Paul's kayak, slid down the slow brown river. He was well into the holiday, to kayak the length of the river. It had long ceased to be the lively stream leaping in stony river beds, that it had been near its source, and now it crawled across flat sparsely populated fenlands, Slow and lazy between high reeded banks, on a long sinuous progression to the sea
The sun was glancing slow over the wide water sparkling in the late evening light. The day was receding into one of those gorgeous British evenings, that come so seldom in the late summer but are so glorious when they do. The amber sun on the horizon had lost the heat of the afternoon, and bathed his bare torso in a warm relaxing glow as he almost drifted with the stream. He was proud of his firmly muscled chest, just a sprinkling of dark brown hair. Now it was getting cooler, his skin went to goose flesh for a moment as a breeze gusted over his lightly perspiring body. He coasted on silently barely disturbing the birds now settling into the reeds.
After a baking day, the sight of the pub on the river bank was a vision of heaven. He steered over to the bank, and sat down outside to enjoy a well earned pint. The Unicorn Pub was unpretentious, serving the local boatmen and the small local village. Right on the water's edge it overlooked the river, chocolate brown with the silt of centuries, he sat contemplating the sinking sun over the water, pint in hand as generations of locals must have done in that very spot. The land lady of the pub came to collect the empties, smiling at him.
Her voice carried only the slightest lilt of the local accent, smooth and deep toned – it felt warm like velvet. Laura was dressed in jeans and a check shirt, open at the collar, displaying a fine deep cleft between slightly freckled breasts, full and firm. Her hair deep auburn and green eyes were welcoming and friendly. She was a striking woman tall, and whilst not skinny had a firm, full figure, that had an immediate allure for Paul, despite being maybe forty five some 20 years older. There was something about her that spoke of the allure of the experienced woman over the fragility of the naïve girl.
"You'll be on holiday then I guess," looking at his touring boat pulled up on the bank with his lightweight camping kit. "If you're needing somewhere to put up a tent, pub's got a patch of land about a mile down. Folks can be funny round here about trespassers, but you'd be welcome to use the field – can't miss it, there's a short jetty just as you get to it, and that way you'll have time for another pint." Paul grinned acceptance; he'd pitched his tents every night for a fortnight on the banks, and was just starting to wonder where he might crash for the night. Problem solved, he settled for a last pint to complement his evening meal.
The spot for the tent was just as easy to find as Laura had said. The river bank was only a few feet above the water, with a slope into the water, it was thick with brown clay mud. Paul unloaded his kayak, feet squelching in the warm brown ooze. In ten minutes a practiced routine had set up his tent just as the sun finally went down and a swollen moon, full and silver yellow crept over the horizon and the night settled in. The night was hot, sultry and sleep difficult. He lay inside the small tent on top of his sleeping bag, perspiring slightly in the humid night. Paul awoke, to the low purring of a diesel engine. He looked through the flap of his tent to see the early twilight before dawn slanting over the meadow, beaded with dew and strung with a billion gossamer spider threads.
Paul lay in his tent staring out of the entrance when he saw a faint white figure moving ghost-like over the meadow. Lying still, he watched as she walked down to the muddy slope, almost ethereal in the grey pre-dawn light he saw Laura, now dressed in a thin white cotton dress. Slim straps over the shoulders and so short it barely covered the firm ass that he'd so appreciated earlier in those tight jeans – certainly short enough to disclose the tops of her white hold-up stockings with each lithe step.
In graceful movements She kicked off her shoes, and slipped the straps from her shoulders, her back to Paul's tent, apparently oblivious to his presence. Paul was riveted. As she peeled the dress down to her waist, she was wearing a thin white satin bodice under the dress, which folded delicately over her breasts.
As she stepped out, she leaned forward giving Paul a vision of her rounded buttocks, the lace of her French knickers stretched smooth over her pale flesh, emphasising the length of her long, well shaped legs. Bending well forward, feet crossed at the ankles She rubbed her ass cheeks, pulling the gusset taught over her mound, and between her buttocks. Paul was now in no doubt that she was aware, and desirous of his presence.
Colour was rapidly starting to return to the world as the sun continued to rise in a cloudless dawn. She stood at the edge of the muddy slope now contemplating the river for a minute, her body clad in soft white, tinged with the pink of the early dawn. The world was silent except for the calls of the water birds, and the soft lapping water. She took a sharp breath and stepped forward. Her long stockinged leg, foot pointed, she slowly lowered her foot into the thick mud, smiling at the feel of the cool glutinous stuff, seeping through her stockings and between her toes.
Laura stepped forward into semi liquid mud – three inches deep. Paul watched in fascination as she slowly sank, very slowly, to her knees in the stuff, coating her calves, then white thighs. Settling back on her haunches. Laura started to massage the sticky brown into her thighs, soaking the white nylon and staining the pale flesh between the lace band of her stockings and her knickers. Soon she was scooping double handfuls in a broad path up between her legs, pulling aside the gusset of her knickers, she massaged the grey- brown ooze into her slit, then further back between her ass – cheeks. The flimsy lingerie now a stained wet cord over her womanhood.
She continued, smearing the stuff higher now over her abdomen and coating her cupped breasts with the slimy mud. Head thrown back as she knelt in the morning light, revelling in the feel of the cool mud, as it squashed between her full freckled breasts, and smoothing it over her throat. Even at his slight distance Paul could see how the nipples stood hard as the mud soaked satin clung to her round breasts.
Laura's hands were now moving in circles over her body – massaging in the thick mud over her buttocks, breasts and abdomen. Sliding the thin straps of the bodice from her shoulders, Laura pealed the soaking fabric down over her soft breasts, they stood firm in the sunlight, nipples firm and puckered.
Paul had been sleeping only in his briefs due to the hot weather. He left the tent and walked the few steps to the edge of the river. The kneeling woman looked up from the dark mud – red hair flowing over her shoulders, milk white in the dawn, body streaked with the finger wide streaks of smeared mud. She looked wild, hungry. Like some Celtic queen of ancient days, a finger to her lips to be silent, then a gesture to tell him to stay just where he was.
