Sacred Garden

Brenda bit her lower lip as she reached in deeper, so that her fingers were gently tracing the edges of her engorged labial lips. Her left hand ran two fingers along the center of her humid vaginal slit as the bewitched woman's right hand sought her clitoris. A rolling shudder telegraphed its way up her spine, and she knew that she could not stop now. Brenda pinched and nibbled her palpitating love-button with her right hand, and she penetrated herself with her left hand, sanctioning the sun-steeped ooze's access into her own heated love tunnel.

Emitting a throaty hummed moan, Brenda pressed her upper arms against the sides of her breasts. The wanton wader wished to reach up and cradle her swelling bust with the churned sauce of the swamp. Her blouse was dear to her though, and she was apprehensive as to whether it would come clean later.

Brenda oscillated her hips from side to side, which caused the surface of the obsidian porridge to tremble in undulating and radiating waves, a mirror of the advancing ripples surging up from within her own body. The enraptured woman's breathing came in deep rasps as her hands moved with increasing frenzy. Brenda desired to have the steamy muck to hold her ass too. She begrudgingly removed her hands from her craving mons. Brenda eagerly pulled down at the sides of her shorts and rolled her panties down over her rump and hips . The dark creamy slush flowed into her garments and encompassed Brenda's eager pulsating flanks.

Oozing stew flowed into the relaxed crack of Brenda's twitching posterior at the instant she climaxed and with a groan she instinctively thrust her pelvis forward. A small jet of juicy discharge erupted past her fingers and onto the slate toned marsh. This was a first for Brenda, and it had been the best release she had ever known. She ceased all movement except for an uncontrollable shiver, as she regarded her emission of passion.

Enthralled, she scooped up the substance with her left palm and stirred her right hand's index finger through it. Brenda raised her finger to her lips and tasted the slippery issuance. She gathered some of the flowing silt up and blended it with her own body's sauce, then returned the concoction to the surface of the morass. She found herself strangely excited to realize that the nectar of her passion would go into the soil that nurtured the Swamp Maple, and its essence would be carried up into the giant.

Brenda gazed down at the shifting black mush which encircled her body up to her lower hips. Her heartbeat, which had subsided to normal , was accelerating again and Brenda knew that lustful pressures would be summoning her to their release again soon. This felt so decadently erotic that she decided to save herself for another depth of involvement. Brenda resolved to delay any pending eruption, so that the event was to be more significant for her. She would approach this pleasure in a ritualistic manner that would allow her fantasies a full reign in the outcome.

Brenda wiped her soiled hands on the few remaining clean surfaces of her denim shorts. Being as careful as she could, so as not to get her blouse too dirty, Brenda unfastened its remaining buttons and untied the knotted shirt-tails above her tummy. She squirmed out of it and tossed the garment several feet in the direction of her back-trail. Brenda was instantly mindful of the sun, which baked down on her taught nipples. Impatiently, her hands re-entered the inky soil, and with fumbling fingers, the panting female drew her shorts closed and re-fastened the snap on them.

Leaning towards the direction that she had fallen into the bog from, Brenda placed her forearm along the pond's firm bottom and hoisted against the mud's tenacious grip. After a few experiments, she learned that she had to use both arms, and keep her toes pointed down to make any progress. Brenda's legs finally came free with a loud and gurgling slurp, like a goody that has been pulled from slobbering and greedy lips.

As she stood up, Brenda was surprised at how heavy the clinging muck made her legs feel. Once again, the exited female unsnapped her muddied denims, and their new weight quickly dropped them to her ankles. Brenda stepped out of them and brought them near to where she had tossed her blouse.

The searing heat from the Sun was roasting her mercilessly and she could feel the sweat running down her as it formed streaks on her muddied flesh. Standing in only her muddied panties, Brenda scanned the shoreline carefully to assure herself that she was alone. Satisfied, she peeled her hopelessly soiled undergarment over her rump and stepped out of them also. The humus that had caked to her skin dried in moments. As she moved it fell away from her in dusky clumps. Brenda lightly brushed at her flesh to remove the final swampy vestiges of her exploit and marveled at the coloration that remained in place of the ebony sludge. In her opinion, she seemed to be clad in charcoal gray, hip-hugging leotards.

With a frown, the unveiled female stood in front of the boggy ground for a moment, trying to decide how best to return to the sinuous embrace of the mire. Brenda was facing the monumental Swamp Maple as it spanned skyward a mere six yards distant, drawing its nutrition from the same organic broth that she had planned to enter.

Trembling with excitement she sidestepped carefully, until she was several yards from the point where she had been first entrapped. Brenda's hand released her panties and she took two fast steps forward. Nothing happened. She took a third step, and still nothing. Brenda treaded down with a bouncing weight and the surface of the ground in front of her trembled as ripples pulsated along the basin ahead of her.

Two more rapid strides, then Brenda was rewarded for her effort as her leg disappeared with a slurp into the surface of the pond basin. The tepid black ooze had gobbled her left leg to her lower calf. She eagerly planted her right leg into the ravenous bog a few inches away from her left leg.

Brenda tried to recreate the excitement and fear of her first encounter by closing her eyes and envisioning that she was a jungle movie heroine. Her fantasy evolved to include that she was lost, alone and had been caught unexpectedly by a sinking trap of death.

Brenda pumped and pulled her legs in a mock effort to escape the power of the gluttonous quagmire. As she sank, the shifting footage caused her to have to continually struggle for balance. Brenda twisted and buffeted her arms a few times in order to stay standing. The lustful captive desired to hurl herself into the clutches of the seething morass, but that would have denied her the slow, sumptuous stimulation that she judged her fantasy needed as a fuel.

She actually had no sensation of sinking, but rather it seemed that the oozing muck was rising up around her. She could feel tepid humus as it climbed to the middle of her thighs, its warm weight persistently pressing in on them from all sides. Brenda pretended to know that if she didn't escape the pitfall soon the rising muck would have its way with her. She tried to raise her legs and found that the relentless grip of the creeping mud held them pinned securely into its percolating maw.

The exertion of working the liquefied peat with her legs was causing Brenda to perspire harder than ever. Her sweating breasts swung like firm pendulums across her chest and she could feel and taste the sweat from her scalp as it bathed her forehead and trickled down her face. Balance was no longer a problem. The midnight dark mush probed the up-most reaches of her inner thighs, and held her anchored firmly in place. The shifting earth was grumbling and burping up small batches of bubbles as it encompassed her upper legs and gently licked at her matted pubic thatch. She raised her hands to cradle her sweating tits, painting black smears upon the reddening skin there. This is it, she thought.

Brenda stopped moving her legs, and slid her hands down, hungrily toward her lap. She opened her eyes just enough to permit a bit of the day's searing light in and perspiration seeped into the corners. The sting of salty sweat in her eyes caused her to clamp them tightly closed again. This did not help ease the burning sensation, the piercing perspiration had already washed into Brenda's eyes.

As she eased her eyes open again, the Old Man of the Woods swam in her salt-fogged vision. Closing her eyelids just enough to see the tree, Brenda imagined that it was reaching through the primal slime to her. Would it rescue her from the vile pit, or would it ravage her now that she was caught and held helpless. The spellbound female decided to let her imagination take her to wherever it would go.

The voracious moistness of molten dirt was pushing up against her surrendering vagina. Brenda's anxious fingers were energetically laboring her clitoris and her vulva. She had begun to rock her hips against the indigo muck's clutches. Brenda felt the relentless groping slough rolling and up over the flexing cheeks of her buttocks as it crept to hug her lower tummy. Brenda's imagination nurtured a delusion that the tree had reached out to her while she struggled in the swamp's merciless hold.

Daydreaming, she envisioned that its roots were tunneling around and into her. A building pressure within her began to move outwards, and Brenda's body moved convulsively as the most intense orgasm of her life took absolute control of her muscles. An involuntarily moaned of deep pleasure was torn from her throat as her emulsion again rushed out to join with those of the probing mire.

The delighted captive slid her left hand free of the sucking fen's grip and pushed it back down behind her, across her trembling flank until a searching finger homed in on her anus. Brenda pushed against her sphincter's resistance gently and after several prods, her muck-greased finger wriggled past the yielding barrier.

She visualized that the Swamp Maple's roots were having their way with her below the quaking marsh's surface. Brenda could feel the latent force of another orgasmic explosion welling up within her. She teased at her excited organs with deft fingers that they were richly lubricated in a mixture of juices and compost.

The soothing slush ventured upward and poured into her navel as it encompassed her twisting waist. The sweltering ooze lapped at her lower ribs with wicked avarice. A thought occurred to Brenda. She had not sunk this deep earlier. The adrenaline rush from the real and probable danger was just the stimulation that the entrapped woman's reverie needed to burst forth. Brenda initiated a mock begging for help again , but this time it was not shouted loudly and her voice had the throaty resonance of desire. She did not want the interruption of a reply.

The intensifying tremors of the erogenous upheaval that Brenda felt was immanent caused this warning to become a small voice in the back of her mind. She rushed avidly towards the irrevocable sexual detonation.

Her adept fingers sought out her orifices with a recharged vigor and reckless compulsion. Brenda's right hand thumb and index finger worried her throbbing clitoris as she worked the remaining three fingers in and out of her silt-slickened cunt. The gasping captive's left hand was at work trying to get a second finger past her twitching sphincter.

The gooey peat lapped at her twisting midsection and pushed Brenda's biceps to her torso as the first electric spasm surged through the enthralled woman's frame. A series of rabid climaxes propelled her writhing body deeper and quicker, into the stewing morass.

A thick, raven syrup nestled under Brenda's heaving globular breasts. First the lecherous quagmire levitated her bobbing mammaries in its slushy cradle. Then as Brenda sank further into the murky undersurface, its weight pushed them together with a delicious gripping pressure. The undulating surface of the greedy ooze licked with soft feather-kisses at Brenda's jutting nipples. If she could have easily reached them with her hands, Brenda would have wrung them in her grip to ease the burning itch that radiated through them and into her chest. The flowing slime finally slithering up between her cleavage and covered the woman's fevered chest as she continued her downward trajectory.

The small voice had returned from the back of Brenda's mind, and now it was shouting. The thought of such a scandalous death thrilled her as she timidly probed downwards with her toes. The creamy silt had gained Brenda almost to her shoulders before she detected the welcome hardness of solid ground under her digits. The sinuous muck held her arms bound to her body with its immense heaviness. Brenda was exhausted from the energies of her pleasures. She decided that it would be best to rest a while, before fighting the mass and the suction of the swamp to regain freedom.

The cicadas hummed their chorus rhythmically in the tree's tops as Brenda settled back upon her heals. The slime gently rolled over her shoulders and encircled her slender neck. Through her sweat-hazed vision she was looking way up at the towering Swamp Maple. Brenda's hands began to caress her still tingling pussy and quivering ass. "You want me? Here I am! Come on and get me!" she shouted hoarsely as the overpowering muck pressed in upon her windpipe.

The tree remained a mute and immobile voyeur, as Brenda's ardent fingers had once again begun to build her nervous system to a boiling point of arousal. Her bosoms were held firmly in the suckling embrace of the marsh. As the soupy filth pushed on them, Brenda knew that her aching nipples were rock hard with excitement.

The mud held her so firmly pinned, that she felt like she was being fucked in a slushy cocoon. This time Brenda's climaxes weren't so dramatic, yet there were many of them in rapid succession. She envisioned the deep mud to be a living thing, working its way in and out of her eager orifices. The tremors undulated through her encased body like indulgent waves on a shore and caused her to involuntarily add a yelping tone to her rasping breathing, and accent each small surge of pleasure.

Three hours later, a very muddy Brenda stood above the pond basin. It had taken the mired beauty half of that time to twist and claw her way to freedom. Once clear from the quagmire's ravenous hold, she had collapsed to lie spent on the pond's firmer bottom and rest her weary limbs. The cicadas had ceased their song as Brenda stretched out and basked in the five o'clock sunlight of a dwindling day.

She felt the slush of the bog deep inside of her and knew a good douching a shower and a bath all were ahead this evening. Brenda picked op her ruined panties and with mock ceremony, tossed them into the gaping hole in the ponds bed that she had just crawled from. "Remember me," she teased.

She returned to where she had placed her shorts and shook much of the drying mud from them. Brenda hung them on a dead-looking bush that emerged from the desolate basin. She then began to work at shaking and peeling the dried chips of peat from her skin. Once free of the earthen burden, Brenda saw that her skin was still colored a dark slate hue and she knew she would have to wash well, before hiking back out. It was strange, but she did not feel at all naked as she wore her new earthen color. Brenda gently hung her blouse on the same bush, and returning her gaze to shore, slowly licked her parched lips.

She looked like a lady walking in a very tight and sexy body-glove, as Brenda returned to her the grassy knoll, being careful to walk around the safe side of the Swamp Maple. She sat down in the grass again and finished off the first canteen. Placing it back into her pack, Brenda started on the second container with slower sips. As she slaked her thirst, the blissfully weary hiker studied the Old Man of the Woods. It must have a soul or a spirit to mark its identity after all these years of life, Brenda surmised. Her Old Man of the Woods, she thought with a feeling of propriety.

Brenda stood back up again, and looking down across her strong tummy she noted that her muddied pubic nest still had a few small clots of humus adorning it. She worked to crumble and tug them free. As Brenda's fingers touched her tingling skin, she felt her knees grow weak and she knelt quickly to keep from toppling completely. "Not here, not now." She whispered aloud.

Rising to her feet again, Brenda took an unhurried stroll to her camera, cautiously testing each step before committing her true weight to it. She walked the periphery of the colossal Maple again, being careful to go the safe way. Brenda took about a dozen pictures, varying angle and distance and searching the tree's tormented tangle of a trunk for the best photogenic structure.

Brenda rounded the trunk to its side facing the grassy hummock and she saw that the sapling-like branch was indeed a new section of the Maple's trunk. It already reached back towards the main nest of trunks, and in a year or two, would join them. She ran the fingers of her left hand over the tree's dusty bark in an exploratory caress. It must be ancient, she mused, and yet it is so full of life.

The enthralled inquirer looked at the immense plant's corded bark, in alignment with the new branching trunk and narrowed her eyes in thought. A perfectly round bowl was formed in the main trunk system. It was three inches wide, two inches deep and could hold water in rainy weather. The young trunk was almost the same width as the cavity at this point of its upward rise. Brenda smiled as she realized that the lesser trunk looked like a man's morning penis in its upward salute.

She squeezed between the sapling trunk, which was only three inches from the main Maple and aligned her camera skyward so that it played over the entwining field of unified trunks. The composition of her photograph was to be framed in a blanket of azure blue sky.

Brenda's nipples rubbed on the parched and grimy bark. The adolescent trunk was nested against the crack of her clenched posterior. A tremor ran through Brenda's frame, as she remembered that earlier in the afternoon, she had defiantly invited the Old Man of the Woods to take her. It was a shiver that was caused by both fear and excitement. To move the sapling's leaves further from the main stem, Brenda bent down a bit and pushed the small tree back with he buns. The digital camera resounded with two rapid clicks as Brenda relaxed the pressure on her tightened gluts and the sapling's pressure was applied deeply into the crack of her ass. "Down boy!" she giggled with a husky voice as another tremor of excitement surged through her.

Looking down, Brenda could see that the bowl in the trunk of the forest behemoth was only an inch below her already juicing love tunnel. If I am here too long like this, I might be able to fill the small basin with my own sweet cum; she mused. An idea flashed through her mind and she smiled. Brenda squeezed out from between the resilient trunk and the massive main stem. She ran a hand in an unhurried caress down the sapling then, briskly walked back to the grassy niche on the shore's edge.

Once there, Brenda took a quick sip from the canteen and reloaded her pack, to include her clean blouse. She vigorously shook her muddied shorts. The dried peat was brittle and broke away from the supple fabric completely, although they were stained several shades darker than before. Brenda stuffed her dried socks in the toes of her hiking boots and fastened their laces together for easy carrying.

As she negotiated her shorts back on, Brenda's gaze was drawn magnetically back to the Old Man of the Woods. She then gathered up her pack and boots and facing the Swamp Maple she called out, "Aloha!" The enraptured wood nymph hoped deeply, that the spirit of the tree knew what she meant.