0 comments/ 73193 views/ 7 favorites Sacred Garden By: avatar302 Prologue - Placing her back inches from a large tree, Brenda stooped down and teased open a brown canvas satchel. The occasional wind-rush of a car traveling on the road, several yards away, served as a reminder that civilization seemed always to be only one step away. Her son, dear Christopher, had dropped her off on that highway a bit over an hour ago. Brenda planned to return to the same rest area, four miles distant, at eleven a.m. tomorrow. Then her niece would pick her up there. Brenda intended to spend the night in the woods. A car left in the parking lot would provoke the Park Rangers into scouring the forest for her. That would hardly suit her needs. From this parking lot, the Park Department maintained a seven-mile hiking trail. Hikers could follow this pathway as it wound its course up a mountain, and looped back to this lot. The trek was a scenic circuit. Numerous sparkling pools of mountain water were nested in solid stone. Small waterfalls and caves were chiseled out of the densely wooded mountainside by a labyrinth of small streams. Most tourists walked the confines of this course and returned feeling they had really experienced the wilderness. For the truly initiated; this is only the manicured door-stoop leading to a world where all boundaries to what is primal, and what is civilized, can become gray and hazy. Brenda inventoried the contents of the medium-sized daypack again as she peripherally monitored the nearby family. The canvas sack held a blanket, a poncho and a beach towel. The poncho was folded to hold a black silk scarf and also shrouded a quart bottle of blackberry brandy. A camera, a sketchpad and a hairbrush were also nested in the pack. Wrapped inside of the towel was a neon-green cylinder, ten inches in length. The tube was two inches in diameter, with a gently rounded nosecone on one end. The vibrator also had a knurled flat butt, which overlapped a small electrical switch on the opposite end. The device was accompanied by a black and silky nightgown. A pair of black pump high-heeled shoes with ankle straps had been secreted at the pack's bottom. The one remaining item was a small, jade vial, which had a screw on cap. Butterflies nudged against the inside of Brenda's ribcage as she wrestled with the anticipation of the adventure ahead. It was only two o'clock, and yet it was getting late to start up the trail. Some of it was steep, and although the path was open to the public until dark, most people tried to be out of the woods for supper. Indian summer was upon the land with fierce warmth that rivaled the climate of summer. This was October's second week and the darkness of night would soothe the heated blisters of day by seven o'clock. Although five vehicles were in the parking lot, the only other people in the staging area were a tourist family with license plates from an adjacent state. The doting parents tended to a whining six-year old boy, as his slightly older brother and sister explored the perimeter of the parking area. Brenda's shoulder-length straight blonde tresses draped forward and veiled her impish blue eyes. She was watching them, and biding her time. Brenda wanted them to go ahead and enter the trail, thus allowing her to be the last person to enter the trail today. Her eyes sparkled as she rationalized that she had her reasons and needs to have the forest to herself. Drawing the pack flap closed and cinching the hasp straps, she drew the pack between her tanned knees and leaned back against the chip-shingle bark of a Hickory trunk. This caused her cargo shorts to hike to the upper thighs of shapely legs and her light flannel shirt to snag on the rough bark in several places. Brenda caught the "Papa tourist" ogling her and nervously she smiled and moved the pack closer to her tummy. The voyeurism was not missed by the "Mama tourist", who in a loud voice, summoned her two meandering children and declared that their hike would start now! As they departed the parking area like a row of ducks, the mother shot a burning stare back-wards at Brenda, and Brenda smiled again. She had to smile. The parents were only in their mid-thirties and encased in cellulite. The whole family was also sporting the sagging zippered belt pouches that made them appear as a band of urban marsupials, to her. Brenda was a two months away from being fifty years of age, and in the best shape of her entire life. Her body was a tightly toned and tanned, five foot and four inches in height. The only clue to her years may have been the few crowfoot wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes. Most men didn't start out by looking at Brenda's spectacularly deep blue eyes however. Three years ago, after raising two children to adulthood, she had terminated her marriage to a cold and distant spouse named Louis. Rebounding from the resulting emotional cesspool, Brenda decided to rebuild herself. Evening classes at a nearby community college and running several miles a day were two of the steps she ventured in that direction. A home gym machine added to her fitness routines. This combination resulted in many of her classmates and fellow workers of both genders hitting on the firm breasted beauty with heart-attack legs and taut round gluts. Although Brenda was fairly sure that she was heterosexual, she had no desire to have a man in her life presently. The moronic intricacies and rules that she deemed would be the accompanying baggage made her cringe. The icy man, who had been her husband of twenty-five years, was her first and only lover. Louis had never given her the pleasures a woman needs. Brenda had never even known that such bliss existed. She had dreams and fantasies, but until a friend of hers gave her a book by a noted female psychologist, she thought she was alone with such wonderfully dark cravings. Brenda even had speculated that her sinful daydreams would cast her into the ranks of the sexual deviants that made newspaper copy with their arrests. In the anthology of fantasies many other women spoke of their wants and needs. It was while reading this book and touching herself, that Brenda masturbated for the first time in her life. When she experienced the intense gratification of her first climax, she wept for the lost years. The new, rebuilt and improved Brenda was an explorer. Not dwelling for long on her losses, she sallied forth to gather every bit of information concerning anything she found even remotely erotic. Brenda's son, Christopher had moved back into the house when his father moved out. With him he had brought a computer. Brenda was set up as a user on her son's computer and had Internet access. The horizons of Brenda's quest broadened exponentially. There were so many forbidden avenues for her to investigate and so much self-revelation to catch up on. Brenda was not a stranger to hiking. Her family had backpacked on weekends and vacations when she was a child. The lady had always loved the woods. She relished its bouquet of aromas and the changes that the seasons would render to it. Every glade was a place of great magic to her, and she would often skirt them and observe the beauty they held from several points of vantage. The reason Brenda was here today, was a blend of her newfound sexuality, and her intense affinity with the woods. CHAPTER ONE - Won't you tell your dreams to me, fantasy will set you free. Magic Carpet Ride-Steppenwolf While reclining back against the tree, Brenda decided to wait forty-five minutes before she entered the trail. This would assure that the trail would be clear and open for her. Brenda reflected back to a hike that she had made last summer, from this same lot, which had birthed the seed of her endeavor for today. The late July day of that hike, had been very hot and her car had been the only vehicle in the parking lot. It had been an arid summer and the streams along the trail-way had dwindled to mere trickles. Brenda had climbed several hundred yards on a twenty- percent incline and was totally drenched with sweat. The woods were tinder-dry and the heat was in the chalky high nineties. Her light blouse's shirttails were knotted up at the sternum, to allow any cool breeze to refresh her tight tummy. Brenda's bra lay back in her car on the rearseat floor because it was too restraining and would chafe her skin on the trek. The lack of restraint caused Brenda's ample bosoms to slide across her perspiration slickened torso with each climbing step. As a rugged compliment to her attire, she wore a high cut pair of cut-off denim shorts. Brenda's heart held a song inside, because in this weather, the entire mountainside belonged to her alone. Everyone else with free time would be at their favorite watering hole and trying to gain relief from the heat. The cicadas filled the treetops with their pulsating chorus, and all else was still. Brenda was less than two miles from the trailhead. A wooden bridge spanned a small gurgling brook, and it was there that she stopped to relax. The stream had shrunken from its banks in a mute testimony to the summer's wrath. Gazing idly at its flowing remnant, Brenda asked herself, where does this water come from? Perhaps it is issued out by a bubbling spring. But no, there was a dried streambed five feet in width, a pond or a small lake must feed this. The upstream side of the path reared to a hillock crested with a stand of Pines and sparsely quilled with White Birches along most of its incline. It rose only forty feet, yet it hid the horizon and promised a whole New World beyond its ridge. Brenda's intuition told her that if she ascended the rise, she would then be treated to a view of a secret lake. Maybe even a quick and bracing skinny dip would be her reward. The first ten feet from the path was the toughest, because the path was walled with willowy bushes which were mingled with brambles. Slowly and nimbly she wove her way through the maze of bushes which sprung from a rich grassy carpet. As she emerged from the far side, Brenda stopped to admire the jutting Birches. The woman had always had an inexplicable fascination with large trees. The larger and older they appeared, the keener the attraction she felt. What histories they had seen and what mysteries they could share were the questions Brenda would daydream upon, whenever she discovered an unusually large or old specimen. Methodically wending her course up the hillside, the lady stopped occasionally to lightly touch the fragile bark of a Birch. The final fifteen feet to the summit was carpeted with Pine needles, and as she entered their cathedral-like grove, she could see shards of dead and naked timber lacing the skyline ahead. This was a sure indication that a long-standing woodland pond was there. The ridge was twenty yards wide, and it wasn't until she had almost crossed it, that she realized the pond had dried up. From the hilltop, Brenda could see a small trickle of a creek as it wound its way through the dusty and leaf-matted two-acre basin that she thought should be holding water. Heat waves shimmered along its barren expanse. Brenda decided to descend the slope and investigate it further anyway. Traveling downhill, and being careful not to lose her footing, she stopped two thirds of the way to the bottom and used what altitude she had remaining to survey the terrain. To the right of her, the basin sprawled out as a large flat expanse. It was punctuated every thirty yards by the skeletal trunks of ashen and dead trees rearing up from their parched graves. Some retained a few of their branch limbs. Others had small living bushes accenting their bases, so that they appeared to be phallic in nature, with green mounds of pubic hair encompassing their rising shafts. Turning left, Brenda saw that the forest on three sides cradled a small cove to the main pond bottom. She exhaled a small jet of air between clenched teeth in surprise. The bay in itself was not remarkable. Drawing her attention and central to the lagoon, was the largest specimen of a Swamp Maple that she had ever seen. Among all trees, Swamp Maples were her favorites. In appearance, their trunks were like an intertwining of fig trees, joining into a "Geigerain" braid, and looking akin to a pumped up school of eels on steroids. As Swamp Maples went, the tree rising before her was a mammoth plant. The largest tree of this species that Brenda had ever observed, had been three feet in diameter. This monster appeared to be more than twice that size. A thin belt of Mountain Laurel on all sides obscured the shoreline of the pond's bottom. Weaving her way through the Laurel bushes, she made her way toward the cove's shore. A grassy knoll of a clearing opened up to the lagoon and Brenda eased herself down to sit in the cool grass. She unlaced her low-cut hiking boots and kicked them off. Her feet seemed to be sizzling hot, so for further relief Brenda removed her socks and draped them across her boots. A light breeze wafted through the woods. It played its way through her hair and caused the blades of grass to caress her bare legs. Brenda was entranced with the mighty visage of the immense Swamp Maple, as she slowly slid off her daypack and sought out her camera. She also removed one of the two canteens she carried. They were insulated, so that the long draught she swallowed was still cool and quenching. The Maple stood free of other trees for a thirty-foot radius. Although it was not taller than all the other trees, the immense girth that the tree had grown to, with its rising Gordian knot made of smaller trunks, and marked it as a tremendously old tree. Its crown retained a hearty growth of leaves. At its base, on the side facing her rose a sapling-like offshoot. Brenda wondered if this was a separate tree, or another corded trunk which would join the others in their frozen ballet as they reached for the skies. "I think I will call you Old Man of the Woods!" she said aloud. She arose again, and approached the edge of the dried pond. Treading lightly onto the dried leaves, Brenda cautiously probed for firm footing. The bottom felt rock hard and a small cloud of decayed leaf matter dusted the top of her toes. Not letting her guard down, she carefully made her way to within ten feet of the huge trunk. The sapling, with its leafy boughs, obscured a good portion of the tree in her camera's viewfinder. She began to circle the tree to the left and retreating to crop the perfect image. When she had completed a little more than half the circle, Brenda found that by backing up several yards, a fantastic photo of the Swamp Maple was there for the taking. There was only one disturbing item in the viewfinder as she gave it a final check. Brenda was now facing the grassy knoll, and in the picture would be her discarded backpack. She knew that she was being a bit anal, but heck she thought, it wasn't even sitting nicely. Brenda had left the pack opened and some of the contents she had removed to access the camera were strewn about on the grass like litter. Her boots and a shiny canteen augmented the eyesore. No problem, she thought and started towards the shore on the other side of the tree. Brenda's enthusiasm was piqued, and her strides were graceful and long. On the third step, Brenda abruptly pitched forward as her right leg sank to its mid-calf into rich black mud . " Oh dammit! " she exclaimed, but exasperation instantly turned to fear as her immersed foot found no solid support and her momentum continued to carry her forward. A guttural, " Uunnnhhhg! " sprang from Brenda's lips as the air rushed from her lungs and she continued to topple forward. She had started to fall, and to stop that; Brenda instinctively had kicked her left leg out in front of her as a brace. To her amazement, her left leg plunged with a wet slurp fully to her knee. The entrapped woman's arms were cast forward and she lost her grip on the camera, which was tossed four yards ahead and landed softly on the dried leaves. Brenda's weight had been transferred completely to her forward leg, which caused it to descend further into the yielding ooze nearly to the middle of her thigh. The unstable soil burped a few bubbles into the afternoon's still air, and then took more of Brenda's trapped upper leg into its grim confinement. Thinner liquid silt was percolating up along her creamy thigh and nipping at the hem of her cutoff shorts. Brenda held her arms spread out like a tightrope walker's as she struggled to maintain her balance. " YIIIiiii! Heeelllp meeeeee! "The trapped woman cried out in a shrill voice. Brenda repeated her appeals for almost two minutes with all the energy that she could summon, then waited and hoped for a responding hail. The ground in front of her rolled and rippled, broadcasting every little motion that Brenda made. Dusty dead leaves that had covered the treacherous pitfall parted in places to reveal the quaking coal colored pool that claimed her as its captive. Except for the distant buzzing drone of the cicadas, the forest remained mute to her pleas and she knew she was alone. An aroma of long decayed vegetation arose from the simmering muck, and the floundering woman found this to be both horrid and yet strangely stirring in a primitive way. Brenda hoped that she could readily back out of the marsh and regain secure ground again. Shifting her weight back towards her right leg, Brenda promptly found that the bog's tenacious grasp on her left leg was more than she had estimated. The voracious mud reached to above her knee, as it engulfed the sinking woman's right leg. She stopped to measure her situation and try the best option. Brenda's heart was beating a rapid tattoo within her breast. A fog of confusion and frenzy was pounding at her rationality with sledgehammer blows. The insatiable mire that was holding Brenda by the legs looked as black as tar, and creamy in its consistency. The sun beating down on it all day had heated the upper two feet of the mulched soup. At the depth her left foot was enveloped to, it held with an undisturbed chill that felt like a lusciously cool embrace. Brenda could not feel a firm bottom yet, and had to keep shifting her balance with her hips, to remain upright . As she tested for the bottom, the sucking morass had taken Brenda into its clinging clutches beyond the hemline of each leg on her denim shorts. The heated surface muck pushed its way up into her shorts and massaged her straining thighs. Its touch was ardent and thorough on her smooth flesh. If this wasn't so dangerous, it would be sexy, she thought. Brenda could feel the spark of an enticement being engendered within her. She considered the absence of having control to be kind of arousing also. Sitting backwards and out were no longer an option as the quagmire pressed firmly up against her ass, telling Brenda that she had been taken too far into its gluttonous grasp to escape that way. The slippery ooze poured into the junction of the denim-clad legs and surrounded her excited crotch. Suddenly her feet greeted the resistance of a bottom and Brenda let out a laughing sigh of relief. She knew that a footstep away and behind her was solid ground. She also realized that she couldn't back up. Brenda began twisting her hips in an effort to turn around and then she could lean over and drag herself out. As she churned the muck into a bubbling broth with her effort, the sun-heated silt was seeping around and pressing on some very sensitive parts of her anatomy. Brenda noticed that she was trembling and knew that a hunger was being fostered from within her loins. Brenda stopped her gyrations and took in a deep breath. This is very exhilarating she had thought. I am held tightly in the grip of the earth that I hold so dear and it is naughtily making advances at me. Brenda had turned two-thirds of the way around and freedom seemed an inevitable event, when her hands reached down and fumbled to open the snap on her shorts. She stretched the zipper apart and looked down on the soupy humus forcing its way up against her excited womanhood. Brenda slid her index fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them away from her hips. She was still looking down and saw the mulch particles enmeshed in the soft golden down of her pubic nest. It's like it is seducing me, she surmised. It wants to explore me and know me. Sacred Garden Brenda bit her lower lip as she reached in deeper, so that her fingers were gently tracing the edges of her engorged labial lips. Her left hand ran two fingers along the center of her humid vaginal slit as the bewitched woman's right hand sought her clitoris. A rolling shudder telegraphed its way up her spine, and she knew that she could not stop now. Brenda pinched and nibbled her palpitating love-button with her right hand, and she penetrated herself with her left hand, sanctioning the sun-steeped ooze's access into her own heated love tunnel. Emitting a throaty hummed moan, Brenda pressed her upper arms against the sides of her breasts. The wanton wader wished to reach up and cradle her swelling bust with the churned sauce of the swamp. Her blouse was dear to her though, and she was apprehensive as to whether it would come clean later. Brenda oscillated her hips from side to side, which caused the surface of the obsidian porridge to tremble in undulating and radiating waves, a mirror of the advancing ripples surging up from within her own body. The enraptured woman's breathing came in deep rasps as her hands moved with increasing frenzy. Brenda desired to have the steamy muck to hold her ass too. She begrudgingly removed her hands from her craving mons. Brenda eagerly pulled down at the sides of her shorts and rolled her panties down over her rump and hips . The dark creamy slush flowed into her garments and encompassed Brenda's eager pulsating flanks. Oozing stew flowed into the relaxed crack of Brenda's twitching posterior at the instant she climaxed and with a groan she instinctively thrust her pelvis forward. A small jet of juicy discharge erupted past her fingers and onto the slate toned marsh. This was a first for Brenda, and it had been the best release she had ever known. She ceased all movement except for an uncontrollable shiver, as she regarded her emission of passion. Enthralled, she scooped up the substance with her left palm and stirred her right hand's index finger through it. Brenda raised her finger to her lips and tasted the slippery issuance. She gathered some of the flowing silt up and blended it with her own body's sauce, then returned the concoction to the surface of the morass. She found herself strangely excited to realize that the nectar of her passion would go into the soil that nurtured the Swamp Maple, and its essence would be carried up into the giant. Brenda gazed down at the shifting black mush which encircled her body up to her lower hips. Her heartbeat, which had subsided to normal , was accelerating again and Brenda knew that lustful pressures would be summoning her to their release again soon. This felt so decadently erotic that she decided to save herself for another depth of involvement. Brenda resolved to delay any pending eruption, so that the event was to be more significant for her. She would approach this pleasure in a ritualistic manner that would allow her fantasies a full reign in the outcome. Brenda wiped her soiled hands on the few remaining clean surfaces of her denim shorts. Being as careful as she could, so as not to get her blouse too dirty, Brenda unfastened its remaining buttons and untied the knotted shirt-tails above her tummy. She squirmed out of it and tossed the garment several feet in the direction of her back-trail. Brenda was instantly mindful of the sun, which baked down on her taught nipples. Impatiently, her hands re-entered the inky soil, and with fumbling fingers, the panting female drew her shorts closed and re-fastened the snap on them. Leaning towards the direction that she had fallen into the bog from, Brenda placed her forearm along the pond's firm bottom and hoisted against the mud's tenacious grip. After a few experiments, she learned that she had to use both arms, and keep her toes pointed down to make any progress. Brenda's legs finally came free with a loud and gurgling slurp, like a goody that has been pulled from slobbering and greedy lips. As she stood up, Brenda was surprised at how heavy the clinging muck made her legs feel. Once again, the exited female unsnapped her muddied denims, and their new weight quickly dropped them to her ankles. Brenda stepped out of them and brought them near to where she had tossed her blouse. The searing heat from the Sun was roasting her mercilessly and she could feel the sweat running down her as it formed streaks on her muddied flesh. Standing in only her muddied panties, Brenda scanned the shoreline carefully to assure herself that she was alone. Satisfied, she peeled her hopelessly soiled undergarment over her rump and stepped out of them also. The humus that had caked to her skin dried in moments. As she moved it fell away from her in dusky clumps. Brenda lightly brushed at her flesh to remove the final swampy vestiges of her exploit and marveled at the coloration that remained in place of the ebony sludge. In her opinion, she seemed to be clad in charcoal gray, hip-hugging leotards. With a frown, the unveiled female stood in front of the boggy ground for a moment, trying to decide how best to return to the sinuous embrace of the mire. Brenda was facing the monumental Swamp Maple as it spanned skyward a mere six yards distant, drawing its nutrition from the same organic broth that she had planned to enter. Trembling with excitement she sidestepped carefully, until she was several yards from the point where she had been first entrapped. Brenda's hand released her panties and she took two fast steps forward. Nothing happened. She took a third step, and still nothing. Brenda treaded down with a bouncing weight and the surface of the ground in front of her trembled as ripples pulsated along the basin ahead of her. Two more rapid strides, then Brenda was rewarded for her effort as her leg disappeared with a slurp into the surface of the pond basin. The tepid black ooze had gobbled her left leg to her lower calf. She eagerly planted her right leg into the ravenous bog a few inches away from her left leg. Brenda tried to recreate the excitement and fear of her first encounter by closing her eyes and envisioning that she was a jungle movie heroine. Her fantasy evolved to include that she was lost, alone and had been caught unexpectedly by a sinking trap of death. Brenda pumped and pulled her legs in a mock effort to escape the power of the gluttonous quagmire. As she sank, the shifting footage caused her to have to continually struggle for balance. Brenda twisted and buffeted her arms a few times in order to stay standing. The lustful captive desired to hurl herself into the clutches of the seething morass, but that would have denied her the slow, sumptuous stimulation that she judged her fantasy needed as a fuel. She actually had no sensation of sinking, but rather it seemed that the oozing muck was rising up around her. She could feel tepid humus as it climbed to the middle of her thighs, its warm weight persistently pressing in on them from all sides. Brenda pretended to know that if she didn't escape the pitfall soon the rising muck would have its way with her. She tried to raise her legs and found that the relentless grip of the creeping mud held them pinned securely into its percolating maw. The exertion of working the liquefied peat with her legs was causing Brenda to perspire harder than ever. Her sweating breasts swung like firm pendulums across her chest and she could feel and taste the sweat from her scalp as it bathed her forehead and trickled down her face. Balance was no longer a problem. The midnight dark mush probed the up-most reaches of her inner thighs, and held her anchored firmly in place. The shifting earth was grumbling and burping up small batches of bubbles as it encompassed her upper legs and gently licked at her matted pubic thatch. She raised her hands to cradle her sweating tits, painting black smears upon the reddening skin there. This is it, she thought. Brenda stopped moving her legs, and slid her hands down, hungrily toward her lap. She opened her eyes just enough to permit a bit of the day's searing light in and perspiration seeped into the corners. The sting of salty sweat in her eyes caused her to clamp them tightly closed again. This did not help ease the burning sensation, the piercing perspiration had already washed into Brenda's eyes. As she eased her eyes open again, the Old Man of the Woods swam in her salt-fogged vision. Closing her eyelids just enough to see the tree, Brenda imagined that it was reaching through the primal slime to her. Would it rescue her from the vile pit, or would it ravage her now that she was caught and held helpless. The spellbound female decided to let her imagination take her to wherever it would go. The voracious moistness of molten dirt was pushing up against her surrendering vagina. Brenda's anxious fingers were energetically laboring her clitoris and her vulva. She had begun to rock her hips against the indigo muck's clutches. Brenda felt the relentless groping slough rolling and up over the flexing cheeks of her buttocks as it crept to hug her lower tummy. Brenda's imagination nurtured a delusion that the tree had reached out to her while she struggled in the swamp's merciless hold. Daydreaming, she envisioned that its roots were tunneling around and into her. A building pressure within her began to move outwards, and Brenda's body moved convulsively as the most intense orgasm of her life took absolute control of her muscles. An involuntarily moaned of deep pleasure was torn from her throat as her emulsion again rushed out to join with those of the probing mire. The delighted captive slid her left hand free of the sucking fen's grip and pushed it back down behind her, across her trembling flank until a searching finger homed in on her anus. Brenda pushed against her sphincter's resistance gently and after several prods, her muck-greased finger wriggled past the yielding barrier. She visualized that the Swamp Maple's roots were having their way with her below the quaking marsh's surface. Brenda could feel the latent force of another orgasmic explosion welling up within her. She teased at her excited organs with deft fingers that they were richly lubricated in a mixture of juices and compost. The soothing slush ventured upward and poured into her navel as it encompassed her twisting waist. The sweltering ooze lapped at her lower ribs with wicked avarice. A thought occurred to Brenda. She had not sunk this deep earlier. The adrenaline rush from the real and probable danger was just the stimulation that the entrapped woman's reverie needed to burst forth. Brenda initiated a mock begging for help again , but this time it was not shouted loudly and her voice had the throaty resonance of desire. She did not want the interruption of a reply. The intensifying tremors of the erogenous upheaval that Brenda felt was immanent caused this warning to become a small voice in the back of her mind. She rushed avidly towards the irrevocable sexual detonation. Her adept fingers sought out her orifices with a recharged vigor and reckless compulsion. Brenda's right hand thumb and index finger worried her throbbing clitoris as she worked the remaining three fingers in and out of her silt-slickened cunt. The gasping captive's left hand was at work trying to get a second finger past her twitching sphincter. The gooey peat lapped at her twisting midsection and pushed Brenda's biceps to her torso as the first electric spasm surged through the enthralled woman's frame. A series of rabid climaxes propelled her writhing body deeper and quicker, into the stewing morass. A thick, raven syrup nestled under Brenda's heaving globular breasts. First the lecherous quagmire levitated her bobbing mammaries in its slushy cradle. Then as Brenda sank further into the murky undersurface, its weight pushed them together with a delicious gripping pressure. The undulating surface of the greedy ooze licked with soft feather-kisses at Brenda's jutting nipples. If she could have easily reached them with her hands, Brenda would have wrung them in her grip to ease the burning itch that radiated through them and into her chest. The flowing slime finally slithering up between her cleavage and covered the woman's fevered chest as she continued her downward trajectory. The small voice had returned from the back of Brenda's mind, and now it was shouting. The thought of such a scandalous death thrilled her as she timidly probed downwards with her toes. The creamy silt had gained Brenda almost to her shoulders before she detected the welcome hardness of solid ground under her digits. The sinuous muck held her arms bound to her body with its immense heaviness. Brenda was exhausted from the energies of her pleasures. She decided that it would be best to rest a while, before fighting the mass and the suction of the swamp to regain freedom. The cicadas hummed their chorus rhythmically in the tree's tops as Brenda settled back upon her heals. The slime gently rolled over her shoulders and encircled her slender neck. Through her sweat-hazed vision she was looking way up at the towering Swamp Maple. Brenda's hands began to caress her still tingling pussy and quivering ass. "You want me? Here I am! Come on and get me!" she shouted hoarsely as the overpowering muck pressed in upon her windpipe. The tree remained a mute and immobile voyeur, as Brenda's ardent fingers had once again begun to build her nervous system to a boiling point of arousal. Her bosoms were held firmly in the suckling embrace of the marsh. As the soupy filth pushed on them, Brenda knew that her aching nipples were rock hard with excitement. The mud held her so firmly pinned, that she felt like she was being fucked in a slushy cocoon. This time Brenda's climaxes weren't so dramatic, yet there were many of them in rapid succession. She envisioned the deep mud to be a living thing, working its way in and out of her eager orifices. The tremors undulated through her encased body like indulgent waves on a shore and caused her to involuntarily add a yelping tone to her rasping breathing, and accent each small surge of pleasure. Three hours later, a very muddy Brenda stood above the pond basin. It had taken the mired beauty half of that time to twist and claw her way to freedom. Once clear from the quagmire's ravenous hold, she had collapsed to lie spent on the pond's firmer bottom and rest her weary limbs. The cicadas had ceased their song as Brenda stretched out and basked in the five o'clock sunlight of a dwindling day. She felt the slush of the bog deep inside of her and knew a good douching a shower and a bath all were ahead this evening. Brenda picked op her ruined panties and with mock ceremony, tossed them into the gaping hole in the ponds bed that she had just crawled from. "Remember me," she teased. She returned to where she had placed her shorts and shook much of the drying mud from them. Brenda hung them on a dead-looking bush that emerged from the desolate basin. She then began to work at shaking and peeling the dried chips of peat from her skin. Once free of the earthen burden, Brenda saw that her skin was still colored a dark slate hue and she knew she would have to wash well, before hiking back out. It was strange, but she did not feel at all naked as she wore her new earthen color. Brenda gently hung her blouse on the same bush, and returning her gaze to shore, slowly licked her parched lips. She looked like a lady walking in a very tight and sexy body-glove, as Brenda returned to her the grassy knoll, being careful to walk around the safe side of the Swamp Maple. She sat down in the grass again and finished off the first canteen. Placing it back into her pack, Brenda started on the second container with slower sips. As she slaked her thirst, the blissfully weary hiker studied the Old Man of the Woods. It must have a soul or a spirit to mark its identity after all these years of life, Brenda surmised. Her Old Man of the Woods, she thought with a feeling of propriety. Brenda stood back up again, and looking down across her strong tummy she noted that her muddied pubic nest still had a few small clots of humus adorning it. She worked to crumble and tug them free. As Brenda's fingers touched her tingling skin, she felt her knees grow weak and she knelt quickly to keep from toppling completely. "Not here, not now." She whispered aloud. Rising to her feet again, Brenda took an unhurried stroll to her camera, cautiously testing each step before committing her true weight to it. She walked the periphery of the colossal Maple again, being careful to go the safe way. Brenda took about a dozen pictures, varying angle and distance and searching the tree's tormented tangle of a trunk for the best photogenic structure. Brenda rounded the trunk to its side facing the grassy hummock and she saw that the sapling-like branch was indeed a new section of the Maple's trunk. It already reached back towards the main nest of trunks, and in a year or two, would join them. She ran the fingers of her left hand over the tree's dusty bark in an exploratory caress. It must be ancient, she mused, and yet it is so full of life. The enthralled inquirer looked at the immense plant's corded bark, in alignment with the new branching trunk and narrowed her eyes in thought. A perfectly round bowl was formed in the main trunk system. It was three inches wide, two inches deep and could hold water in rainy weather. The young trunk was almost the same width as the cavity at this point of its upward rise. Brenda smiled as she realized that the lesser trunk looked like a man's morning penis in its upward salute. She squeezed between the sapling trunk, which was only three inches from the main Maple and aligned her camera skyward so that it played over the entwining field of unified trunks. The composition of her photograph was to be framed in a blanket of azure blue sky. Brenda's nipples rubbed on the parched and grimy bark. The adolescent trunk was nested against the crack of her clenched posterior. A tremor ran through Brenda's frame, as she remembered that earlier in the afternoon, she had defiantly invited the Old Man of the Woods to take her. It was a shiver that was caused by both fear and excitement. To move the sapling's leaves further from the main stem, Brenda bent down a bit and pushed the small tree back with he buns. The digital camera resounded with two rapid clicks as Brenda relaxed the pressure on her tightened gluts and the sapling's pressure was applied deeply into the crack of her ass. "Down boy!" she giggled with a husky voice as another tremor of excitement surged through her. Looking down, Brenda could see that the bowl in the trunk of the forest behemoth was only an inch below her already juicing love tunnel. If I am here too long like this, I might be able to fill the small basin with my own sweet cum; she mused. An idea flashed through her mind and she smiled. Brenda squeezed out from between the resilient trunk and the massive main stem. She ran a hand in an unhurried caress down the sapling then, briskly walked back to the grassy niche on the shore's edge. Once there, Brenda took a quick sip from the canteen and reloaded her pack, to include her clean blouse. She vigorously shook her muddied shorts. The dried peat was brittle and broke away from the supple fabric completely, although they were stained several shades darker than before. Brenda stuffed her dried socks in the toes of her hiking boots and fastened their laces together for easy carrying. As she negotiated her shorts back on, Brenda's gaze was drawn magnetically back to the Old Man of the Woods. She then gathered up her pack and boots and facing the Swamp Maple she called out, "Aloha!" The enraptured wood nymph hoped deeply, that the spirit of the tree knew what she meant. Sacred Garden Brenda found the point where the stream flowed out of its marshy haunt after winding her way through several hundred yards of undergrowth. To her delight, the clear creek's bed was composed of pea size pebbles and dished out to form a natural pool. She gingerly slid out of her soiled shorts and waded into the lukewarm flow. The channel was a little more than two feet in depth. As she sat on the bottom, Brenda was rib-deep in water, and she used small handfuls of the coarse sand to gently scrub the pigment of the quagmire from her skin. Finally, Brenda leaned back and immersed her head into the current, letting it clean her hair and massage her scalp. Minutes later, the invigorated femme stood on shore, clothed as she had hiked into the forest, sans panties. A small price to pay, she thought, for such an adventure. Brenda backtracked along the pond's shore and to the crest of the Pine covered ridge, where a hurried downhill lope delivered her back onto the main hiking trail. A mantel of twilight was beginning to cloak the mountainside. The day's heat had not yet abated, and the swift journey had soaked her blouse with perspiration. Ten minutes later, the disheveled hiker approached the oasis of open light, which marked the Park Access Area. Her dusty Subaru Wagon stood alone in the parking lot. Brenda squatted as she liberated the door key from its magnetic perch at the rear bumper. She opened the rear door first, and tenderly placed her pack on the rear floor. It concealed her brassier, which had been abandoned earlier. As she opened the driver's door, a small trickle ran from beneath Brenda's stained shorts and along her inner thigh. The startled hiker glanced down and saw that it was inky black in color. "Darn-it!" she muttered, as she reflected that an hour's ride remained between her and a warm soothing bath. Brenda reflected on the situation a moment longer, and her impression of annoyance was replaced with a feeling of being embraced. It was sort of sexy to know that the marsh, which had birthed and sustained her Old Man of the Woods, had reached out and reminded her of the afternoon's delights. Brenda found it erotic as she realized that she held the broth of their merged fluids inside her body. She had the sensation that she was being summoned back to the muddy nest, which she had lain cradled in that afternoon. A deep but undistinguishable voice in her thoughts, was inviting Brenda to join with it. It was seductively summoning her to its lair. As if hypnotized by the tempting contemplation, the woman turned her back on her car with its door yet agape. Languidly she sauntered to where the trailhead met the parking lot. Peering up the darkened path, Brenda breathed in deeply. The aromas of the forest richly wafted into her seeking nostrils. The daytime drone of the cicadas had mutated into the sharp clicking sounds of their nocturnal serenade, now accompanied by Katydids. She estimated that she could return to the marsh's soothing embrace in less than an hour. Brenda pondered about how deliciously improper it would be to spend the hot summer night in such a way. The crackling of gravel from behind her disengaged the spell of the moment. She spun around, and saw that a Park Ranger's truck had entered the parking lot. If Brenda had returned to the mountain, the Ranger would have initiated a search for her. A search that might have embarrassing results. This park trail was off-limits after dark and her car being here alone, would bring have generated alarm and inquiry. With a purposeful stride that veiled her reluctance, Brenda returned to her open car door and slid in. The Ranger's vehicle remained parked a few feet from the gate. Seconds after she located the keys at the side of the seat, her small car purred its way to the gate. As she passed his darkened truck, she guardedly averted her eyes. Brenda had no appetite for conversation at this moment. She nosed her Subaru in the homeward direction as she gained the highway, and it seemed to proceed along as if it was in autopilot. Brenda's head was full of thoughts and hatching plans. She knew that her plans would have to be meticulous in design and execution or she would suffer from the scandal of having her forbidden desires exposed. Brenda intended to return to the Old Man of the Woods on the following weekend. Her ideas, earlier, had been those of adaptations to accommodate a closer relationship with her arboreal titan. She knew that hard work, some artistic TLC, and of course, privacy would be her main concerns. CHAPTER TWO - KNOW ME What you tryin' to say? You don't want to play, What you want and what you need don't mean that much to me. - TOOL The memories of the first weekend were driven from Brenda's thoughts as the sound of voices and crunching gravel intruded on her reminiscence. Two couples had come off the trail and were now stowing some light gear in a bright red Ford Explorer. She watched them through barely opened eyes and she was pleased to see them leaving. While the family Brenda had observed earlier would never venture more than a yard or two from the hiking trail, young people in their early twenties just might scoot up to a ridge-top to see what's on the other side. As the two young women teased one of the men on some issue, the other young man had been diverting some of his attention in Brenda's direction. His manner of conducting himself was as if he was canvassing her for a break-in. He had openly stared at her for a few periods that were several scandalous seconds in length, but most of his inspection had been done as poorly disguised peripheral studies. As they climbed into the sporty truck, Brenda saw that her bold admirer was the driver. The truck backed out of its space and lurched forward ten feet. This maneuver aligned the driver with Brenda as she sat with her back against the tree, a mere four yards distant from him. As he leaned his head out the window his torso shook and Brenda believed it was caused by a playful punch to the arm or ribs that was delivered by the girl with the long and straight brown hair who was sitting next to him. "Excuse me, would you like a ride?" he ventured. Again his body rocked, and the girl at his side rose up in the seat to gain a better view. "No thanks" Brenda replied. "I'm waiting for my son and a couple of his buddies." Then she added, "Perhaps you seen them back on the trail. He has red hair and they're all about your age." A Cheshire cat grin flashed across the female passenger's face as she lowered herself back into her seat. A moment of uncomfortable silence spread between Brenda and the driver. Finally he flashed a wry grin and said, "Nope, we saw no other people on our walk. Just trying to be of assistance." The red truck jumped forwards a foot and he tossed Brenda a low, mid-door wave. With a grumble of loose stones, the Ford made its way to the gate, and the highway beyond. Brenda licked her lips and once moistened, slid them in a sensuous pucker. She could have had that young stud for the asking, and his young minx of a girlfriend might never know. The world became quiet again, and Brenda checked her watch. Only ten minutes had passed since the family with children had entered the trail. Ten minutes of memories that left her with a dampening crotch. Her moistness was more pronounced because she had shaved herself in preparation for this evening's intimate expedition. Brenda wondered if the young man in the truck had sensed the arousal upon her. Was there a cloud of pheromones surrounding her like a burning mist? Had there been a revealing huskiness in her voice as they talked? Would he think that it had been for him? If this location had not been so public, Brenda might have let her hands drift down to touch herself. She knew where that would make her yearn to go. Not yet, she thought, she must save every bit of herself for later. The day's unseasonable heat had reached into the mid eighties, but Brenda knew that the evening's temperatures could plummet to the high forties. Closing her eyes again, Brenda recounted the events of the following weekend, when she returned to the Old Man of the Woods. It had been a Saturday's late morning, and her car was not parked alone in the lot that day. There had also been a bright yellow Jeep Wrangler parked near the trailhead. The canvas roof was off of it, exposing a large padded rollbar. A chromed pair of handcuffs had been attached to a ring on the passenger side of the tubular brace. As she strode past it, Brenda noted that a dozen beer cans littered the topless vehicle's floor. That day, it was a little cooler than it had been a week earlier. Brenda had decided to go bra-less again, but this time she wore an oversized green T-shirt. The backpacking woman also had on a pair of loose fitting cargo shorts and light deck sneakers. Brenda had no plans to walk far on that day. Her final accessory was a medium sized frame pack. This held a large towel, a bucksaw, two canteens filled with Gatorade, ten sheets of assorted grit sandpaper, and her digital camera. Not three hundred yards up the trail yet, and Brenda encountered what she surmised to be the owners of the Jeep. They were two middle-aged men. One was six and a half feet tall and blonde with close-cropped hair. He wore a red Izod crew necked shirt and khaki Dockers shorts. Brenda's first impression of him was that he looked like an Arian Nation's poster child. The other man was black, six feet in height, with gray sweatpants and a black tank-top shirt that exposed large well-muscled arms. The black man's shorthaired head was banded with a red kerchief like a macho sweatband. True B Movie stuff here thought Brenda. As she drew nearer, Brenda noted that both men appeared to be in their mid-forties and packed more than a little paunch at their midsections. The men were lounging at a bend in the path that occurred just before the grade of the climb would increase to a twenty-percent incline. She saw that the guys were already perspiring as a result of climbing the few small hills half that challenging. Brenda was sweating also, but she had been carrying a pack. A pack, which she now saw with a downward glance, had straps that were pulling her T-shirt taut against her jostling nipples with each step she took. This caused her to feel exposed before them and her face felt the warm rush of a crimson blush crawling across it. Brenda noted that they carried no packs and wondered if they had stopped here with thoughts of turning back. The two males didn't attempt to make her feel comfortable either. Brenda was the only piece of eyecandy in sight and they both ogled long and hard at her. When Brenda was ten yards away from them, the blonde man fumbled with a cigarette as he stepped a half step into the trail. Brenda started to veer to the other side of the path, making a fanning motion with her right hand that she hoped would signal the smoker away from her. He seemed oblivious. The fellow in the bandana arose and pitched his chin skyward as her queried, "Nice day for a friendly walk, isn't it?" "Yes, it is." stated Brenda, she wanted to keep the conversation brief and never broke the pace of her stride. There was a nervous tone to her voice that she had hoped to conceal. "Will you be going all the way today?" asked the smirking blonde giant, as she passed him on the trail. The yeasty scent of lager was on his breath. The double entendre was not lost on Brenda, or the tall man's companion who emitted a snort at the line. "I'm going to hike to the top and have a lunch." She responded in a way that she hoped would disarm a tense situation. Brenda was past them now, and she was aware that her perspiration-dampened shorts were clinging to her ass like a second skin. She also knew that the guys would not see any panty lines, because on that day, she wore none. The men's discussion became low in tone as they bantered privately and the alarmed woman hoped dearly that there would be no further action taken on their part. Fifteen yards later, Brenda heard a gravelly grating on the pathway behind her and the black man's rising voice as he said to his friend loudly "All the way… hike with a GREAT VIEW!" Stepping out to nearly double her previous pace, Brenda dared not to look back on her pursuers. It would be a waste of time and might cause them to put more energy into their endeavor. At the midpoint of the first incline, the sound of small rocks being kicked up behind her had signaled to Brenda that the men following her were only twenty-five or so yards behind her. She tried to push herself to go even faster, and felt her thighs start to swell and burn under the increased strain. As she gained the top of the first hill, Brenda glanced backwards and saw that the two males chasing her were only about thirty yards behind. There was a level space here spanning four yards of the trail, then a hook and an incline similar to this one for two hundred yards. After the second hill, there remained one shorter rise. At that point, Brenda would be at the bridge where the brook coming from the pond ran under the trail. She had to lose them before then. Brenda sprinted across the level ground and used her momentum to gain good distance on the second hillside. She was now sweating heavily and she was beginning to mouth-breath in big gulps. Her efforts caused her heart to drum loudly against her fear filled bosom. When Brenda finally slowed down to what she believed was her fast-hiking pace, she stole a glimpse back and saw that the two bucks were still on her back-trail, nearly sixty yards distant. Then to her horror, she saw them beginning to change their pace to a jog. They clearly meant to overtake her. Perhaps she had underestimated them, she thought with a growing apprehension. What if those awful men caught her, Brenda wondered. She envisioned them dragging her off the path and pushing her down. Brenda could picture the two burly men tearing at her clothing and she saw herself struggling. Her strength was being sapped however and she had to admit that her struggles would be weak. Brenda could visualize them taking her simultaneously and repeatedly on the forest floor. A dark thought moment made her weigh if that would really be so bad. She remembered the handcuffs that had been fastened to the Jeep's rollbar. At least one of these guys could be a serial killer or a serial rapist, and their intentions had been broadcast clearly along that line already. A surge of fear-inspired adrenaline rushed through Brenda's system and she surged onward, up the graveled ramp. The gap had closed to thirty-five yards by the time Brenda had gained the next plateau. Her upper legs felt pumped and leaden, Brenda's calves were starting to feel knotted up also. This was it she decided. It had to be all or nothing. Sprinting across the twenty-foot level trail section, she continued to run as fast as she could up the next fifty yards of ramping lane. Brenda stopped and turned to face her back-trail as she gained the summit. The men stalking her had just come into view from the previous incline. She needed to do something that would keep them going for a while. A means to cloud their judgement and logic. Gripping her sopping T-shirt's lower hem, she hoisted it up to her neck. Brenda's two unfettered and spectacular breasts were exposed to the light of day, and to their lecherous viewing. The two males froze in their tracks. Their demeanor told Brenda that both of them were nearly winded and spent. "Can you boys hike with a little hard-on for me? " she chided down to them. At first there was no response. Then, the shorter said something to the other that she could not hear. Both men started running uphill, but the big blonde who was in front fell. His pal tripped over the sprawled body and the forest air rang with loud oaths voiced by both men. Brenda didn't see this moment of amusement, because she had already turned back in the direction of the bridge ahead. Ten quick steps later and she edged her way into the dense undergrowth on the pond's side of the trail. The concealed femme moved into brush a few yards, then sat down with her back to the pathway. Brenda removed her pack and bent over to tuck her head down towards her crossed legs. Her racing pulse had caused a deafening throb to sound in her ears as she struggled to control her breathing. As the men hunting her had gained the hilltop, Brenda could hear their epitaphs that were punctuated by deep gasps and wheezes. "… Put a smile on her face that Jesus Christ couldn't take off!" (Cough! Cough! ) "No woman's worth this…" (Snort!) "Did ya see those? …" (Grunt, hack-hack) From her wooded sanctuary, Brenda heard heavy footfalls on the planks of the bridge. Then one man yelled, "Here! Look here! She's there! " Brenda shivered and her flesh was instantly prickled with goose bumps. She didn't dare turn around. "Under there? " his buddy responded, then added, "Ohhhh yesss ". "You take that side!" directed the first male again, and then declared, "No, she's not under there. She must still be ahead of us." The hidden beauty realized that they had been searching under the bridge for her. "C'mon lets catch her ass, " said the second. "We're almost at the top. We'll catch the bitch there or overhaul her on the downhill leg." "Overhaul her hard." Added the first man's voice, sounding a little more distant than a moment ago. The men were both so winded and hoarse that Brenda finally realized the first man had been the blonde. She smiled a wicked grin also, knowing that they were not even halfway to the highest elevation of the trail yet. As she heard the sweet music of their departing steps, Brenda also knew that there were at least a dozen more bridges on the trail. Every one of them would be a thrill for those boys. After resting for a few moments, she gingerly arose. Brenda moved slowly and listened often as she scaled the Birch studded hillside and it was not until she had gained the sanctuary of Pine grove on its crest, that she experienced a return of security. Descending the pond-side of the bluff, Brenda saw that the vernal basin was still lacking of water. The returning nymph threaded her way through the Mountain Laurel maze and arrived at the grassy oasis of a beach. The enormous Maple reared in its twisted magnificence before her. The space it took from the hot August sky was truly a blessing, she thought. Brenda sat down and removed her sneakers and socks and fished a canteen out of her knapsack. She drank all of its contents with long, slaking gulps. Brenda returned the pack to her aching shoulders and made her way out onto the dry pond bottom, memories came flooding back to her. There were vivid recollections of last weekend's adventure here, yet they seemed to have occurred years ago. She scanned the muddy bottom beyond the Old Man of the Woods and saw the gaping holes left behind from her caper last Sunday. They looked like sad and empty sockets, left behind as if teeth had been pulled from the earth. Brenda had a feeling that she belonged to this place, and that she should strip down and fill one of the mucky orifices with her naked yearning body. Brenda also knew that she needed to have the fear that she was getting in over her head to make the magic. If she were going into the bog today, the place would have to be new and unknown, for the same reason that a bee goes to different flowers. Brenda strolled up to the Maple and slid off her pack. She eased her body between the sapling and the main trunk and enwrapped the huge tree with her arms. Its roughness pressed in contact with flesh, veiled only by the thin wet fabrics she wore as she embraced the twisted wooden titan. The sapling's pressure against her buttocks seemed harder than it did a week ago, as if it had grown a little closer to the primary body of the tree.