The Girl (Part 5): Angela's Purgatory

[JSample]

THE GIRL (or, Angela’s Story: A Side-quel to “The Kid”)

by Jason Sample
December 2018–May 2019

Having sunk beneath the surface of the treacherous mudflat despite Jason's every effort to save her, a weakening Angela faces imminent suffocation in the smothering clutches of the quicksand, mercilessly taunted and tormented by her fetish-creature as it revels in her helplessness in the grip of the asphyxiating ooze.

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The Girl (Part 5): Angela’s Purgatory


Jason… you… you promised…

Angela’s naked form hung motionless within her miry tomb, her face held forlornly upward, her arms suspended weakly by her sides, her legs extended limply toward the unfathomed depths of the mudflat, her strength finally exhausted by her futile struggles against the grasping ooze and its sensual assault on her body. Once again she had sunk beneath the surface, only this time she knew that there would be no reprieve, no additional breath of air, her fight for survival having at last reached its end, her remaining moments of life and lucidity numbered by the slowly diminishing levels of oxygen in her blood. She had been taken by the quicksand as she had vowed that she would not, struggling and screaming as it drew her into its suffocating depths, her body and mind submerged within its inexorable grasp, submitted to its unrelenting intent, consumed by its insatiable hunger. Somewhere beyond this dungeon of darkness, she brooded emptily, her would-be hero likely still stood before the place where she had vanished into oblivion, still straining stupidly against the grip of the rope on his belt, still reaching uselessly forward to effect a rescue that would never occur. Yes, he was probably still standing there in the cool breeze and the bright sunlight near her favorite sunbathing spot by the river, she supposed… but it no longer mattered. Enveloped within the muck and ooze of the merciless, implacable quagmire, cut off from all the living, Angela would now meet her end in the cold and dark of the quicksand, completely and utterly alone…

… except that she wasn’t alone.

“You were so cute earlier, Angie Baby, with your little ‘I’m going to end my life on my own terms,’” a mocking voice whispered condescendingly inside her head, a voice that Angela recognized as being both hers and not hers, “but surely you knew that I… and the quicksand… would have you in the end.”

You… did this… to me… Angela replied mutely, faintly, to her fetish-creature, which seemed to be growing stronger even as she continued to weaken within the smothering morass, as if the thing in her head were stealing life from her as she sank further into its element.

“Technically, you did it to yourself, Angie Baby, to fulfill your fetish fantasy,” it responded dismissively, “and now it’ll be only a matter of time before your burning lungs and your dying brain have had enough of the oxygen deprivation… and you finally fulfill my fantasy… when you willingly invite the thick, sticky ooze to penetrate your lips… to fill your mouth… and then to come… deep… inside you…” the voice went on lasciviously, a dreamy lilt to its tone, “and then you… I… and the mud… will at last… become one.”

Tears again began to well in Angela’s eyes behind their tightly closed lids at the thought of the imminent horror awaiting her within the depths of her miry prison. Why…? she grieved in silent sorrow.

“You want to know ‘why,’ Angie Baby? Well… why not?” the thing in her mind replied. “Do you know how many people up there live out the years of their pitiful little lives without ever fulfilling their deepest desires, without ever satisfying their deepest cravings?”

At least… Angela answered feebly, they get… to live out… their lives…

“Oh, maybe so,” the voice replied, “but at what cost? Are they really living, or merely existing?”

Merely existing… Angela responded sadly, seems preferable… to this…

“Oh, you think that now,” her creature said cavalierly, “but you’re only saying that because you’re dying in quicksand. Put yourself in their place for a moment.”

I wish… I could… Angela’s mind muttered weakly.

“So many people have no idea what their truest, deepest desires are in the first place,” the voice went on nonchalantly, “nor would they have any idea how to go about even beginning to make them a reality.”

Fuck… reality…

“But not you, Angie Baby,” the creature continued matter-of-factly. “Oh, no, you knew exactly what you wanted, to pleasure yourself to orgasm in a sucking bog, climaxing over and over as you sank beneath the surface, and you knew just how to make it happen… just like the beautiful, voluptuous woman in that story you read on the quicksand forum your first day there!”

Lucky… me…

“And the best part,” the voice went on enthusiastically, “is that the absolute, total fulfillment of your deepest desire here and now means that you’ll never know the boredom of living a dull, ordinary life, of spending your declining years growing older and sadder while wistfully looking back and wishing that you could somehow recapture the thrill of that very first time, of that incredible, electrifying moment when you finally came in the embrace of your ultimate, perfect lover! Nothing would ever be better than that!” the creature exulted. “You’re truly going out with a bang, Angie Baby, the biggest bang you could imagine!”

I’d rather… grow old… and bored… Angela silently whimpered.

“Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport, Angie Baby; it ruins the afterglow,” her fetish-creature berated her. “Wasn’t that very first orgasm, that very first time you deliberately climaxed in the mud, to say nothing of the multiple other times you came while you were sinking in the quicksand, just to die for?”

I am… dying… for it…

“Ah, you’re no fun,” the creature replied huffily. “But what about your wanna-be hero up there, your ‘Jason, I trust you’?” it challenged her in a mocking tone. “He looks like he’s lived more years than he probably has left. Do you think he’s ever made his deepest desires a reality?”

It… doesn’t matter… Angela replied dispiritedly at the mention of her impotent protector, his failure to save her despite his promises to do so weighing as heavily upon her as was the muck in which she was trapped.

“Oh, I’m sure it matters to him, especially at his age,” Angela’s fetish-creature went on dismissively. “I’m sure he wishes…”

The voice seemed to pause, as if it were trying to reason its way through something regarding the middle-aged man who had expended so much effort to try to rescue the terrified young woman from her miry fate. Despite her despair and her weakening condition, Angela couldn’t help but to wonder what her creature was thinking.

You’re sure… he wishes… what? she asked in her mind.

“I was just thinking,” the voice began to reply before momentarily pausing again, “What if, Angie Baby… what if… your Jason up there…” Again the creature hesitated. “Angie Baby, I just had the most delicious thought,” it then continued with thinly veiled glee, “What if your Jason… also has a secret fetish… for quicksand… just like you?”

What… what do you mean? Angela asked uncertainly.

“Try to keep up with me here, Angie Baby,” her creature responded condescendingly. “I know it’s difficult, what with the oxygen deprivation and all. I was thinking, what if your wanna-be rescuer up there also has a ‘monster’ in his head… just like you do… that lures and draws him to quicksand?”

J… Jason? Angela objected weakly to the unexpected suggestion. No… he… he tried… to save me…

“Oh, it sure looked like that,” the voice replied, “which is why I put so much effort into making sure you went under before he could get to you. But didn’t it seem strange how he heard your cries for help from all the way up the trail like that? He’d certainly had enough time to walk to the parking lot, and you yourself wondered the first time you saw him if he was some voyeuristic pervert who might pretend to leave and then double back to watch you pleasure yourself in the mud,” it went on, recalling Angela’s initial concern about Jason. “What if he has the same kind of… deep interest in quicksand as you? He sure seemed to know rather specific details about how to keep his stinky feet free in the stuff. What if he also has a fetish for deep mud like you do, Angie Baby? What if… he’s also on the quicksand forum?”

Wha…? No… Angela objected haltingly, he… couldn’t be…

“Really?” the creature replied tauntingly. “Think back to your first day on the forum, when you read that story about the woman pleasuring herself in the mud while she sank to her doom, the story you saw yourself in, that led you to decide to join up in the first place. There was another posting you read that day as well,” it went on, “written by an older guy… a guy who had a sexual fetish for the damsel in distress… sinking to her doom… in quicksand! He called his fetish… a monster in his brain…”

S-so…? Angela replied worriedly, her lips spasming against her increasing need for oxygen as her body began to quiver involuntarily in the grip of the mire. What does that… have to do with…?

“Think, Angie Baby,” the voice in her head insisted to her, “the guy who wrote that article… signed his name… Jason.”

Angela’s uncontrolled trembling increased against the thick hold of the mire around her body as she felt a wave of nausea begin to stir in the pit of her stomach. Jason…? Oh… no… it couldn’t be…

“Oh, yes, it could,” the creature responded eagerly, its voice becoming louder in her head, “and I’ll bet it is! I’ll bet your Jason up there, your wanna-be savior, has a monster in his brain, a secret fetish for the damsel in distress sinking to her doom… and guess who’s playing the role of the damsel in his quicksand fantasy… right… now?”

Oh, god… oh, no… Angela began to despair as the awful possibility became more and more of a reality in her tormented mind, please, god, no…

“Sorry, Angie Baby,” the creature responded in a chiding tone, “ain’t no ‘god’ who can hear you down here… it’s just you… me… and this wonderful… thick… gooey… sensual… ooze,” it added, an indulgent tone to its voice, “… oh, and your quicksand-fetish Jason up there…”

Tears began to squeeze through Angela’s eyelids as she wept helplessly beneath the surface of the mudflat, their moisture mingling with that of the mire that had molded itself completely, adheringly, over her face and around her body. What the horrible voice in her head was saying about Jason just couldn’t be true, she resisted, even though she knew that she and he had never met before he came across her earlier that day while she had been pleasuring herself in the mud. No… even though… he failed me… Angela protested weakly against her mental doppelganger’s insinuations as her need for oxygen became more and more pressing, he was trying… to save me…

“Well, like I said, he sure put on a good show of it,” her creature replied, “but didn’t it seem odd to you that his efforts to ‘save’ you always fell just short of doing so? And what about all those times when he got distracted, when he seemed to be talking to someone else, to someone who wasn’t…?”

Again the voice paused, as if a light bulb of comprehension had just switched on over its head, a sickening realization that Angela herself reached at the same moment. “Angie Baby,” her fetish-creature said with a tone of exuberance in its voice, “all those times when your Jason was talking to that invisible someone whom you couldn’t see, whom you were sure was there, who was just beyond your line of sight… I’ll bet he was talking to someone… he was talking to his fetish… to his monster… just like you’re talking to me!”

A faint whimper escaped through Angela’s nostrils, taking a bubble of air with it as it slowly rose to the surface. What her creature was saying about Jason wasn’t true, mustn’t be true, she thought… she hoped… she wished…

“And they weren’t just talking about the weather, Angie Baby,” the voice went on jubilantly, “they were talking about you… sinking in the quicksand… and how good it was gonna be when you finally went under!”

Angela’s tears exploded through her clenched eyelids as a wave of hopelessness, blacker and deeper than the quagmire that had swallowed her body, now overwhelmed her. Was it really possible that the kindly, older man who had appeared to show her such fatherly concern, who had seemingly put so much effort into reaching her to try to save her life, had merely been putting on an act and had never meant to rescue her at all, but rather had intended all along to enjoy her suffering while she sank beneath the surface, all for the sake of his own fetish fantasy? In her grief and despair at the horrifying thought it was all that Angela could do to keep her lips smashed together against the pressure of the thick mud that was waiting patiently for the smallest opening, the slightest moment of inattention on her part, to invade and violate her mouth… her throat… her lungs…

“I didn’t think to look at his pants at the time, Angie Baby,” her creature continued, “and of course you were preoccupied with… not dying… but I’ll bet the sight of your terrified, tear-streaked face sunk so low in the quicksand gave him the most powerful, raging hard-on of his life!”

A gasp of horror and disgust burst through Angela’s nose at her creature’s lewd suggestion, robbing her of even more air as her circulatory system continued to exchange what life-sustaining oxygen remained in her bloodstream for carbon dioxide waste as the cells in her body signaled her progressively panicking brain that they were becoming increasingly and dangerously distressed. Never before had she know such physical and emotional agony as she hung suspended within her miry trap, her mind mercilessly molested by the horrible insinuations of her fetish-thing, her body imprisoned within heavy, clutching bonds from which she knew that there would be no escape. She longed for the release of suffocation, for the moment of final unconsciousness, that would at last free her from her misery, from her torment at the hands of this hateful, spiteful creature… yet she could not bring herself to yield to the will of the quicksand… or of the horrid thing inside her head… just yet.

“And I’ll bet that as soon as you went under, Angie Baby,” the voice went on, ignoring her anguish, “your Jason ‘attended’ to his arousal by dropping his pants to his knees, scooping up a big ol’ glob of thick, gooey mud in his hands, and ramming his cock into it!” The creature chortled gleefully at the lascivious image that it had conjured up. “I can just see him standing there, knee-deep in the mud, fucking the muck in his hands, letting it pleasure him the same way you were letting it pleasure you the first time he saw you!”

No… Angela objected in helpless sorrow, her heart breaking at the appalling thought, no… he… he wouldn’t… do that… to me…

“Hmm… you know, maybe you’re right,” her creature replied, seeming to have given the idea some more thought, “the mud wouldn’t have held together long enough in his fingers to satisfy him, and having just watched his fetish fantasy finally come true, he’d want much more than just to jerk himself off with his muddy hands. No, he probably…” The voice in Angela’s head broke off momentarily, as though it were imagining something even more titillating. “Oh… yes… I know. As soon as you went under, Angie Baby, your Jason probably flung himself down onto the surface of the muck — they don’t call it a bed of quicksand for nothing — and began grinding his hips into it, thrusting his cock further and deeper into the softest, deepest pussy he had ever fucked — your words, Angie Baby, not mine — absolutely fucking the quicksand long and hard until at last he came deep in the ooze, emptying his load into the mud right over the place where you went under… right over where you’re dying… right… now!”

Angela’s stomach twisted upon itself at the sickening image as the bile rose in her throat, and it took all her will to resist the urge to vomit as she swallowed the burning fluid back down. What was this horrid thing in her head that seemed to revel in her misery and woe, that seemed to draw strength from her suffering, and that seemed to want only her destruction? Her sense of time had altogether vanished, and she felt as though she had been trapped in this miry nightmare, tormented in this clutching hell, for an eternity, with only her lewd, lascivious fetish-creature for company, although she knew that it couldn’t have been very long since she had gone under, given that she was still conscious, however weakly. Would there be no end to her grief? Whatever she might have done to deserve such a torturous fate as this, Angela agonized as her lungs cried out desperately for oxygen, she couldn’t possibly fathom.

“And while he was pouring out his fetish lust over your dying body,” the creature insisted salaciously, “I’ll bet he was fantasizing that he was squeezing… groping… kissing… fucking… you!”

NOOOO-OH-OH! Angela’s mind cried out in horror at the voice in her head, unwilling to believe that what it was saying about her would-be hero could be true… yet terrified that it was. Jason! Please! she begged him silently through her tears, Don’t be what… she says you are! Please be… more than that… better than that! You wouldn’t… do that… to me…! Her creature’s cruel words had served only to inflict further anguish and sorrow upon her, drowning her heart in despair and desolation… until the entrapped young woman abruptly realized in the midst of her suffering that that was its entire intent… and that she had no real reason to believe what the voice in her head was telling her.

He wouldn’t… do that… to me… Angela said to herself tearfully before repeating the words to the thing in her head, he wouldn’t do that… to me… because he didn’t do that to me! In a burst of renewed vigor her fading mind momentarily regained its clarity as she suddenly turned on her pitiless persecutor. If Jason had thrown himself into the quicksand to fuck the mud over me, she retorted vehemently, I would have felt him doing that! You and I both would have… but we didn’t! And you know it! For the first time since she had sunk beneath the surface, Angela felt that it might yet be possible for her to take back her sense of personal agency, her sense of control over herself and her fate, from her fetish-creature… even though she knew that whatever victory she might achieve would be temporary at best.

“Hmm…” the voice in her head replied, pausing for a long moment before continuing, “I suppose you’re right, Angie Baby. We would have felt him flailing around and fucking the mud over us… but we didn’t. So I guess your Jason didn’t do that to you after all,” it acquiesced… before adding in a low, sinister tone, “he probably just left you… to your fate… instead.”

Somehow that second possibility, that of having been abandoned to her doom, filled Angela with more dread than had the earlier suggestion that Jason had been satisfying his fetish lust over her dying body. If he had started doing what her creature had suggested that he had done over the place where she had gone under, at least she would know that he was still nearby, that she would meet her end in the presence of some human company at least, of someone who was thinking about her and remembering her, however disgustingly and salaciously. But if he had in fact abandoned her to the quicksand, if he had indeed turned his back on her and left… then she truly would meet her end alone… forsaken… with only this… thing… to accompany her in her final moments.

“You know he left you here, Angie Baby,” the creature whispered in a taunting tone.

No… he didn’t… he wouldn’t…

“You know he would… and he did!” the voice in her head insisted. “After all his promises, he gave up on you and let you go under… so he could watch you go under! Why else do you think he threw his shirt away before the quicksand swallowed you for good?”

He… he threw his shirt… away… Angela repeated the words haltingly as the memory of the moment when Jason appeared to have betrayed her, when she had lost all hope of rescue, came roaring back at her. Until then she had still dared to believe that she would somehow escape her miry peril, that with Jason’s help she would survive this smothering menace… but then… he threw… his shirt… away…

“Yes, he did,” the voice murmured darkly. “And you know what else? Having thrown away his shirt and given up on you, he gets to go on with his life… while you die here in the quicksand!”

NOOOOOOO! Angela’s mind wailed from depths of despair far deeper than the mire that had taken her body, Jason’s apparent betrayal causing her infinitely more anguish and pain than was her urgent need for oxygen.

“It’s so unfair, isn’t it, Angie Baby,” the creature continued slyly, its prey now within its grasp, “that he gets to live his life while you…”

It’s… it’s… he… I… Angela’s resolve began to falter as a will that was not her own seemed to be overtaking her heart and mind.

“Say it, Angie Baby: It’s so not fair that he left you here to die…”

It’s… it’s… Angela felt as if her head were about to explode both from her emotional turmoil at the voice’s prodding and from her dangerous lack of oxygen beneath the surface of the quicksand. It’s… it’s… YESSS! Her tortured mind finally screamed in blistering accession to her creature’s adamant assertion. It’s not fair!

“He left you here to die…”

He… he left me here… to die!

“You trusted him with everything, Angie Baby, and he betrayed you in every way…”

I… I trusted him… and he betrayed me!

“He’s just like all the others, Angie Baby, lusting for you and using you for his own pleasure!”

He’s… he’s… just like all the others… lusting for me… and using me…!

“And you hate him for it!”

YES! YES! I hate—!

Angela’s litany of lamentation and incrimination against her failed “hero” abruptly caught in her mind over that one word, the overwhelming intensity of her outpouring of emotion at last giving her pause. Did she really… hate Jason? Was this who she really was… how she really felt… how she really wanted to end her life? She seemed to be teetering on the knife-edge of a precipice, a sheer drop-off, over which, once she had fallen, she neither would nor could ever return.

“Say it, Angie Baby,” the hissing voice quietly prodded her, “you hate him.”

I… I… Angela hung motionless in the mire, her creature’s soul-smothering intent at last having become clear to her in her fading moments of lucidity. This was what her fetish-thing had wanted all along, she at last realized… to utterly alienate her from any other human contact, any other trust or tenderness, so as to have all of her, body, mind, and will, to itself. Her creature knew nothing of love; it knew only the lust for power and control… and it would go to any length to attain it. I… n-no… Angela at last relented, her heart seeming to lighten ever so slightly within her chest, no… I don’t… hate him…

“But… you trusted him,” the voice in her head persisted, its prior certainty suddenly seeming to waver, “and he failed you!”

Yes… he did… Angela replied as a certain calmness began to overtake her.

“You’ll never see your family again!” the creature insisted.

No… I won’t… she answered sadly.

“You’re going to die in this shit!”

Yes… I will… Angela acknowledged dolefully, but I don’t… I can’t… hate him…

A strange sense of peace came over Angela — whether from the oxygen deprivation or the emotional resolution that she had reached in her fading mind, or both, she wasn’t sure — as she at last reclaimed herself, her will, her very being, from her fetish-thing’s grasp.

I… I can’t… hate Jason… for failing… to save me… Angela said silently, both to her creature and to herself. No… I… I forgive him…

Angela’s creature fell menacingly silent at her merciful words toward Jason as the young woman’s sense of herself became stronger even as her body continued to weaken within her miry tomb. It’s not enough… for you… if I die… with you… in the quicksand, she said haltingly to the thing in her head, you want me… to want to die… you’ve never wanted… me… to find… happiness… with any man, she went on weakly as she became aware of an uncomfortable tingling in her extremities, you’ve wanted me… all to… yourself… and the only way… for you to… have me… to yourself… is if I… turn my back… on everyone… and embrace… what you want… that’s why… you want… to turn me… against Jason… that’s why… you want me… to hate him…

She sensed her fetish-thing’s increasing fury as she once again turned her heart and mind to her would-be hero somewhere above the surface, whether he was still there for her or not. Jason… she said silently in the blackness, I trusted you… to save me… and you failed… but I forgive you… She was finding it difficult to maintain her coherency of thought as she felt her focus beginning to waver. Even if… you do… have a fetish… for quicksand… I forgive you… even if… you imagined me… as the damsel… of your fantasies… I forgive you… even if… you left me here… to die… I forgive you…

“How…” a deep, guttural voice interrupted her from the periphery of her consciousness, “how… can you… forgive… your so-called ‘hero’… after he asked you to trust him as you have trusted only one other man in your life… and then he failed you in every way?” it challenged her brusquely. “For all you know… your Jason is going to spend the rest of his life… lusting for you in your moment of greatest need… holding the image of your helpless suffering before his mind for his own secret gratification… and jerking off to the memory!”

Maybe… he will… Angela admitted quietly to her fetish-thing, but I’m not… forgiving him… for his sake, she asserted as a final acquiescence to her impending doom came over her. I’m forgiving him… for mine… She somehow sensed her creature recoil in dismay as the succubus in her mind at last understood that its prey had slipped forever from its grasp.

Being trapped… like this… dying… like this… feels like… hell… Angela said weakly to the thing in her head, but that’s only… how it feels… for the moment... but if I… surrender my heart… to hatred, she continued as she sensed her consciousness beginning to falter, if I surrender… my will… my very self… to you… then I would… be in hell… and would die… in it… forever…

The rippling image of Angela’s fetish-thing passed before her mind’s eye as she had first seen it, reflected in the watery surface of the mudflat beneath her face, anger and resentment now flashing impotently in its sneering eyes. The quicksand… may have taken… my body… she affirmed feebly both to herself and to the creature in her mind, but you… will never… have… me…


Whatever begrudging response that the voice in her head may have begun to give to Angela’s reclamation of her own agency and control was lost in the pressure wave of an abrupt, heavy impact in the quicksand directly in front of her, its force punching her thickly in the chest as its energy radiated through the dense muck. The remaining air in her lungs exploded through her mouth and nose as the surge passed through her body, the sudden shock momentarily paralyzing her diaphragm as her beleaguered brain sought to make sense of what had just happened to her. For several seconds she hung motionless, immobilized both by the grip of the mire and by the unexpected jolt to her system, her foundering mind flailing blindly to comprehend the mudquake that she had just endured. After uncountable seconds the incapacitating effect of the blow to her body began to dissipate, and her embattled lungs at last responded to the emptiness within them… in the only way that they could.

“Hmph… well, I never…” her fetish-creature muttered indignantly as if it were picking itself up and dusting itself off after having been knocked unceremoniously to the ground. “Angie Baby,” it asked huffily, “what the hell do you suppose that was?”

Angela didn’t reply. She couldn’t. What wavering awareness remained available to her was focused solely upon her now parted lips… and the glob of muck that was pushing its way between them.

“Oh, Angie Baby,” the voice in her head intoned delightedly, as if it were a doting mother exclaiming joyfully over her young daughter’s blossoming signs of womanhood, “it’s finally happening for you!”

Angela trembled as the tingling sensation in her hands and feet began to envelop her arms and legs, powerless to resist the slow but inexorable advance of the increasing numbness any more than she could that of the thick, gooey ooze that was pressing its way into her mouth as her spasming diaphragm invited it deeper into her body. She seemed to sense waves of motion swirling over and around her in the deep morass as she fought helplessly against her miry assailant, but neither she nor her creature paid them any heed as her fetish-thing savored the quicksand’s choking assault on its woeful prey.

“Oh, Angie Baby,” her creature continued in a patronizing tone, “I’ve so wanted this for so very long for you… but even more so for me.” It cackled subtly as it reveled in Angela’s horror and disgust at the muck’s inevitable violation of her being. “You may have been able to resist my will, Angie Baby,” its oozing voice cooed in her ear, “but I knew you’d never be able to resist the will of the quicksand… both before you stepped into it… and after it took you under!”

Tears seeped from between Angela’s eyelids as she battled vainly against her body’s helpless betrayal of itself, the invading mass of muck forcing her jaws further open as its expanded to fill the contours of her mouth, and she pressed her tongue against it in a desperate attempt to thwart its penetrative intent, gagging against its bitter, acrid taste. Compounding her agony, she envisioned that her fetish-creature was now abetting the quicksand’s attack on her body, grasping her head tightly from behind while it pushed the mud deeper into her mouth.

“Don’t fight it, Angie Baby, just let it happen,” the voice in her head whispered salaciously. “That’s it… open wide… be a good girl… and take it in.”

The encroaching ooze engulfed her tongue within its sticky thickness as it outflanked her oral defenses, forcing Angela to retract her tongue against the back of her throat, her last bulwark of protection against her miry aggressor’s inevitable occupation of the fortress of her being.

“Don’t be such a tease, Angie Baby; after all, you’re the one who wanted to give her virginity… and herself… to the mud.” the voice in her head murmured lasciviously. “You may not have been willing to let it come inside you when you were enjoying yourself in it earlier, but you were quite happy for it to kiss and suck at your sweet pussy while it gave you the most incredible oral sex you could imagine. It’s only fair now that you return the favor… and let the mud fuck your mouth… till it comes down your throat!”

Angela folded her tongue as far back in her mouth as she could to try to deny the mud access to her core, pushing back against it even as her diaphragm reflexively continued to expand her lungs, sucking the choking mass of muck further inward until at last it nearly filled her mouth. There the two remained locked for endless seconds in mortal combat, she and the quicksand, the one desperately opposing the invasive advance of her miry foe into her body while the other implacably sought to overwhelm the defenses of its helpless victim and fill her completely with itself.

“That’s it, Angie Baby,” her creature gloated in eager anticipation of the mire’s impending conquest of the object of its lust, “take it in, deeper and deeper, and then push it back… that’s the way… in and out, back and forth… it’s just like sucking a guy’s dick… oh, and what was that little ditty you came up with earlier?” it then asked her mockingly. “Oh, yes, I remember: ‘Fuck-and-suck, fuck-and-suck’… that’s right… let the mud have its way with you… good girl…”

The tingling sensation in Angela’s arms and legs was steadily progressing toward her torso as she realized that her extremities were obeying only sluggishly at best her brain’s weakening commands for them to move, to fight, in the thick morass, and she knew that it was only a matter of moments before the muck that was fully occupying her mouth would at last overrun her last redoubt. Here and now, she grimly resolved, she would make her last stand against her miry adversary, stridently holding back the viscous tide for as long as possible even as her lungs impulsively pulled it in deeper, until the agonies of suffocation would at last overwhelm her dying brain altogether… her tortured consciousness would dissolve into nothingness… and her suffering would finally, mercifully, come to an end.

“I wonder…” the voice in Angela’s head derided her pitilessly, “is the mud going to fill your stomach first or your lungs? Or maybe both at the same time? That would be so delicious!” Angela gagged against the foul taste of the mud in her mouth as a scornful snicker echoed through her dying mind. “Either way, Angie Baby, the quicksand’s just like you; once it starts coming, it ain’t gonna stop!”

Angela’s hands and feet had become mere objects at the ends of her increasingly benumbed arms and legs, her sense of her body steadily shrinking as her oxygen-starved extremities began to lose contact with her enervated brain. She felt as though she were slowly disintegrating, disappearing within herself as the enveloping ooze slowly permeated her being as if it were seeping through her skin, displacing all that she ever was or would be until at last she would vanish into a black hole of oblivion, sucked into a singularity of senselessness from which she would never return.

“It’s all so wonderfully perfect, isn’t it, Angie Baby? You, sinking deeper into the quicksand, while the quicksand sinks deeper into you!” Angela’s creature taunted her, relishing the young woman’s utter helplessness as her time drew near. “The only thing that would make this better would be if your Jason were here to see just how completely he failed you!”

Jason… The name wafted ephemerally through Angela’s darkening mind as she feebly tried to reconstruct his face in her fading memory… the last human face that she would ever see. Jason… she murmured silently in the blackness to her would-be hero, wherever he was, th… thank you… for trying… to save me…

“Yeah, he ‘tried’ to save you, all right,” the voice in her head muttered disparagingly, “I thought the persistent bastard was never gonna give up trying. He nearly ruined everything I had planned for you, Angie Baby, but at least he didn’t keep you from sinking to your doom in the quicksand. That would have blown my whole day.” Her fetish-thing snickered for a moment… and then paused, as if something troubling had occurred to it… and then it spoke again, a sudden hint of worry in its voice. “Say, Angie Baby,” it asked uncertainly, “did we ever figure out what it was that hit the mud earlier—?”

Its question was abruptly answered as something solid, something… living… brushed against Angela’s left arm, causing it to jerk almost involuntarily in the mud… and both she and her fetish-creature realized at the same moment that there was something else… no, someone else… in the quicksand with her… someone who was now wrapping his arm around her chest.

“Nooo…” the creature growled darkly.

J… Jason? Angela wondered weakly, hesitantly, not yet ready or willing to embrace hope once again. Is it… you?... Are you… here… with me?

Her fetish-creature knew the answer to Angela’s question… and it wasn’t about to watch defeat be snatched from the jaws of its impending victory.

“Yes, Angie Baby, it’s your precious Jason!” the creature shrieked inside Angela’s debilitating mind. “He’s in the quicksand with you! But he didn’t jump in to save you,” it insisted cruelly, “he jumped in to drown you!”

Wha… what? Angela asked slowly as she tried to move her arms toward Jason through the thick muck. No… he wouldn’t… do…

“Yes, he would!” the voice contended. “He’s trying to push you deeper!”

N-no… he… he wouldn’t… Angela protested feebly against the thing in her head even as she sensed a final, anoxic panic beginning to take hold in her mind just as surely as she was trying to take hold of Jason.

“He wants to make sure no one ever knows that he let you go under,” her tormentor contended, “to make sure you never live to tell anyone that he let you die!”

Even to Angela’s failing brain her creature’s assertion made little sense, but by now it no longer mattered as in a final burst of energy she instinctively began grappling and clawing at the arms that were trying to take hold of her in the clutching ooze as she sensed her end approaching.

“Yes! That’s it! Struggle, Angie Baby!” the voice in her head screamed at Angela as her body began to thrash about reflexively in the throes of her imminent suffocation, “Grab hold of him! Drag him down with you to the bottomless depths of the quicksand, where the two of you will be locked in each other’s arms… forever!”

J… Ja… Angela tried to formulate the name of her rescuer as her arms continued wrestling dumbly with him in the muck, her movements becoming progressively slower and duller as her weakening body expended the last of the oxygen in her bloodstream. She saw dim flashes in the blackness as her dying neurons started misfiring, rattling spasms wracking her body as critical systems and functions began to fail. She felt as though she were spiraling into an abyss, her bodily sense of self rapidly shrinking as her terminus at last drew near. There came a flash of light before her darkened eyes, an involuntary contraction of her diaphragm, the faint sensation of something trickling down her throat…


… and then she was floating.

Yes… floating would be the best word to describe it… not in a sense of buoyancy… but simply… floating.

There was suddenly no perception of pressure… no urgency… no panic. It was as though she had crossed a threshold, an existential boundary of some kind, and in so doing had gone completely out of herself, body and mind.

Where was she? she wondered uncertainly. When was she? For that matter, what was she? Was she… at all?

She looked around herself… if indeed “looking” were something that she was still capable of doing; was it any longer possible for her to… do… anything? She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open or closed… or, for that matter, whether she even still had eyes, to say nothing of a body. All around her — if in fact spatial concepts such as “around” applied in this strange… non-place — there was only blackness… emptiness… an absolute, utter void. She felt unable to move or to breathe, but now, unlike before when she had been trapped within the smothering depths of the quicksand, she sensed that she somehow no longer needed to do either. There was a sense of ecstasy in the truest meaning of the word, of literally standing outside herself, outside of all the bodily concerns and needs that had previously characterized her awareness… her very sense of self. She recognized that she was somehow at last free of the suffering, free of the horror, free of the agony that had defined the final torturous moments before her… crossing… and while she certainly would never think to call this… nothingness… “heaven,” at least it wasn’t the hell to which her creature had been subjecting her.

Her creature… Its sudden absence was palpable. She abruptly realized that she was free of its lurking presence, liberated from its lewd, disdainful voice in her consciousness. She had somehow slipped beyond its grasp… beyond the reach of anything and anyone that she had ever known before.

For how long she remained in this… indefiniteness — if indeed temporal terms were now any more appropriate than spatial ones — she did not know. Minutes… hours… an eternity…? There was no frame of reference. In this limbo of stillness she found that she felt no fear, nor did she feel hope… she simply… was.

She took a deep breath… or, at least, she would have, if she had still had lungs and if there were still air to inhale… as she assessed herself and her new reality. Somehow she still was a “self,” or, at least, that’s how it seemed to her. Had she indeed abandoned her dying body to the choking grip of the quicksand, having sloughed off her mortal coil within its clutching, smothering depths, while her essence drifted formlessly, endlessly, within this nondimensional nihility? Or had she instead retreated so very deeply within her fading brain that she had finally lost all touch with what was without, the remainder of her selfhood doomed to expire momentarily along with her last quavering neurons?

As she pondered her dilemma… for how long, she could not know or even begin to guess… she presently became aware of… something… that seemed to be taking shape before her… if, again, concepts of appearance, form, and spatiality had any meaning in this emptiness; it was difficult for her to abandon such terminology as she sought to make sense of her new circumstance. How far away from her this disturbance in the darkness seemed to be or how it was oriented in relation to her she could not tell; it could just as easily have been a great distance in front of her as perhaps a great height above her. As she continued… perceiving — yes, that was probably the best word for it — the pattern that was coming into being before her, she noticed that it was not so much brighter than the rest of the blackness as it was… less black. A patch of grayness was taking form within her awareness, fuzzily circular in appearance, its size and extent impossible for her to determine. As time passed — if time indeed passed within this timeless void — she recognized that the grayness was beginning to lighten, becoming brighter, as if wrappings of gauze were being removed from before her eyes, layer by layer, and she imagined that she would eventually be able to see — for want of a better word — what was slowly being unveiled before her.

The fuzzy patch was steadily becoming more and more definite in her perception, its circular boundary more precise, its grayness lighter and whiter before her, until at last it seemed as if the final layers of obscuring gauze had been removed, as if scales had fallen from her eyes, and she found herself in the presence of an intense, radiant circle of light, brighter than any light that she had ever before seen, its sharp, rounded edge clearly demarking its brilliant contrast with the blackness surrounding it. Whether this white hole was flat or spherical within the darkness before her was as yet beyond her ken. She would have raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare, but by now she understood that she had neither hands to lift nor eyes to protect; letting go of bodily ways of thinking and perceiving was proving to be difficult in this new domain. How large or far away this whiteness was before her she could not fathom; she could only liken the experience to that of staring down the length of a long, circular tunnel toward a bright light at its end, or of gazing up the sides of a deep, narrow hole in the ground toward the noonday sun itself. She felt no heat from its radiance, nor did it illuminate anything within her darkness; no reflections or shadows appeared outside its boundary to give even a hint of substance or texture to this nothingness in which she now subsisted. All she knew for certain was that the light was there and that it was real, more real than herself, more real than her imagination, perhaps more real even than the world that she had left behind.

As she… observed… the interior space of the light — having decided that its intense brightness posed no danger to mortal eyes that she no longer possessed — she seemed to notice flickers of motion within its confines. How deep within the luminous circle these movements were she could not tell, but they were definitely there, slight, barely perceptible, but there. She noticed that the moving flickers were slowly beginning to resolve themselves into shapes… small, vertical objects, perhaps at a distance… crossing before her within the boundary of the light, as though they were… figures… walking around within its brilliance. As she continued gazing — and there was really no better way for her to interpret what seemed to be a visual experience than in visual terms — the moving figures gradually became human-like in their appearance, standing and walking upright before her, their shadowy shapes and forms still obscured and washed out in the overwhelming brightness encompassing them. She considered calling out to these beings, whatever they were, from within the blackness of her void, but she suspected that they would neither hear nor notice her even if she were able to do such a thing.

Suddenly a large figure passed directly across the face of the light and momentarily eclipsed it, its height seemingly greater than the diameter of the circle before her; whether this was because the being was very large or had passed very close to where the light met the darkness, or perhaps both, she did not know. It occurred to her that, to a denizen of the light into which she was spying, the window to her non-place would appear to be a corresponding circle of darkness, an ugly black hole marring an otherwise perfect, glorious universe. Given the apparent size of the figure that had just passed by, she suspected that the round window to her purgatory would be very small in its sight, barely noticeable, and herself even smaller and less perceptible still, if not invisible.

As she considered her likely insignificance and obscurity in the presence of such a being, she realized that the figure that had just passed before the window of light seemed to have stepped back toward it in such a manner as to suggest that something had caught its attention… something that warranted further investigation. Despite its apparent size and relative nearness, the figure’s form was still greatly obscured by the brightness surrounding it, as though any individuality that it might possess were being filtered and refracted through and by the light itself. She could perceive only its general, human-like shape; any identifying features that it might have possessed were washed out within the overwhelming luminescence around it. As she continued observing it, she perceived that the being seemed to be standing not so much before the circle as over it, as though she were gazing up at it from the bottom of a deep hole into which she had fallen and become trapped… and it were gazing back down toward her in the depths of her darkness. She suddenly realized that she had been seen, as incredible as that seemed to her. In the figure’s silent presence she somehow sensed a patience, a kindness, a compassion, that she could only describe as… benevolence. For indeterminate moments this being of light stood over her, far beyond her limbo of blackness… then it seemed to shift its weight ever so slightly as it brought what appeared to be its hands to its waist… and finally, in a manner that seemed not so much to have been spoken as somehow projected, a distant, familiar voice came echoing down the sides of the hole toward her.

“You know, Angie-girl,” the figure seemed to say, “it’s usually a wayward cow I have to rescue from this mud pit.”

If she had still had eyes, they would now be wide open in astonishment. Gr… Grandpa…?! the incredulous response emanated upward from her consciousness. How… how can you be… here?

“You know I’m always here for you, Angie-girl,” the voice replied kindly to her.

But… but you… died… the bewildered protest rose from her toward the light. If… you’re here… and I’m here… that must mean… I’m… also…

“Don’t you go fretting about that, Angie-girl,” the figure seemed to shake its head in reply, a reassuring tone to its words.

For what might have been seconds, minutes, hours… perhaps forever, she wasn’t sure… she remained under the figure’s gaze, basking in the light of love that she sensed flowing from it toward her in her dungeon of darkness… yet knowing that she both wanted and needed more than its mere presence at a distance. She felt like a child again, weak, vulnerable, and she longed to be held in the figure’s arms, nestled in its tender embrace, protected by its quiet strength… even as she forlornly recognized that the chasm of darkness separating them was beyond her ability to cross. With a sinking feeling she realized that she had been wrong earlier, that the pain and heartbreak of being so very near yet so very far from the love that she remembered, the love that she craved, the love that was now hopelessly beyond her reach, was a worse hell than anything that she had endured at the hands of her creature in the quicksand.

Grandpa… can… can you get me out? she finally dared to ask in her solitude of sorrow, her faint voice more that of a lost little girl than a grown woman. Please? I’m really stuck… and I’m cold…

For long moments the figure stood silently above her, as if it were weighing its options amid various possible outcomes, before answering her plea. “I promise I’ll have you out of there in a jiffy,” its voice finally came to her, “and there’s a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup waiting for you at the house when you get back.”

You promise… she seemed to collapse in relief at the reassuring thought, confident in the pledge of her savior, certain at last of escaping her prison of perdition. Her grandfather was a man of his word, she knew in her heart, her rock of stability; when he made a promise, he could be counted on to keep it.

The being in the light seemed to turn away momentarily, as if it were reaching for something, and then it returned, seeming to hold something in its hands. “I keep this loop of rope handy for whenever I have to pull a cow or a calf out of this mudhole,” the figure’s voice echoed down to her again. “They’re pretty poor at following directions, but I reckon I won’t have the same problem with you.”

No, Grandpa, I reckon not, she replied happily in heartfelt expectation, wishing that she could laugh out loud; if she had still had eyes, she would be weeping tears of joy. She didn’t know if the world of light in which the figure above her dwelled, the realm which she was sure that she was about to enter, could properly be called “heaven,” but if she were really going to be there with her beloved grandfather, then it would be heaven enough for her.

“Here, Angie-girl,” the figure said as it seemed to toss the object in its hands toward her, “put this around your chest and under your arms and then hold on to the rope at the knot while I go fire up the tractor. That mud's pretty thick, and it may take a couple of minutes to get you out, so just be patient.”

Even in her ethereal form, she distinctly sensed something encircling her in the blackness, and she envisioned herself doing with imaginary arms and hands what the figure had instructed her to do. Okay, I’m ready, she responded from within her darkness, her projected voice echoing up the sides of the black hole in which she was trapped as the figure now stepped entirely away from the light.

She continued gazing upward, anticipating the first tug of motion, however it might seem to her in her timeless, formless state, and she imagined that she was smiling, which she knew that she would indeed be doing if she were physically capable of doing so. The prospect of being reunited with the only father figure who had truly lived up to the name both during her life and, now, it seemed, beyond, filled her with an indescribable joy, and she considered that in this void of blackness she herself were now shining, however dimly, in the reflected light of unconditional love. In her rapturous reverie she might have forgiven herself for envisioning her final destination in terms of the old-fashioned descriptions of heaven that her mother had instilled in her daughters during their childhood… but she would not have forgiven herself for not noticing until it was already happening that the brilliant circle above her was beginning to fade.

Wait… what’s happening? she wondered nervously as a sudden panic sparked within her. Grandpa… I’m ready… you can start pulling now… The only response to her words was silence as the dimming circle of light above her began to shrink, and she somehow knew that if it went out… when it went out… she too would go out with it. Grandpa! Can you hear me? she beseeched her rescuer again. Please! The light… it’s… Again there was no reply, and with growing dread she sensed that the darkness surrounding her was beginning to permeate what remained of her being. A horrifying thought came to her. Oh, god… he… he left! He left me here to die! The very idea that she had been forsaken by the only man whom she had ever truly trusted shattered her hope as the circle above her continued to shrink and dissolve, and she sensed that she too was now shrinking and dissolving as well. Within her abyss of desolation she began weeping and sobbing as she implored the vanishing light and the being that inhabited it for mercy, pleading for some sign of favor from their dwindling presence, some indulgence of release from her darkening purgatory. Grandpa! Please! Don’t leave me here! the words emanated desperately from her dissipating mind toward the dying light. Come… come back! You… you promised… you’d save… me… you… you… promised… you… you…


The last thing that Angela knew as she faded to black was the sensation of being pulled upward by something that had wrapped itself around her… and the heavy, begrudging grip of something that didn’t want to let her go.


There was an earthquake.

No… not an earthquake; it had only seemed to her to have been so. Angela shuddered as a jolt of electricity surged through the epicenter of her being, her diaphragm abruptly spasming to life and reflexively inhaling a lungful of air deep into her chest. Wha…? she murmured amid her confusion as she sensed that she was now somehow in the light, its overwhelming brilliance forcing her to squeeze her eyes shut against it. Wait… I… I have… eyes? Her lungs continued drawing in air urgently and imperatively, and she felt the need to cough to clear out something that was partially blocking her windpipe. How… how am I… breathing… again? What’s… happening? Where…? she wondered hazily as her consciousness gradually reasserted itself, along with her sense of physical awareness. A dense heaviness encompassed her chest, forcing her lungs to battle to fill themselves against its weight, and she was as yet unable to move her arms or legs. There was warmth accompanying the light, bathing her face soothingly under its tender caress, and, while she couldn’t be sure, she had the distinct impression that she had just been… kissed.

There was a presence nearby, intimately so, she realized, its arm wrapped tightly around her chest as it held her body close in its embrace. Something interposed itself between her face and the intense brightness above her, eclipsing the light as she hesitantly began to open her eyes. She found herself staring into a human face, its features washed out and obscured by the intensity of the glare that radiated around it like a halo. “You… you…” she spluttered weakly as she beheld its countenance, for a moment certain that she was looking into her grandfather’s eyes… and then clouds passed before the afternoon sun, dimming its light as her vision continued to clear. The image shifted subtly before her, and she found that she was gazing at a face not from her past… but from her present. “You…”

“Yes,” Jason smiled back at her, gently wiping the remaining muck and ooze away from her face, “I promised.”



––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

To be continued in Part 6: “Angela’s Preservation.”

[Solrex]

..- no, that doesn't show my emotion enough.

Dot. Dot. Dot.

Holy crap.

A few questions, when did you experience a near death experience enough to write like that? That idea doesn't just come from no where. Is it internet research, personal experience, or the personal experience of a friend? Also, you nailed the fetish being a succubus 110%! This is powerful writing. It actually makes me question what Impulsi wants out of me, and what her character is, and her personality and such. When people says take a story and write it from another character's perspective, I never thought that kind of story could be miles better than the original. I never thought there was so much to expand on. You nailed the death, you nailed the inner succubus, the limbs dying from lack of oxygen, now I want to hear your near death experience where you learned to write like that.

Didn't think it was possible, but you hit 11 again. Should I make the scale out of 11? I'm breaking limits too many times lol.

Really good writing. Can't wait to read the rest. 11/10

[JSample]

..- no, that doesn't show my emotion enough.
Dot. Dot. Dot.
Holy crap.
A few questions, when did you experience a near death experience enough to write like that? That idea doesn't just come from no where. Is it internet research, personal experience, or the personal experience of a friend? Also, you nailed the fetish being a succubus 110%! This is powerful writing. It actually makes me question what Impulsi wants out of me, and what her character is, and her personality and such. When people says take a story and write it from another character's perspective, I never thought that kind of story could be miles better than the original. I never thought there was so much to expand on. You nailed the death, you nailed the inner succubus, the limbs dying from lack of oxygen, now I want to hear your near death experience where you learned to write like that.

Hey, Solrex, thank you so much for the positive feedback; I was wondering what people might think of the direction I took this chapter. My depiction of Angela's near death experience is based upon my general familiarity with such stories in Western culture, coupled with a bit of research, my pastoral counseling education in seminary decades ago, and, as I've said to others who've commented on earlier chapters in this story, my own imagination. I wanted to push my depiction of Angela's torment at the hands of her fetish-creature to the limits of human endurance, and as I wrote it became clear to me that she was going to go all the way to a full-on near death experience before finally being rescued. At the same time, I didn't want to give her an "generic" such experience (e.g., "It's not yet your time; you must go back") but rather one that reflected her unique life experience (hence the "being of light" whom she encounters is the memory of her grandfather at a pivotal moment of her life; the very event that gave birth to Angela's creature of torment (her "hell") is also the event that provides what would seem to be her final comfort (her "heaven").

I appreciate very much that you're enjoying my story. I also didn't know that there was so much to unpack of Angela's character; I didn't even know that she was going to encounter her fetish-creature until she looked down at her reflection in the quicksand halfway through chapter three, and there it was, lying in wait for her!

Didn't think it was possible, but you hit 11 again. Should I make the scale out of 11? I'm breaking limits too many times lol.
Really good writing. Can't wait to read the rest. 11/10

You're making my blush again. Hope you enjoy the remaining chapters.

[QSMud]

No words to describe how good this is.

[JSample]

No words to describe how good this is.

Thank you, QSMud; I'm really glad you're enjoying my story.

[bogbud]

Oh, i forgot to answer this part of the story so far.

Excellent written as all the other parts. I have also to admit(?) once again, that i can so much relate with Angela. Some kind of similar creature must live with me, too. It just wants me to go ever deeper than before

[JSample]

Oh, i forgot to answer this part of the story so far.
Excellent written as all the other parts. I have also to admit(?) once again, that i can so much relate with Angela. Some kind of similar creature must live with me, too. It just wants me to go ever deeper than before

Thanks, bogbud, I really appreciate your compliments. Obviously, the creature in me wants to take me as deeply as possible as well, even if only in my imagination, which is why I took Angela to what I envisioned as the absolute depths of human endurance before rescuing her.

[Solrex]

Oh, i forgot to answer this part of the story so far.

Excellent written as all the other parts. I have also to admit(?) once again, that i can so much relate with Angela. Some kind of similar creature must live with me, too. It just wants me to go ever deeper than before

You remember the movie Inside Out? Or at least the commercials? There was a part of the brain in everyone's head that was censored. For one character, it's the Kid, for another, a fetish monster, for me, she is called Impulsi, but if we had to make it childlike, his or her name would be Lust. Everyone has this part of their mind, except asexuals, whose mind literally witch-hunted that part of the brain out, and as a result, they have no sexual desire.

Lust can get very complicated and crazy, at times, but she/he is necessary for human progression, otherwise, there would be no reason for us to procreate and have offspring. And for all of us personally, Lust loves quicksand. For various reasons, but something is shared between us on this form; each of our personal "Lust"s like quicksand for some reason or another.