"Hi Patrick, I'm here."

The voice belonged to a woman. It was high-pitched, but controlled, as if the owner was familiar with being in charge.

Doyle peeked round the corner. He saw a blonde woman dressed smartly in a navy-blue outfit that was at once both businesslike and expensively casual. She was above average height and Doyle would have placed her in her thirties. Good-looking, but so far beyond Doyle's reach she might as well be an alien visitor from Venus. She continued to speak into her mobile phone.

"Why all the mystery?" she asked. "Why this ungodly hour?"

There was a pause as she listened to the voice on the other end.

"Sounds an interesting prospect," she said at last.

She walked up to the front entrance.

"Can you buzz me in?"

A buzzer sounded and the door unlocked with a click. The woman entered and her progress through the building was visible through lights switching on. Doyle followed her from the outside. He'd been fortunate she'd shown up when she had. He'd been wrong about there being no-one inside. He supposed the young professionals had to keep their heads above water same as everyone else. He'd have to wait until they finished their meeting and left.

By the time Doyle had made his way round to the back of the building he saw this was no conventional business assignation. The back of the building was glass, giving the occupants a full view of the rolling hills at the back of Stapleville. It also gave Doyle an unimpeded view back into the office space on the other side. All the lights were on and a man and woman were clearly visible as they fucked on top of one of the desks.

Made sense. Why else arrange a meeting at this time. Doyle's lips turned up in a grin. It was his lucky night-he got to watch a live sex show before getting on with his thieving.

The blonde from the car was lying on her back on a table top. Her business suit was popped open, exposing a black silk bra. A man stood between her legs. The man's back was to Doyle and he saw only a little of the man's face in profile. He looked like a distinguished businessman. Maybe late thirties, early forties if Doyle had to guess. A few grey strands marred the man's otherwise lustrous black hair. His trousers were down round his ankles and his buttocks clenched and unclenched as he thrust back and forth.

Doyle smiled as he watched them fuck. He wondered if they knew they had an audience. Maybe that turned them on. Doyle knew it turned some people on.

Doyle was getting turned on too. He thought about having a wank up against the wall, was even about to drop his tracky bottoms, and then he realised how stupid that was. He was about to indulge in a spot of thieving. Leaving a big fat dollop of his DNA at the crime scene would make it very easy for the pigs to find him. Doyle wasn't a career criminal. He did a spot of thieving on the side and that was it. He wasn't one of those stupid mindless junkies that spent more time inside than out.

It was just after then that things started to get a little weird. Foam started to well up between the bodies of the couple inside the office. To Doyle it looked like soap suds, or maybe bubble bath. It dusted the thrusting buttocks of the man and drifted down to leave quivering blobs on the floor.

Kinky, Doyle thought. Maybe the girl was lying on a bottle of detergent or something like that.

Then it passed beyond kinky and into the realms of the bizarre.

Foam and bubbles kept welling up around them as they fucked. Both the man and the woman were covered in wobbling suds. The man pressed his hips forward, arched his spine backwards and tilted his head up to the ceiling. It looked like one-or maybe both-of them was coming. The man held the pose like a statue...

...and then he started to collapse in on himself. Doyle's jaw dropped open and he watched with fascinated revulsion. The man's head tipped back and he started to deflate like a blow-up doll with a puncture. It looked like the substance of him was pouring out into the woman. She quivered and convulsed in the throes of some kind of erotic rapture while her belly swelled up as though she was gaining months of pregnancy in mere moments. One month, two months, five months-her belly swelled out in a big pink dome. The man was gone. All that remained of him was his empty skin lying on the floor like a discarded set of clothes. On the table the woman gave a final convulsive shudder and was still.

Doyle watched, frozen, as the woman's naked belly gradually shrank until it was the same size as before.

What the fuck had he just witnessed?

The woman stirred. She sat up and got off the desk. She crouched down and picked up the man's discarded skin, rolling it up as neatly as if it was a blind.

She looked up. Her blue eyes stared right into Doyle's.

Fuck.

He turned and ran.

On another, less misbegotten night this might have been the end of the story. Not this night. Not for an individual as unfortunate as Doyle Lowry.

He was halfway across the next plot when the bare earth gave out beneath him. The ground was boggy here, as if a burst pipe or several days of heavy rain had created a quagmire. He was up to his knees in the thick slurry before he could check his forward charge.

A security lamp clicked on and lit up the building site. Doyle was totally exposed. And stuck. The thick mud sucked at his feet as he tried to pull himself out. At least there were no security guards around to witness his predicament.

But there was the girl-the thing-in the offices behind him.

A chill ran through Doyle. He couldn't let her catch him.

He twisted around and tried to wade back out of the mudhole he'd fallen into.

Fuck, how deep was this?

Each step was a struggle to pull his feet free of the cloying grip of the mud.

He was still struggling when he realised he wasn't alone. A brown-skinned girl was in the muck with him. She was far more relaxed about it. In fact she sat in the mud as though she was lounging against the side of a hot tub. She was also as naked as if this was a hot tub. The chestnut-coloured swells of her exposed breasts rested half in, half out of the mud.

Crazy ho, Doyle thought. She must be freezing her nips off.

Then he realised he should be as well. Instead the mud was warm under the surface, as if one of those volcanic hot springs had somehow formed right in the middle of the undeveloped Stapleville business park. The warmth was a stark contrast to the chilly air above.

The girl smiled at him and Doyle noticed her face wasn't right. Her eyes weren't just green like emeralds; they looked like they were emeralds. Like someone had cut precious stones in the shape of eyes and embedded them within wet clay. Her hair wasn't right either. At first he'd thought it was dreadlocks dyed a vivid green colour, but the more he looked at it the more it looked like some kind of plant-as if ivy was growing out of the back of her head and cascading down onto her shoulders.

"Judging by your expression I'm guessing someone saw something they shouldn't have," the brown girl said. Her voice was earthy and huskily erotic.

Sex-even sex with a girl with a perfect pair of titties like that-was far from Doyle's thoughts. He'd seen enough kinky weirdness tonight to put him off porn for the next decade.

"I ain't seen nuffin," Doyle protested.

He struggled to free himself from the gripping mud. All his struggles managed to achieve was to drop him a couple of inches deeper into the quagmire.

"I'm stuck. Help me out," he begged.

"I know," the girl-and Doyle had doubts she was one-said.

She moved an arm in front of her. It looked like she was frigging herself off beneath the surface of the mud.

"It's such a turn on watching you slowly sink into me," she said.

A puff of warmth welled up around Doyle. Bubbles formed on the surface and burst with thick plops. A musky tang caught at his nostrils and filled his brain with indecent images.

It wasn't enough to overcome his fear. Still panicking, he tried to bodily throw himself out of the quicksand like an animal trying to pull free of a snare. He met with the same lack of success. Worse, as he pulled a leg partially out of the mud he noticed the fabric of his tracky bottoms appeared to be rotting away.

Fuck. Was this shit corrosive?

The brown girl-he saw now she was that colour because of a layer of mud covering her body, or maybe she was even made out of the same stuff-laughed at his fruitless struggles. She reached under the mud and yanked down as if pulling on a rope. Despite her being nowhere near Doyle, he felt two hands grip his ankles and pull him down with strong tugs.

He broke free-or the girl let him go-and was able to struggle back up until the muddy surface was halfway up his thighs.

"I don't know nuffin," Doyle pleaded again. "Let me go. I won't tell no-one."

The girl laughed.

"I don't think you do," she said. "It's your misfortune to be here on the wrong night."

She moved her hand in a circle just beneath the surface.

"Or good fortune," she added with a seductive smile.

Doyle shivered. It felt like warm hands were caressing his legs beneath the surface. The mud bulged up in a wave that flowed between his legs and tickled the underside of his balls. A warm throb of pleasure passed through his genitals.

"I'm Aralia, succubus spirit of the earth," the girl said.

Doyle didn't introduce himself. He was still too busy trying to pull his legs free of the warm, clinging mud. His tracksuit bottoms had nearly all rotted away and the warm mud left behind a warm tingling buzz wherever it touched his exposed flesh.

"Help me out," Doyle asked. "I promise I won't do any thieving or anything like that."

And he'd never contemplate thieving ever again if God pulled his arse out of this shit.

"Brrr, the air is so chilly tonight," Aralia said. She lowered her body until her breasts and the tops of her shoulders dipped under the surface and only her head was visible. "Why don't you lie down and immerse yourself in me. It's much warmer and more comfortable than this cold air."

More warm bubbles tickled up past Doyle's legs and burst on the surface with lewd plops.

It was more comfortable and warmer than the night air, but Doyle suspected if he went below the surface he'd never come back up again. He continued to thrash and struggle as if he was caught in a bog.

Aralia moved her arms in a smooth circle through the surface of the mud, bringing her hands together in front of her. She pulled them back towards her body.

A force grabbed Doyle's hips and pulled him down and towards her. He overbalanced and fell into the sticky morass. Part-climbing, part-swimming, he was able to thrash himself back upright. He coughed and spluttered to clear the thick liquid out of his airways.

He was down to the tops of his thighs now. His tracky bottoms and underwear had nearly all rotted away. His hooded top clung to his skin in lank, sodden strips. The pleasant tingling sensation was all over his legs now. An erotic buzz had started up in his balls. Even despite everything, his cock was lengthening in an involuntary erection.

And he'd thought what he'd seen in the offices had put him off fucking for good.

A slit opened up in the mud in front of him. Bulges rose up and resolved themselves into the body of Aralia. She lay on her back in the mud in front of him. Her legs were stretched open and she reached down to part the labia of her pussy.

"I can make my mud feel as good as any vagina," she said, her eyes sparkling with seductive mischief. "All you have to do is let yourself sink."

Doyle paused. He was tempted. Aralia's naked body was phenomenal-curvy in all the right places without being fat. He only ever got to see bodies like that in the pages of glamour magazines. He was a dumb kid from The Estate; under normal circumstances he'd never see anything like this in the flesh. She looked fucking fine.

He sank.

The underside of his erection touched the surface of the mud, jolting him out of his trance. He struggled, regaining maybe an inch. The clinging mud was reluctant to let his penis go. The girl brought her full lips together in a disappointed pout.

"Such a tease," she said.

Fuck this, Doyle thought.

He lashed out at her prone body, but his hand passed through nothing more than sticky mud as she collapsed back into the quagmire. Her sudden dissolution caught Doyle off guard and he overbalanced and fell forwards into the muck. He managed to get back upright, but was now sunk in the mire up to his waist.

"Mmm, I want you deep inside me," Aralia purred.

She was back to where she'd been before-lounging half-in, half-out of the mud as though she was sitting at the side of a hot tub. It didn't even look as though she'd moved. The body Doyle had seen lying in front of him must have been some kind of mirage constructed from the wet clay.

Aralia moved her hand back and forth under the mud. It looked like she was tugging on something under the surface, or maybe wanking someone off.

It felt like she was wanking him off!

Below the surface Doyle felt a slick hand wrap around his cock and begin to tug back and forth. This shouldn't be possible. She was miles away from him. There was no way she should be able to reach that far unless her arms were five metres long. But he couldn't deny the evidence of his senses. It felt like someone was wanking him off down there.

He reached down to try and push whoever it was away. His hands encountered nothing even as the same force pumped up and down his cock. Worse, it only caused him to sink faster. He had to swing his arms out and keep treading his feet into the liquid slurry just to stay at the same level. And while he did that the same mystery hand continued to stroke up and down his shaft.

"Mmm, why fight it," Aralia said, bringing her full lips together in a wanton pout. "Sink into me. Drown in sensual depravity."

Her hand-if that's what it was-continued to pump up and down Doyle's erection. Another hand caressed his buttocks and then slipped between them, lightly fingering his anus and then slithering down to tickle at the underside of his balls. Doyle was getting more and more turned on, but the more turned on he got, the more he sank.

Aralia stood up and glided across the quagmire to him. Her green eyes glittered like cold precious stones.

The mud was up to Doyle's belly now. His struggles were growing weaker. The effort of trying to thrash his limbs through the thick mud had tired him out.

Aralia smoothly slid behind him and pressed her soft tits against his back. Her unseen hand continued to pump up and down his erection, but this time she was close enough for it to feel like part of her body rather than a disembodied force within the mud. She gently blew in his ear.

"Relax and sink into me," she breathed in his ear. "It's so warm and soft beneath the surface."

A moist tongue squirmed in Doyle's ear.

"We'll share such pleasures beneath the surface."

Doyle stopped struggling. He'd run out of puff. His hips gave a little buck as Aralia's hand moved back and forth. Sensing he was nearing climax, Aralia eased off. The quagmire gobbled Doyle up rib by rib.

Aralia moved around him, less a person and more an amorphous and mutable mass of clay sculpted in the shape of a temptress. Doyle lay back as she straddled him. She stared deep into his eyes as she reached into the mud, wrapped a warm hand around his cock and guided it up into the warm pouch of her sex. Her heat enveloped him, such a contrast and much more comfortable than the chill night air. The warm mud of her pussy crowded up around his cock and continued what the hands had started with rhythmic, rippling sucks.

Aralia moved her body sinuously against him, each pelvic thrust dropping him another couple of centimetres into the mire. The mud he lay in grew warmer and bubbled up around him. The bubbles burst, enveloping Doyle in a cloud of heady musk.

He looked up at the hot woman straddling his body. Brown clay dripped from heaving breasts that looked as though they were made out of the same malleable substance. Doyle wasn't bothered. To him she looked like a vision from one of his wet dreams.

Fuck it. It wasn't as if he was ever going to amount to anything in this world anyway. People like him never did. He relished the sensations of Aralia's pussy throbbing around him and added his own movements as he started to thrust back.

Aralia's full lips formed an o and she sighed in pleasure.

"Mmm, that's it. Give yourself to me and sink."

She wrapped her legs around him. She lowered her body on top of him and hugged him tight. Her pussy fluttered around Doyle's cock. More bubbles rose to the surface. Doyle let go with a gasp. Pleasure flooded through him as his hips bucked and he spurted cum up into her pussy. The mud around their bodies bubbled more vigorously and the air was filled with the licentious stink of sex.

Doyle's head fell beneath the surface and runny mud entered his mouth and nostrils. Reflexively he jerked his head back up and coughed and spluttered to clear his airwaves.

Above him Aralia paused. Momentary confusion played in her sparkling emerald eyes. The predatory lines of her harlot's face temporarily softened. For an instant she looked more like a lost girl in her late teens than a ravenous sex kitten demon.

"I'm so sorry," she said.