(This is a story I wrote a few years ago. It is based on a real experience - enjoy! ~ Jen)

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Jessica walked along the edge of the woods, a light bounce in her step that perpetuated the same motion of her ponytail. Jessica was nineteen, only a week out of her first year at university, and had moved back to her parents' rural homestead for the summer. Her fairly bronzed skin shimmered in the early afternoon light, and her short blue skirt and white t-shirt caressed her skin as if nagging her to take a swim.

Unbidden by conscious thought, she turned and started to head into the woods. She could hear the creek some distance away, and though her intentions were as yet unformed in her mind she headed in its direction.

The air was fairly hot and damp, and though she had been outside for only twenty minutes, her t-shirt started to cling against her chest. Biting her lip, she reached behind and under her shirt and unclipped her bra, pulling it out through the bottom of her tee. Much better, she thought, though she now realized that she would be walking the rest of her journey holding an undergarment in her hands. Spotting a familiar tree, she tossed her bra onto a low-hanging branch and continued towards the creek.

Her Teva sandals squished in dark brown mud as she got closer to the water. She glanced down and saw that it was deep enough to come up the sides of her sandals and tickle her feet. It was more like clay than mud, really, she thought. She'd be able to clean them off when she got to the creek.

Dark green reeds were pushed aside as she made her way closer to the sound of babbling water. The air felt hot and damp; small beads of sweat dotted her forehead and soaked through her shirt, showing her firm, young breasts nicely if anyone were around to notice. With a small grunt she pulled her foot from the mud in the reeds and continued. It was deep there, she thought, probably from more water for the reeds to grow. She'd avoid that spot on her way out.

With another half-dozen steps she emerged into a bare clearing, sort of like a beach without the sand. The edge of the creek, with some nice large rocks to sit on, was a mere twenty feet away.

"Cool," she said to no one in particular. She had been to the creek before, but usually approached from the other side and downstream. The clearing ahead of her was mostly dark brown mud, with little tufts of grass growing here and there. It made it difficult to guess its depth, but it couldn't be more than those reeds back there, she thought.

With a grin, she made her first few steps into the clearing. She was a little surprised when her sandals sank a little deeper into the mud. Standing almost ankle-deep in what should have been stable ground, she released her right foot with an effort and deftly removed the sandal; she did the same with the left, and tossed her Tevas towards the flat rock about fifteen feet away. A perfect throw! Her elation faded, however, when she felt her ankles get wet. She glanced down to see her feet several inches deep in the creamy mud.

"Oh, joy," she said, but she really wasn't that upset. Actually, hearing her now-bare feet squish in the glossy brown mud seemed to stir something within her. Memories of getting muddy at summer camp when she was sixteen when her group went "caving." She had enjoyed it then, she realized, but why? As she stood there thinking, she shifted her weight, and her left foot sank an inch past her ankle. "Hmm," she said to herself.

Something was definitely stirring, a faint memory or idea of something she couldn't place. With a pull, she released her left foot from the mud, her delicate toes caked with slimy brown ooze that seemed to weigh her whole left leg down. Bringing it forward, she stepped down again eight inches farther and watched in detached fascination as her left leg sank to mid-calf. She quickly brought her right leg forward and watched it sink to the same level.

Small beads of perspiration dripped from her bangs into her hazel eyes. She reached an arm up to wipe away the annoyance, only to discover that even this slight motion caused her to sink further. The rippling mud was now circling her tanned legs at just below the knees. As she looked down at her predicament, she realized that what she thought was dried mud was in fact merely a covering for the nearly-black clay oozing underneath; ooze into which she was sinking - the thought made her start - rather rapidly.

The black slime that was hidden by the dried-mud layer seemed to eagerly engulf her well-shaped legs.

"Enough," she said, mostly to herself, as she decided that although the idea of exploring this new fascination was appealing, she couldn't risk testing how deep this clay really was. She set about pulling her left leg free.

It was stuck fast.

"Ugh . . . no way is this happening," she muttered, and pulled harder. To her horror, she felt what she had thought to be a relatively thick bottom beneath her right foot give way. In a flash, her right leg sank to mid-thigh, the black slime staining the hem of her skirt. In a reflex action, she tried to pull free her right leg, only to cause her left to sink to the top of her thigh. As she flailed her arms, her weight shifted to right herself, and she looked down to see her trim body buried to the crotch in the ooze, her skirt now mostly spread on top of the mud but partly pressed tightly against her thighs. She wrinkled her nose as she felt the cool mud press against her panties, which were quickly becoming saturated with the hungry mire.

"No," she stammered, "This can't be happening," as she struggled to move her now-encased thighs. With a gurgle, she sank up to her hips, and she let out a gasp as the slime squished in and out of her panties. She could feel it rising against her bottom.

She shifted her weight, trying in vain to lift her buried legs and hips out of the creamy mud. She shuddered as the ooze tickled and forced its way into her panties, pressing tightly against her sensitive womanhood. Jessica knew that one had to spread out her weight to float on quicksand, but this wasn't quicksand. As she pushed her hands down onto the mud on either side of her encased hips, her delicate hands broke through the top layer of mud, and her arms sank almost up to her elbows. With an effort, she managed to release her hands, her arms coated with the slimy brown mire.

Jessica glanced down again. Her futile attempt to pull herself from the mud had caused her to sink even deeper. The glistening brown mire encircled her trim waist like an impossibly tight form-fitting belt. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the musky combination of the mud and her perspiration. Her nipples strained tightly against her shirt as she struggled. Her arms ached from holding them above the surface of the mud, and with a resigned sigh, she let them drop back into the slime, again coated up to her forearms.

The mud squished and gurgled around her waist, slowly staining her shirt as she continued to sink. She idly traced figures in the surface of the mud with her delicate fingers as she began to accept her fate. The mud gurgled obscenely as it rose up her waist, and she considered her situation. She wasn't going to get out of this slime on her own. Her only hopes were that her father would think to look for her out here before too long, and that she would find bottom before she sank too deep. How deep could it be, anyway?

Besides, it really wasn't that bad. Again memories of her childhood adventures sprang into her mind, and she shuddered both with the heat from the air and . . . herself?


Jessica plunged her arms back into the sticky mire in an attempt to loosen the mud around her hips. She surprised herself when she let out a quiet moan as the mud slurped deliciously against her encased thighs and womanhood between them. Her erect nipples pressed almost painfully against her tight shirt, and her breasts ached as if needing release from something. The slimy mud had a musky odor, and she shook her head to try to discourage the sweat on her forehead from dripping into her eyes. The ooze made obnoxious slurping sounds as she struggled to free herself, her arms neatly pressed against her body beneath the surface.

With an effort, she slid her arms upwards along her body, freeing them from the brackish mud, into which she had sunk to the bottom of her ribcage. She was aware that it was getting a little more difficult to breathe, though not overly so. She looked around her and realized that the footsteps marking her passage into the mire had already almost completely filled back up; no one would know she was here if she couldn't get out. Biting her lower lip in frustration and distaste, she plunged her delicate fingers back into the quivering ooze and grabbed the hem of her shirt. She pulled the shirt up her body, exposing her nubile young abdomen that was rapidly sinking into the mud. She pulled her arms up and lifted the shirt off and over her head, shuddering a bit as a glob of the cool mud dropped from her hands onto her bare breast, leaving a nearly-black trail of slime as it snaked down her body to join the surface of the mud. Holding her shirt above her head, she turned her head to look at the large rock near the creekbed. It would be a difficult throw; her shirt was too light and the wind would blow it off course.

She clenched the shirt between her hands and plunged it into the thick mud in front of her. Bits of the ooze splashed on to her chest, speckling her firm breasts with the dark brown mud. She made sure not to coat the entire shirt; otherwise it would simply be a black shape on the rock. When she was satisfied the shirt had enough weight to be thrown, she twisted in her confinement and heaved the shirt towards the rock. It landed with a "splat" on the far side, and it definitely stood out against the natural landscape. If someone came looking for her, they'd come from the other side and would see it; they'd know she was there.

Jessica let out a small gasp, her delicate lips formed into an "O" shape, as she glanced down, feeling the cool mud against the lower curve of her breasts. She realized that as she had twisted to throw the shirt, the mud had sucked her down another few inches. She twisted her upper body, knowing at once that she it was useless, and knowing that she had to try anyway. The mud gurgled obscenely as it began to coat her breasts, the slime covering them with the brownish-black ooze. Her arms were aching from being held above her head when she had thrown the shirt, and she reluctantly let them fall to her sides, her elbows easily breaking the surface of the mud, and a small wall of the mire squished up between her chest and arms as she brought them down. The mud actually felt pleasant against the bare skin of her young breasts; she was surprised to feel that her nipples were hard and aching. Her breathing was becoming heavier, and she was aware of the warmth of her womanhood, encased in the thick black mud far beneath the surface.

She couldn't move her lower body, but when she twisted from side to side, the ooze pressing against her responded in kind, and slurped provocatively between her thighs. She attempted to resist the urge to let out a soft moan and failed. With her twisting, she sank a bit more into the unyielding ooze, and the mud rose to her nipples. She gasped loudly when the cool muck reached them. She had expected the mire to be thicker, but it seemed to slurp and tease her body with even the slightest movements. She saw the bubbling surface of the mud, now disturbingly close to her face, shake rhythmically, and she realized it was because she was subconsciously rocking her submerged hips against the mire.

With a slurping sound, the mud climbed up past her full breasts, and she let out a quiet gasp as she felt her chest being completely enveloped by the hungry mire. If she felt like she was sinking before, it now felt like she was being drawn in, being pulled down and consumed by the ooze. She tried to shift her weight, but the mud was too heavy, and all she saw for her efforts was the mud directly in front of her rise up momentarily as her breasts tried to break the surface. Her chest ached, both from the exertion and her inexplicable arousal. Her nipples felt hard to bursting, and she felt a familiar warmth spreading from between her legs up through her tummy, that sort of floating feeling one gets when cresting the top of a hill in a speeding automobile. Her nose was filled with the musky scent of her sweat and the slurping mud, now dangerously close to her face. Her arms were pinned against her side beneath the surface, the mud a delicious dichotomy of silky softness and hard pressure holding her in place.

With an effort, she tried to move her hand that was pinned against her hip to between her legs. The slight motion cost her another inch, and the tops of her beasts disappeared beneath the ooze; only her shoulders now remained above the surface. With a grunt, she succeeded in sliding her hand, slippery against the mud, across the front of her thigh to rest between her legs. She could barely move her fingers, but that was enough. She tilted her head back and was mildly amused - in a rather detached sort of way, she realized - to feel her ponytail hit the surface of the mud behind her. As she couldn't move her hand or her hips, she moved in the only way possible: she started rocking her whole body in its hole in the mud. All at once, the slippery sensation of sliding against the mire was felt by every part of her body. It rubbed delightfully against her calves and thighs and against her hand that was pressing against her womanhood. It slurped across her flat tummy and against her firm breasts, nipples aching with excitement. As she struggled with herself in the mud, she sank even further, the mire engulfing her shoulders and inching its way up her delicate neck, coating it with the inevitable brownish-black coating from which there was no escape.

It wasn't that she no longer cared; it's that she knew she couldn't do anything to help herself. Any motion she made furthered her descent. The warm muck tickled up her neck, and as she tilted her head back again, she felt its soft embrace against the underside of her chin. This is it, she thought. This is how it happens. But even as such thoughts swam through her head, her hand far beneath the surface was still pressing against her womanhood, and her body was rocking rhythmically against her will, and despite herself she couldn't stop sliding her skin against the mud.

She felt the mud come up across her chin and begin to slurp against her ears. Her head was tilted as far as back she could go. There was no stopping it now. She could barely breathe with the mud pressing against her chest so tightly. At that moment, right when the mire was about to touch her flushing lower lip, she felt an incredible wave of warmth spread throughout her body, the strongest such feeling she had ever experienced, and she let out a long, loud moan. It was not entirely of pleasure, not entirely of fear. It was a strange combination of the two, a sort of last call of her body and mind's feelings as she sank to her doom.

She blinked her eyes with a start when the mud moved over her mouth, and all she could hear was her own breathing, hard and fast through her nose, and yet . . . in the distance, she heard something she never thought she would hear again.

"Jessica? Are you here, honey?"

Her father had come to rescue her. But his voice was so faint, and so far off. He wouldn't reach her in time, would he? She closed her eyes and let her body relax, resigned to her fate, whatever it may be.