Bloody-damned writers block.

I was staring at a blank document at my office desk. It had stayed stubbornly blank for nearly an entire day now. I had come and gone from the desk, interspersing my day with chores, with video games, with a walk outside. Nothing seemed to have broken the bloody thrice damned inability to write. To put words on the page. Nothing.

I scowled and took a sip of beer. Crap. I was supposed to be keeping on track. Getting cracking on finally writing a book that I had spent the last year of my life frantically sketching out and planning. Finally building the long term project that I had wanted to write about ever since I got to university.

Faerie.

The mystical land of Elves, and fairies, and all manner of mythological creatures. A land of mists, ancient rivers and shores, of forests without end, of potent magic, and all manner of adventurous possibilities. I had spent years poring over old books, texts ancient enough that I had to carefully handle them with the utmost delicacy.

I had been fascinated with the place, which seemed to hint at so much more than the texts put down in plain writing. I had left home to travel to the UK, out to the hinterlands where I rented out a small cottage for the year. The place seemed like it would retain some aspect or connection to the mythology that I was studying, and it soothed my mental worries to stroll down deep forest lanes, or walk amid the ancient greenery. The landscape seemed to be the closest I had yet seen to what Faerie might be like if such a place truly existed.

Oh some of the stories I came across made mention of summoning rituals. Of ways to open portals into Faerie. Potentially even cross over yourself. I hadn’t bothered to try any of them, it seemed to smack of some fairy tale silliness that I hardly wanted associated with a serious study of the mythology of Faerie. Academia was hardly going to take me seriously if I started spouting off about Faerie being a truly real place. Much though I dreamed that it was so, much as I dearly wanted to meet an Elf or really any creature from Faerie, I knew enough of the modern world to cull any mention of such beings being real.

“Gaaaaah. Damn it.” I groaned and shoved my head into my hands. Why did this have to be so bloody difficult. Why did this have to be hard, but when I wrote my other stuff it came so easily. I tabbed over to my other reason for studying Faerie. The Elves. The sensual, seductive, and apparently sex-mad Elves of Faerie. My very private reason for being fascinated with the myths and legends. My alternate reason for reading about them, titillating tales of domination and sexual subjugation.

Hell, I had even tried my own hand at it a few times. Trying to capture the style of some of the older books that had made mention of the supposed practices of the Hidden Folk. Those seemed to flow much more smoothly out of my mind and onto the page. Nothing that I could ever publish as a serious academic of mythology, the stories were…racey. Kinky in nearly every manner, yet somehow seemed…right. As though they captured an essence of the Faerie that was strangely absent from all but the older books.

I gave another disgruntled noise and shoved myself back from the desk. As I went to stand up, I heard an odd squeak. I looked down, and for a moment swore that a tiny face was peering out from underneath my desk. I let out a startled curse and leapt backwards, tangling myself in my chair and falling to the floor with a crash.

“Right lads, get ‘im!” A shrill voice cried out.

Suddenly the darkening office was lit with the glow of a dozen small forms, about the height of my forearm. A confusing arrays of blues, greens, and reddish-golds flicked around me, such that I could only barely make out that they appeared to be human in form, if not in size. Then I saw what they were carrying. Rope. Lots and lots of rope.

I let out a cry again and tried to scramble backwards. But I only had a pair of seconds to do that before the glowing beings fell upon me with gusto. Tiny forceful hands seized my arms, and reams of rope soon were wrenched tightly around my wrists and elbows. More rope was cinched over my torso, even as I felt the pressure and slices of tiny blades making short work of my clothes.

I was so bloody surprised, I hadn’t even yet had the presence of mind to scream. But even as the thought welled up in my head, even as I drew in breath to let out a bellow, two of the glowing beings rammed a large ballgag into my mouth. I growled around the device, beginning to come back to myself now. But it was far, far too late.

My upper body was a web of solid bondage, every movement making the rope creak but otherwise stay firmly anchored. My legs had been lashed at the ankles, calves, and thighs, with not a hint of loose rope at all. As the beings started to slow in their frenetic effort to make me helpless, I was finally able to get a good look at them. And my eyes widened.

Pictsies. Actual, real, honest pictsies.

I had seen enough of their pictures, their drawings, read enough of their mythological physiology to be quite aware of what they were now that I saw them. I watched them, confused and enthralled, as they hitched tiny carrying ropes to themselves. One moment I was on the ground, and the very next I was being almost effortlessly flown up and out the office window. Across the lawn of the little cottage, and away into the woods.

I was so utterly shocked that I forgot to yell for help. I had studied these beings and others for so long, dreaming fantastic dreams of meeting something like them, that I couldn’t bring myself to break this spell. For spell I was positive it must be. Nothing like this happened to people like me. I was far too ordinary for something like this…this adventure.

Soon enough the flight ended. Soon enough I found myself standing in a small woodland clearing, a dozen little figures, flitting around me. I stood, wracked with confusion, and fear, and lust. Straining against the thin ropes of my otherworldy captors. My clothing was long gone, my cock corded up too, and jutting proudly out in front of me like some perverse standard. I shuddered, and felt feelings I had only rarely felt before pulse up and down my body, my shaft.

Soft music began to waft from the trees, and I found myself entranced despite the insanity of the situation. In the soft early evening moonlight, a form gradually detached itself from the gathering gloom in the trees. As it entered the clearing proper, a beam of silvery moonlight fell upon the figure, and I gasped into my gag.

An Elf.

I was in heaven.

An Elf with, I flushed brilliant scarlet, an Elf with leather straps. Straps that, given my current situation, could only be for one use. But what was more, as she neared me, was the collar that she fastened around my neck before planting a soft kiss against my cheek.

“Ah…my sweet chronicler. The times have not been kind to you, hmm?” She ran a single finger along my jaw and up and down my cheek, “Your tales cease to pour forth, the ones that have so pleased me and my kinfolk, despite the leave we have granted to you to write about our world.”

I was speechless. Struck dumb by her appearance. By her words. By the seductive, sensual power of her presence. The gag was a sudden mercy, preventing me from embarrassing myself in front of this exquisite, amazing creature.

The Elf tut-tutted gently, “I have been tasked with aiding in the crafting of tales and stories, to ensure they flow once more.” Her fingers danced over my face and neck, every touch a delightful spark of lusty energy, of desire.

“The little folk are my friends, my sweet chronicler. They watch over the borderlands of Faerie, and keep us apprised of our…interests in the world of men.” Another soft kiss was planted against my cheek, “ Writers, sketchers, painters, all manner of creators. These we prize most among your folk, though each of mine own people has their particular fascinations. I though…” She paused to run a gentle hand along my face, her touch cool and relieving, “I seek out those who struggle. Those who are frustrated in their ambitions. Those who need…relaxation. Freedom.”

She gave the collar around my neck a firm tug, and I moaned into my gag. Yes. Oh, yes, yes, yes. I needed this. Wanted this more than anything I had ever wanted before. My eyes burned with need, and the Elf grinned sympathetically at me.

“I cannot take you away for long, for your tasks remain uncompleted. Yet…perhaps an evening of submission and play will right your mind…” The leather began to hiss out and around me, and I let out a heart felt moan of thanks.

Finally, something had gone right...