It was raining as I left work. "Great" I thought (sarcastically) and hurried in a kind of half-run towards my car. It was a late Autumn day and I'd managed to get out at 4pm, so was hopeful of getting home before the serious rush hour kicked in. As I drove my usual route, I noticed some bright-jacketed workers up ahead. When I got nearer I saw that the road that usually takes me home had been closed due to a fault with one of the utilities and a hole was being dug to repair the problem. A diversion had been set up along a major by-pass that would have added several miles to my journey. I knew a much smaller, quieter country road that runs roughly parallel. I felt that local knowledge would save me from the grief of a lengthy diversion, so I turned the car left and headed to the almost hidden, unclassified road. I was pleased I was early and there wasn't much traffic around, this wouldn't delay me by much with any luck.
With the rain getting ever more persistent, I made my way carefully along the back road. It wasn't quite single-track, but not quite wide enough for two cars, so care was needed if there was oncoming traffic. As I approached a right-hand bend a white van came in the opposite direction, at speed. There was no way the driver was going to give way to me, or even slow down. I made the instinctive decision to aim for a gap in the hedge to the left of the road to try to give way to this selfish maniac. Although I was only doing 30mph, moving the car onto the wet, grassy verge basically took away any ability I had to brake. I didn't want to hit the hedges and risk scratching the paintwork so I managed to steer the car THROUGH the gap, completely off the road, safely out of the path of the rampaging van driver. This is where it got really interesting as I had basically driven into a farmer's field at 30mph. I remember feeling relief that I hadn't hit anything, balanced by concern that I was still travelling at what now felt like quite high speed, off the tarmac! I was pretty much a passenger now. The car left the grassy edge of the field and travelled into what was, in all reality, a sea of mud. And it just kept going, further and further into the field, before finally coming to a stop as the mud became so thick and deep that it had the effect of braking the car. "Wow" I thought. I'd had a lucky escape there! Apart from probably being a bit dirty, the car appeared fine and undamaged. All I had to do was reverse out and continue my journey.
I sat for a moment, to allow my heartrate to normalise, then engaged reverse. All I got was wildly spinning wheels, flinging mud in the air and no propulsion at all. I tried first, to see if I could get the car unstuck by going forwards. Same thing. I was going to need help to pull the car out. It slowly dawned on me that I was going to have to walk the mile or so home to coordinate a rescue mission with my housemate's car and a towrope. This meant I was going to have to get out of the car. Into the mud...
I'm a beautician, so I wasn't exactly dressed for a walk in this very muddy field. I was wearing my dark grey beautician's tunic with matching dark grey trousers. On my feet I had smart little ballet pumps, in black, with little bows on the fronts, and some black socks, with yellow-coloured heels and toes. And that was it. I didn't even have a coat with me. I was very worried about how dirty I might get as I looked out of the side window at the mud. It was thick looking, wet and on the basis my car was completely stuck in it, pretty deep. There were odd areas of standing water on the surface, basically, muddy puddles on top of mud. I couldn't think of any way to avoid walking through it. I couldn't just stay in the car forever, could I? Reluctantly, I swung the driver's door open. It was still raining lightly and I could see the individual drops hitting the surface of the mud. The car was properly mired in it, right up to the sills. And here I was, about to step into it in the tiniest, slip-on shoes imaginable. How I wished I had a pair of wellies with me, or even a couple of plastic bags to put my feet into. But I had nothing, except a one-way ticket to getting very dirty. I estimated a walk of approximately 30 metres to get back to the road. This was going to be "interesting".
My shoes were going to offer very little protection in the mud so I thought about taking them off first. But that would mean just wearing my smart black socks to cross the mud. I thought about taking my socks off too, and rolling my trousers up. I could wade through barefoot and preserve my clothing and footwear. But how would I clean my feet up to put my shoes and socks back on to walk home? Plus, it was a cold Autumnal day, I really didn't want to freeze, barefoot in the chilly mud. I reluctantly decided that the lesser of two evils was to stay as I was and hope it wasn't too deep and my shoes wouldn't be too badly affected by the muddy field.
I swung my legs out of the car by rotating 90 degrees clockwise on the seat, and positioned my shoes gently on the surface of the mud. I thought that, being only small and light, if I spread my weight carefully using both feet I might not sink much and therefore wouldn't get too dirty. As I said, my shoes were tiny, low-cut ballerina style slip-ons so they left quite a lot of my smart black socks on show to the world. I thought back to the interview when I'd got my current job. The boss provided the smart, dark grey tunics and trousers, but she laid out a footwear policy of, and I quote, "delicate shoes without a heel to be worn with smart, black socks". I recalled with amusement the day one of my colleagues had turned up wearing red socks and the boss had actually given her a pair of black socks and ordered her to change into them. It was the first job I'd ever had where there was actually a dress code that extended as far as socks. The day I'd been informed I'd got the job I'd been shopping and found a couple of pairs of ballet pumps and I'd also bought a load of black socks. I'd chosen the ones with brightly contrasting heels and toes, and had them in all manner of colours. You couldn't see the colourful bits with shoes on, but today, my heels and toes were yellow. I hoped these fun, colourful socks weren't going to get mud on them! I wondered what my boss would make of my "delicate shoes and black socks" in this muddy situation. Anyway, I could feel the gentle rain hitting the tops of my feet and soaking into the sock material as I sat there plucking up the courage to stand up and start the journey across the mud.
Putting as much of my weight as possible through the door pillars/ frame of the car I carefully stood up. Immediately, I sank a good 15cm into the mud. I heard someone say "oh shit!" in a high-pitched voice before realising it was me. The area of mud that I was on (in?) was peculiarly thick and "stiff". By that I mean I was well over my ankles in it, but it hadn't "closed" around my feet. I could clearly see the bows on the fronts of my shoes and the tops of my socks, deep in the mud holes that I now stood in. I needed to move away from the car so I could shut and lock the door. I tried to withdraw my right foot from the mud to take a step forwards, but try as I might, I just couldn't move it. Or, to be more precise, I couldn't move my shoe. It was stuck fast. It was the same with my left foot. My shoes were both completely gripped by the mud. My desperate lunging, trying to free them had made the mud quiver and slurp and quite a lot of it had got onto my socks. All I was doing was sinking in more as I struggled. It dawned on me that I was going to have to step out of the shoes and put my feet into the mud with just my socks on. While I pondered this disgusting concept, I realised that I'd been a fool. I should have taken my shoes off first and just worn my socks in the mud from the off. I just never considered how much suction the mud would have and that it would be an instant shoe-thief. With a feeling of resignation, I slipped my right foot out of its stuck shoe. The top of my sock had smears of mud on it but the dazzling yellow heel and toe parts were bright and spotless. I stood there on one leg, delaying the inevitable for a moment, before gently easing the sock down into the mud. I winced as I felt it ooze all over the thin fabric. It was so weird to see the bright yellow toe and heel of the sock succumb to the boggy field. Slightly buoyed by my own bravery, I stepped out of the left shoe and committed my other sock to the mud. Although I was totally alone, I felt really embarrassed about the state I was in. My shoes had been sucked off in the mud and I was over my ankles in it in my socks. I imagined that someone was watching me through the hedge, laughing their head off at me and my muddy socks. I felt my cheeks flush with the absurdity of it all.
I carefully bent down and put my hands into the holes where my shoes were resting. It was genuinely very difficult to retrieve them, they were kind of locked into place. In the process, my hands became filthy and I managed to fire some large sloppy globules all down my tunic as the shoes emerged with a loud squelch. I stood up, with a muddy ballet pump in each hand. I realised there was absolutely no point in putting them back on, it would be impossible to keep them on my feet. Plus, my socks were filthy now and would make the insides of the shoes dirty. I decided to tiptoe carefully and slowly through the mud, in my socks and try not to get any dirtier than I already was.
The first couple of steps were reasonably easy in the stiff, rigid mud. I could even still see some little flashes of yellow on the toes of my black socks. The mud went SCHLOPP! each time I withdrew a foot from its grasp. I was sinking in it up to the bottoms of my trouser legs each time, sometimes a little more, which was dirtying the grey trousers a little bit. I think the shock of being in the mud in socks had made me forget about trying to keep my smart grey uniform clean.
There seemed to be increasing amounts of underlying moisture in the mud as I advanced. As my feet went into it, it seemed to be getting squelchier and felt colder and wetter through my thin socks. As I pulled each foot out whilst walking (or should that be wading?) I noticed that the change in consistency had completely caked my socks. My feet were totally covered in a shiny brown layer now. It had gone from being thick, stiff mud to being much "gungier". It could almost be described as sloppy in places.
Just as I was getting used to my shoeless foray into the mud, and thinking I'd soon be across and all it'd really cost me was a pair of socks and a slightly grubby uniform, things took a turn for the worse. I suppose I was being slightly less careful, having almost normalised shoeless mud walking. I wasn't tiptoeing particularly carefully through the mud anymore. I was walking normally. I put my left foot down into it and it suddenly plunged in much deeper. It was as though I'd walked off a hidden step. My foot shot downwards at pace and this destabilised me so much that I stumbled and tried to steady myself with my right foot. Of course, this also put my right foot into this much deeper area. I rapidly sank in the mud until I was up to my knees in it. On the way down it appeared that my feet entered a pocket of much, much gooier, oozier mud and this splattered upwards under pressure, heavily spraying the front of my uniform. Some if it even got as high as my face and hair. This whole process had taken about two seconds. Now I was much, much muddier and any hope of staying reasonably clean was gone. My grey trousers were completely brown and soaked with mud up to the knees. My socks were muddy right up to their tops. I could feel it oozing around my feet, ankles and calves. It's fair to say I was shocked by this humiliating development. Having my shoes sucked off by the mud was bad enough, but now, still shoeless, I was basically taking a fully-clothed mud bath. Wrecking a pair of my nice work socks was one thing, but now I was in serious danger of writing off an entire uniform. I just hoped the mud wouldn't stain the grey fabric. I imagined the challenge I'd have explaining to my boss that I needed a replacement uniform. She'd definitely want to know why and I'd either have to lie, or tell her that I'd ruined it by accidently having a mud bath whilst wearing it. I really hoped it would wash up OK.
It was really hard to move in this knee-deep stuff. Every step was accompanied by a really loud sucking, squelch as I withdrew my foot. I couldn't believe what was happening to me, I was, by some margin, the dirtiest I'd ever been in my life. I was going to look like such an idiot on the short walk home once I got out of this mud.
And how difficult it was proving to get myself out of this oozing field. It seemed to be out to get me in ways I just wasn't expecting. As I struggled across the really heavy, knee-deep stuff, still clutching a shoe in each hand, one of my feet became tangled in something beneath the mud's surface. It felt like a piece of thin tree branch or similar. Obviously I could feel it very clearly because all I had on my foot was a sock. And I just couldn't negotiate it without stumbling, and it tripped me right over. Instinctively, I put my hands out to break my fall, in doing so flinging my shoes into the middle of the deeper mud. I landed with a violent squelch on my front, fully in the ooziest part of the field. A large parcel of thick, brown gunge splattered all over my face and hair as I landed. A weird calm descended over me as I laid there, on my front, fully in the mud. I think this might have been because things couldn't really get any worse now, could they? I'd probably maxed out! I couldn't see where my shoes had gone in the drama so faced the prospect of not only walking home in broad daylight completely covered in mud, but also doing it in my socks.
As the mud oozed through my tunic and bra I could feel my nipples responding to the coldness by turning rock hard. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation. I smiled slightly as I realised that my very sensitive tits were turning me on slightly. I struggled up to a sitting position and sat in the mud cross-legged. What happened next surprised me, but I felt compelled to fondle my rock-hard nipples through my mud-covered clothes. It felt wonderful, and quite uncontrollably I let out a low moan. I could feel the beginnings of moisture in my knickers, beneath my mud-covered trousers. How, just HOW was this disaster turning me on? I managed to unfasten my bra, under my tunic, and pulled it down off my tits. In a trance, almost on autopilot, I slapped a large handful of mud up my top and all over each breast and massaged its squelchy coolness all over my massive, tender nipples. Almost in an instant I was more turned on than I'd maybe ever been. I laid down on my back and stretched out my legs, squelching my feet in and out of the mud. I felt like I was on a waterbed, even though I was in a mud bath. I massaged my crotch through my muddy trousers and teased and taunted myself to a soaring, shuddering orgasm that went on for what felt like hours.
When I opened my eyes and sat up from my sloppy mud-bath I couldn't believe what I'd done. I couldn't believe the state I was in, and I couldn't believe how much I'd just enjoyed having a powerful sexual experience after getting completely slathered in mud. Luckily, I found my shoes, and, without putting them on, squelched my way to the edge of the field where I decided to sit it out until it was dusk, so that I could at least have a bit of darkness to walk home in, and maybe my state wouldn't be so obvious. To be honest, as I sat there, all I could think about was returning with my friend and a tow rope, and how that would give me a reason to go back into the mud. I couldn't wait. I started to plan a killer outfit for my next wallow. And what a wallow it was...

To be continued.