Lauren stretched. She was sitting on the deck of her family's beach house. It was a warm Memorial Day weekend evening. Lauren had felt an instant sense of decompression since arriving two nights earlier. The bustle and pressure of Johns Creek and the bank were long ways away at the moment.
The house was more of a rustic cottage than a home, but that meant there was little to take care of on a trip. Spreading out in front of her was a stretch of smooth water perhaps a thousand meters wide. Tybee Island, a marshy island on the coast of Georgia. Three shrimp trawlers were visible, making their ways out, back decks lit by floodlights as crews prepared nets and other gear. The closest was perhaps three hundred yards away, and Lauren could make out movement as two or three crew worked their ways around the deck.
The mosquitos could be terrible at this time of night, but there was just enough warm breeze to keep them away without disturbing the evening's tranquility. It was getting too dark to read by the sunset light, so Lauren let the adventure she was working on go shut, and finished her mug of coffee, sweet and rich with cream as she had drunk it here in her childhood. She stretched again and lay back on the deck lounger to contemplate her next move.
She could call Olivia, who was staying on the island, and meet her at the club; an oyster sub and companionship on the outside dining porch could be pleasant. There might well be a long wait for a table, though, and it wouldn't be unusual to have families with school aged children running amok there on an evening like this. She could grab a surf rod, pull some squid from the freezer, and see if any croakers, spots, or maybe flounder were interested. There had been a lot of rains recently, though, and the current was said to be screaming through the channel. That meant she would constantly be casting, reeling in, and recasting. She wasn't really up for that tonight.
Making her way inside, she fished a Coke from the refrigerator and paused to look at the mantle over the fireplace. Her little cousins David and Sarah had been here last week with their parents and left some clamshells on the rough wooden board. A grin crossed her face. Clams! About a mile from here was a parking lot with easy access to the marsh. It was warm, and Lauren had always loved the sensation of the mud clinging to her legs ever since her 12th-grade field trip to Savannah. It almost seemed alive at times, and there was, she could admit, an erotic aspect to the feeling of being surrounded and held by the soft and liquid marsh muck. There was a shower at the lot; she could strip down to her black Hunter rain boots in the dark and totally rinse off before getting back into her car. It would lend a little extra sensuousness to the experience.
Her mind made up, Lauren switched to her blue bikini and sandals for the drive over. The close-fitting black Hunter rain boots went into the bed of her little SUV, and she struggled just a little to get the Styrofoam raft into the back. It would hold her flashlight, keys, and any clams she found this evening. Tossing a few Ziploc bags into the raft and some snorkeling equipment recommended by Olivia, and her phone. She locked up and made her way to the parking area.
Pulling up, she switched the flip-flops for the boots. She had never stepped on one, but she sometimes caught small stingrays in the same marsh creeks she would be wading this evening. The boots would give her some protection from those, oyster shells, and the odd lost fishing hook she might encounter. Lauren pulled the raft out of the car, dropped her keys and flashlight into the waterproof bags, and closed her car up.
There was a platform from which bird lovers could watch the various forms of avian wildlife that inhabited the marsh, and Lauren headed for it now, walking a bit awkwardly due to the bulk of her raft. The platform wasn't her destination, though; arriving at the steps, she skirted around them to find her way down to the water's edge. Marsh reeds whispered a little in the breeze, and Lauren was delighted by the lack of other people here and the warm breeze on her skin. She didn't hesitate to slip out of her bikini, adding it to her keys in their bag, and securing everything in a little net anchored to the raft. Then she found the tow-rope on the raft, set the boat-like float in the water, and slowly waded out.
There was an odd sensation at. First, the cooler water felt through the rubber shanks of her boots. The mud was, as always, soft, and her feet sank in several inches with each step. It was a familiar sensation, as was the feeling when the water overtopped the high boots, and the little shock as the water reached her bare crotch. She soon adjusted, though, and began to feel warm.
Clamming like this meant dragging her spread fingers through the ooze of the water's bottom. She had to find a zone where it was shallow enough that her head was above water when she crouched to find the hard shells. She enjoyed the feeling of the water on her skin and compromised by wading in shallower water to find clams, then moving to deeper water to feel immersed.
It was very dark, but she wasn't worried about finding her way. The marsh creeks were rarely more than four feet deep, the water lapping around her breasts when she stood upright; and usually only ten to twenty feet wide, the shallow water and banks only a few steps away. The current was unusually strong, but the fact that her feet sank into the mud a bit helped anchor her.
Half an hour of searching has yielded a couple of dozen big clams. These weren't as valued as the smaller ones, but she would fill a tray with seawater tonight, put the clams in, and sprinkle cornmeal into the water. In the morning, there would be a layer of sediment on the bottom of the tray as the clams ate the corn meal and replaced what was in their digestive tracts with that. She would then turn them into a stew for tomorrow evening. She began to spend more time wading, and less searching.
Climbing out for a moment to get on the higher ground, she looked around. The lights of a little fishing village were visible about three miles across the marsh on her left. The entrance gate of the next island was off to her right perhaps two miles, and she could see the glow from the city twenty miles south in the sky beyond the gatehouse area. She knew exactly where she was; to get back, she would cross a hundred yards of mud flats, find Chimney Creek, and follow it back to the landing. She glanced up; her night-adapted vision revealed the Milky Way like a band of glowing clouds across the sky, something she could never see in Jacksonville, where she lived during her 10th-grade year.
She just stood there, enjoying the solitude and the caress of the breeze on her bare flesh. Then she pulled the little raft onto the mudflat behind her and set out across the flats, dragging her gear and clams by the cord. As she walked, she noticed the sensation that had always intrigued her; there was an actual flow of the mud under a surface crust of drier soil. As her feet broke through, she could feel a vague movement against her feet. She stopped and smiled, enjoying the sensation. As a child, she had done the same thing, imagining that there was some creature under the ground that wanted to grab her and drag her down into its embrace. Standing in the moving dirt as a teen, she wondered how the changes in the marsh due to erosion, development, and heavy rains might have changed this unique little area.
Lauren lifted her feet, plodding on. She could tell she was approaching Chimney Creek and thought she could hear the exceptionally fast current rushing against some old abandoned pilings. Suddenly, one foot pushed through the crust, and instead of sinking four or five inches, sank a foot, momentarily taking her off balance. She stepped up with the other foot, it too sinking in. The experience brought a broad smile to her face, transporting her back to her childhood when she could pretend she was a damsel in distress, caught in the clutches of some fiend who had cast her into quicksand. She worked her feet out, stepping forward so that now she was in up to her thighs. The ground was almost to her crotch, and she paused to examine the feelings. Here she was partially nude and caught, partially enveloped in ooze, soon to be sucked under, her body to remain encased in mud for centuries to come unless she puts on her snorkel.
As she stood there, she could feel a water washing the support out from under her feet. Her pussy gave a gentle squeeze of excitement, matched by a glow low in her belly. The dirt touched her crotch, and she let go of the cord securing the raft to stroke her fingers over her breasts, down her belly, and to brush her sex. The gentle touch sent a shiver through her, and she found the soft mound where a hood of skin covered her clit. She was gently rubbing it as the mud closed around her hand.
The sensation of steadily losing support under her feet and feeling a flow slowly push past her legs continued. The mud reached her belly button and lost in her reverie, Lauren didn't fight it. When the mud reached her breasts, the combined sensations of touching herself, feeling surrounded by the warm mud, and her tender breasts caressed by the ground made her climax softly. She moaned aloud but still didn't move to escape. When the mud closed over her collarbones, she thought, This is going to suck me in. I'm going to die. There was no fear attached to it, though, only the continued trance-like state of erotic tingle.
Her chin touched the ground, and the support under her feet lessened more rapidly. Lauren's feet broke through into what amounted to a natural underground pipe funneling silt between creeks, and she puts on her snorkel. Dirt smoothly flowed over her mouth, her nose, and at last, closed over the top of her head. She opened her eyes to total darkness and swam about under the mud. Eventually, she snapped out of her fetish mode and climbed back up. However, with her being stuck, she had to call Olivia and her sister Hannah, who was at her college dorm, to help pull her out.
Olivia and Hannah arrived wearing red and black Hunters respectively and pulled her out onto her raft. Lauren had been under all night and with only her head two inches under mud, she was able to reach for water and pour it into her snorkel. It was now 6:00 AM and she were wet enough to go home and clean up.