Victoria is late, as usual. She couldn't even get her act together by lunchtime. But her mind is cheerfully contem- plating the afternoon and its possibilities, and the night that would follow. Until, that is, a grumbling noise under the bonnet [hood] and the the ensuing silence brings her mind back to the car and the dusty, deserted gravel road. Slowing rapidly, Victoria lets the car cruise on, then pulls over onto the verge [shoulder] when it will go no further. She sits still and curses the car, the road, herself for setting out in the old wreck, and above all her bad luck in breaking down in this desolate place, two miles from her destina- tion. "Well, there's no future in sitting here," she muses to herself. She opens the door and swings her legs out. It would be obvious to the most casual observer that she is dressed for a party, not a country walk. Her 3 inch high heels resting on the dusty road, her tightly laced red knee length boots, and the white fishnets that cover her thighs. Well, most of them! A long gap separates the top of her stockings from the hem of her red figure hugging dress. She slides out of the car and stands up, tugging her dress hem down, then turns to get her handbag. Our observer, if male, would cease to be casual, for it is on the far side of the seat and as she stretches across for it her dress slides up, revealing her thighs to their tops. Standing again she closes the door and looks around, as if seeking a clue to exactly where she is. Victoria is a tall, attractive, black haired and dark skinned woman. Her well built figure is revealed by the stretchy red dress, buttoned at the wrists and high neck. A silver necklace and her silver evening bag are the only adornment it needs. Again she tugs her hem down; even at full stretch it only just covers the lace tops of her stockings. "If I wasn't so damned late," she says, presumably to the silent car, "I'd wait and hitch a lift. But no-one will come this way now, so I guess I'd better start walking." She slams the door, turns and marches off along the dusty road, her furious pace reflecting the turmoil in her mind. Why doesn't she get a better car, why did she set out in the first place, why is she so infatuated with this crowd and their parties? Why so many "why's" in her life? She stumbles for what seems the fortieth time, badly enough to make her slow down. "High heels and dirt roads don't mix," she muses and settles to an easier pace. The tum- bling circle of illogic in her mind broken, she takes note of her progress. The road is no longer rising, and is gently downhill ahead. She stops and looks around, then looking away at right angles to the road toward the distance, she speaks aloud as if to break the solitude: "This is crazy. The house is just over behind that ridge, but this road goes around in a great loop. There must be a way straight across there. I'm going down the next track I get to." The vista before her is scarcely scenic. It is of very uneven ground, with patches of water visible among the yellowish hummocks of land, and rough tracks apparently going nowhere. A few bushes fight for survival, adding to the desolation. Her eyes follow a track back. She notes with approval that it joins the road just ahead, and she turns and strides on, suspenders and thigh flashing with every step, decorum now forgotten. The track Victoria has found is rough and rutted, obvi- ously unused now and walking takes all her attention. Slowly and with an occasional stumble, she makes her way down the slope. It is only when she reaches flat ground that she notices in front of her a dip in the track, through a patch of wet and obviously muddy ground. "Oh damn, I hope I don't have to turn back," she mutters, "I'll just see how bad it is." She looks about for the firmest looking patch and very tentatively, step by step, she walks in. The mud is only about an inch or so deep at first, but the slippery clay sticks to her boots in lumps. She looks again at the path ahead, then steps forward, rather more confidently than before. She takes about 3 or 4 paces forward, then one leg slips calf deep in the clay. Surprised and slightly off balance, she automatically brings her other foot forward, which sinks just as far. Her arms go out full length as she tries to keep her balance on her high and sinking heels. She looks ahead to gauge the distance, makes an instant decision to keep going, and plows through to firm ground again, where she takes a few deep breaths and exclaims, "I hope I find a way through, 'cos I don't want to be going back through this bog." She raises one mud laden boot, but fails to appreciate the contrast between the red leather and the creamy yellow clay, "I'd better keep going, I can clean these up later." And adds as an afterthought, "And I must stop talking to myself!" as she walks on. The track is flat and dry as it winds across the valley floor, but still not a pleasant walk in high heels with what feels like half a ton of mud stuck to your boots. As she comes around a bend in the path she sees ahead the low ridge she is aiming for. Her spirits, flagging somewhat before, rise as she sees it, only a few hundred yards ahead. But Victoria's hope is short lived. Another bend and she finds herself confronting another hazard. It's very flat and wet looking in the bottom of the dip, but the track turns sharply right and she needs to go straight on. She walks both left and right along the edge of the dip but it just gets deeper and wetter. She stands and stares at the mire, then sighs deeply. "I must be pretty close to the house now, just couldn't think of going back, it can't be more than 200 yards to that ridge." After a pause she adds, "I can't think why anyone would want to live out here, but they sure have good parties. I've got to keep going." Victoria, less hesitant this time, walks firmly down the slope and into the clay, until the mud is up to her shins. She hesitates, then continues. Another couple of paces and one boot sinks nearly to its top. She stops and tries to step back, but her other boot sinks just as far as she tugs at the first. There is panic in her voice and face as she wails, "Oh god, I'm going to fall over! I'll ruin my dress, I must get it off." She grabs her dress in both hands and pulls it up to her shoulders, then changes hands to pull it over her head. This reveals a deep, white suspender belt [garterbelt] and G-string pants, for only a flimsy thin white elastic strap encircles her body, supporting another thin white strap that is almost hidden between the cheeks of her bottom. Between her suspenders a heart shaped wisp of white lace barely covers her crotch, and an equally flimsy and match- ing white lace bra exposes considerable cleavage. She hauls her dress over her head, totally forgetting its fasten- ings until the tight buttoned high neck prevents it going further. A muffled "Oh, shit!" then "Oh no, I'm going over." Entangled in her dress, Victoria wobbles frantically, then, unable to move her feet, loses her balance and falls full length backwards into the yellow clay. Without a pause she struggles with her wrist and neck buttons, finally getting them undone and removing her dress. She quickly rolls it up and raising herself a little, throws it and her bag to safety, then lies back in the mud as if exhausted. After lying still for a couple of minutes she again raises her head to survey her position. Her boot tops protrude a couple of inches or so above the clay, her buttocks cradled by the cool mud, into which the thin strap of the G-string disap- pears between her thighs. Her arms are resting by her sides, half submerged, and her hair frames her face as, with closed eyes she mutters, "How did I get into this mess. I should never have set out in the first place in that old tank. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to drag my feet out of this gunk and go on." She begins to struggle, just trying to pull her legs up. Then she begins twisting around, rolling left while she tugs with her right leg, then rolling right to pull with her left leg. She repeats this several times, at first achieving little but to cover her arms and legs more completely. Then, after a great heave and with loud sucking sounds from the clay. a leg emerges. A few more twists and the other boot comes free. She lays still for a few seconds, as if resting. "I'm nearly there, perhaps if I slide sideways like a crab I can get across without sinking again." She starts to do this, dragging her self towards the far side then stops, with a feeling something is awry. She looks down to her breasts to find her bra has slipped down and sideways leaving them largely exposed. "Damn, my bra's come undone. Never mind, I'll fix it when I get out." She carries on dragging herself across the mud, not real- izing that her G-string panties are also askew. As she reaches solid ground Victoria stands up, her back covered with thick clay from head to foot. She surveys the front of her body almost disbelieving what she sees. Of her boots only the top two inches are still visible as red leather. Her white fishnets are largely still visible, as is most of her body, neck and face. But her bra is hanging below her breasts instead of supporting them, and the white lace heart is hanging by one strap, near the left stocking top. Victoria looks around for clean water but there clearly isn't any, and with a shrug uses her thumb and forefinger to scrap as much clay off her arms and hands as she can. flinging the mud to the ground with a flick of her wrists. Her hands go to her bra and follow the straps back. A puzzled look appears on her face and she brings the mud laden straps in front of her to inspect them. "Oh god, things are just getting worse. I must have broken the strap squirming around like that." Her gaze goes past her hands to the dangling lace heart, and a soft gasp escapes her. "I thought they felt a bit loose - don't tell they've broken too." She drops the bra straps and her hands go down to grasp the offending elastic, and as her fingers free it from the sticky clay, the G-string falls clear of her body and hangs limply. Suddenly she laughs, removes the remnants of her undies and smiles ruefully. "It's a good job I'm not likely to meet any one I don't know around here, because these ain't any use to me now! Oh well, I'm nearly there now, better get going." Throwing the ruined garments aside, Victoria bends down to pick up her rather bedraggled dress and bag, then straightens up and looks carefully around to get her direc- tion. After a glance down at her virtually naked body, then at the way ahead she plods on wearily. "I've often wondered what was on this side of the ridge, and now I know. Some desolate islands in a sea of mud!! And I'm stuck on one of them." Victoria looks around for sometime. Looking back she can see the rise where her car languishes. To each side the mud and water extend into the distance. Ahead lies the ridge, and depressingly, a clay filled ditch. A thought enters her head. "I'm fairly high up here, perhaps if I shout loudly someone will here me. It's got to be worth trying." After a pause and a deep breath she calls out, "Help, help, it's Vicky. I'm stuck over here." She waits a couple of minutes then repeats her call, but like the first it just seems to vanish in the clear air, leaving her feeling even more lonely, and she walks slowly on. In spite of her slow pace it takes little time to descend the hill, and she is soon pushing through the last of the low bushes. The sight that greets her depresses her even more. A ditch with a bottom of flat yellowish-white clay, per- haps 15 or 20 feet across. Cracks zig zag across the surface suggesting the mud is drying out and thick. The banks on both sides are fairly steep and rugged, the far one more so. Victoria's state of undress is far from her mind as she looks across the mire. She pauses, looks around then sighs deeply. "I can sit here and starve, or jump in there and drown! Great choice!" Another pause, another sigh es- capes her. "I hate all this mud, but I've got this far so I suppose I'll have to try. I'll hang my bag round my neck and stuff my dress in the strap, might help my balance a bit." She does so, and looks again at the ditch ahead of her. She takes a last look at the ridge, perhaps hoping that the cavalry will arrive, then steps forward down the slope. A moments hesitation, a deep breath and she steps forward into the mud. Her still mud caked boots slip ankle, then calf, then near to their tops as she walks forward, the clay oozing away, then giving a sucking plop as she pulls her leg out. Soon she is in knee deep, her feet dragging through the surface now, rather than lifting clear at each step. Victoria is over half way across when she stops and looks behind and then ahead, trying to judge her progress, and mops her face with a clean part of her dress. Whether it is the delay, or if the mud is deeper here she doesn't know, but she has great difficulty lifting her leg from the mud, and dragging it forward for her next step. She pushes it forward then down, and shifts her weight forward. Only the lace top of her fishnets is visible on her right leg, and her left leg slips down until it reaches the same depth. Victoria gives a loud grunt as she tries to go forward again, but the only result is that her left stocking top slides below the surface. She reacts by trying to lift it again, but her right stocking top also disappears. "Oh my god, I'm stuck!" gasps Victoria. "I'm nearly bloody well there and I go and get stuck! Oh, help me someone," she gasps. Then as her predicament registers her voice rises almost to a scream, "Help! Help! Some- body please help me!" Victoria's voice dies away. Complete silence follows, not even an echo disturbs the still blue air just emphasizing her loneliness as she contemplates her fate. Not very far away on the far side of the ridge, two women are walking and chatting to each other. They are obviously guests at the same party Victoria is trying to reach. The first is a tall girl, heavily built but by no means fat. Broad shouldered, full breasted and wide hipped, she is still lean and fit. It is, however, not the sort of figure that was intended to be displayed in a one piece red net catsuit. But that, apart from a pair of black knee length rubber riding boots, black PVC gloves buttoned at the wrist and a matching wide black PVC belt, is all she is wearing. Neither bra nor briefs diminish her nakedness. Her nipples stick pertly through the mesh, and the net pulls tightly into her crotch. Her companion is almost conventional by contrast. Shorter and lighter, perched on green high heeled shoes with firm ankle straps, she takes quick steps to keep up with the other's slow stride. Her top is a glittering green evening wear blouse, long sleeved and loose fitting, with a plunging squarish neckline barely covering her nipples. Her breasts jut almost aggressively forward and up. The blouse fits loosely at the waist, held by the tight fitting, deep gray skirt she wears. The skirt extends below her knees and would have hobbled her completely were it not for the slit that runs from hem to hip, and which exposes most of one long bare leg. "I don't quite understand this, Mary." It is the taller woman speaking. "First you drag me away from a per- fectly good party 'to get away from the smoke', and now you're hearing voices and you want to walk me over the hill. You know better than I there's nothing there but the old workings and those deep claypits." "Kelly, I'm absolutely sure I heard someone calling for help. Please come with me, at least to the top of the ridge so I can have a look." The girls walk on, chatting like the old friends they are as they head toward the ridge. "Help! Help! Somebody please help me!" Victoria's words float in on the still air. The two girls look at each other, then Kelly takes Mary's hand. "Come on Mary, lets get over there." Meanwhile Victoria is contemplating her situation, start- ing with the mud lapping at her thigh, her brown skin contrasting sharply with the yellow-white clay that sur- rounds her. "Well obviously no-one's coming to my res- cue, so it's down to me. I managed to free my legs when I was flat on my back before, so I'll have to try that again. I've thrown my dress and bag to safety, so all I have to do now is take a deep breath, lay down, and start wriggling. I'd try forwards to get nearer the bank, but I can't face sticking my face in the mud, and my backs already plas- tered, so -- here I go." She lays back and her bottom settles into the mire, then goes deeper as she gives a little wiggle. Soon her shoul- ders are in, as are her arms. She looks around gingerly, settles her head back, and starts rocking her legs back and forth, then side to side. The only effect is to make little ripples in the clay as she works away, and her body slips a little deeper in the mire. After a minute or so Victoria's thrusts get stronger and she sinks deeper. The clay creeps up to the tops of her thighs, and her mons veneris, with its dark triangle of hair, rises and falls above the thick clay before slipping from sight. "It seems to be working," she thinks with rather cautious optimism, "but I'm sinking faster than I'm getting free. I'll have to try harder and take a chance." She despon- dently adds, "I don't think anyone's going to find me in here." Victoria takes a look about her, then rolls to her left a little. Her right shoulder rises and the mud quakes around her as she tugs at her right leg. After three or four tugs, she rolls to the right and repeats the process. A brief rest and she goes through the whole procedure again. Then she stops to review her progress. The situation is obviously getting desperate. Only her face and the higher part of her breasts remain above the clay, like three brown islands in a pale yellow sea. "I'm going to have to be careful," she states, rather unnecessarily, "I've got to get myself back on the surface before I try anything else. I think I'm nearly free." She cautiously looks about, raising her head free of the clay. She looks right and left again, then suddenly jerks her head around to the right. "I don't believe it, there are two people along there," she pants, "I must get my arms out and wave." Mary and Kelly have indeed crossed the small ridge and are standing on the bank some fifty yards away, but have not even looked toward Victoria and probably at that distance would not have seen her if they had. In her excitement at seeing them, though, she hasn't recognized them. Victoria forgets her predicament. She tries to thrust her arms upwards out of the mud, but the sudden move- ment pushes her body down. What little remained visible disappears with a soft plop below the surface. Just a few anonymous bulges in the mud show where she is, as she begins a panic stricken struggle to get her head up for air. The two girls having got to the ditch are wondering what to do when Kelly exclaims "What was that!" and turns to listen. "Kelly, I think you're hearing things now," mocks Mary. "Just be quiet for a minute, will you," rejoins Kelly, "I'm sure I heard something along there." She narrows her eyes as if scanning a far horizon and some seconds later adds, "there's something on the ground along there, lets go and take a closer look." The two girls walk quickly along the bank until they are a few yards from Victoria's crumpled dress, when Kelly grabs her friends arm and stops her. "There's something moving in the mud Mary, it looks like someone's arm." While they have been walking towards her, Victoria has managed to get her head and one arm above the clay and start waving. Then she calls out, "Please help me, who- ever you are. I'm stuck, please, please get me out," she plaintively cries. "Kelly, that's Vicky's voice, I must help her!" shouts Mary, as she runs as fast as her, fortunately stout, four inch high heels will allow her. She turns and slithers down the crumbling clay bank and pausing only long enough to stand, regain her balance and sweep her long skirt behind her, the impetuous girl charges on into the mire. Her left foot goes forward and the green shoe sinks rapidly to its ankle straps. Her right leg follows, and sinks to near knee level. She drags her left foot from the clay and strides forward again. The clay has reached her knee as she tugs at her right leg, and slips deeper as she does so. But her right leg doesn't move, and her momentum carries her body forward as her legs refuse to move, and she slowly, and fairly gracefully, falls forward. Mary fortunately has played games in these pits before, and while cursing her own lack of thought, props herself on one arm and reaches forward to Victoria's hand, which is just in reach. "Grab my hand and pull, V icky, we'll soon have you out." The two link hands and pull, and slowly Victoria's upper body emerges from the ooze. She is so thickly coated she is hardly recognizable as a woman, let alone as Victoria. "God, am I glad you've come along, Mary, I thought I was going to drown in here." "What on earth are you doing in here anyway, Vicky, you always said you hated mud!" "I still do, Mary, I can't wait to get out! I'm here because that wreck of a car of mine broke down, and I thought I'd find a way through here instead of walking all the way on the road. I made it this far and then got stuck. Trying to get my legs out I got into this mess. Please get me out." "Now just stay still Vicky, and I'll help you. We'd better get your legs free first." While this exchange is going on Mary has managed to sit up, legs and skirt tucked under her so she doesn't sink. The weight of clay clinging to the arms and front of her top has pulled the loose fitting garment down, and the neckline is an inch below her bust, although no mud has reached her skin. Her breasts are fully exposed, as is the heavily wired white half bra which is pushing them so far out and upwards. Her mud covered legs are just visible. Bending forward, she plunges her arms down to find Victoria's legs. "Now just wiggle this leg while I pull." She pulls up and slowly Victoria's leg appears on the surface. "You've still got your high heeled boots on, you dummy! No wonder you get yourself in so deep. Let's have a go at the other one." Mary leans forward again, her nipples tantalizingly close to the clay. As she pulls her buttocks sink deeper, but another leg, from foot to just above knee, appears on the surface. She looks around, then says quietly to Victoria, "Kelly's sitting there in a dream. Hang on, I'll give her a surprise mud bath." Mary turns herself into a better position, nearer the bank. The amiable Kelly, obviously in no rush to get dirty, is sitting on the bank lost in her own thoughts. "Kelly, come and give me a hand will you. I think I've got myself a bit stuck." Kelly jumps, as if prodded awake from sleep, gets up and clambers carefully down to the edge of the ooze. She finds a firm footing, then bends forward and out to offer her hands to Mary. Mary reaches to take both hands, grasps them firmly, then pulls as hard as she can. The unsuspect- ing Kelly does a good imitation of a poor swimmer diving into a pool, and ends up nearly waist deep and head down, her legs windmilling aimlessly in the air. Quickly she pulls her legs together and lowers them, knees bent, which for a while leaves her clean black rubber boots incongru- ously sticking, tops down, out of the mud, as they follow her kicking and struggling legs below the surface. Mary quickly goes to the aid of her friend, but as the spluttering Kelly surfaces she demonstrates she has a very quick temper. Without a word, Kelly rips Mary's blouse from her body and pushes her flat on her back, her breasts pointing skyward. Kelly does not stop to survey this lovely sight, but puts her hands on Mary's shoulders and throws her full weight on them, pushing Mary's head and body below the clay. She settles back for a moment as if to inspect her work, then plunges her hands in and grabs Mary's bra to haul her back to the surface, intent on repeating the treatment. Apart from two hands full of clay, however, all Kelly brings to view is a very muddy bra with broken straps dangling. Surprise replaces the thunderous look on her face, then laughing merrily, she grabs Mary and helps her get her head up for breath. Mary throws her arms around Kelly's shoulders and a playful struggle ensues, but it is very one sided and after a couple of minutes Mary gasps, "It's no good Kelly, my skirt's wrapped round my legs. Help me undo it and get it off." Kelly drags Mary's legs to the surface and as she rolls her hips Kelly manages to undo the fastening and pull the skirt clear, revealing in the process some surprisingly white bikini pants. Kelly throws the mud laden skirt onto the bank, then turns back to Mary. Noticing the white pants, she scoops up a large handful of clay and sweeps it straight into Mary's crotch and on to her tummy, giving the whole area of the panties a good massage to rub it in. "Why, thank you Kelly," says Mary, "I didn't know you cared." "I suppose I should have known better where you're concerned," replies Kelly and she scoops a heap of clay into both hands, dumps it on Mary and proceeds to mas- sage her all over, including a good firm kneading of her breasts several times, and finishes off by pulling Mary's pants down to receive a good handful of clay, well rubbed in. Through all this Mary rolls around like a cat enjoying being stroked. Finally Victoria's voice stops the frolick- ing. She is still stuck where Mary left her, legs and upper body still sticking out of the mud. "When you two have finished horsing around," she complains, "I'd like to be rescued." Kelly and Mary reposition themselves and unceremoni- ously grab Victoria by the boots and haul her towards them. "We'd better get out and get back to the party," says Kelly, "someone may be worried about us being missing so long." Getting out, they find, is not quite that simple. The mud at the edge of the bank is thicker and sticky. As they try to climb out their legs sink thigh deep, and the edge crumbles under their weight. Several times one of them nearly makes it, only to fall back in with a slurping splash, sometimes head down so they have to be dragged up again by the other two. Finally Vicky and Kelly manage to push Mary on to fairly solid ground, and she helps first Victoria and then Kelly to follow. They get to the top of the bank, then turn as Mary picks up her totally mud covered long skirt, looks at it, then struggles back into it. "Thanks for saving this, Kelly, now I only need to go topless!" Victoria picks up her bedraggled little red dress, and after looking at Mary, drags it over her head and down her body. "Somehow it doesn't look right," she sighs, "it's only a bit muddy." After a pause, during which she twists and turns to inspect herself she adds "I know, I'll finish the job off." Before the others can stop her, she turns back, slithers down the bank and throws herself headlong into the clay. Much to their surprise she gambols and frolics like a young hippo until her dress is well and truly saturated with clay. Then she struggles back to the bank where the ever patient and strong Kelly comes down and hauls her out. Together again, Vicky does a little 'fashion parade'. strut- ting about. raising her dress to display how totally clay covered she is, and turning and bowing to her tiny audi- ence. Finally she walks between the two girls, takes Kelly in her left hand and Mary in her right and leads them off. As they walk away the hem of Victoria's dress is still stuck at waist level, exposing the clay covered orbs of her bottom, from scarcely visible suspender belt to stocking tops. The topless Mary's skirt is slapping heavily at her legs with each step, and Kelly's now mud-filled riding boots are squelching away in time with her lazy stride, as the three giggle away at the effect their appearance is going to create on the partygoers on their return.