A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

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tanya_wam
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A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby tanya_wam » Wed Mar 30, 2016 2:06 pm

Someone bemoaned that there were no stories featuring quicksand and tights. Not sure why the two should be a natural pairing but I thought I'd have a go...


A Tight Spot
by Tanya


She had always wondered what quicksand felt like.

Was it really just soft creamy mud, like a face pack? Or was it rough against skin, like sandpaper in semi-solid form? Did it really suck you under, futile struggles as something unfathomable gripped you and drew you inexorably in to drown? Or could you really float in it, as some documentaries would have you believe, if you kept your head? Even swim in it?

She gnawed her lip at the fantasy. Something forbidden, or at least unreachable. Quicksand only appeared in films of distant jungles or deserts. Exotic locations thousands of miles from where she dreamt, in England. Land of lush green pastures, rolling hills and quaint towns.

Certainly not quicksand. No, not round these parts.

If she couldn't take herself to a fantasy locale, then perhaps she could try something that would simulate the feeling, even if only a little.

Facepacks were expensive but she found some on eBay at a reasonable price. In the shower, she squirted a whole tube into her palm and relished the squishy pinky-brown mush in her palm. Strangely solid, yet it yielded to her fingers. She smoothed it up her arms, sparingly down her legs. Daring on her arse. Over her breasts and nipples. Then...

Oh yee-EESSS!

The second tube, squeezed out more urgently, found its way directly to between her thighs.

"Fuuuu..." she hissed, the word lost between her eyes rolling and breath in short gasps of pleasure. Her fingers teased the smooth mud around, back and forth... and in.

One finger, two finger, three finger, four.

Beneath the coating of muck almost the same colour as themeselves, her nipples went hard and pert. Her fingers, slippery with unreal mud, slid in delicately then more roughly as need overtook her.

The orgasm that followed in short frenzied moments was both intensely powerful and unexpectedly sudden.

Her legs gave, and she giggled uncontrollably in a heap of quivering, naked and sensitive flesh in the bath as the hot water from the showerhead above washed away the sludgy remains of her new lover.

All bar what was inside. And she was loathed to douche that much with how raw and alive down there felt.

At least, not straight away.

* * *

She wanted more, but even saving pennies elsewhere still made the intimate excesses of mud pack in the shower an unoccasional luxury. She counted the days on the calendar impatiently. Eyed the tubes that sat in her bathroom cabinet with lusty, barely controlled passion.

Weekends were always better. Once a month. Two, if she got away with it, financially and emotionally.

But no matter how filthily fantastic these erotic endeavours were, they were still meagre offerings compared to what would, could and should be a whole blown sink. A shallow pit if nothing else, one she could roll in and get completely covered.

She was aware she was panting, low and needfully, under her breath as she immersed herself in the daydream.

The mud packs had awakened her to how mind-blowing it might feel, all over.

Even if the rest of her was deprived of the pleasure while all of the contents of each tube got more intimately acquainted.

She sighed, and got on with sorting her laundry. Two pairs of tights had got badly soiled on the lower legs, as the recent rain turned grass verges to mud, and roads to small lakes that drivers seemed to have no difficulty in splashing onto unsuspecting pedestrians. They would need handwashing.

The sink filled in warm water in no time, and she slipped a slender hand inside one foot and gently scrubbed the sheer fabric clean.

Her brow creased.

She stretched her fingers wide, pulling the translucent micromesh taut and clinging to her hand.

She pursed her lips, then her tongue licked over her upper lip.

Clinging.

Wet.

It had never occurred before but now the thought was obvious. A thin wet material. That clung to her skin like...

Quicksand might?

No.

She shook her head. Silly.

But...

She bit her lip. A trembling hand pushed the bathroom door closed. Locked it.

Her knees had gone somewhat weak.

Slowly, then more quickly, she slipped her jeans off. And after a moment's more thought, her panties.

The wet tights dripped on the bathroom carpet so she wrung them out. They were still warm from the water but cooling quickly. She slipped both hands into one leg, and bunched it up until they reached the foot. Her skin tingled at the odd sensual feeling of the damp fabric round her wrists, taut and sheer over her fingers.

She put one foot on the edge of the bath and eased the wet tights on, smoothing it up to her ankle, then to her shin.

The cool damp fabric felt odd. Almost wrong. It was one thing to get your tights soaked when out in the cold rain but entirely another to deliberately pull on a wet pair in the bathroom. In secret.

A substitute for something forbidden. Unknown.

She put her foot down on the carpet, clad in the clingy wet tights. Then she put her other foot up and eased the other leg on, before placing it on the floor too.

She stood there, wet tights round her knees, peering down her t-shirt at the nakedness between.

Instinct was to take the wet tights off, as one would if they were sodden by rain. Instead she raised one leg, and felt the waistband tug round her knee. It was difficult, almost impossible to walk in them.

The damp fabric was starting dry on her shins and ankles, less so on her feet.

Sensation tingled up her thighs to where they met. Colliding in need.

It wasn't quicksand but...

She tugged at the bunched upper legs of the tights, clingy and awkward, resisting her well-practiced method of pulling them up and on. The material was almost cold now, making her shiver. Shudder. It was horrible. But was this what sinking in quicksand was really like? The tights were darker through being wet, The dark tan almost brown. Gritting her teeth, she finally pulled them up over her crotch and gave a slight shiver as they were smoothed over her belly and arse, sticking moistly to her skin in alternating patches of damp clinginess and strangely drying roughness.

Why should she think quicksand was anything other than the cold wet mucky reality? Drowning in thick mud.

The mud pack, applied in a warm shower, and intimately so, made the fantasy just that. A fantasy.

Up to her waist in cold wet tights was probably more like how it would be. Her skin was getting goosebumps. Every inclination, as with sinking in quicksand, was to get out of it. Out of the chilling clingy fabric round her legs and body.

How could something so disgusting or horrifying be considered erotic.

But then, she had thought that about her first blow job. And bondage.

C'est ca!

The drying tights were now shifting strangely over her skin. The clinging less so. As she moved, the thin sheer fabric seemed to let go. No longer a part of her as even dry support tights should properly feel like. Not so cold now either. In her imagination, she considered what the aftermath of a sink would be like, the oozy gunk drying on her skin.

Not quicksand but...

There was a banging on the door. "You gonna be much longer? Post's here. Got something to show you!"

Startled, she apologised, mumbling she wouldn't be a minute. Slipping her thumbs inside the waist of the tights, she began to slip them down. The freeing of her body and upper legs from the nearly dry fabric was unusually sensual. The weird roughness falling away from her skin was both liberating and enticing, almost making her want to wet the tights and pull them on, sink into them, again. Her clit tingled, and it was them she noticed the crotch of the tights were wet. As was she.

The dampness on her thighs wasn't just the residue of the drying tights. She smiled.

She was beginning to like the idea again.

In time, she might just learn to love it.

* * *

She was still trembling inwardly by the time she dried, and hoped the scent of herself under her fingernails wasn't too obvious even after washing her hands thoroughly.

"What was it you wanted to show me?" She asked her roomie. Two tickets were waved in her face.

"You know those useless competitions you say I shouldn't waste my time entering? Well I won one!"

She lets out a squeal and joins in jumping for joy. "What did you win? What did you win!?"

She is deliberately kept waiting a few moments. "I.. well we, as I can take someone, have won a trip to sunny..."

A pause. "Yes?" She asks.

"Morecambe!"

Oh. Joy.

Somewhere up north, more cold and more miserable than it is down here.

"You'll love it!" She reassures me, her glee at winning a prize puts the bleak destination in the shade.

Even when on the Morecambe-bound coach some weeks later, as it heads up the M6 in the driving rain, she is yet to be convinced.

* * *

It's picturesque, she has to admit.

It's quite relaxing too. Quiet and calm and laid back, in the only way northern towns, even tourist spots, can be quiet and calm and laid back.

Having exhausted the shops in a couple of days, they decide to take a Saturday after lunch walk across one end of the large bay that has been ignored so far, except for admiring the view at sunset.

The tide is currently out, and the expanses of sand under the faint glimmers of sun through the not-quite-entirely overcast sky are almost inviting. Not that she was one to go dipping in the sea but a paddle might be nice.

They draw level with a fence which has a big sign with bold text on.

EXTREME DANGER
BEWARE
FAST RISING TIDES
QUICKSANDS


- and her reading goes no further than that fourth line. Her feet are suddenly rooted to the spot as if in, well, those very same quicksands.

"You okay?" The voice might as well be a million miles away instead of just past the fence.

Quicksands.

Fuck me. Here. On the last place on Earth she would ever have thought of visiting. And they bloody signpost it!

She has a very difficult time tearing herself away from the sign. All the fantasies, the memories, using the mud packs in the shower, the wet tights which were cold and clinging, come flooding back.

Quicksands.

It also says EXTREME DANGER but she has to find out.

* * *

So she does.

She sneaks out with a holdall early the nest morning. It's Sunday and few people are up. Even the clouds have parted and the newly risen sun threatens to shine on regardless.

FAST RISING TIDES was the other extreme danger, and a glance at the local paper told her that they would be low at this time, which suits even better.

It's not especially warm but she doesn't want to ruin any more clothes than she has to. And she's not quite ready to go naked in such a public, if currently deserted, spot. It would be embarrassing enough to get caught sinking deliberately in quicksand. Let alone flashing her tits, and anything else intimate not sunk that deep, into the bargain.

So she opts for a long tee-shirt, mini-dress length and... a pair of tights. It's an odd combo without shoes but they keep her legs warmer, not to mention higher up as she has decided against panties for this virgin trip.

The best place to go seems over some fields and down to a higher area of beach. She has no idea where the quicksand is. That's obviously one of the more extremes of the danger. You never know where it is until you're in it. And she doubts each and every spot on the vast expanse of beach has a sign saying HEY! QUICKSAND HERE! which in hindsight she takes to be a major failing of the Morecambe Tourist Board.

She shrugs off the coat and stuffs it in the holdall, leaving it under a small bush on the border of the fields and beach. Padding out onto the sand, it's damp even this far from the distant sea, a reminder of the rains a day or so ago. Can rain and sand make quicksand? She ponders, as the brief excursion turns into a long trudge over shallow soft dunes and water rippled sand from small streams. Plenty of beach one way, the promise of a whole sea in the other, but nothing even vaguely quicksandy in between. Yet.

There's a larger shallow channel ahead, broader than any so far and she sets off with renewed purpose. The wet sand starts to feel a bit more bouncy. What had once been firm if clammy underfoot now undulates and ripples like a water bed.

Heart pounding, she stops unsteadily, struggling for balance as the wet soft sand moves around her. This isn't what she expected. Unlike the films or TV, she hasn't just plunged straight into the quicksand, screaming for dear life as it sucks her inexorably under. It's almost alive, like some huge beast circling her, waiting for a chance to pounce. The sand is rippling for several feet in every direction, and suddenly the sharp taste of fear is stinging her tongue. She's in the middle of the quicksand, and even though it's been masquerading as firm beach until now, can she get out of it before she does sink? And how deep is it?

Small tentative steps try to trace back her own footprints, testing the sand with her stockinged toes. The rippling effect continues with each uncertain prodding until... the foot she has most of her weight on suddenly breaks through the surface tension, She shrieks, taken aback. Panics. Trying to get a firm stance, her other foot sinks, and then she's trapped. The quicksand has a merciless grip on her shins. She cannot find the strength, struggle as she might, to pull either leg free. The quicksand has a strength all of its own, and through the thin tights its cold grasp is a vice against her skin.

How can something soft enough to sink in be so solid as to hold me?

The quicksand might as well be superglue, and she is totally stuck fast in it. If there was any erotic appeal before, it is completely lost now. Her hands grip under one knee and try to pull it free. Then the other. Not gonna happen.

Then her knees are under, and the rising surface of seemingly solid sludge is creeping slowly up her thighs. Feeling colder the higher it gets, reaching the more sensitive regions of skin. She sucks in her breath with a gasp as it clings like an icy slime to the crotch of her tights, freezing moisture seeping through. Puddling and squishing between the cheeks of her arse as it wriggles to free itself. Like being groped by Frosty the Snowman.

The hem of her tee-shirt is now filthy with quicksand. It spreads and drags on the wobbling surface as it rises up her belly underneath it. Takes her arse cheeks fully. Ripples like cold thick grey porridge as it nears her waist.

The tights don't really offer any protection but there is unsubtle distinction in temperature, from cold to colder, as the quicksand rises over the waistband. Her skin flushes with goosebumps and she begins to whimper.

Clawing at the quicksand makes no difference. Her fingers dig into what seems firm sand but which melts to formless sludge under her palms. Long tracts are scratched in the undulating surface, to fill with slime and become indistinct as the quicksand becomes more liquid, churned by her struggles.

In desperation, she leans forward, naked breasts under the dirty tee-shirt silently protesting as the cold muck seeping through the material embraces them. Hands continue to grasp at the beach, trying to find some firmness to hang on to, to pull her free from the quicksand.

All she does is make it worse. The unfirm surface continues to break down into a thick muck all around.

Her panting is rapid and punctuated with small cries. Lying chest down on the quicksand she tries to kick her legs free, and is surprised when one starts to. It's still an effort, the heavy sticky pressure of wet clay and mud clinging to her tights threatening to pull them off her legs. It takes all of her strength to start to roll slightly, on one side with a muck covered leg started to shake itself to the surface amidst a churning thick slurry.

Her heaving breasts are cold, wet and dirty under the stained tee-shirt. With more tremendous exertion, she turns more until she's finally half sitting, arse and belly buried in the quicksand which sucks at the waistband of her tights. Her legs are still stuck in it but with more struggling and spreading her weight backwards, they are slowly coming up, knees first. Small mounds coated in sticky grey quicksand. In time which must be short moments but feels like a torturous eternity, she's on her back, craning her neck over her heaving muddy breasts to see her legs part, knees either direction in an attempt to keep her weight spread there too, lest she start to sink again.

The quicksand wobbles around her like a massive grey jelly. She supposes, now the immediate danger seems to be over, that she should continue rolling free, her weight still distributed more evenly. The irony that being on her back, legs apart, is one of the positions that she masturbates in, isn't lost on her. It's just not how she fantasised getting into this position, let alone what she was going to do to get off once in it.

The cosy warm showers with mud pack covered fingers deep inside her, breathless and orgasmic, seem very far away, impossibly detached from the reality, coated in cold grey slime almost from head to toe and shivering from the exposure. But the adrenalin is still pumping. The icy grip of the quicksand oozing round her arse and over her belly feels disgusting but the numbness of her clit is giving way to a gentle throbbing. Her pussy is already cold, wet and covered in gunk that is trickling through the thin sheer barrier of her ruined tights.

She looks around as best from her prostrate vulnerable position. She is still alone on the beach. Her arms are spread either side of her, helping her float on the still undulating quicksand. With small careful movements, she slides one over to her body until her fingers are able to scrunch up the mucky hem of her long tee-shirt, revealing the quicksand covering her belly.

She slips her dirty fingers into the thick slippery muck, under the thin fabric of her tights which is slowly peeled away from her skin, revealing her trembling slimy belly. Cold thin slime oozes through the tights, dripping onto her, making her gasp. As her fingers slide further down, trying to separate the sheer barrier of fabric from her cool clammy goose-bumped flesh. Her clit, now exposed to some air, tingles. The mucky grip of the quicksand through the tights is still firm over her pussy. It quivers like skin, and she is surprised when she quivers in response to its strange uneven moves over her upper thighs and labia.

As her fingers caress the sensitive nub within the dirty slit, she aware how different even this tights filtered 'quickslime' is. Not smooth like the mud pack but with a grainy quality, almost like exfoliant wash. She should have taken that as read. It is sand after all. But the horror of the last few minutes had made her forget. And now she relishes this unusual new sensation.

Slippery but rough.

Her teeth nibble at her lower lip, the danger, the EXTREME DANGER, of being in the middle of a large quicksand banished to the back of her mind. This opportunity, this once-in-a-lifetime chance to experience quicksand in all its erotic horny pleasure, is suddenly all.

Arching her back to spread her weight backwards, she scoops up some of the quicksand on her slender fingers and hitches the hem of her tee-shirt up a bit more, exposing her bare breasts to the cool early morning air. Her nipples were already pert from the cold wetness and clinging dirty clothing but now they're even more so, trigger sensitive and eliciting a low moan from her lips as she massages the gritty ooze over them. Relishes the cold muck dribbling down her breasts and onto her trembling body.

She has no idea what the time is but surely someone must walk along the beach soon. An urgency drives her actions now.

Even pulled free of her now aching crotch, a delightfully strange cocktail of cold stinging wetness and hot sexual need, her tights are a sodden clogged mess, barely keeping the quicksand at bay as it oozes through. A small pool of quickslime puddles over her pussy, itself continuing to quiver with growing sensation. Whereas the mud pack was dermatologically clean enough for intimate use, she has no idea of what the slimy sand has in it. A douche after is a given but first she has to get what she came for.

One finger, two finger...

The gnawing of her lip gives way to a smile, a big grin, a sigh, a moan, and more small throaty squeals.

...three finger, four.

And in deep. The coarse gritty lube of the quickslime is both soothing yet a strange irritant. An itch that desperately needs scratching, Her fingers are tense, seeking sensitive areas within to caress, rub and massage with savage intent.

She remembers that first mud pack orgasm. Intense. Sudden.

Adrenalin is a potent aphrodisiac too.

She finds a spot within, one new to her awakened by the unusual circumstance and weird position. It's raw with hunger, an appetite to be attended to, right here and now. Her fingertips curl to give it all the consideration it craves. Caressing the rough lube over it with increasing vigour and speed.

Her puss squelches and the quickslime puddling in the crotch of her tights gurgles evilly as her hand thrashes about in it, splashing gunge up onto her bare muddy belly.

One finger, two finger...

There's a growing anticipation of sensation. Of feelings about to be unleashed.

...three finger...

She's thrashing about in the quicksand, back arching, legs splashing the mucky gunk about. Her arse sinks deep in with the writhing of her hips, pulling her body up and knees forward.

...four! FOUR!!! Fffuu....

She lets out a sighing scream of a wail, a gasp as the playful caressing of her nipples, sending waves of erotic pleasure through her, collide with the explosion of orgasm in her pussy. It clenches and squeezes on her mucky fingers as all she ever was and is, woman and lover, is focussed on a few moments of painfully intense ecstasy.

She grits her teeth, head thrown back. Eyes closed.

Ffuuuccc...

Her breath comes in short severe shudders. She's aware how flushed hot her body now is, contrasting with the cold quicksand rippling round her.

But her arse is going down, sinking in the quicksand as she fights to get her breath back. To claw herself back out. She tears her fingers from the shivering chasm of her pussy, to grab at the quicksand around, as does her other hand.

Her heads spins, blurs of colour fogging her vision and thoughts as she tries to roll and get out.

It takes time, an unerotic writhing and wriggling to turn and free her arse from the sucking muck gurgling between her cheeks. To finally lie on her belly again, legs apart, her tee-shirt filthy and her tights wetly clinging, with their crotch at her thighs, and their feet pulled off her own to trail limply as she half crawls, half swims from of the quicksand.

She traverses a good few feet further onto the damp firmness of the sand, from the softly undulating quicksand, before tentatively trying to stand again.

She looks down, tee-shirt and arms covered in muck, and the remnants of her grimy tights clinging limply to her legs. Feels the quicksand dripping off her. Squishing between her arse cheeks and thighs.

In the distance, a dog barks. Someone is coming up the beach.

She gathers her wits, shivering, hugging herself, and begins to retrace her footprints in the damp sand, back to her holdall.

As she tries to quicken her step, deciding to tug the mucky tights from her legs lest she trip on the trailing feet and discard them, she ponders if it was worth it.

What kind of explanation can she give for turning up back at the B&B, half naked under a coat, covered in quicksand?

Instead she decides that will be for then. In the here and now, she has new memories to consider. New fantasies to think of as she gets in the shower to wash away all the clinging quickslime.

Perhaps with the last couple of tubes of mud pack she brought with her.

She holds up her hand. The drying grime on it. The scent of herself on it mixed with the unfamiliar pungent smell of wet sandy clay.

One finger, two finger, three finger, four.

And she smiles to herself.


End.
Last edited by tanya_wam on Sat Oct 01, 2016 8:00 am, edited 4 times in total.
Oh tosh! Tanya retorted, quicksand churning,
Round her knees, then thighs, then oh dear!
It got intimate with her hips and her panties,
And squished rather funnily up her rear!

beachbum
Posts: 1084
Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 12:25 am

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby beachbum » Wed Mar 30, 2016 10:24 pm

I LOVE your story, and the detail is fantastic!

User avatar
tanya_wam
Posts: 641
Joined: Wed Feb 17, 2016 7:19 am
Location: UK

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby tanya_wam » Wed Mar 30, 2016 10:38 pm

Why thank you. :)
Oh tosh! Tanya retorted, quicksand churning,
Round her knees, then thighs, then oh dear!
It got intimate with her hips and her panties,
And squished rather funnily up her rear!

duuudeization
Posts: 644
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2012 6:43 pm
Location: Florida

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby duuudeization » Thu Mar 31, 2016 3:29 am

Very well written
Its all about peace and love and good happiness stuff

User avatar
PM2K
Always Remembered
Posts: 10386
Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 6:14 pm
Location: Eastern Ontario

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby PM2K » Thu Mar 31, 2016 3:46 am

Excellent! :D

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tanya_wam
Posts: 641
Joined: Wed Feb 17, 2016 7:19 am
Location: UK

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby tanya_wam » Thu Mar 31, 2016 5:39 am

Thank you! I wasn't sure if it was what anyone wanted so I ended up writing to please myself :oops:
Oh tosh! Tanya retorted, quicksand churning,
Round her knees, then thighs, then oh dear!
It got intimate with her hips and her panties,
And squished rather funnily up her rear!

beachbum
Posts: 1084
Joined: Mon Apr 20, 2009 12:25 am

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby beachbum » Thu Mar 31, 2016 3:01 pm

and you pleased others also! Thank you!

joedeep130535
Posts: 261
Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 9:27 pm

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby joedeep130535 » Thu Mar 31, 2016 5:38 pm

Great story & a (very) happy ending love it

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PM2K
Always Remembered
Posts: 10386
Joined: Wed Apr 15, 2009 6:14 pm
Location: Eastern Ontario

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby PM2K » Thu Mar 31, 2016 5:42 pm

tanya_wam wrote:Thank you! I wasn't sure if it was what anyone wanted so I ended up writing to please myself :oops:


That's always the main reason why someone should write... it is why I do it. If others like it too, that is a bonus. :D

Musekal
Posts: 104
Joined: Thu Apr 16, 2009 7:17 pm

Re: A Tight Spot - Quicksand and Tights!

Postby Musekal » Fri Apr 01, 2016 5:03 am

This was a fantastic story. Very vivid, a nice little bit of drama and *so* hot. Do you have other stories? Or plan to write more?


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