Sacred Garden

Something big splashed out of the muck, four feet in front of Brenda and a wave of the muck sloshed against her sternum. A large ball of roots slowly arose from the fog-blanketed mire. It was two feet wide and supported by a thick, greasy root that was nearly a foot in diameter itself. " Is, is that you? " she whispered in awe.

The ball of roots became a seething Medusa's scalp of serpentine tendrils. It deliberately fanned its writhing appendages into the night air and shed clumps of loosened peat back to the quagmire's surface. Almost all of the two dozen eel-like appendages were an inch thick, but they varied in their length from six inches to three feet. The tuberous vessel hovered over the enmired vixen, as the swamp's remorseless mush crept over the top of Brenda's nightgown and surrounded her panting breasts. A voice, rough and choked with lust itself rang clearly in her mind. " Come join with me, " it intoned triumphantly.

The tentacled mass of wriggling roots advanced to Brenda and arced back into the steeping slime, like a sea serpent diving back to its depths. She felt the mud near her lap stirring and then several squirming tendrils captured her thighs in their undulating grip. Other serpentine probes were groping upwards along Brenda's body and inside of her negligée.

She could feel the sinuous strength of the roots as they enwrapped and explored her supine body. Brenda knew that resistance would be futile, yet opposition had no place on her agenda. A few of the darting root-tubes had slithered across her stomach and entered the bodice of her nightgown. The mud-slickened hides caressed Brenda's swollen breasts and chafed her taut nipples in their lustful ballet. She twitched under their touch as the agitated marsh reached her collarbone.

"You wouldn't let me drown, would you? " she pleaded with a hitch in her breath.

She felt the animated roots worming along her behind and forming a supportive cradle as they pushed on her craving flesh. Then she was lifted six inches from the morass's soupy coffer as if she were a mere baby. Brenda stared at the plundering appendages, appearing as a swarm of snake-like bulges under her mud-soaked garment. The searching roots lashed vigorously around and between her heated breasts. " I will tend to you," a deep voice in her mind simply stated.

Progressively, Brenda was lowered again, until she was up to her shoulders in the fertile syrup once again. The submersed woman's arms were still held fast by the clinging ooze and she might as well have been chained to a wall. As she was slowly dipped, several twisting tube-like members fidgeted over the tender tissue of her longing genitalia. In surrender, she sought to push her enflamed flesh into their caresses.

When her immersion came to a halt, a rubbing root tip squirmed between the relinquishing lips of Brenda's vagina and entered her to a depth of three inches. Once in its fleshy alcove, the gentle invader began to gyrate from side to side with amazing strength. Another wooden pseudopodia slithered into Brenda's yielding love channel. The lustful femme playfully sought to capture advancing appendages with a constriction of her kigal muscles. The pair of penetrating stems struggled momentarily and then churned deeper into the gasping Brenda. The plump roots contorted and rolled in the manner of swimming otters as they entered her cervix. She started to twist her hips with a sensuous rotation in response to the teasing touches.

Brenda began a deep hyperventilation, and her darting tongue flicked rapidly on her upper lip, as additional tentacles nudged at her mons and deviled her aching clitoris. A pudgy component of the root-ball's arsenal arose from the mire and poised itself inches from Brenda's face. It was a member of the gang that was still busily fondling her busts. The exposed member dipped to brush the impassioned woman's lower lip and she darted her tongue to touch its passing girth. It was frosted in the soil of the bog and had an iron-nitrogen taste. Brenda puckered her lips and repeatedly kissed the tubular root's hide as it slowly rubbed its way back across them.

As the bulbous tip of the arboreal probe retreated across her savoring lips, it stopped and nudged her upper lip gently. Brenda swirled her tongue over it's the tip of the organ, mixing her saliva into a paste with any clinging soil remnants there. She playfully nipped at its tip, straining her neck forward to lightly clamp her teeth further along its length.

Unannounced, an intense climax was upon her with a racking force and Brenda thrust her hips in all directions as the seething duo that had entered her body vaginally, extended their territory and entered her womb. Brenda moaned a lustful cry and the drool greased tuber slid into her undefended mouth three inches, so that her vocal emission ended with a "mmmffffg!"

A startled Brenda could taste the muddy spittle as it trickled down her esophagus and sensed that a second explosion of pleasure was amassing, and only moments from washing over her. " Is this how you hoped the men on the trail would have at you, had they caught up to you? " the Maple's voice in her mind scolded with a chuckle.

The corpulent root in her mouth slid a bit deeper, and rested against the base of Brenda's tonsil. She had to divert her labored breathing to her dilated nostrils, and an oral response to the Swamp Maple's question was impossible. She focused her gaze on the dark contour of her Old Man of the Woods as it loomed over the misty marsh. Then, Brenda fought for every shred of concentration under the intense distraction of her blossoming orgasm, and focused her thought message at her lumbering lover. In a burst of intent she projected, " You have caught me. I am yours and I want you to have me as I had hoped only you would have me! "

Before she had completed the transmission, her fevered body began to twitch, as spasms of carnal delectation began to motivate her motor activities. Deep within the mire, her legs were shaking convulsively as her cum boiled past the two ardent limbs that were entering her innermost sanctuary. Brenda tilted her head back and the eel-like stem in her mouth nuzzled its path past her adenoids and into her straining gullet. Breathing was nearly impossible and Brenda was entering the gray zone that had preceded her two previous bouts with unconsciousness.

The chemicals at work in Brenda's system pushed her body beyond the normal realm of its endurance. The husky voice swelled within her mind again. " I would desire to have you like this then, " it announced.

A muck-slimed tentacle nuzzled delicately on her sphincter and rotated its slush-bathed tip along the length of Brenda's behind before returning to the orifice of her bowels. In a flurry of activity another pair of penetrating stems were joining the two tendrils that were already buried in her pussy. The roots under her upper nightgown were firmly squeezing and massaging her globular mammaries with their rolling caresses. Brenda wondered as to whether the root in her slickened mouth was expanding, or her oral cavity was swelling inward. Her tastebuds were bathed in its intoxicating and sweet flavor. " Take me then, as you desire me, " she thought, basking in an aura of enticement.

The tentacle that was stroking Brenda's ass, tenderly prodded her anus. She loosened under its nuzzling and it swam sinuously into her colon. Mischievously, she tried to clamp her gluts on its mud slickened girth, but it was to no avail. The rotund root glided through her yielding buttocks and it reached deep into Brenda's bowels. Once nested in her steamy rump, the ravishing filament bumped at the limbs that were deflowering the deepest reaches of her womanhood through fragile membranes.

Brenda felt the caress of the tree's tentacles, as they abandoned the propping safety net that they had formed to lift her. The support that the Maple had given earlier was withdrawn from her and the wanton female began to descend deeper into the clutches of the bog. Had he changed his mind, or had this always been the Swamp Maple's design for her.

A mucky tentacle rose from the shifting morass and slithered through the gap between Brenda's root packed throat and the black silk kerchief. The rootend twisted the accessory in its writhing grip and drew it up snugly, as if waiting for its moment to pounce. A pounding throb was resounding in her temples and she felt the wetness of the bog cushioning the nape of her neck.

The post-climax tingles had faded by now and as she took stock of her situation, the burning arousal was reborn upon her. She had a real fear that she was going to go under, not to return. He fear kindled the excitement of the adventure. Of course, she mused, the Old Man of the Woods knew this of her and had removed his lifeline to refine the experience for her. Or else, Brenda rebutted, she had a death wish that she had kept concealed, even from herself. If the Maple found such a hidden wish, would he fulfill it?

Live or die, Brenda knew with every fiber of her being, that an orgasm of fierce proportions would soon be moving through her. Like a surfer who is committed to ride a towering wave that might be too strong, she shivered with expectancy as she looked forward to the approaching encounter.

The fluid peat seeped against the intricate facets of her ears and it would soon pour into her ear's canals. The Maple's touch upon Brenda became increasingly rude and dominant as its gnarled appendages multiplied the tempo of their activities.

The four roots pressing on Brenda's labial walls had intertwined into a lone knobby shaft and were plunging and retracting in unison as they pumped her through the thick sludge. The tuber in the sodomized woman's derriere plunged progressively deeper with each swimming thrust that it mounted from out of the slippery peat. The sounds of the limbs' penetrating movements could be heard as a rhythmic splashing resonance above the shaking muck. This was supplemented by Brenda's pleading nasal groans every time she exhaled.

The shivering slime reached into the overwhelmed damsel's ears and the sounds of the tree's ravishing activities were amplified to her a hundred fold. Also made louder to her were the sounds of Brenda's labored breathing and gratified root-choked grunts. The symphony of their union ringing in her ears was the final enticement that Brenda's provoked body needed. She bucked her hips beneath the churning surface of the morass as her body whipped uncontrollably and poured forth its pent up energy.

The muck caressed her cheekbones and she took one last look at the masterful Maple before the black earth oozed onto the outer corners of her eyes, causing her to squeeze her lids closed. From Brenda's innermost recesses tore an explosion of ecstasy. In a fountain of rapture, the lustful woman's juices flooded from her to bathe the animated roots as they breached her womb enmass. The tentacle commanding the scarf's grip, torqued it tightly and cut off Brenda's airflow. A second torrential deluge of the nymph's love-honey followed rapidly on the heels of the first and her body writhed in the convulsions of passion. She arched her back in submission and drove her head back into its liquid earthen pillow.

Brenda felt the soft quagmire issue around, and then across the last exposed surfaces of her face. The imperiled woman knew that she was completely imprisoned beneath its shifting surface. Bending her knees, Brenda drew her throbbing flesh deeper into the dominion of the morass and she could feel the weight of the muck pressing down on her face. The soupy marsh trickled into her nostrils as a third wave of spasms radiated out of her and into the surrounding swamp. As she came to a tingling stop, the grayness that danced before Brenda's clenched eyelids, darkened to grow to midnight. Death is not so bad after all, she thought. The sounds of motion dwindled as a distant train whistle does and all conscious thought sped away from her on the heels of that trill.

CHAPTER SIX – You better find somebody to love – G. Slick

A cool and misty dawn broke upon the marsh. The skies were leaden slate and pregnant with a coming rain. On a grassy knoll, a muddied figure lay in a deep sleep beneath a woolen blanket. She looked like Brer Rabbit's tar-baby and her breathing was an irregular, yet satisfied snoring. The lone figure rolled over in her slumber and snapped to a wakeful alertness. With a retching groan, she hoisted herself to a leaning position. Every muscle in her body ached and every joint was rigid in stiffness. Her world was dark, her eyes burned and her throat was sore and parched. The ebony figurine clawed the thick mud away from her nose and gagging, spat several times on the neighboring grass.

Brenda raised a hand to her face and her fingers wiped at the semi-dry mulch that obscured her vision. The caked peat freely crumbled away from the waking woman's face. Brenda delicately brushed the remaining traces and specks away from her irritated peepers with delicate dabs of her fingertips. The first item to come into Brenda's focus was a brandy bottle with two fingers of the elixir remaining inside.

Sitting upright, she snatched up the glass vessel and fumbled its cap off with shaking hands. Brenda raised the bottle to her muddied lips and poured half a mouthful across her tongue. The sweet liquid burned like hell, and she spun her head to the side to spit it out. The small trickle that rolled down Brenda's esophagus felt scalding hot, but it settled with a warming glow in the pit of her tummy. A second swallow was received more favorably. By the time that Brenda took her third swill of the heady dew, she found herself tentatively stretching her tortured muscles and taking stock of her condition in general.

The negligée she wore was muddy, but only a small section of the gauze rickrack had been ripped. Brenda ventured a fourth and final quaff of the sweet liquor and tossed the empty jug near her backpack. She focused on the still and wooden sentinel the seemed to remain as he always had. "How did I end up here? " Brenda thought. She slipped out of the mud-soaked nightgown and tossed it near her pack.

Her scanning vision was drawn to the pond's bottom. Brenda saw that it was torn asunder from an area near the quagmire's shore to footing of the grassy hillock, where she sat. Her feelings were a mixture of gratitude, affection and admiration for her Old Man of the Woods. He had pleased her as Brenda had hoped he would and the Maple had saved her from her near-fatal foolishness on the marsh. She realized the tremendous energy he must have expended to deposit his benumbed lover at the comfort of her blanketed nest.

The bright green stimulator was still perched in the tree's bole and it drew her attention. Brenda walked out to the giant Maple with a sore and teetering shuffle. Every few steps, the groggy lady would stop to shed some mud. She had been completely submerged in the quaking morass and every inch of her was caked with black muck. Brenda rubbed her hands back along her cheekbones and clumps of humus fell at her feet. She gently teased small wads of earth from her ears with her pinky. Her hands explored her matted mane and broke up the solid chunks, which flew free when she shook her head.

By the time Brenda had reached the Old Man of the Woods, only a few small clots of peat remained on her skin. Her hide remained richly tinted from the warm, dark brew of the swamp, although some of the blonde highlights in her hair were still intact. Standing a yard from the Maple's trunk, Brenda folded her arms, cocked her hips and recalled the raptures of the previous night. In the distance, a low gravelly grumble of thunder sounded.

With arms spread widely, Brenda bridged the last few feet and hugged the tree's stalk. " Thank you, " she murmured passionately, " you made every moment wonderful for me. "

" You gave me great pleasure also, " responded a silvery lilt in her mind.

" How did I please you? " asked Brenda.

"Well first of all, I am very sensitive to you where we touched, " explained the Old Man of the Woods. " Secondly, " he continued, " I was in my element and very comfortable. " " Finally, my sensory perception varies from yours. When we are in contact, I can feel what you feel and know what you know. Our exchange of passions echoes back and forth between us, ever accelerating, until even my senses are overwhelmed by their magnitude. "

After a moment of contemplation the amorous woman asked, " Are there any physical signals that you are being satisfied? "

" I don't tremble or have orgasms, " responded the Maple, " but I am gratified no less than you are. I can sense that you must go now. First, I would like to give you a gift of remembrance. "

" I would be pleased to accept your gi…! " Brenda purred, not completing the sentence as her head rocked back and her mind was flooded with information. Her Old Man of the Woods had implanted into Brenda's memory every sight, sound and feeling that he had known in his three hundred and twenty six years since germination. The influx subsided and Brenda relaxed, knowing of her gift. It was like receiving a library full of favorite books, but her mind had yet to master how to sort through them.

" Thank you, " soothed Brenda appreciatively, " It will be so good to know you so well. " The rolling of thunder erupted much closer now and a couple of large raindrops struck her exposed back. A second loud peal resounded and as it faded, a steady rain was upon them.

Brenda enfolded her arms about the trunk tightly and wished that she could melt into it to become one with the Swamp Maple. She felt that she would be protected, beloved and complete if only she could do so. A flash of lightning seared the gray morning sky and the crackling detonation of thunder was at its heels.

" Go now quickly, but remember me always, " stated the tree solemnly.

" I will come back to you, " vowed the Brenda.

" Remember me, please, " replied the Old Man of the Woods as his voice trailed off in her mind.

The rain increased in its intensity and with a hug of adieu and a soft kiss on the Maple's wet bark, Brenda turned and walked to shore. She scooped up her pack with the hiking clothes inside. As if in a daze, the detached femme regarded the huddle of muddied nightgown and shoes for a moment, then she stooped to gather the negligée and drape it over a branch.

Brenda wound her way back through the Mountain Laurel and traversed the pond's shoreline until she reached the outlet of the small lake. The brook was higher than the last time that she had been here. It cut into the bank at the spot where Brenda lowered herself into its currents. She stood mid-thigh deep in the rushing water, which was surprisingly tepid against her flesh. Brenda leaned into the stream and gathered handfuls of the pea-sized stones to scrub the dark signature of her indiscretions from her.

As she began to scour and rub, Brenda relaxed and a memory came into her mind. It was of a small boy and girl walking along the shore of an autumn pond and played like a slow movie in her thoughts. Their garb was more than two centuries old. The little girl's dress was long and crude in its cut. The boy wore a three-cornered hat and a white linen shirt. Their voices remained too distant for her to eavesdrop. As the children reentered the forest, they were hidden from sight and the memory faded to gray. Wow, she thought, years of memories and revelations to occupy her lax moments, and perhaps to build information with.

Brenda continued her cleaning and as she began to feel mellow again, she wondered if there were any memories of her stored in there. She probed for them and a blur of images careened through her head. Some were very pronounced, such as her immersed to her shoulders in the quagmire and calling to the Maple the first time she had gone there. "You want me? Here I am! Come on and get me!" The audio was very good on this memory too. " God did I sound that bad? " she mused, " It's a wonder that he ever made contact with me at all! " There were many other images of her, some as recent as this morning.