Melissa's mudbath fantasy (fiction)

[Marion]

The fucking pool is fucking flooded. Don’t laugh.

After reading the note the contractors had left, I walk down to see for myself. The site where the pool is going in is well back from the house and I gratefully kick off my heels before I cross the lawn, exhausted and sticky in jeans and blouse. The sprinklers have been on, and I feel vaguely ridiculous in my city clothes with wet grass clippings clinging to my bare feet. And naughty too, I felt a bit naughty – as if I might be seen and scolded. There’s nobody about of course, and as I round the line of trees that screen the pool I can see why the workmen had left early. I can make out bright plastic where they had rigged their temporary fix to the water pipe. Grinning, I try to imagine the scene when the tip of the pick axe issued forth a geyser of cold clear water. Aren’t they supposed to have some gadget for telling where pipes are underground? You know, before they dig a massive fucking hole?

It’s the bottom of that hole that’s the interesting sight though. At about 5 feet down the workers had struck a deep layer of reddish clay, and the inundation had evidently softened the whole area into a treacherously smooth layer of sun warmed mud. I pick my way round to the sunnier side, admiring the effect; the clay is impossibly flat and the shallow sheen of water reflects the leafy branches behind me. I have to drop a stone in to it. Careful of my bare feet, I climb the heap of spoil by the hedge, looking in vain for something that would make a pretty splash. It’s all just drying clay though, not even a pebble. I return to the poolside, gingering up to the edge to look over. How deep could it be? Could you stand on it? I shoot a guilty glance over my shoulder; despite the fact I know I’m alone. I immediately come up with reasons not to do this - this - Thing that you know I want to do! What if the workers come back? What if someone sees me on the way back up to the house?

What if I can’t climb out again?

I scout with my eyes until I hit on a length of blue nylon rope, which turns out to be just long enough to drop into the pit when looped around the nearest of the trees. Standing on the edge, the very edge, with my toes digging into the loose earth, I throw the rope. It lands with a silent slap, a bright curl against the rusty surface. There isn’t a ripple. I suppose this means I’m really going to do it. To slide down into the pit. The mud pit. I feel a rush of wetness between my thighs, an urgent slipperiness under tight denim and lace. With the rope gripped tightly, I lower my legs over the drop and push off. I land wheeling my arms, let go of the rope and tip giddily back until my arm comes up firm against the earth wall. My feet have vanished entirely to mid-calf, plunging quickly through the surface warmth and into smooth, soft space. Even standing still I’m sinking a little. Slowly. I try to pull my foot loose and it comes with a startlingly loud sucking sound. I freeze, listening, then calm myself: silence. I stand, stork-fashion, and wriggle the toes of my free foot through the clay. It’s so thick and so silky. Plunging suddenly off balance I take two steps forward towards the centre of the pit. Too fast and too late to stop! My right leg is sucked instantly up to mid-thigh in a creamy red wave. I regain my balance, but my heart hammers when I look down at my body, legs half sunk in the mud. My legs are spread precariously, one foot greasing on the surface, one leg embraced almost to the crotch. I am so, so turned on.

The silken surface draws me down, draws my clit closer to its kiss. And my jeans are in the way! I need this mess all over my naked skin, right now. I fumble open my jeans and am suddenly stilled by summer air against my bare midriff. My nipples tighten. I should do this slowly. How many times have I tried to conjure that feeling – that feeling of total wicked softness, total abandon? A guilty thought sending slim fingers sliding into my panties, or pushing me over the edge into orgasm. I am sinking again.

I glory in my arousal as I watch my spread denim crotch sink closer to the surface. I feel the welcome pressure of the clay creep around my thighs and my ass. And I plunge my fingers into the mud. I swish my fingers and squish the clay between them, butter thick. I’m lost in the sensation of warm mud smoothed all over my tingling palms, then I notice the splatters up the cuffs of my light blouse. I feel the rush of wetness in my crotch again and this time it is answered by firm contact, yielding pressure through my heavy clothes. And I want to splash! I want to be COVERED.

I smear my dripping hands down the front of my blouse over my breasts, touching myself as a lover’s hands would touch. I splash my hands by my sides sending up great slops and splatters of clay. Panting, I inspect the mess. I’ve never been so dirty. I marvel at my slick fingers and smear them down my chest again slowly. Then I surrender and let myself fall gracefully backwards into the soft mud.

I gasp out a breathy laugh and sit back up, my hair landing with a wet slap across my shoulders. I’m sitting up to my chest in the mud. Daintily, I use the largest clean patch left on my blouse (left shoulder) to wipe at a splatter of mud across the bridge of my nose and leave a smear of red lipstick. I plunge my hands into my hair, styling it into wild tangles with muddy fingers. I start to undo the buttons of my blouse, then just pull them off; exposing the firm curve of my breasts inside my cream satin bra. I skim my hand along the surface beside me, gathering the warmest layer of clay, then slop big, heavy handfuls over my tits. Inside my bra, my nipples scream for contact. It feels so good I can’t stand it, and I slick handful after handful of soft, slippy mud over my tits and inside my bra. There is so much mud inside my clothes now: down the back of my unfastened jeans, filling my bra, plastering my belly, sliding down the back of my neck gluing the light fabric to my skin. It feels forbidden. I lie back and cover my body, decadently spreading a slick layer of clay over my sticky, clinging outfit.

I stand to strip, the air cooler than the warm clay. I peel off my sleeves, drop the ruined blouse with a wet smack and start pushing down my jeans. My legs are long and white and ludicrously clean. I trample my feet out of the tight cuffs of my jeans and unhook my bra, releasing my filthy tits and aching nipples. I bend to cover my hands with a thick layer of mud before slicking them down my sides and using my thumbs to shrug my panties off my hips. They part softly from my soaking slit and I feel a deep shudder spread from the slick place between my thighs. Adrenalin courses through me and my heartbeat pounds in my ear. I lie down slowly on my belly and roll in the mud. It is exquisite. Every curve of my body is cradled by the depthless stickiness. I crawl, the surface of the mud sucking an eager inch below my slit, until the resistance lessens and I slither, naked, into wetter, squashier depths. I lie on my back and smooth my hair back, then caress my up-reached arms, under my arms, my breasts. I roll luxuriantly onto my belly and am instantly overwhelmed with pleasure. Cautiously, I buck my hips into the gluey depths and feel soft fingers of clay part my pussy lips. I grind my pussy into slick, frictionless clay with aching slowness, moaning. It’s too much. I kneel, panting. Take it slow. I crawl back to the edge of the thicker sticker clay and feel a thrill through my whole body when I just lie down in it. I spread mud over my body with a massage firm touch: a sticky slick over my hip and up to my rib cage, a greasy handful over my breasts. I rolled and slid back to where it was deeper and sloppier, arching my back for an imaginary camera. Every movement produces a sticky suck of pleasure through the sensitive softness of my belly, my thighs, my ass. I lie and stare up at the colours of sunset starting to touch the leaves above me. I feel very much part of the earth. Then I stretch my legs above my head and admire the dripping curve of my calves. Thick dollops of mud splat down onto my skin, surprising me. I repeat the action, dripping mud down my legs to splash my tits, my midriff then, deliciously teasing, my crotch. My legs slowly tire as the mud caresses my ass and shoulders. Slipperiness sucks at the sides of my breasts and I find myself gently writhing.

Settling my shoulders comfortably on the firmest clay beside the pit wall, I wallow in bliss. Every subtle writhe and rock allows the clay to caress all of my skin at once. It is like being sucked and licked by a thousand soft, insistent mouths. Each time I raise my hips my breasts are dunked down under the lapping surface bringing fluttering pleasure to my nipples. I allow my fingers to slide down my belly and between my legs. I start by slicking handful after slick handful between my legs. It feels torturously good: too good to stop. I need more contact but I want to make it slow. I spread my legs wide and sit up in one smooth motion plunging my open pussy into maximum contact with the melting smoothness of the clay that supported me. Lost in sensation, I moan aloud. Once again I kneel, but this time I part my legs low and, supported by my hands, I rock smoothly back and forwards, dipping my clit in the mud with every thrust. The last of the sunlight, a drowsy pink, makes the red clay glow all around me. I give myself totally to the steady pleasure: this is too good to stop. Every time I sink down my clit connects with slick, yielding mud. Every time I rock back I’m treated to a thick splash from behind, washing between my legs from the constantly moving slop beneath me. I can feel my orgasm building steadily. It’s as if this damburst of pleasure is rushing in from all over my body to meet in an ecstatic, heart stopping spasm. I sink onto my belly as I come, indulging every surge of pleasure with a slow buck of my hips. My ecstasy is prolonged and totally overwhelming.

At last, I fold my arms at the elbow and rest my cheek on my slippery forearm, no longer caring about anything except savouring this moment. Beneath the wet surface firmer clay conforms exactly to every curve of my body. I meditate peacefully on this superabundance of sensation, embracing each shuddering aftershock from my cooling pussy. I become slowly aware that the shadows are taking on a purple tone, and I resign myself to climbing out with the last of the twilight to help me. I can’t resist a final play, so I half crawl, half drag myself back into the wettest, sloppiest mud. Sinking up to my neck in silky goo; I swim in slow motion, the novel caress of soft mud on my naked skin liberating and taboo. I smooth a mask of mud over my cheeks and forehead, careful to avoid my eyes and lips. I lie back and run my fingers through my hair, which is slick and heavy with wet mud. I luxuriate in my mud bath for just a few more moments.

When I crawl back to the rope I’m startled by how dark it’s become. I smooth most of the sticky clay of my limbs and slick my hair flat. As soon as I try to sand up I realise that I’m in big trouble. My legs, that felt so strong and limber sliding through the mud, have turned to jelly in the night air. It is immediately apparent that I will never be able to climb the sheer wall, even with the help of a rope. Suddenly I feel tried and cold and, worse, depraved. How am I going to get out of this without anyone seeing me? How would I get help anyway if I got so cold and frightened that I was forced to swallow my shame? As I’m contemplating this with horror, I suddenly hear movement very close by, above me on the edge of the pit. Small stones grind as someone hauls themselves up from a sitting position to tower above me, silhouetted against deep blue.

“I thought you might need a hand up, eventually.” Said my girlfriend, her grin apparent in her voice.
“You crazy, kinky..”-she laughs-“KINKY thing!”

It’s easy to climb up with her arms reaching strongly around me, but when her lips find mine we nearly both tumble back over the drop. She holds me tightly to her, heedless of the mess. She leans back to admire the contrast of faded flannel with naked, ochre smeared skin.

“How long have you been here?” I ask between searching kisses. Unsurprisingly, I fail to make the question sound casual.

She stifles her laugh in my open mouth and, in answer, gestures to a neat row of cigarette butts where she had been sitting. Next to them were the pair of heels I’d shrugged off on the lawn, neatly aligned.

[emmajones1982au]

Wow this is amazing! it got me tingerly all over hehe xx

[Squelch]

Great writing Marion...really enjoyed your stories.

[Marion]

Thank you both so much!

Hope I can write some more, reading this forum has finally made me (sort of) ok with my kink. Even I didn't think girls like me exisited, lol.

[emmajones1982au]

Mud is definitely my fav mess , so it's lovely to read such wonderfully muddy stories xx

[messyhal]

Great story, well written! Mud isn't my fave but it could be like that
Thanks.

[yellowman]

Mud isn't my fave but it could be like that.






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