The little boat dock could be reached from the lower garden. If you knew where to find the gap in the screening rhododendrons you could step down from mossy green stillness into the full warm light of afternoon. The two row boats tied to the dock floated only for a few hours in the morning and evening at the change in the tides. Up here at the creek head, far from the main channel with its cruisers and pleasure craft, the muddy banks were exposed for most of the day, sculpted and glistening.

The young woman steps out onto the dock; sun warmed wood rough under her bare feet. She moves to the outer edge to look down over the mud bank and, eyes adjusting to the brightness, she sways dangerously. Shes a little tipsy and its only four in the afternoon. She steadies herself and sits down on the edge, swinging her bare legs. The air over the water is hazy with pollen and heat. Fifteen feet beneath her the mud encircles the wooden pilings of the dock and locks the two row boats at jaunty angles, half floating in the thick shallows but mired in the sucking mud until the next tide. In the bright sunlight the mudbanks are almost orange, darkening to ochre in the shade of the dock. She wonders how it would feel: that cool, thick mud. Would it feel wonderful to sink her hot feet into it?

The ladder feels solid under her hands but when she eases a second foot onto the first rung the whole thing plunges heart-stoppingly downwards before jerking into a new equilibrium. She clings to the ladder and feels fresh sweat bead her face and the curve of her back from the surprise. Exposed on the ladder, a small breath of breeze catches under her skirt and sends a thrill over her hot skin. Now that shes safe she almost wishes that shed fallen. She looks at her tanned hands clutching the rung in front of her and thinks about falling helplessly backwards to land in the soft mud. She feels a tug of excitement low in her belly. She imagines her pale sundress smeared and sopping and sticking to her legs. She climbs down the ladder.

Reaching the last rung, its time to choose. The rungs stop a few feet from the smooth surface. She could take a tiny step into nothingness and plummet into the mud below. The drop would no doubt sink her in up to her waist, ballooning her skirt. Filling her knickers

Instead she lowers herself carefully into the nearer of the stranded boats. Kneeling on dusty boards she looks back up at the ladder then over the edge at where she would have landed if she had dared the plunge. She should have just let go. She imagines herself up to her thighs in the creamy mud and revels in the shudder of arousal that follows. She glances guiltily all around, even though she knows shes alone. She trails her hand along the surface, instantly gathering a sloppy handful together, and then dips both hands in, leaning over the side of the boat. Shes holding her breath but doesnt notice. The mud is so rich and smooth and buttery. She spreads it over each forearm to the elbow marvelling at how easily it covers her skin. She wants to get covered in it all over .

With her heartbeat loud in her mouth she gingers to her feet in the little boat. It rocks stickily in its muddy niche, squelching. She tries a lunge with her hips and this produces much more dramatic rocking. For a moment she feels the pull of gravity in conflict with her own sense of up or down and she wheels her arms desperately before dropping to her knees again. Shes amused by the strength of her conditioning: dont rock the boat, mind your pretty dress! The twisting feeling of arousal returns. Yes, she smiles to herself, mind my dress .

She leans recklessly out over the mud and gathers as much as she can in each clutching hand. It runs in slow rivers down her muddy arms as she straightens up, rocking the boat again. This time shes ready for it and the loss of balance doesnt make her cower down, it thrills her. She slops the first handful of mud across the front of her dress.

Its overwhelming. Cool and smooth where it smears the curve of her breast and clings thickly to the pale cotton. Shes braless, and the temptation to smother her naked breasts is irresistible. The second handful plasters her dress to her belly as she strokes it slowly over herself, mesmerized. Under her dress her nipples stand out and ache for the return of her slippery fingers. She feels a delicious rush of wetness between her legs. Spreading these wider, she rocks the little boat violently and revels in the resulting sway. She leans her weight against the motion and gives up control, now riding upright with one leg astride the plank seat, now listing alarmingly backwards over the mud. She wants to splash and slide in the mud. She rocks the boat even harder and arcs of slushy mud spray out from the shifting mess it rests in across the smooth surface. Strangely, now that she wants to overbalance, shes found the knack of swinging back from the point of no return. Adrenaline courses through her body. Further she rocks, lower, further over the tipping point until it seizes her: suddenly shes falling, pitching forwards.

She falls flat on her front with her hands spread uselessly in front of her and sunk deeply into the cool mud below the surface. Inches away from her face she admires her splattered breasts disappearing into the mud. Under her body the mud is warm from the sun and softly yielding. She bucks her hips slowly forwards, testing the sensation and making the thick mud form and reform under her grinding curves. Even through dress and knickers she can hardly bear the pleasure of the soft sticky mud slithering between her squeezing thighs. Sinking with her knees she draws her legs together revelling in the slickness of the mud against her bare legs and arching her back to let mud flow into the front of her dress between her bare breasts. Shes far, far dirtier than she ever intended to get, but its ok. It feels wonderful and its going to stay her little secret. She swims her arms luxuriantly trough the warm mud and spreads it evenly over her throat and the tops of her breasts. She slides her arms free from the ribbon straps of her dress and slides her hands all over her dress under the mud, teasing herself. Without her hands for support, her face comes down closer to the soft surface and she realizes she wants this too. Closing her eyes she nuzzles her face into the warm mud.

The intensity of the sensation almost makes her gasp in breath. Her hands are in her hair, smoothing sheets of sloppy mud into it in a wild shampoo. She rolls in the mud, her bare breasts sliding free of her dress and dragging slickly through the mud as she reaches her arms out before her into a lazy stretch. Eventually she settles on her back and palms the mud off her face, drinking in the suns warmth on her face and slippery breasts. While she lies still she is floating, weightless and motionless and supported by the heavy mud. When she writhes and bucks her hips everything changes: the mud slicks over her and caresses her everywhere with depthless softness. She rubs mud over her bare breasts with quick splashy caresses as she lies back in the shade of the dock. She lets her hands wander all over her body, smearing, slicking, smoothing, covering. With each stroke she pulls her filthy dress lower over her hips and strokes mud underneath it over her bare skin, smearing it generously into the lace crotch of her soaking underwear. As she shrugs the dress down to her knees she sits up and smooths back her dripping hair. At the waist of her knickers a line of white, impossibly clean skin shows where they have pulled down slightly. She sits on her heels enjoying the slippery contact between her ass and the mess shes kneeling in. She rubs a slow slick of mud over the last clean stripe of skin, then, shuddering deliciously at her own wickedness, she scoops a wet handful of sloppy mud over the lace waist of her knickers to pour over her pussy.

She cried out with pleasure as the thick mud makes cool, slippery contact with her clit. The sensation is ecstatic but so soft she needs more. She tenderly rubs her clit with her muddy fingers and the pleasure is breath-taking. She wants to feel the mud totally cover her naked skin; she wants to be free to slide and play naked in her silky mudbath. Most of all she wants to feel it squish between her thighs and cover her aching slit with wave after wave of frictionless pleasure. She slops handful after handful into her knickers, filling them then pouring it all out with a soft squeeze that sends intense, dizzy pleasure though her swollen and straining clit. After she finally slips them off over her hips she draws them slowly through her crotch, leaving a flower of buttery mud between her pussy lips like a decoration on a cake. She smooths it into her clit in quick, horny circles.

She half slides, half crawls out into the sunshine so that she can contrast the sun-warmed mud with the cool wallow under the dock. She even slithers to her feet, supported by a wooden piling, so that she can throw herself into a slide. As she parts the thick sloppy mud with her dive she glories in the sliding contact, in the sensation of being plastered all over with a greasy slick of mud from the warm surface. The smooth unbroken surface is bath-water warm and she slithers on her belly though it; stopping to roll in it again and again and thrusting her throbbing pussy deep into it. She buries her face in the mud and strokes armful after torturous armful between her legs.

She can feel her climax heralded in every part of her body. She strokes mud into her throbbing breasts. Her movements become smaller and the thrusts of her hips more purposeful as she luxuriates in the first ripples of unhurried climax. Shes covered all over in sloppy brown mud and she feels so naughty for wanting it dirty that it starts to tip her over. She lies on her belly with her legs spread wide and grinds her clit into the maelstrom of soft slick pleasure. She tells herself shes filthy as she comes, rocking back and forth with her face and her pussy sinking into the mud. She trembles and squirms as her spasms of pleasure squish the mud between her legs and over her ass. She lounges languorously in satisfaction, savouring her afterglow; sporadically slicking her breasts and thighs with liquid handfuls of warm mud. She finds her sundress by accident, an unrecognisable sopping bundle.


She washes the mud off with a swim in the open water. She knows shed get muddy all over climbing back on the dock, of course. Instead she chooses the shortest distance from the creek edge to the trees: only about ten feet of mud to wade through to get to a good place to climb out. She wrings water from her hair and tries to get to her feet in the shallows. This is easier than she had expected because underneath the shifting sloppy surface mud there is thick clay to sink her feet into. She stands, naked, up to her calves in the thick mud, with little rivers of muddy water draining away over her skin. She takes two careful steps towards the trees, sinking no deeper than her knees. She could easily climb up here and put on her grey, wet rag of a dress.

But she would rather cover herself all over again with this gluey mud shes standing in, wouldnt she? She smiles.

Indulging the impulse she spreads her legs and slowly sits back down in the mud with her naked pussy. She watches sloppy mud inch up her bare thighs and gasps at the heady pleasure that rewards her when her soft wet pussy parts the gooey mud. The sloppy surface mud is perfect for buttering her midriff and her slit is sunk deep into thick sucking mud again. She wriggles, partly from sheer pleasure and partly to enjoy the squishy mess ooze between her spread legs and under her ass. She stands up, allowing the mud to drip in sticky flows from her waist down. She wants to come again, hard and breathless and ludicrously muddy.

She throws herself into the mud again with a huge sloppy splash a few feet up the bank. She gets onto her hands and knees so that she can lean forward and dip her nipples in the mud. Theyre still bullet hard and the mud up on the bank is very clinging and sticky. The greasy resistance is heavenly against her hard nipples. When she can stand it no longer she flops forward, closing her eyes and slithering on her belly backwards towards the sloppy mud of the waters edge. She submerges herself completely in liquid silk, trying to fix the immensity of the pleasure in her mind. Finally, sitting up with a decadent squishing sound, she reaches under the surface between her spread legs and draws a dripping double handful of thick mud up her belly to stroke over her breasts. As she slides her greasy handful over her clit she feels helpless desire overcome her again. She smears her breasts with the gloopy dripping mud before letting her fingers drop back into the warm mud between her thighs. She repeats the action again and again, then with a single slick finger she traces a path of transcendent pleasure all over her slippery pussy.

She sinks on her back into the mud as she draws up another sloppy handful from between her legs to cover herself with. She lies in the mud with her legs spread wide, smearing handful after handful up the length of her naked body from her slit to her hair. She cant help it: she rolls in the mud, smoothing her dripping hands over her face and into her hair.

Filthy again, she lounges on her back and raises each leg sensuously to allow the heavy mud to slide down over her thighs into her centre. She splatters herself with reckless, teasing dollops from her upstretched legs. Eyes shut, she abandons herself to the rising surge of her orgasm with every sloppy stroke of her clit. Her hips buck helplessly upwards as her tender fingers find that perfect sliding rhythm. Orgasm consumes her blissfully writhing body, lifting her and dropping her between ecstasy and anticipation. Shes unaware shes even moaning aloud.

Reclining in a wild landscape of shallow, sticky mud; shes too exhausted to even consider sliding back into the water. Shell slip back through the trees like this, naked and plastered with drying mud, and rinse off with the hose behind the house. As the last of the light bleeds out of the sky she feels perfectly at peace, liberated and unrepentant. She ponders lazily on what she might wear to her next private party: under the dock.