White Lies

by Arthur Saxon

It had been a perfectly nice day when they had set out.  The sun had been shining, with only a few fluffy clouds scudding across the sky.  So when Paul had suggested a drive in the country, Sandra had eagerly accepted.  She put on a light flowery summer skirt and a loose white blouse, and together they set off in the middle of the morning.

There was a fresh breeze blowing, and Sandra took every opportunity to pose for Paul by the side of the road while her skirt billowed up around her waist.  Two rolls of film and a couple of hours of video footage later, they decided it was time to head back, since dark clouds were beginning to close in from the south-west.

After they had been driving for half an hour or so, however, disaster struck.  They were heading along a narrow country lane with a rather bumpy surface when a deep pothole appeared from nowhere, and Paul failed to notice it until it was too late.  He spun the wheel and managed to avoid it with the front wheels, but the left-hand back wheel dropped straight into the hole and there was a loud crunch.

“Oh shit,” said Paul, and slammed his foot on the brakes.  He jumped out and ran around to the back of the car.  A moment later he returned.

“Is it okay?” she asked.

“Bad news I’m afraid.  The axle’s bent.  We can’t go any further. We’ll need to get a pick-up truck out here to collect it.”  He looked upset.

Sandra’s face fell.  “So what do we do now?”

Paul threw up his hands and sighed, then he shrugged.  “We’ll have to walk to the nearest village.  There’s got to be one somewhere around here.”

They locked the car and set off down the road.  It was not as hot as it had been earlier, but it was still very warm and the going was quite pleasant, at least for Sandra.  Paul, in his black jeans, was starting to sweat.  He had brought his leather jacket along, draping it over one shoulder, since it contained his wallet and cheque book and he wanted to have them with him in case of emergencies.

After a few minutes it began to rain.  At first they did not mind, since it had a nice cooling effect, but when the raindrops started getting larger and more numerous they started to look for shelter.  Paul donned his jacket.

“We’re still miles away from the nearest village!” wailed Sandra. “It’ll take us ages to get there, and we’ll be drenched long before then.”

“Well,” said Paul, “I spotted a small farmhouse on the other side of the valley a few minutes ago.  I can’t see it now - it must be behind those trees.”  He pointed.  “If we cut across country, we’ll be there in half an hour,” he said.  “Better than trekking for hours along this road, I should think.”

Reluctantly Sandra agreed.  They abandoned the road and headed off down the hillside, slipping and sliding on the wet grass.  By the time they reached the bottom of the first field, the rain was coming down even harder, and Sandra’s blouse was becoming transparent and clinging to her body, a fact which did not escape Paul’s attention.  He was surprised, however, to see her nipples standing out clearly.

“You look great, sweetie,” he grinned.  “You didn’t tell me you weren’t wearing a bra today!”

Sandra giggled.  “I wanted it to be a surprise,” she said with an impish smile.

They had to climb over a stile to get into the next field, and Paul graciously allowed his wife to go first.  As she clambered over, Paul watched happily as her panties came into full view.

At the bottom of the next field was a small stream flanked by muddy banks.  There seemed to be no way to get across apart from by jumping from bank to bank or by wading through the water and mud.  A little over twelve feet lay between the tops of the banks on either side of the stream.  Paul regarded the stream with a calculating eye.

“I figure we can jump across,” he said.

Sandra stared at the gap.  “Speak for yourself!” she said.  She pictured what would happen if she herself attempted the feat, and a secret smile came to her lips.  “Oh well,” she said, “I suppose it’s the only way across.  You go first.”

Paul took a few steps back, then ran at the edge, launching himself into the air.  He sailed across the gap, landing a foot or so beyond the edge of the grass on the other side.  He slipped and fell on to his bottom, cursing. He got to his feet and wiped wet grass from his jeans.  “Now it’s your turn,” he said.

Her heart pounding, Sandra ran up to the edge of the bank, then jumped. Her feet landed halfway up the bank on the other side and sank into the mud. Unable to grasp at anything to steady herself, she began to topple backwards with a squeal of excitement.  Her bottom hit the mud with a wet slap, and began to sink slowly.  The mud was thick and gooey, though moistened by the rain, and she felt it slide across her panties and ooze between her upper thighs.  She felt as if her pussy were being caressed by a wet, slippery hand.

“Now look what you’ve made me do!” she exclaimed.  “I’m filthy!”

“Oh no, what a disaster,” said Paul.  “You’d better get out of there at once.”

Sandra put her hands down in an attempt to push herself to her feet, but they merely sank into the mud.  It was obvious that she would not be able to get out unless she freed her feet.  She tugged at them, and one after the other each came free with a slurp.  Fortunately her shoes came out still attached to her feet.  Her bottom was now well embedded in the mud, and a mixture of rainwater and fine mud was seeping into the spaces around her pussy and buttocks, soaking her panties.  She started to manoeuvre her legs so that they were beneath her, but discovered she could not free her bottom - the suction was too great.  She stopped struggling.

“My bottom’s stuck,” she said to Paul.  Her panties were now invisible, completely buried in the mud bank, upon which lay a thin coating of oozing mud. Her sodden skirt was draped around her waist.

“You’ll have to lever it free,” said Paul.  “Lie on your back and stretch your legs out.  Then just roll away from the hole.”

“Okay.”  Sandra liked the sound of this plan.  She lay back, and as her torso sank in slowly, her bottom rotated slightly in the mud.  It oozed past her pussy, stroking it through the wet material of her panties, and she sighed with pleasure.  She then stretched out her legs, straightening her body, and with a sucking, squelching noise, her bottom came free.  Her back, bottom, and the backs of her legs were now completely covered in mud.  Now she rolled away from the hollow, which quickly began to fill with liquid mud, and found herself lying on her front.  Her soaked blouse was now almost completely brown.  The mud slid against her belly and breasts and squished against her thighs.  She brought her knees up to her chest and managed to get into a kneeling position.

“What now?” she inquired of Paul.

“Now stand up quickly and come to the edge so I can pull you out,” he said.

Sandra lifted up her left foot and planted it in the mud.  She then had to put all her weight on that foot while she did the same with the other.  She rose to a standing position, carefully, and attempted to take a step towards Paul.  Her left foot, however, was stuck fast.

“This isn’t working, Paul,” she said.  “Whatever part of my body I’m resting on gets stuck almost immediately.”

“Okay,” he said.  “Maybe I can give you some help.  Take off your blouse.”

“Excuse me?” she said in surprise.

“I’m serious.  If you take off your blouse and twist it into a long rope-type-thing, you can throw one end to me and I’ll use it to pull you out.”

“All right,” she agreed.  She unbuttoned her mud-soaked blouse and pulled it off with a little difficulty, since it was clinging to her arms.  Her bare breasts were streaked with mud.  She twisted her blouse as Paul had described, and then tossed the end towards him.  He lunged for it, but missed. Unfortunately, the effort caused Sandra to lose her balance, and she fell backwards with a cry.  As she thudded into the mud once more, she accidentally let go of her blouse.  A little winded, she sat up.

“Oh no!  Sandra!” Paul cried.

“What?  What?” she asked in alarm.

Paul pointed, and she looked in the direction he was indicating.  She gasped as she saw her blouse being carried away swiftly downstream.  “My blouse!” she exclaimed.  “Now what am I going to do!  I’m nearly naked!”

“Yeah,” said Paul.  “Bummer.  Never mind, we can perhaps try the same thing with your skirt.”

“Okay,” said Sandra.  She unzipped her skirt at the back, and pulled it up over her head.  She screwed it up as she had done with her blouse, and threw one end to Paul.  Unfortunately it was not nearly as long as the blouse, and Paul was completely unable to reach it.

“You’ll have to try to come a little closer,” he said.  “Get your feet free, then lie down on your front and crawl towards me.  With your weight thus distributed, you shouldn’t sink in much.”

Sandra tugged at her feet, but could not move them.  She sat down and struggled some more, concentrating on her left foot, wiggling it back and forth to loosen it.  With a great effort, she managed to pull it free. Unfortunately, her shoe was not with it.  She gasped and looked down into the hole where her foot had been.  Already it was filling up with wet mud, but she just caught a glimpse of her tennis shoe before it disappeared.  She reached down into the mud and grabbed hold of it, pulling as hard as she could, but to no avail.  A few seconds later the hole was filled with mud.

“I’ve lost my shoe!” she wailed.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetie,” said Paul soothingly.  “The main thing is to get you out of there.  We can buy you more shoes.”

Sandra tugged at her right foot, and managed to free it, though she was worn out with the effort.  She was not at all surprised to find that her right shoe had not come out of the mud either.

Clad now only in her mud-saturated panties, Sandra lay down on her front and started to crawl towards the bank, slithering on her naked breasts and belly.  When she was close enough, she threw the end of her rolled-up skirt towards Paul again.  He caught hold of it and cheered.  He started to pull, then stopped as he began to slide off the edge of the bank.

“Hang on,” he said.  “I’m just going to end up in the mud with you at this rate.”  He thought for a moment.  “How about if I pull you along the mud flat a little way?  The bank is much lower a little further downstream, and it should be easy for you to get out there.”

“Okay,” said Sandra.  She felt she could stand to be in the mud for a little longer.

Paul started to pull her, carefully making his way along the edge of the bank.  Fortunately she slid quite well and they made good progress, although Sandra discovered quite quickly a minor drawback in Paul’s plan.

“Paul, my panties are coming down!” she said.  As she was being pulled along, the friction of her panties against the mud was threatening to drag them down around her ankles.  She reached down with one hand, while still clutching her skirt with the other, and rescued her panties from her mid-thighs, pulling them up as well as she could.  Several times she had to do this, while more and more mud was collecting inside them.  Finally she called to Paul to stop for a moment, and she let go of her skirt in order to fix her panties properly.  She rolled on to her back and pulled them up firmly.  They were absolutely full of mud, and it oozed between her buttocks and pussy lips as she pulled them tight against her bottom.  She moved her legs apart a little and pulled them even tighter, so that they slipped into the cleft of her bottom.

“Okay I’m ready again,” she said, and took hold of her skirt once more. As Paul dragged her along, her panties quickly came down again, but she decided it was futile to keep trying to pull them up again, and let them fall to her ankles.  She managed to get hold of them between her toes before they were left behind on the mud flat and, as she pulled them along, more mud accumulated within them.

Completely naked and covered with mud, Sandra slithered along on her front, pulled by her husband.  The rain had pretty much stopped, but the mud was still wet and slippery.  Soon she reached the low stretch of bank that Paul had been referring to.  Here the water came right up to the bank, and Sandra decided the time had come to get herself cleaned up.  She placed her panties on the top of the bank.

“I’m going to wash this mud off,” she said, and she sat down in the water.  The bed of the stream consisted of a deep layer of very fine mud, and as she sank into it the mud oozed into every crevice.  She opened her legs and let the mud caress her pussy, while she scooped up water to wash her upper body.

Eventually she was clean from the waist up, and she raised herself on to her knees to wash her bottom and pussy.  Before long she was as clean as she was going to get, so she climbed out on to the grassy bank with a little help from Paul.

“Right”, he said.  “Let’s go.”

“But I still haven’t washed my skirt and panties,” Sandra objected.

“No time,” said Paul.  “You can wash them later.”

“Okay,” she said, “but I can’t walk around naked.”

“True enough.”  Paul nodded.  “Put on your panties and skirt.”

Sandra picked up her mud-filled panties and carefully put them on, making sure that she didn’t get any mud on her legs, and also that she lost none of the mud from inside her panties.  As she pulled them up to her bottom, she sighed with pleasure as she felt the familiar sensation of mud oozing around her pussy.  Then Paul handed her her skirt and she stepped into it, gingerly pulling it up to her waist and zipping it up.  Paul took off his jacket and she gratefully put it on, feeling rather cold by this time.  She zipped it up at the front.

“Okay, I’m ready,” she said.  “Let’s go and find this farmhouse.”

“What farmhouse?” asked Paul with an innocent expression on his face.

“The one you saw...”  Sandra stopped suddenly and her jaw dropped. “Paul!” she exclaimed.  “You mean there wasn’t one after all?”

“Well, there was, but it didn’t have a roof and it looked as if nobody had lived there for a century at least.”

“Paul!” she said again.  “Then what are we going to do?”

“Well,” said Paul thoughtfully, “We could always go back to the car and drive home.”

“But the axle...” Sandra began, then noticed the glint in his eye.  “Oh Paul, you’re not serious...  You mean there’s nothing wrong with the car??”

“Well, the axle’s bent,” he said, “but it’s driveable.”  He grinned.

Sandra turned and looked at the stream.  “Then we have to cross this again?” she asked.

Paul nodded, and regarded the twelve-foot gap with a calculating eye. “I figure we can jump across...”


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