.

"Since you've requested my stud services tonight, I guess I'd better get back to work and see if I can't finish things up early."

When Sasi had finished shaking the tea from her hair she looked fresh and clean; and she was wearing an attractive bikini. He hadn't noticed when she'd put them on, but despite being skimpy the strings were tough enough that when he picked her up by them the fabric stretched out in a long wedgie, as he picked her up and tossed her onto his shoulder. She landed adroitly. The rope she'd been using to tie her legs up had suddenly turned into a grappling hook again and the sharp ends were caught in the fabric of his shirt as she was pulling herself to a safer position. By the time he began to walk she was purring contentedly in his ear as she placed nipple clamps on her breast.

Trystl couldn't help stopping to look at the off-colored patch in the floor. He rubbed his foot over the brown bump of dried glue that outlined the small rectangle of discolored flooring against the wall.

"What is it?" Meg asked.

"I don't know. I was just wondering about this funny spot here?"

"It used to be a fireplace," she said. "You can still see the chimney on the outside wall."

"That's odd," Trystl said.

"What?"

"Well, this dark spot is obviously were the old hearth used to be. But only a couple of inches of it are showing, which means that there's probably another eight to twelve inches of usable space behind this wall." Sasi began purring even louder now. "I'm just wondering why whoever put this drywall up didn't push it back a little."

"Are you hinting that my dad's house is too small for us?" Meg said, trying for a serious expression and not quite succeeding.

"He raised two kids in this house and never complained."

"Fine. I promise I'll never complain about the size of this house until we've had more than two children. Now, seriously. Don't you think a set of shelves would look nice recessed into this wall?" He looked at Meg expectantly.

"What makes you think I want more than two kids?"

"So I'll never complain!" he laughed. "What about the shelves?"

She laughed too. "I think this room needs a closet more than shelves."

"Not sure there's space for a closet," he said, "but I think it would definitely be worth a look."


Part 2

Trystl sat at his typewriter thinking about the space behind the wall. He couldn't get it out of his mind. He'd started a new sentence five different times, until finally he had to admit that he'd lost his feel for the story. Now he had officially given up, and was instead idly watched Sasi. She was wearing a chastity belt and despite her small size he could hear something buzzing underneath the silver metal. She was lying on her back holding a pencil with her hands and feet twirling it like a baton, but it seemed the eraser was throwing it off balance and it kept falling down on top of her.

She tried twirling the pencil again, but he put his finger in its path and snatched it away from her. She sat up and looked at him, spreading her legs eagerly as if waiting for him to do something. The chastity belt was probably more of a message to him, than it was for her own pleasure. It said that she was tired of being ignored. He knew from experience that if he wanted her chastity belt to disappear so that he could let her ride his pinky finger, all he had to do was pull at the metal and the thing would shatter into tiny pieces that disappeared like dust. Sometimes, instead of letting her ride his finger, he would use a pencil eraser to tease her, jiggling it against her crotch. Or he would use a retractable ball-point pen and let her fuck herself on the bouncy clicker part.

But tonight he just wasn't in the mood to tease his little muse.

"Can you explain it, Sasi?" He asked, looking down at his blank screen. "Why is writing so hard? Why is not-writing so much harder?" Sasi shrugged with child-like sincerity. "Sometimes I just want to lock myself inside a room and not come out until I've finished it all." He highlighted the last paragraph he'd written and deleted it. "I'm writing a story about you, you know."

She nodded.

"Of course you know. You could probably write the story better than I can! If you could only talk, you might dictate it to me. We could make a great team, you and I."

She giggled and, as if assuming that was all he wanted, she rolled onto her back, using a feather to tickle her own toes.

He smiled. "Come on, you stupid little mite." he scooped her up in his hand and put her on his shoulder. "Let's go take a look at that damn wall."


Part 3

"Trystl!"

He could hear the agitation in Meg's voice: the slow, distinct speech with rough edged tones. He turned to watch her coming down the stairs, and grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"What on earth are you doing?

He cocked his head pretending to be puzzled. Slowly he pulled the head of the sledgehammer from the wall, and set it down to consider the ragged holes he'd already put in the plaster. "I'm tearing down this wall."

"It's late," she said. "I almost called the police then I realized you weren't in bed yet; and it dawned on me that a burglar wouldn't be dumb enough to make that much noise."

"Well, thank you."

She frowned. "I thought you were coming to bed early?"

"It's not that late."

"Too late to be making such a racket."

Trystl glanced down at the plaster scattered on the floor. Sasi was trying to pull a large chunk over to a small pile she had started. "Just let me clean this up a little first then I'll come to bed."

"Take a shower first; I don't want all that dust getting on my sheets."

Slipping, Sasi fell under a chunk of plaster. After a moment she drawled out from under it kicking angrily at the slab before dusting off her arms.

"I'll be up in a little bit," Trystl assured her.

As she headed back up the stairs, he grabbed the sledgehammer and took it down to the basement workshop. When he came back up the stairs, Sasi was looking into one of the holes in the wall. All he could see were her legs sticking out; then she disappeared all together. Trystl went into the kitchen and came back with a broom and a dustpan, but Sasi stuck her head out of the hole and chattered excitedly in her small, cricket-like voice. Then she disappeared again.

Trystl knelt down to look in the hole but he couldn't see anything.

When Sasi popped out again he jumped then sat back laughing at himself. She was chattering nosily and gesturing, as if wanting to tell him what she'd just seen. Of course, he'd never been able to understand her sounds. Still, Sasi didn't try to talk very often and when she did it was usually because she was trying to communicate something important; so he held out his hand. When she walked onto his palm without trying to hump his finger, he knew she was on to something interesting. So he placed her safely on his shoulder before shoving his hands into the hole. The plaster gave away surprisingly easy. It almost seemed as if something was helping him, but pulling was much easier (and quieter) than smashing, because the plasterboard snapped off in large chunks. After he'd pulled off a few more chunks the hole was large enough for him to take a look.

It was too dark to see anything.

Frowning, he sat back listening to Sasi purring in his ear for a moment, then he went to look for a flashlight. The batteries were corroded on the one in the workshop. It didn't work at all and probably hadn't been used since Meg's father died. Then he remembered the flashlight in his glove-box, so he ran out to his car, and when he flipped the switch it worked.

When he came back in, Sasi was hanging from a hole, prying unsuccessfully against a piece of plaster twice her size. She couldn't get any leverage because her legs were too long, and she kept slipping. Finally, she let her legs slide into the hole and just hung upside down for a moment, pouting over her failure.

Trystl shone the flashlight into the darkness.

Instead of what he'd expected, there was a good two and a half to three feet behind the wall. More than enough for a good sized closet. He looked down. Sasi had climbed onto the flashlight and was leaning over the front looking into the light. "You'll go blind if you keep doing that," he said.

She looked at him, blinking her eyes innocently; then turned back and began pulling on the plaster again.

"All right, all right," he said, pulling another chunk from the wall. He put his head down to look inside but the hole was still too small, so he pulled away several more chunks. When he reached the two by four on either side, he stuck his head (and the hand holding the flashlight) through the hole.

The air was thick with plaster dust. Sasi chattered excitedly as Trystl looked around at the back wall. It was ugly red brick; he'd have to insulate and cover everything up with plaster.

Suddenly Sasi bit his hand. Not too hard, just enough to catch his attention. He looked down and saw her outline silhouetted against a back light. She hopped up, pointing frantically towards the chimney to the left so he followed her gaze with the flashlight.

And there they were.

Stairs.

A steep, narrow set of steps was sandwiched between the chimney and the living room. At the top there was a landing and, he assumed, a door, although he couldn't see it.

"Well, I'll be damned, Sasi. What do you know?"

Setting the flashlight down, he pushed his other shoulder through the hole. Twisting sideways, he let his hip rest against the plaster then wiggled the rest of the way through.

He coughed and waved at the dust as he stood up with the flashlight. Sasi was hanging from his arm as he slowly started towards the stairs. Not trusting the flooring, he stepped carefully; wiping cobwebs away from his face as he walked to the stairs and went up. The boards creaked and sagged under his weight, but they didn't give. Still, he kept his feet near the wall, for added support.

When he reached the top landing he found a low archway, which led into a small, windowless room with plain white walls. Lying on an altar in the center of the room was a smooth, silver chest, about the size of a small ottoman. He tried the chest: the lid was heavy but opened easily. Inside was a large, ancient-looking book. He picked it up blowing dust from the plain, yellow cover, which he noticed wasn't marked with an author's name or a title. He opened the book carefully. The paper crinkled, as he flipped through the first few pages.

Sasi was leaning over the end of the flashlight as he reached the beginning of the actual text.

Together they began to read.

Before Trystl reached the end of the first paragraph, he recognized the story.

It was one of his own: the first one he'd ever written, in fact.

There his heroine was, frozen on the page in words and ideas that sparkled anew. The words literally seemed to hum with a poetic energy. They touched him deeply, in a way that nothing he'd ever written had.

He smiled, and took a deep relaxed breath.

Finally, the words seemed right.

Then, Sasi surprised him by jumping down on the page. Bending over, she seemed to dip her hands into the paper, scooping up fists full of letters. She tossed them into the air and each letter seemed to swell, as it continued drifting upwards for a moment. Wherever the letters touched they seemed to meld together, becoming long black streamers that very slowly began to settle back towards the ground.

For a moment Trystl was nearly frozen with amazement.

This was impossible.

And yet there was something about it that was at once oddly peaceful and incredibly exciting. His whole life, it seemed, he'd been waiting to experience something incredible, just like this.

Reaching out, he caught several strands of the black ribbon on his bare hands and arms, and wherever they touched they stuck, seeping into his skin like a tattoo and yet continuing to writhe on the surface like some living thing. Slowly the shapes began moving towards his center of mass. For a moment he almost panicked, thinking that they were attacking him; heading for his heart. But everywhere the shapes touched they filled him with peace. He could feel the nervousness draining out of his body. Tension he hadn't known existed worked it's way free. He watched the strands slowly crawling up his arm and realized that wherever they touched his clothes the fabric disappeared, as if being absorbed; as if the black ribbons were growing fatter and stronger by eating the material.

The word strands were not just on the surface any more. They were being absorbed into his body; and as they burrowed deeper, he became aware of the word again. Not as individual terms, but collectively as a whole story, perfect and complete within his mind. He closed his eyes, delighting in the magic of each carefully chosen word; the more subtle nuances of every scene. The sweetness of unusually strong passions filled him, teasing and delighting his soul.

Sasi kept turning the pages; throwing more words into the air. He breathed them and they continued to fill him, penetrating his depths like the sun's rays passing through a freshly cleaned window. He could feel the individual strands coursing through his veins; and passing effortlessly through the walls of his cells, moving outward once again. They were growing out of his body like fragile strands of new hair. Page after page entered him, and the strands grew stronger, slowly becoming longer.

His clothes were completely gone now. The black strands had grown fat from eating them, and now they grew directly out of his body, interweaving in a mesh of micro-tentacles that formed a black, leather-like tapestry. As the strands continued to join together, they pulled increasingly tight. His arms were being pulled down to his side by a thickening web of interconnecting strands. Like the sides of a shoe being drawn together as the laces are bulled tight, the strands were slowly encasing him in a black cocoon. The strands had become tangled in his hair and he couldn't move his head anymore. He could feel the strands plugging his ears, and then they were creeping over his cheeks. They forced their way into his mouth and over his nose. Then they covered his eyes.

He couldn't see what was happening outside of his own body any more, but he could feel his legs being pulled together. He could feel the black strands that had engulfed his penis: something was vibrating wonderfully down there, and yet he remained strangely soft. The black strands tugged on his cock, pulling it backwards between his legs. And then it was as if his private parts were melting (or shrinking). They were being absorbed into his body-but it was as if they were being turned inward somehow.

Suddenly, he began to notice other changes. Something with sharp little teeth had clamped around his nipples and as they pulled his breasts stretched away from his chest in a way that they never could have before. Then he felt rope-like strands encircling the newly formed mounds of flesh that he recognized as breasts.

Meanwhile, he could feel his balls shrinking as they were pulled up into his newly forming womb. His cock was still moving inward, but now it had become like some foreign object; hard and long, it vibrated insistently against his internal parts, filling him with waves of incredible ecstasy that slowly grew in intensity. His orgasm radiated pleasure from a place deep inside him. And somehow, it seemed more intimate than ever before, as if the warm vibrating thing inside him had plumbed the very depths of his soul, awakening what it found there at the same time that it encased his body in the promise of a new kind of life.

Horrible and frightening; yet intensely wonderful all at the same time: this was something he'd never imagined. The intensity of it caused him to cry out, but the sounds were muffled deep in his throat by something soft and warm and spongy.

The story was still passing through him and he recognized this one: it was about a young girl who was kidnapped by an evil witch and mummified in a magical straightjacket for the rest of her life.

Despite what was happening to him, Trystl had the presence of mind to wonder how long a person could live without food and water. His story hadn't really explained that part. But he couldn't help shivering as he remembered the story's last few words:

...she struggled against the magical bonds as the ecstasy encased her forever and ever.

...Somehow he could sense that the story was moving through him faster and faster, as the intensity of his orgasm continued to grow.

He wondered if something that was infinite could ever truly end. How long would this frozen moment last? And how long would it take before the intensity of the pleasure was transformed into more like pain? He was suddenly terrified by the possibilities and yet there was a small part of him that hoped he'd be caught here forever, bound tightly in his never-ending words.


Part 4

Meg pulled her nightshirt back on and went down the stairs.

"Trystl!" She called angrily. "Where are you?"

Then she saw him.

He was sleeping with his back against the wall, a peaceful look of contentment on his face. A large and very old looking book was lying in his lap; his head was resting awkwardly against one shoulder.

"It'll serve you right if you get a kink in your neck," she said as she knelt beside him and picked up the book. She stuck her finger between the open pages to save his place as she looked at the cover. To her surprise, Trystl's name was printed on the front in a very ornate script.

She opened the book and flipped through the pages to the first story. She recognized the title. It was the first story that Trystl had ever written, but as she read the first few paragraphs she also realized that the words had been edited. They seemed to flow a little more fluently.

Flipping quickly through the rest of the pages, she recognized several more titles-some that Trystl had already written and others that he'd only talked about writing.

She closed the book and shook her head, wondering where it had come from.

"Wake up, sleepy head. It's time to go to bed."

When she shook him a little harder he slumped over onto the floor.

"Trystl!" she said anxiously, grabbing his shirt and shaking him even harder.

But now she realized that he wasn't breathing.