Finally trying my hand at AI quicksand images

[JSample]

 
                                          "ISOLATION"

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Time seemed to have ground to a standstill, and the helplessly enmired woman sighed dispiritedly as her thoughts began to drift. She wondered if she would linger indefinitely at the surface of the quicksand, hovering interminably between life and death, and she imagined that this must have been how the psalmist had felt when he implored his god not to abandon his soul to the pit; Sheol now beckoned her as well. Another verse, heartrending in its trusting assurance of innocent faith that she had long since outgrown, arose from her childhood memories of Sunday school: He drew me up from the desolate pit, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure… A vague recollection of a poem that she had once read in a college literature class surfaced, something about the process of dying as the reverse of being born, and she certainly felt as if she were sinking into the very womb of the earth itself, from the dirt and mud of which, ancient tradition avowed, all of humankind had been born. But she knew that for her there would be no second birth from the folds of this miry womb; instead, the sloughy depths engulfing her would hereafter become her tomb. She would soon disappear forever, forsaken of all the living, with no memorial to mark the place of her passing, no flowers cast in parting sorrow by those who loved her, no eulogy to recount and commend to others her valiant struggle not to go gentle into that good night.

No one would ever know what had become of her.

She was alone.
 

[JSample]

No story excerpt today; just some candid shots of Angela ("The Girl") relaxing at (and in some cases in) the mudflat, courtesy of ChatGPT image generation.

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[JSample]

 
                                   "TIME UNTO ETERNITY"

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She sobbed quietly as she gradually settled more deeply into the cold, consuming mire, her grief now beyond words. It was becoming difficult for her to hold her mouth above the surface, and she strained her neck back even more so to keep her face free for as long as possible as the enveloping darkness drew her inexorably into its eternal embrace. Her entire world had dwindled to little more than the periphery of the bog itself, and as she opened her eyes she found herself staring straight up from the nadir of the pit, through the canopy of leaves and branches above her, to the zenith of the blue sky beyond. She could still feel the warmth of the sun on her face. A delicate acquiescence came over her. How long had she been hanging here, suspended upon this soft surface between time and eternity? Minutes? Hours? Always? She couldn't remember.
 

[65sinking]

 
                                   "TIME UNTO ETERNITY"

1757010740648.jpgShe sobbed quietly as she gradually settled more deeply into the cold, consuming mire, her grief now beyond words. It was becoming difficult for her to hold her mouth above the surface, and she strained her neck back even more so to keep her face free for as long as possible as the enveloping darkness drew her inexorably into its eternal embrace. Her entire world had dwindled to little more than the periphery of the bog itself, and as she opened her eyes she found herself staring straight up from the nadir of the pit, through the canopy of leaves and branches above her, to the zenith of the blue sky beyond. She could still feel the warmth of the sun on her face. A delicate acquiescence came over her. How long had she been hanging here, suspended upon this soft surface between time and eternity? Minutes? Hours? Always? She couldn't remember.
 

Oh I like this one a lot. I've become quite jaded to a lot of AI-generated quicksand content but this one looks almost photorealistic, and I'm also enjoying the little vignettes accompanying your posts.

[JSample]

Oh I like this one a lot. I've become quite jaded to a lot of AI-generated quicksand content but this one looks almost photorealistic, and I'm also enjoying the little vignettes accompanying your posts.

Thank you. I've been posting images using Microsoft Designer up to this point, but to branch out a bit I generated this one and the "candid" images of Angela at the mudflat the other day using a Pro account at https://chat.aichatapp.ai/ . I find that Designer's output tends toward the "artistic" and sometimes surrealistic, whereas the Chat AI site generates primarily realistic and, as you mentioned, photo-realistic images. I'm probably going to bounce between the two, depending upon what I'm trying to depict and illustrate.

Thank you also for your compliment about my vignettes. Most of them are lifted and/or adapted from quicksand stories I've posted on the forum in past years (and one I'm currently working on), so I'm not just coming up with them on the spot off the top of my head (except for "Initiation" last week; aside from the last full paragraph (adapted from a story) the rest of it was inspired by the image of the woman rising from the surface with the thick, heavy mud clinging to her hair and body).

[JSample]

 
                                         "NIGHTMARE"

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Densely indifferent to her deepening distress, the unyielding quagmire resisted her frenetic attempts to free herself as she settled more deeply into its clasp, and for a harrowing moment she imagined that the miry bog truly had come alive and was knowingly and cunningly swallowing her into its ravenous maw. Here’s that “thrill” you wanted, you silly girl, the “fucking” quicksand mocked her lasciviously as it forced her to its will, dragging her downward into itself as she collapsed against the surface in a sobbing scream of horrified helplessness. This was not at all what she had envisioned or expected when she started playing in the mud pit! she gasped quailingly as she sickly realized that she had indeed been seduced, not by a lover but a liar, and her stomach churned with revulsion as the insidious incubus now made muddily manifest proceeded to have its wanton way with her, groping her body in its gooey grasp while salaciously assaulting her psyche. You thought I might suck you down to your tits while you pleasured yourself inside me? the malevolent morass taunted her contemptuously within the phantasm of her fear, the waterlogged weight of its mucky mass squeezing her body ever more tightly as it penetrated her saturated clothing to sate its invasive intent, Why stop at your tits, when I can easily pleasure myself by sucking you all the way under?!

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The AI generated so many damned good images of this scene that I literally could have spammed the thread with dozens of them, but that would've gotten old very quickly regardless of how good each image was, so I picked out what I thought were the very best in terms of composition, the woman's facial expressions, and the implied movements of the quicksand.
 

[JSample]

 
"(PHOTO-REALISTIC) NIGHTMARE"

After posting my surrealistic "Nightmare" images yesterday (courtesy of Microsoft Designer) wherein the desperate damsel imagines/hallucinates that the quicksand has come to life and is actively pulling her down, I decided to see what https://chat.aichatapp.ai with its more "realistic/photo-realistic" output could do to make such an unreal scene look "real." As with yesterday's offering I have a couple dozen mostly good to really good images to choose from, but again without wanting to spam the thread I've picked out what I think are the best of the bunch, concentrating on composition, the woman's expression, and the implied movements of the quicksand.

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You'd think that by this point she'd be screaming her head off in absolute terror, but the softening look on her face in the last few images suggests that she's starting to enjoy what the quicksand is doing to her... both above and below the surface...
 

[BogDog]

Glad I don't have nightmares like that!

[JSample]

Glad I don't have nightmares like that!

Judging from her expression in the last image, it's looking more like a dream come true!

[JSample]

 
                                         "LAST HOPE"

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Angela shuddered as she confronted the import of what she was about to do… of what she knew that she must do. The elements would have her wait interminably for the inevitable effects of exposure to eventually do her in, while starvation and thirst would have her linger at the surface of the quicksand for days or even weeks while she wasted away in their pitiless grip… but she would not submit to their ravages. Neither would she become a meal for the jaws of a rapacious predator as it ripped her to pieces, nor a target for the claws and stings of attacking insects as they swarmed her face, nor a home for invading microbes as they surreptitiously gained entry to her body and consumed her from within. She would not go to her doom in a struggling, screaming submersion of her will to that of either her fetish or the quicksand… instead, she would meet her fate in her own way, under her own control, and by her own hands… the quicksand and her secret fetish for it be damned.

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Angela’s hands were indeed at the right depth, as her creature had said, but not for the self-indulgent purpose that her fetish reflection had suggested. Instead, as a last act of self-determination and control, she would take several deep, expansive breaths, and then, once she was sure that she was ready, of her own volition she would abruptly and strenuously lift her arms and hands toward the surface, the suction of the mire grasping them tightly as she strained her biceps against it. The intent and effect of her action would be to drive her legs and body deeper into the thick, clay-like ooze in which she was trapped, the effort pulling her downward as her arms pushed upward against the mud from beneath, until her upturned face became completely submerged within the quicksand, at which point she would stop pushing as the deep muck would again clamp down tightly around her feet and legs, preventing her body from ascending while she held her breath beneath the surface. There, suspended in the darkness and silence of utter solitude, she would wait, calmly and patiently, willfully and resolutely, while her body and brain slowly and inevitably exhausted the dwindling supply of oxygen coursing through her bloodstream. Then, in the increasing pangs of an irresistible need and urgency, she would finally part her lips as her diaphragm involuntarily expanded her lungs in a final, compulsory gasp for air… and she and the mire would become one. There would be a momentary panic, a brief struggle against the sense of suffocation as the mass of muck filled her mouth and throat, a spasm of release… and then blessed oblivion, her consciousness slowly fading while her oxygen-depleted brain gradually shut down forever. There her lifeless form would remain, concealed within its sloughy tomb, her arms extended upward toward a surface that they would never again reach, her face lifted toward a sky that she would never again see, an eternal Venus of the mire.

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The clouds began parting overhead as the afternoon sun came out again in full strength, its light reflecting brightly off the watery surface of the mudflat as Angela made her final preparations. On the count of three, she murmured to herself as she took a long, final look through gathering tears at her otherwise pleasant surroundings, seeking to imprint indelibly on her mind the last visual experience that her eyes would ever see before the mire closed them forever. The ooze began creeping over her lower lip, forcing her to tilt her head back to keep her mouth free of the muck even as her lower ear lobes dipped into its fluid surface. Far below, she cupped her hands by her sides and drew her fingers together to maximize their lifting power against the mud as she began taking a series of long, deep, trembling inhalations, seeking to oxygenate her system for as long as possible against the inevitable throes of suffocation once she had committed her body to the smothering depths of the quicksand… and then, once she was certain that she was ready, in a quiet whisper she began to count.

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          One…

Angela squeezed her eyes shut, weeping silently as she pointed her feet and toes downward to facilitate her willful descent, while childhood memories of her sister and herself laughing and playing in the mud on the shore by their riverfront home flashed through her mind…

                    Two…

Angela’s breathing became quicker and shallower, bitter tears seeping through her eyelids in anxious apprehension of her imminent plunge as she tensed her biceps for their final exertion, while tender recollections of her grandparents and the love and happiness that she had known in their home afforded her a final comfort…

                              Thr––

“Hey!” a male voice suddenly called out from off to her right, “Are you okay?”

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Angela gasped as her eyes snapped open at the unexpected sound, her arms freezing in place just as she had begun to pull herself beneath the surface. Wha…? she whimpered in stunned disbelief, Some… someone heard me! Someone came! Whereas scant moments before she had been steeling herself to embrace her end at her own hands and on her own terms in the choking depths of the miry ooze, the fortuitous arrival of a last-minute possibility of rescue abruptly shattered her grim resolve as every shred of panic, every shard of fear, that she had felt since she had fallen into the quicksand now exploded to the surface of her psyche, raw emotion squelching her somber intent. Her frightened face jerked toward the direction from which the voice had come, utter terror reflected in her eyes, one searing thought screaming through her desperate mind: I want to live!

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“Oh, god!” she cried out to her last hope of salvation, her voice trembling with dread as she tried to keep the mud from invading her mouth, “Help me!”


(From my story "'The Girl' (Part Three): Angela's Peril.")