"Help!" my sister cried, floundering like a drunk duck in the muck. The muck was already up to the middle of her chest. It was up to the middle of my chest too, but since I was the older brother, and I was the one holding the tree-branch, it was my responsibility to save her from the Deadly Quicksand.
We had no idea we were going to fall into the Deadly Quicksand when we went out exploring this green, sun-speckled glade. The ad read:
5 ACRES, WOODED, YEAR-ROUND STREAM. ALL UTILITIES TO PROPERTY LINE.
There was no mention of quicksand. Even if there had been, our folks still would have insisted we take a look at it. Ever since Sis and I left home and moved up here for college, inspecting property for our folks had become a fairly common occurrence. They'd find a listing on the internet, send us the link, and then Sis and I would drive out to take a look. It was all part of Sis' plan to get our folks to go green, lowering their carbon footprint by embracing the back-to-the-land lifestyle.
"Dammit Bobby! Do something!" my sister whined, as she thrashed her way deeper into the Deadly Quicksand.
"I'm thinking, Sis, I'm thinking." Actually, I was thinking about what I was going to wear to her funereal. She was pretty much a goner, and it was all my fault, since I was the one who just had to cross the stupid moss-covered log that dumped us into the Deadly Quicksand. But hadn't it always been that way? Who was the one, back in the suburbs, who always had to climb the power line tower, or squeeze under the chain link fence up at the reservoir, or skateboard down Dead Man's Hill with no one at the bottom watching for traffic? Yes, it was me. And who was the one always tugging at my sleeve, begging me not to do it? That would be Sis. But we always survived. Of course, back then, we never had any Deadly Quicksand to deal with, so this part of it was all new to me.
"Oh Bobby!" she sobbed. "We're going to die!" She looked at me with that scared-shitless expression, the exact same expression I saw the first time Dad talked her into trying the pony ride at the fair. But she ended up loving the pony ride. Would she end up loving this too?
"Sis! Listen to me," I said, in an authoritative tone, even though I was as scared-shitless as she was. "I'm holding onto the branch. Lunge at me, and I'll grab your hand."
"I can't lunge," she babbled. "It's too far."
Our fingers were just inches apart, like that famous painting, and it occurred to me that perhaps I should say a little prayer. I did. Moments later, my prayer was answered.
"Sis, pull your T-shirt off and we'll use it like a rope."
"You pull your own T-shirt off," she snapped, giving me the icy glare I was so used to.
"I can't, Sis. I'm holding the branch with one hand."
I watched while she pondered whether or not she was going to go topless. The wait was excruciating, so I amended my silent prayer with a silent
Amen, Dammit!
A moment later, her T-shirt emerged from the muck like a soaked flag of surrender.
She twisted her shirt around like we used to do with the towels in gym class when we'd be snapping each other's asses, and then she made a mighty lunge in my direction.
"I've got it," I said, grasping the T-shirt-rope thingy. "Hold on, Sis!" I pulled, but she didn't budge.
"It's like I'm stuck in concrete," she moaned. I pulled again, and the shirt flew out of her hand and sailed up into the trees like a soggy frisbee. It was hopeless. She was screwed. But the sight of her bare shoulders, the glimpse of the side of her white breast when she stretched out to reach for me, this was the inspiration I needed. I would save her at all costs. I would even sacrifice my own life if I had to. But first, I would sacrifice my pants.
I reached down with my free hand and undid my jeans, and suddenly I was coming unstuck from the muck. Just in the nick of time, I remembered the car keys were in my pants pocket, so I fished them out and tossed them up onto the bank. I also tossed my wallet, my lighter, and a condom, but the condom didn't make it, plopping into the muddy pool like an expiring butterfly poisoned by toxic waste.
"Look Sis," I cried, inching myself up out of the evil sludge. "If you just unbutton your jeans, you'll be able to wriggle free."
"I can't unbutton my jeans," she bawled.
"Why can't you unbutton your jeans?" I asked, growing more and more impatient with my annoying sister.
"I'm not wearing any panties," she moaned desperately.
"Why aren't you wearing any panties, Sis? Did you sell them to some pervert on Craig's List?"
"Shut up!" she snapped. "They were all in the laundry. The only clean one was my string thing that rides way up on my hips, and I hate it when my thong is riding up and all the guys are staring at my ass."
Did she know I was one of the guys staring at her ass when her thong was riding up? Was she trying to tell me something, in an indirect way? Did I give a damn? No. I was too busy saving myself from the Deadly Quicksand by escaping from my jeans.
"Sis," I said, waxing pragmatic, "if you die with your pants on, do you have any idea what's going to happen to you?"
"What?" she moaned, with that same look on her face as when I'd told her, years ago, that Santa wouldn't come unless she went to bed without pajamas. (Didn't work, but it was worth a try.)
"The Coroner's going to strip you naked, wash you off, and show you to the hearse driver and the janitor, and anybody else who happens to be hanging around." 
"Ew" Sis grimaced.
"So, you can either take your pants off now, with no one watching, and let me save you, or you can leave them on until you're dead and then let the Coroner take your pants off." I watched for her reaction. It didn't take long.
"Oh, alright," she sighed, reaching down into the muck. "I'll take my pants off, but no peeking."
"I promise, Sis," I said, craning my neck for a better view. "Don't forget to toss your wallet and your keys up on the bank."
She tried, but since she throws like a girl, her wallet splatted about three feet away, and immediately sank into the Deadly Quicksand with a pitiful 'gulugalug' sound.
"Think about your follow-through, Sis."
"Shut up! This isn't little league. And anyway, you suck at soccer!"
She was right. I did suck at soccer that one time when I played with the women on her college team. But how's a guy supposed to concentrate when he's surrounded by a sea of ass cheeks and a bevy of bouncing boobs?
In a fit of disgust, she hurled her keys off into the bushes, and then proceeded with the arduous task of squirming out of her jeans. By the time she was done, her head was all that was showing above the surface.
I thrust one leg over in her direction, she took a breath, and lunged for it. The feel of her fingers digging into my ankle, almost ripping my achilles tendon loose, was excruciatingly painful, but I was up for the sacrifice, if it meant saving my sweet naked sister's life.
"Hold on Sis!" I yelled, genuinely concerned. If she lost her grip, it would be all over (my chance to see her naked, not to mention her life.) With her fingers cutting off the circulation to my foot, I gave my leg a tug, and the ensuing movement revealed her bare back, and, for a brief instant, both tits. Success! She wasn't going to die. I was going to rescue her, and the coroner was going to have to go looking for some other victim to strip naked and leer at.
A moment later she was frantically climbing up my leg, trying desperately to escape from the Deadly Quicksand. Because I was submerged from the waist down, she couldn't see what she was grabbing, and she snagged my boxers, raking them clear down to my knees.
"Uh, Sis," I said, thinking perhaps I should make her aware of the fact that her actions could be seriously imperiling my modesty.
"What?" she gasped, pawing at me like a dog trying to hump my leg. Suddenly, my boxers were down to my ankles.
"Never mind," I said, resigned to my boxer-less fate. She continued shinnying up my leg, but the feel of her strong fingers digging into my flesh reminded me of a certain ex-girlfriend, (a gymnast: parallel bars) and my cock started expanding, till the head was on the verge of breaking through the surface of the Deadly Quicksand. Sis' hand inched higher up my leg. My cock grew bigger. Higher. Bigger. Higher. Bigger
"Oh my God!" she gasped as her fingers curled around my hard-on. "It's huge!"
"Oh my God!" I moaned. "You're going to break it off."
"Sorry," she said sheepishly. She let go, and it popped straight up, poking out of the brackish water like a submarine periscope. Sis, ignoring my one-eyed mud eel, grabbed onto the bottom edge of my T-shirt, and then slid her hand up underneath it, which felt quite nice.
She continued climbing towards safety, using my body as a ladder, but I could tell that one particular rung of my ladder was on the verge of bursting. The squish of her naked breasts sliding up my stomach, the slap of her tummy against my aching dick, the sight of her white ass emerging from the Deadly Quicksand, it was pushing me closer and closer to having a personal accident involving body fluids normally intended for procreation.
She made a lunge for the branch I was holding onto, but her tits squished up against my chest, foiling her attempt. Stubborn little bitch that she is, she lunged again. And again. And again. Her tummy kept sliding up against my hard-on, and down against my hard-on. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.
"Siiiiisssss!" I gasped, but it was too late. Suddenly, I was squirting jizz all over her chest, except for the first glistening glob, which hit the bottom of her chin.
"Oh my God," she gasped, looking down her front. "Is that what I think it is?"
"I'm sorry Sis. I couldn't help it," I moaned, jamming my dick up against her stomach, trying desperately to finish cumming.
"Gross?" she sneered. With renewed vigor, she made another lung at the branch and caught it, but not before I filled her belly-button with one more creamy blob of hot semen.
