No More Secrets

Bret and I had been together for six years, and loved each other utterly, but I wish he wasn’t so damn nervous.  I firmly believe there should be no secrets between lovers, but after a while it became obvious there was something he wasn’t telling me, and he most noticeably dodged the subject when we were talking about our fantasies; often when I would try to steer the conversation, especially during sex, in the direction of our kinky dreams he’d get all self conscious and ashamed and would change the subject.

I’ve always been the daring one in our relationship and it frustrated me how strictly vanilla our sex had to be because whenever I tried to add interest up would surface old nervous, guilty Bret and the mood would be ruined.  I didn’t think it was another girl, it wasn’t that sort of feeling… the impression I was getting was that there was something in his fantasies he was too scared to tell me about, and that just made me all the more determined to find out what it was, and to give it to him as best I could.  I was getting sick of his inhibitions getting in the way.

In the end it was a bit annoying when I found out by accident rather than by my own efforts, and even more annoying when I realised that the snivelling runt had been too afraid to tell me but didn’t mind telling complete strangers over the internet. 

I’d been checking around our computer for a lost file when I happened across a directory I never knew existed, the contents of which were a number of pictures and files about girls sinking in quicksand.  Thinking I was on to something, I probed deeper, until I was surprised to find myself in one of the pictures.  It was a photoshopped manipulation combining a photo of me which had been taken on a night out some time ago mixed into a background image of a mudpit so I appeared to be chest deep in the mire.  Further investigation of the material showed a recurring peril theme to the material, the stories and video clips he had saved often ended in the death of the heroine as she went under.  There was no direct portrayal I could find of my own demise in this way, but I could put two and two together.

Obviously this had to be the fantasy Brett had been so scared to discuss. 

Part of me was furious with him for keeping this from me, but I could understand why he’d tried to.  Funnily enough I wasn’t shocked; it takes a lot to shock me in any case, and I know Bret well enough to know he’s no serial killer.  And I found my adrenaline racing when I realised that this was the demon that I had to make him face if I was ever going to get the guy to lose his inhibitions so I could get a properly satisfying fuck out of him.  And in the process I felt I could have some fun making him squirm for keeping a secret from me for so long at the same time as testing just how dark his fantasies really were; I was getting quite excited at the prospect of dull, vanilla, nervous Bret having a hidden erotic dark side waiting to be brought out by the right circumstances.

I said nothing for a while, I bided my time, but I did some covet research of my own on the subject of quicksand and deep mud, what it was and most importantly how to find it.  Having found out, a study of local ordinance survey maps showed up a few likely spots out in the country.  I went out on a recce one day when Bret was away out of town on business and while most of the spots drew a blank I eventually found the perfect spot, a muddy marsh where a stream flowed into a river in an area surrounded by trees. 

I set my plan in motion soon after, persuading Bret to go with me for a secluded walk, just the two of us, in a beauty spot I’d heard about. 

It was a pleasant Summer’s day when we went, as we walked I bided my time though my heart was thumping.  If I’ve a fault it’s that in my adventurous nature I do sometimes get carried away, and I wasn’t quite sure how far this one was going to go. 

When we were almost upon the spot, I decided it was time to finally broach the subject.

“I understand you’ve got a thing for quicksand”, I said.

Bret looked shocked and tried to deny it, so I told him about the directory I’d found and in particular the manipulated photo involving myself. 

“Bear in mind, I am angry with you for keeping this from me, but also a little interested, because I think getting this thing out in the open could mark a new phase in our relationship, so here’s what I’m going to do; you may be ashamed of it, but you want to see me sinking to my death in quicksand.  Well, careful what you wish for, I’m going to see just how bad you want this.”

“Really, I don’t want you dead”, protested Bret.

“I believe you, Sugar”, I replied.  “But wouldn’t it be nice to know for sure?”

This was fun, I could tell I had him by the balls.  It was in the back of my mind that I was setting myself up to actually kill myself if need be, which just made it even more exciting, and I knew if I could do this for him and take him to the limit I could get him to do anything I wanted later. 

 At this point we arrived at the bog, I let go of his hand and set out purposefully on to the soft ground.  I got about halfway before I felt the ground collapse beneath my feet and my left leg sank up to the ankle in the goo. 

“Oh, no.. quicksand!” I cried, with deep sarcasm.  I managed to spin around so I could see Bret, his face was a picture.

“You’ve made your point!” he wailed, “Please come back!”

“I can’t, I’m stuck”, I said.  I worked my legs a bit so I sank up to my thighs in the ooze, my dress started to soak up the mud as it spread around me.  “So will you be a knight in shining armour or would you like me to go under for you?  I’m happy either way”, I added.

Bret started to make his way carefully across the marsh towards me, so I pushed my hands into the mud to pull myself deeper.  As the mud came up to my belly I realised I was quite enjoying the experience, my legs felt great swimming in the soft, deep mud.  I worked myself even deeper until I was up to my chest.  Bret at this point was on his hands and knees trying to crawl across the mud a few metres from me, but I could tell he was conflicted, and not just by the incredibly noticeable bulge that had appeared in the top of his trousers.

“Help, help”, I cried mischievously. 

When he finally reached me, by which time the mud was at my shoulders, I asked him candidly.

“So, what is your dream?  Do you like me as your damsel in distress?  If you do, say so, because I’ve had enough about you lying to me about this.”

“Wendy, stop messing about and give me your hand”, he said nervously.

“That’s not answering the question”, I said.  I pulled myself a little deeper into the mire, so the mud began to close over my shoulders and up my neck.

“Oh, my, I’m sinking deeper, who will come to my aid?” I cried in the worst acting I could muster.  Bret was almost done, I could tell.  I pulled myself still deeper so only my head was still visible above the mud. 

“OK, I admit it!” he wailed.  “I’ve got a thing for quicksand, I like the fantasy of girls sinking to their deaths, and yes I’ve dreamt of you sinking but I don’t mean it for real and I especially don’t want to lose you like this and if you just give me your hand and let me pull you out I will do anything to make all this up to you and I’m sorry!”

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”  I said.  I worked my arms back up through the mud, sinking a little deeper in so doing, which at this point was starting to get a bit worrying; now that my little game had reached its objective the reality of the situation was starting to creep in.  But I managed to get my hands up into view, Bret grabbed them gratefully and by our combined efforts I was soon pulled out of the mud and back up on to firm ground again.  Bret clutched me and kissed me passionately, getting himself quite muddy in the process.  I began to unbutton his muddy shirt and trousers to reveal the erection he’d been so ashamed of.  He needed little encouragement to return the favour, stripping away my black, slimy dress and underwear (the dress was a write-off, but I didn’t mind sacrificing it for this) and we fell together into the reeds. 

“Well, this is a new one from you”, I commented.  “Outdoor sex.”

Bret was far to busy to reply, he thrust his mouth over mine, we pulled together and commenced the act.

Since then Bret was a changed man in the bedroom, totally for the better, and best of all he was mine, all mine.  I don’t think he’d feel able keep any more secrets from me now.

We return to that spot now quite often, and I sink for him in the mud.  Sometimes we’ll do it as a roleplay, him as an evil villain, me as the poor girl he’s trying to dispose of.  I have been all the way under for him now several times.

Oh, and he’s done a few certain things for me in return, too.  But that really is another story.

 

06.03.07