retro quicksand story

[lonesinker]

Would anyone remember an older retro story? involving a man stuck and struggling in quicksand and a woman walking in the woods sees this and hides in the bushes and watches him struggling,this was quite a few years ago and I don't even remember the author who wrote it,could have been Derek Jayson or Crypto. I remember it being interesting as the woman was watching this all unfold with interest,not sure if he went under or if she helped him

[joedeep130535]

have not read it--wish I could!!!

[micky3277]

Not alot of detail to go on, but I suspect this is what you are looking for.

Archive-Name: watching
Archive-Author: Jiminy Thicket (jimthicket@aol.com)
Archive-Title: Watching
Archive-Type: m, f, mud, mast

Watching (m, f, mud, mast)
by Jiminy Thicket


Walking in the forest has always been your favorite way to relax.
The forest, filled with the sounds of active life, slowly growing into
shadow as dusk gathers, is very peaceful, the perfect way to unwind
after a long day.
A path leads into the woods from just behind your home, allowing
you easy, private access to the large forest. So when you finally
tear yourself away from the stress factory you call a job, it's no
surprise that the placid forest seems to call out to you, promising
a chance to release the tension knotting your muscles. You're barely
in the front door when you're out the back, headed for a well-worn
familiar path.
As you are walking through the early evening forest, an unusual
noise comes to your attention. It sounds like a splash, but not quite.
Almost "splut!", the sound of a splash in slow motion. Deciding to
investigate, you slip through the trees toward the source of the noise.
Your heart quickens in empathic fear as you see a form through the
trees... a man's form, buried to the knees in a pool of wet black
earth. You are about to charge through the brush between the two of
you to assist him, but you hold yourself back. All is not as it seems
here. The thick mush around the man is rippling slowly, and by his
distance from the edge you can tell that the noise you heard was the
sound of him jumping in. More interestingly, he is stark naked, and
fully erect. Through the thick foliage, you can just spot his clothes,
piled neatly next to a 5-gallon camping water jug, well back from the
mire's edge. No, what has happened here was clearly no accident.
Since he is almost facing you, giving you full view of his not
unattractive form, you crouch low into the brush to find out what is
going on.
Unaware of you, he mumbles quietly to himself and begins to
piston his legs in the muck, pulling up on one and then the other.
This has the effect of pulling him deeper into the ooze with each tug,
the mud grabbing his thighs wetly and sucking them into itself. Of
more immediate interest to you, his futile struggles make his raging
cock bounce and sway wildly in the cool night air. Clearly, he's as
turned on as any man you've ever seen, though you aren't sure why. As
you rub your thighs together trying to shift and make your hiding place
in the brush more comfortable, a momentary sensation suggests that his
arousal may be contagious. Then, with a start, your attention returns
to him, as you hear him speak.
"Oh, god," he murmurs, "it's quicksand..." He isn't talking to
you, still doesn't know you are here. His eyes are closed and his face
turned up toward the rising moon, and he is deep in a fantasy land of
his own creation. His legs continue their up and down motion, drawing
him deeper into the hungry black earth. With his waving cock only six
inches above the surface, he pauses, wrapping it in a strong hand and
jerking it for a few long seconds. He resolutely unwraps the fingers,
his cock spasming in protest. His attention returns to the mud, and he
again begins to struggle against it. He is deep enough that his legs
no longer move up and down easily, so he switches to back and forth
motions and slow hip rolls that make him look like an exotic dancer.
His movements are effective, if their goal is indeed to force him
deeper into the thick, quivering ooze all around him, which is
definitely how it appears. The remainder of his thighs slip silently
into the goo, and you can see a visible tremor pass through him as his
hanging balls brush the surface of the muck before darting back up to
cling to his cock in fear, each one with a small black dollop of mud on
the bottom. This hasty retreat does not save his balls, for he
continues to thrust himself deeper with forceful hip motions. Just as
his cock splats onto the black surface of the mire, a hiss emerges from
his lips like escaping steam. Then, with a single thrust, the cock
slithers into the muck like a homeward-bound earthworm, vanishing from
sight, accompanied by a long moan of exquisite pleasure, "Uhmmn...."
As this erotic melodrama unfolds before you, a supple finger
slides across your pussy lips. After a moment of held breath, you
realize that the finger is yours, drawn to your moist slit by forces
too powerful for you to control. You can't help but think that this
isn't what you should be doing under these circumstances, but your
finger continues it's teasing massage, unconcerned by what you think.
"God no... it is quicksand... so deep... I'm sinking..." he
whispers to himself. Each of his hands goes to the mud at his sides,
now making short work of his hips, pressing the fingers into it. Then,
his hips begin to slide back and forth in the mud, still trending
slowly downward, as if he were making love. "Oh, fuck..." he gasps,
and you realize he IS making love, thrusting his cock into the thick
mud surrounding him. Your own finger slides into the warm wetness of
your pussy, emulating his obscene action.
His hands clutch more vigorously at the mire around him, pushing
further into it and he grunts occasionally as he thrusts back and
forth: simple, base incoherent sounds that indicate that his whole
awareness is focused on the thick muck sliding back and forth over his
cock, sucking him like a hungry mouth. He continues to sink slowly
deeper, lost in his filthy passion. The mud rises slowly, covering his
stomach, plastering over his navel, creeping past his ribs one by one
until it reaches his small, hard nipples. His intensity builds as the
mud rises until he has abandoned all pretenses of "making love" for a
feral, desperate fucking, slamming his cock back and forth through an
ever-suckling tunnel of mud far beneath the surface. Meanwhile, your
finger has abandoned its own shallow penetration and has settled its
attentions on your clit, drawing circles around it, sliding back and
forth over it, using your secret knowledge of yourself to make your own
breathing shallow, quick, and lustful as only you can.
His hands and arms dive into the quagmire, buried almost to the
shoulders. Then, you see the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms
bulge with effort. His body plunges downward into the greedy ooze,
pulled under by some motion of those straining arms. The muck rises
over the rest of his chest, engulfing the still-working muscles of his
shoulders, leaving only his neck and head above the surface. From the
bobbing of his head and his loud breathing you can tell that his
secret, desperate fucking continues unabated beneath the surface, if
anything intensified. Your own lust grows overpowering as well,
spreading fiery warmth throughout your body, all generated by the
irresistible friction of your finger stroking your clit.
"Oh shit..." he moans, "the quicksand... too deep... I'm stuck...
doomed...." Under the turbid surface of the muck, his hands continue
to grasp at the black mud he's fucking, pulling him still deeper into
its waiting clutches. The chin beneath his moaning lips succumbs to
the mire. "Uhmmnn... no... the mud... it's turning me on... no.. it's
gonna... make me cum... mustn't... must stop." He looks like he has
about as much of a chance of stopping as a drop of water halfway down
Niagara Falls. The mud reaches his mouth and silences his moan, but
you can't help but think, your orgasm building in the back of your
awareness, that this is nothing but the kiss of two lovers locked in
passion. His nostrils flare with desperate last breaths as his below-
the-surface activity reaches a frenzied pace, then they too disappear.
Your finger strokes you teasingly, keeping you right on the brink,
waiting to see if he'll get the orgasm he struggled so hard for.
His eyes, hovering above the surface, flare and roll wildly and
his head tilts back before disappearing into the mush, a gasping bubble
of air the only sign that somewhere beneath the surface, the
simultaneous combination of muddy fingers, a miry mouth, and a
quicksand pussy have finally driven his desperately fucking cock over
the edge. The knowledge that somewhere beneath that shivering surface
his cock is firing a tremendous burst of cum deep into the ooze that
swallowed it fuels your own orgasm, sending you over the edge of a huge
wall of pleasure. As the waves of pleasure finally break and release
your body back to your control, you sit up with a panic, preparing to
try to save him.
Then, with a wet crackling noise that sounds like nothing else,
his head emerges from the ooze, plastered featureless by a layer of
mud, his shoulders emerging like a surfacing submarine, until he is
floating in the mire at his chest level, covered in a thick layer of
slime.
"Oh, fuck, that was good," he says to himself.
You can't help but agree as you slip away, vowing to return to
this place much more often.

[lonesinker]

Thanks Micky this is it, a lot of these older retro stories are difficult to find ...cheers

[joedeep130535]

Personal experience? If not the author's he/she could well have borrowed it from me