The Girl (Part 4): Angela's Plight

[JSample]

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

by Jason Sample
December 2018–April 2019

Having encountered her quicksand fetish as a twisted reflection of herself and discovering its grim intent for her after becoming hopelessly trapped in the mudflat, Angela decides to submerge herself and end her life on her own terms rather than those of her fetish, only to be interrupted by the unexpected arrival of a would-be rescuer, into whose hands Angela has no choice but to place her entire hope for salvation.

(Author's note: If you have not yet read "The Kid," then you may ignore the rest of this paragraph and enjoy the latest installment of "The Girl." If, however, you have read my earlier story, then you will quickly notice that the narrative sequence in the following chapter of this story parallels that of the third chapter of the previous one. Jason's and Angela's conversation and interaction with each other and his actions as he seeks to rescue her from the quicksand are necessarily identical in both stories, but whereas "The Kid" told its story from Jason's viewpoint, "The Girl" presents the same sequence of events from Angela's perspective... the result being an entirely new story.)

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The Girl (Part 4): Angela’s Plight


Angela tilted her head back as far as she could as she craned her neck around in an awkward attempt to see who had come upon her just as she had started to pull herself beneath the surface of the quicksand and thereby end her life on her own terms and not those of her fetish-creature. Her extreme depth in the mire limited how far she could incline her head to the side without splashing muck into her mouth and eyes, but she managed to turn her face sufficiently so to see that her would-be rescuer was — Oh, my god! she silently exclaimed — the stranger! He had come back! He must have somehow heard her pleas for help even from so far up the trail leading to the parking lot and was now standing at the edge of the mudflat about a dozen feet from where she was trapped, a coil of rope in his hands.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he called out to her encouragingly as he stepped gingerly around the edge of the mire, placing his feet carefully in the soft earth. “I’m going to help you.”

“Please!” Angela begged him as tears spilled from her eyes, “I don’t want to die!”

Strange, the thought struck her as the possibility that she might not be about to perish after all took hold in her mind, how the prospect of certain death at her own hands had seemed less terrifying than did the now uncertain chance of salvation at the hands of another, especially a would-be “savior” whose motivations, intentions, and capabilities were unknown. Moments before in her hopeless predicament she had assumed complete control of her own decisions and actions to end her life in the quicksand, but now that the stranger had returned she would have no choice but to relinquish all control and blindly trust his decisions and actions to try to save her from a suffocating end; therein lay her fear.

“You’re not going to die,” the slightly overweight, middle-aged man called back to her, a hopeful tone in his voice, “I promise.”

His well-intentioned choice of words did little to reassure her. Oh, god, Angela quietly despaired, don’t say you promise! Only one man ever kept his promises to me; all the others failed me or betrayed me in the end. Please don’t make a promise that you can’t… or won’t… keep!

“I’m Jason,” the stranger said smilingly by way of introduction, unaware of the particulars of her inner turmoil as he carefully eyed where the solid ground gave way to yielding muck.

Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jason, she replied silently, rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the social nicety at a time such as this. Lovely day for sinking to one’s doom in quicksand, wouldn’t you say?

“I’m the guy who passed by here earlier when you... um...” he went on before pausing, apparently unsure how to complete his thought, given what he had seen her doing in the mud the first time that he had encountered her a short while before.

Go ahead, Angela muttered in chagrin as she turned her eyes away from him, say it; you saw what I was doing: “When you were masturbating in the mire”; “When you were making love to the mud”; “When you were fucking the muck.” Say it… and make my humiliation complete.

“…When you… weren’t in this trouble,” he finally concluded his words.

Wait… she wondered as she tilted her head in the mire to look back toward him, you’re not going to slut-shame me or belittle me for what I was doing? For one of the few times since she had reached puberty years before, a man to whom she wasn’t related seemed to be treating her as more than a sexual object — Although he would have every right to do so, after what he saw me doing earlier, she admitted to herself — and she felt her willingness to trust this “Jason” to save her life go up a few notches.

“And this is...” he added, pointing toward his left as though he were about to introduce a second person to her before seeming to catch himself and pausing again.

And this is… she repeated mentally, craning her neck around to see where he was pointing, …who? Is there someone else with you? The presence of two rescuers instead of just one would only increase her chances of escaping this quicksand trap, she considered with a lightening heart as she continued to cast her eyes about to spot his companion.

“…Um... and this is...” he continued hesitantly, “quite a sticky spot you’ve gotten yourself into.”

Angela’s heart fell as he concluded his sentence. She could have sworn that he had been about to introduce her to another person who was with him; why would he seemingly start to do so and then stop? Was there something off about this guy? She whimpered quietly in reply as she felt her willingness to trust him to save her life go back down a few notches.

She watched as Jason pulled out several feet of rope from the coil that he was holding while he continued stepping carefully around the edge of the mudflat, testing where firm ground gave way to soft mud as he gathered braided loops in his right hand while gauging the distance between his position and hers. “What’s your name?” he called out to her as he swung his arm back to toss the length of rope her way.

“Angela,” she replied tearfully.

Again the stranger paused as an odd expression came over his face, as though her name held some kind of significance for him. She puzzled over his strange behavior as something… or perhaps someone… beyond her field of view now distracted his attention away from her. Is there someone with him after all? What’s with this guy? she wondered uncertainly as she looked toward him through watery eyes, trying to make sense of his seemingly random hesitations even as she felt herself sinking slightly deeper into her miry trap. If you’re going to toss me the rope, Jason, now would be a really good time to do it!

As if obeying her silent demand, Jason did just that, finally flinging the rope in her direction. “How old are you, Angela?” he asked as the rope landed on the miry surface a couple of feet in front of her.

“Twenty,” she answered, her voice catching as she continued weeping in the quicksand. Regardless of what weirdness might be going on with this guy, he seemed sincere in his intent to help her, and she certainly wasn’t going to refuse his assistance. She was about to lift her hands from the depths of the mire to take the rope when she heard the stranger whispering quietly off to her right, just outside her line of sight. Okay, now I know there’s someone else with him, she said to herself, but why is he being so cagey about it? There was only one way to find out. “Is someone there with you?” she asked him haltingly. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

“Just talking to myself, Angela. Helps me stay focused,” he replied, clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly as he stood at the edge of the mudflat.

Okay… I guess that makes sense, she concluded as she turned her attention back to the rope before her. Once again she began to lift her hands to take hold of it… only to discover to her dismay that the barest upward motion of her arms against the suction of the mire served only to push her deeper into the ooze, and in sudden despair she realized that her earlier plan to deliberately submerge herself in the mire so as to meet her end on her own terms now made it impossible for her to raise her arms without pulling herself under entirely. More tears fell from her eyes as she continued staring at the unobtainable means of her escape from the quicksand lying mere feet in front of her face, so very close at hand and yet so very far away.

After several seconds of apparent inaction on her part, Jason called out to her again. “Angela, honey, I need for you to grab the rope so I can pull you out,” he said encouragingly.

“I can’t!” she cried forlornly, her voice rising in anguish. “Every time I try to raise my arms I go deeper!” Her pitiful weeping grew louder while the rope lay uselessly on the surface of the mire a short distance before her, a mockery of her desperate wish for rescue.

“It’s okay, Angela,” Jason said to her after a momentary pause, his attempt to sound reassuring not fully succeeding, “let me try something else.”

Let you “try something else,” she murmured dispiritedly as she felt herself descending ever so slightly deeper into the mire. What else are you going to “try”? I can’t lift my arms out of the muck without drowning myself, and if you try to come out to me we’ll both be stuck. There’s no…

Angela’s despondent wonderings were interrupted by more agitated whispering by the stranger, who now seemed to be engaged in a heated, muttering debate with someone… someone who, so far as she could tell, wasn’t really there. Oh, god… she worried with a twinge of alarm as memories of a particularly frightening series of horror films that she and her sister used to watch flooded her mind, what if this “Jason” is a mental case? What if he’s a psychotic killer taking orders from an imaginary “friend”? What if he “rescues” me from the quicksand just so he can… In a sudden panic she considered enacting her earlier plan after all, to pull herself beneath the surface to her doom — At least that way I’ll be the one deciding what happens to me! she said to herself — before thinking better of it. If this guy is some kind of psycho, she reasoned, I’ll let him pull me out of the muck and then I’ll fight him off and make a run for it! Let’s see, she considered as she glanced around as well as she could toward her strange visitor, who still seemed to be arguing quietly with… “himself”… he’s got a height and weight advantage over me, but I can use what I learned about leverage in that self-defense class at college last year. He’s not all that muscular, and that bit of a beer belly might be a good weakness if I have to punch him, and I can always kick him in the balls…

Suddenly the rope began slithering away like a snake from in front of her face as Jason abruptly pulled it back to himself, sending Angela into a frenzy of fright as she imagined that he was abandoning her to her fate. No! Wait! You can’t leave me here! her mind cried out as she looked back toward where he stood at the edge of the mudflat. Oblivious to her panic, he seemed to be studying their surroundings intently, gazing first toward the wall of vegetation that lined the mire, then at the wide, level area around him where the two trails met by the river, and finally toward the trees and bushes that grew behind him on the other side of the dusty path. After spending several seconds looking in that direction, he suddenly gathered up the rope and sprinted off out of her line of sight.

“Wait here, Angela,” he called back to her as he disappeared beyond the periphery of her vision, “I’ll be right back!”

You’ll be right back… Angela wondered worriedly as her depth in the quicksand made it impossible for her eyes to follow him, but… where did you go? Where…? She had no choice but to “wait here” as he had said — Where does he think I’m gonna go… besides under? — while he did whatever it was that he had run off to do. But after about half a minute or so of her hearing nothing further from him, a cold fear began to settle upon her, a fear informed by her repeated, consistent experiences with practically every other young or adult male whom she’d ever known. Oh, god… he… he left! He left me here to die! Tears began streaming down her cheeks as her final hope for salvation, buoyed so very highly by the fortuitous arrival of the stranger, came crashing to the ground, crushing and grinding her broken heart to bits. Pitiable sobs escaped her lips as her upturned eyes implored the blue heaven above, pleading for some sign of favor from the skies, some indulgence of release from her miry purgatory. “Please!” she whispered in desperate entreaty to her faithless savior, “Don’t leave me here! Come back! You promised you’d save me! You promised! You…!”

“It’s okay, Angela,” Jason’s voice interrupted her sorrowful supplications from the edge of the mudflat, “I’m going to come in after you.”

Angela felt the tension in her body ease as she realized that her would-be rescuer hadn’t forsaken her after all. Oh, thank god, she exhaled in silent gratitude as she glanced in his direction, thank you... thank… wait… you’re going to come in… after me?! “But then we’ll both... ulp!” she spluttered in protest of his proposal as the muck tried to get past her lips, “We’ll both be trapped!”

“I’ve tied off the rope on a tree back there,” Jason replied, pointing behind himself toward the far side of the level area. “I’ll be able to pull us both out,” he added as he started removing the contents of his pants pockets.

Okay… so that’s where you ran off to, she reassured herself as she continued looking his way, still feeling uneasy after her momentary panic. You’ll pull us both out… with… with those skinny arms?! Her sense of relief started wavering as she considered how very deeply she had sunk into the clinging ooze, how very thickly and tightly the mire was gripping her legs, arms, and body, and how very incapable she had been of extricating herself from the muck. You might not even be able to pull yourself out; how will you pull me out, too? For the first time it occurred to her that she might actually be stronger than her would-be hero, and that if worse came to worst he might end up in even greater need than she of rescue from the quicksand. She watched uneasily as he finished emptying his pockets, after which he sat down at the edge of the mudflat and began unlacing his shoes.

“I’m going to try to come closer to you, Angela,” Jason explained as he pulled off his footwear. “I once read that it’s easier to keep your feet free in deep mud or quicksand when you’re barefoot than when you have shoes on, so I’m taking them off.”

“But I’m barefoot and I can’t get out!” she whimpered in a shaky voice, trying not to burst out crying again as more tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, her face hovering dangerously low in the mire. She continued watching as Jason stuffed his socks and the contents of his pockets into his shoes, after which he then took the rope in his left hand and stood up again at the edge of the mudflat. For a long moment he stared her way, seemingly lost in thought, and as she returned his gaze Angela felt that the expression on his face was almost… fatherly… in its concern for her. Given the faithlessness of her own father to his wife and family, she could only hope that this “father figure” standing before her now could be trusted to play the part.

Jason looked down at the rope as he grasped it a couple of feet from its end and then looped its remaining length loosely around his left hand before turning again to face the enmired young woman. “Okay, Angela, I’m coming in,” he said, a note of uneasiness in his voice as he began advancing out into the muck, which took in his right leg to halfway up his shin with just his first step. Angela could only look on helplessly from where she was trapped in the middle of the mudflat as her would-be rescuer slowly began making his way toward her, her shallow breaths coming in trembling gasps as she watched him take a few more trying steps forward through the clutching ooze. Please be careful, she begged him silently; don’t fall in here with me. Once he had reached a point about six feet or so in from the edge where the mud was almost knee-deep, Jason extended his left arm behind himself and pulled the rope taut in his hand while tentatively stretching his right arm in her direction. The look in his eyes told her what she already knew, that he wasn’t quite close enough to reach her.

Jason turned back to look toward the tree where he had tied the rope, tugging at it a couple of times before turning again toward Angela. She felt herself slipping slowly but steadily lower in the muck with each exhalation from her beleaguered lungs, a combination of fearful hope and hopeless fear filling her heart as she looked back at him. Just as he appeared to be readying himself to step closer to her his right foot suddenly slipped out from under him, sending him toppling over what Angela could only surmise was another submerged drop-off like the one that had betrayed her earlier as the loose coils of rope slipped out of his left hand. Oh, god, no! she gasped in dismay as she watched her would-be rescuer plunge waist-deep into the quicksand with her, her tears beginning to flow again in the certainty that all hope had now been lost. Now we’re both gonna die, and it’s all my fault!

Angela cried piteously as Jason floundered in the mire several feet before her, the thought that she would now be responsible for the death of another human being causing her even more sorrow and anguish than the prospect of her own imminent doom. However, after several seconds of much grumbling and swearing on Jason’s part, his scrambling hands finally found the end of the rope, and he began strenuously heaving himself back toward the hidden drop-off over which he had fallen. Angela watched with weeping relief as he reached and then laboriously hoisted himself back onto the submerged ledge, and she took a small consolation in the notion that, no matter whatever else might happen, the quicksand would claim only one victim today. Just leave me to the muck, she said silently through her tears as Jason struggled to his feet in the shallower part of the mudflat; it took all your strength just to pull yourself out, and I can’t ask you to risk your life for me.

Coated with mud from his waist down, Jason turned back to face Angela in obvious frustration as he held the end of the rope in his hand, his eyes darting back and forth between her position in the middle of the mudflat and his own in the shallow area closer to the edge, his expression betraying no intention on his part of leaving the trapped young woman to her fate. Angela continued to look his way, wondering what he might be thinking, planning, hoping, as she felt herself slipping ever so slowly further into the muck. He glanced down and, almost as an afterthought, grasped his belt as he pulled his mud-laden shorts back up to his waist — Boy, would I ever have a story to tell you about the mud pulling my shorts down, she thought dryly — and then his eyes widened in a sudden epiphany. Angela watched curiously as Jason quickly reached behind himself and looped the end of the rope a few times around his belt in back and then tied a knot in it. After yanking at the knot to test its strength and stability, he then looked toward her again with an encouraging, confident smile on his face, apparently pleased with his ingenuity. He tied the rope to his belt! Angela realized as her hope revived; Now he won’t lose it in the mud! As he started to make his way back toward her, Angela’s face lightened, smiling in the knowledge that he would now have both arms free with which to rescue her from her miry peril without endangering himself in the process.

After a few trying steps Jason again reached the point where the submerged ledge dropped off into the deeper mud where he had fallen earlier, and after checking his footing he carefully leaned forward, the rope going taut between the knot at his belt and the one at the tree on the other side of the dirt path as he extended his arms in Angela’s direction. Her eyes brightened with joy and relief in the anticipation of her imminent release from the sloughy pit as his arms reached ever closer toward her… only to see the confident expression on Jason’s face evaporate as his forward motion abruptly stopped, his hands still a few feet distant from her. She watched in confusion as Jason looked behind himself, first at the knot on his belt and then back toward the tree, and then glanced downward to where he was standing knee-deep at the point of the hidden drop-off. It suddenly occurred to Angela that he wasn’t any nearer to her than he had been earlier, that in his tying the rope to his belt to free both his arms to reach her he hadn’t succeeded in giving himself any more length of rope with which to do so, and her expression fell as she realized that she was no closer to rescue than she had been before.

The uncertain look on Jason’s face gave way to one of sober seriousness as he turned his body slightly sideways and again extended his right arm toward her. “Angela, I really need for you to try to lift your arms up and out of the mud and take my hand,” he said with a note of urgency in his voice. “I can’t come any closer; there’s no more rope.” Angela stared back at him, her breaths coming in shallow, trembling gasps as she contemplated the implications of his words. She knew what would come of any upward motion of her arms in the muck; the resulting suction around them would only push her body deeper into the quicksand and possibly all the way under, dooming her to a miry grave as had been her intent before her would-be hero had arrived. Even if she did manage to bring her hands to the surface without drowning herself, she couldn’t tell if her doing so would enable Jason to reach her… yet she seemed to have no other choice. Her heart rate quickened along with her respiration as she tentatively started to lift her hands from her sides deep within the muck to try to take his hand, the mud before her beginning to rise with her effort… and then she abruptly sank deeper into the ooze, her mouth slipping entirely beneath the surface as her eyes widened in terror, her rapid breathing becoming repeated whimpers of fear as the mire advanced toward her flaring nostrils. Angela instinctively lowered her arms back into the depths, her face rising again just enough for her lips to emerge from the muck. She coughed and spat the bitter, acrid ooze out of her mouth as she began crying in earnest, her mournful wails echoing across the width of the river as hopelessness again overwhelmed her.

It's no use; I’m never gonna get out of this shit, Angela sobbed despairingly, stretching her neck upward as she felt herself settling slightly deeper in the muck after her abortive attempt to lift her hands to the surface, her prospects for rescue seeming to lessen with each passing second despite Jason’s every effort to help her. He can’t reach me and I can’t reach him, and it’s only a matter of time before I go all the way under for good. Why should he even bother to keep…? Her heartbroken lament broke off as she looked up and noticed that her would-be rescuer’s attention was now directed not toward her in her plight but rather toward something… or perhaps someone… behind him, whomever or whatever he was looking at apparently visible only to himself. Just great, she closed her eyes and wept dispiritedly at his continued inscrutable behavior as the ooze started licking again at her lower lip, I’m sinking to my doom in quicksand, and all my so-called hero can do is argue with his invisible friend. How could things possibly get any worse?

As if in reply to her doleful brooding, Jason turned back toward Angela and began pulling his shirt up and over his shoulders, the display of his decidedly unathletic physique doing little to improve her outlook. Oh, Jason… she grieved in deepening despondency as he finished removing his shirt, I know you’re doing everything you can think of to try to save me, but we both know there’s no way you can… reach… me? Her mood suddenly lifted along with her demeanor as Jason again leaned forward toward her as far as he could against the grip of the rope on his belt while stretching his arm in her direction, his shirt dangling from his hand and dipping into the muddy surface only a couple of feet in front of her face. Oh my gosh, she thought as her eyes widened in renewed hope, your shirt… it’s right in front of me…

“Angela, you’ve got to try to grab hold of my shirt,” Jason insisted to her as he held the piece of clothing out toward her as far as he could. “I know you’re scared, but I can’t come any closer. You’ve got to help me to help you.” Angela’s eyes bounced between his face and the empty shirt hanging tantalizingly before her, the frightening memory of what had happened mere moments before when she had tried to lift her arms from the depths of the clinging ooze still vivid in her mind. Repeating the effort would only push her body deeper into the muck once more, she knew, very likely submerging her face in the quicksand before her hands even broke the surface… if they broke the surface at all. She continued staring at Jason, caught between fear and hope, knowing what she must do yet terrified to do so. He looked back at her, an expression of imploring urgency in his eyes. “Please, Angela, trust me.”

A trembling gasp caught in Angela’s throat. Trust you… she replied silently, tears rolling down her cheeks as dark tendrils of ooze started to explore the corners of her mouth. How many other men have asked me to trust them, only to end up betraying me? There’s only been one man I’ve ever trusted; only one man who deserved my trust… and yet… Angela continued gazing into Jason’s eyes, his face again reflecting the fatherly concern than she had seen there earlier, a concern that only one other man had consistently shown her in her life. And yet… you came back… you heard my cries for help and you came back… you’ve tried so many times, so many ways, to reach me… even after you fell into the quicksand, you didn’t give up on me… you’re literally giving me the shirt off your back… A teary smile came over her face as a quiet sob escaped her lips. Even though you knew what I was doing when you first saw me, you’ve treated me with dignity and respect… as someone who deserves to live… and so, she decided, nodding her head toward him as much as she could while keeping the ooze from passing between her lips, and so… I… I trust you, Jason… I trust you…

Angela closed her eyes as she again directed her attention to her hands deep beneath the surface, knowing that once she started to lift them, there would be no turning back. I trust you, Jason, she repeated to herself as she began taking deep, heaving breaths into her lungs, much as she had done earlier before her rescuer had arrived on the scene. But whereas then she had been preparing to bring her arms upward in order to drive herself down into the quicksand and thereby end her life on her own terms, now she readied herself to raise them so as to embrace her life and her hope for the future, far beyond the clutching grip of her miry captor.

I trust you, Jason… Angela opened her eyes and again looked up at her would-be hero’s face, drawing courage and reassurance from his presence as she again began lifting her arms from by her sides in the muck. Once more the surface began bulging upward before her; once more her face began descending into the ooze, stirrings of panic welling in her heart as her breathing became quicker and shallower.

I trust you, Jason... The words echoed repeatedly in Angela’s mind as she continued to lift her arms upward toward the surface, the sticky ooze creeping up the sides of her frightened face as she slipped deeper into the mire in response to her effort. She drew a deep, gasping lungful of air through trembling lips just before her mouth and nose sank into the muck, cutting her off from life-saving oxygen as her eyebrows arched into her forehead above her terror-stricken eyes.

“Angela, don’t give in to your fear!” she heard Jason shout to her through muffled ears flooded by the mud. “You’ve got to trust me!”

I trust you, Jason! she cried out in her heart, squeezing her eyes shut against the blinding muck as it quickly enveloped them and then began steadily advancing up her forehead, mud-soaked locks of her auburn hair framing the last visible sign of her disappearing face in the thick ooze as she continued to force her arms upward.

“I’m not going to let you die!” Jason’s voice came to her heavily and distantly from above the surface, as though from another world. “I promise!”

I TRUST YOU, JASON! her mind screamed as she felt the muck close completely over her head while her arms persisted in their skyward mission, reaching higher and higher in search of salvation while driving her body further downward into the muddy depths. Oh, god, Angela realized within her miry dungeon, I… I’ve gone under! Her upturned face was only inches beneath the surface, but as far as she could tell she might as well have sunk to the bottom of the quicksand pit as she became aware of a dense heaviness pressing in around her on all sides, as if the thick embrace of the clinging ooze were trying to squeeze the air out of her lungs. She struggled to maintain her composure against the tide of fear rising within her heart, sinking deeper into the mire as she strained her arms upward to break the surface and take hold of the lifeline that she knew… that she trusted… that her hero was holding out to her.

I trust you, Jason… I trust you, Jason… The repeating mantra was the only thing keeping her calm and sane as she continued stretching her hands upward, the heavy ooze above them steadily thinning around her grasping fingers until finally… they were grasping air! Oh, thank god! she exulted, a lone bubble of air escaping her lips and floating thickly upward as her hands began searching blindly for the end of Jason’s shirt.

Okay, Jason… my hands are above the surface, Angela implored her rescuer from within her miry snare as her need for fresh oxygen began to make itself known, just hold your shirt out where I can reach it… just hold it… please… Her fingers continued scrambling aimlessly in all directions as the pressure outside her chest seemed to increase along with the pressure inside it, her tightly pressed lips the only things keeping the air within her lungs and the suffocating muck without. Seemingly endless seconds passed in fruitless exertion as her hands persisted in their urgent quest while a growing sense of panic began to overtake her mind — I did raise my hands far enough forward… didn’t I? — and without conscious intent on her part her arms and upper body started flexing and moving impulsively within the miry depths in a desperate attempt to aid her hands in their grasping search.

I trust you, Jason… where’s the shirt, Jason?... I trust you… Jason… where’s your shirt? Jason… where’s… your shirt…? Where’s…? Jason… where are you? I… I trust you… I… trust you, Jason… Jason… where…?

Angela’s rising fear was quickly evolving into full-blown terror as she continued reaching for her only hope of rescue, her growing consternation over her inability to locate Jason’s shirt above the surface causing her lower body and legs to join her involuntary, struggling frenzy within the muddy depths, while her lungs’ persistent demand for oxygen drove her increasingly unnerved mind to the horrifying possibility that her would-be rescuer had perhaps never meant to rescue her at all. She tried to quash the sickening thought even as her panic and her battle against the grip of the mire intensified.

JASON! I… I TRUST YOU! WHERE’S… WHERE’S YOUR SHIRT, JASON?! JASON! WHERE’S YOUR GODDAMN SHIRT?! she screamed silently in raging bewilderment at both the clinging ooze and the total stranger who had promised to save her. GODDAMMIT, JASON, I TRUSTED YOU! she railed against her so-called hero from beneath the surface of the quicksand, her body bucking and squirming frantically against the miry bonds encompassing and constricting her. WHERE’S YOUR FUCKING SHIRT, JASON?! WHERE’S THE FUCKING—!

Amid her frenetic exertions within the depths of the quicksand and her urgent and increasingly irresistible need for oxygen, Angela suddenly became aware of a new, all-too-familiar demand that her body was now placing upon her… a demand that was just as urgent, just as irresistible, as that emanating from her burning lungs… a demand, however, that didn’t require oxygen to satisfy its immediate need… only the grasping, clutching suction of the clinging muck… between her thrashing legs.

Oh, no… oh, god, no… NOT AGAIN!

Angela’s writhing body erupted in orgasmic release as her reinvigorated clitoris responded explosively to its renewed stimulation in the thick, miry depths, catapulting her struggling form into uncontrollable spasms of sensual overload as she continued grasping vainly at the surface. In the oxygen-deprived throes of both ardor and horror she recognized that this was only the beginning, that having climaxed once more in the sucking ooze her aroused womanhood would only betray her again and again as the quicksand answered her pelvic paroxysms by dragging her deeper into its intimate grasp, perpetuating the relentless cycle of eroticized stimulus and response in which she was again enmired as the clutching muck insistently enfolded her convulsing body ever more completely within its encompassing embrace.

“Angela, no!” Jason’s voice again came to her dully through her smothered ears, confirming at least that he hadn’t abandoned her to her fate… yet. Suddenly the apparent absence of his shirt at the surface no longer mattered to her; all that mattered was her next breath of air. In a fervor of defiance against her impending doom Angela drove her arms downward into the muddy depths, propelling herself upward against the thick ooze clutching at her legs and body as she forcefully expelled carbon dioxide-laden air through her mouth and nose, hoping against hope that her next desperate inhalation would fill her tortured lungs with sweet oxygen and not suffocating muck. To her gasping relief her determined effort brought her upturned face back to the surface… but just barely. Her diaphragm contracted involuntarily, oblivious to the flowing mud that it drew into her mouth along with the precious air that she craved while her lips and tongue fought to repel the invading ooze. Far below, the deep suction of the quicksand rebounded against the upward thrust generated by her arms as it strove to reclaim its prize, grasping her body in a frenzied contest between her will to live and the gooey vise of its viscous grip.

All sense of time and place were now lost to her as Angela struggled to hold herself at the surface of the muck, the muddy expanse heaving and swelling around her with her convulsive efforts while her hyper-stimulated vulva persisted in its endless, erogenous response to the merciless innervation of the nerve center at the base of her pelvis in the depths of the clutching ooze. She had lost all conscious control of her body, ego-driven direction and command having yielded to id-level, instinctual panic as she fought for her life in the ravenous maw of the miry predator that seemed intent upon swallowing her alive. As she battled to breathe against the mass of thickness enclosing her chest, her eyes flashed open to see Jason standing in the mud several feet before her, still leaning forward toward her against the restrictive hold of the rope on his belt, his flaccid shirt still extended in her direction. Surely… he wasn’t toying with me… when I was trying to grab his shirt… was he? she asked herself anxiously as she gazed his way through her mud-clouded vision, a glimmer of hope still flickering in her eyes… only to gasp in horror as an angered look came over his face and he suddenly flung the shirt behind himself, hopelessly beyond her reach. Oh, god, no! her mind cried out as her heart sank in utter despair, Don’t do this to me!

Angela squeezed her eyes shut against the blinding muck as she continued to struggle desperately in the quicksand, her frenetic movements causing waves of ooze to roll and flow over what remained of her face above the surface, threatening to choke her airway even before the mire took her under once and for all. Inarticulate cries and moans escaped her lips as with each gulping breath she sank further into the quag, her body still shuddering in the sensual stimulus of the sucking mud against her womanhood as it dragged her slowly and inexorably downward. Her mouth again slipped beneath the surface, leaving her nose as the only means by which she could still breathe... and scream. Terrified, animal-like vocalizations exploded through her flaring nostrils loudly and repeatedly until the ooze closed over them as well, and Angela opened her eyes for the last time. Her pupils locked with Jason’s, and for endless, agonizing moments each held the other’s helpless gaze as she gradually settled deeper into the muck. I’m sorry, his lips mouthed uselessly to her, tears falling from his eyes as the frightened girl’s despairing face slowly descended into the consuming mire.

You’re… sorry… she silently repeated as the ooze crept toward her lower eyelids. You promised me you would save me… and you’re… sorry…? I… I trusted you… and you’re… sorry? I’m gonna fucking die in this shit… and you’re… SORRY?!

She had indeed trusted this Jason, her would-be savior who had convinced her to place her life and hope in his hands… and he had failed her in every way. His arrival on the scene and the faith that he had engendered in her heart had merely served to delay the inevitable. He was just like all the others, she dolefully realized as she closed her eyes in sorrowful acquiescence to her impending fate; promises made and promises broken; trust evoked and trust betrayed. There truly had been only one man who had ever kept his promises to her, she now understood and sadly accepted as her tears mingled with the mire, only one man who had ever deserved her trust… and very soon she would join him forever.

The ooze flowed thickly over her eyes as Angela tilted her head back as far as she could, straining to bring her mouth and nose back above the surface to take in one final, futile lungful of air before the quicksand claimed her as its own… and to deliver a final, scathing rebuke to her worthless “hero.”

“You… promised!—” she choked bitterly at Jason…


          …and then all became stillness…

                    …utter blackness…

                              …and complete silence…

                                        …save for the muted echo of her stinging words of accusation…

                                                  …the panicked beating of her heart in her ears…

                                                            …and the thick, heavy voice…

                                                                      …of a creature.


                                                                                “Welcome to my world… Angie Baby…”



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

To be continued in Part 5: “Angela’s Purgatory.”

[bogbud]

I just have no words for this!

[JSample]

I just have no words for this!

I will take that as high praise!

[tenenbaum]

The best ever.

[JSample]

The best ever.

Thank you.

[Solrex]

This is really awesome. Not 11/10 like the last part, but still riding that 10/10 mark for sure. I want to space out reading it, but I would LOVE to keep reading! This is amazing.

[JSample]

This is really awesome. Not 11/10 like the last part, but still riding that 10/10 mark for sure. I want to space out reading it, but I would LOVE to keep reading! This is amazing.

Thanks, Solrex, it's really encouraging to read that someone's enjoying my creative efforts, and I hope that the remainder of my story lives up to your expectations for it!