The casket hits the water first, but I go in right behind it. The scum on the surface splits around me, and ripples spread out in waves. I've just rang the dinner bell, and the clock is ticking.

The coffin is starting to capsize, turning to face downward and sink. I'm not sure I'll be able to get it close after it's submerged, so I need to make sure it stays upright until I get in and seal it. I dive down, then spring up and shove it with my shoulder. Even undead, the impact makes me scream. A torrent of bubbles explode from my mouth.

I emerge and have to whip the wet hair out of my face. My skin is slimy from the stagnant water that smells of rotten eggs. The coffin is righted for now, but will tip back over as soon as I put weight on it. I rush to the top end hoping pressure on the narrower side will be less likely to change the balance. I bob in the water, giving me a one, two, three count, gaining height with each bounce. On the third, I push my body in, head first.

I'm glad I didn't plan on using it as a boat. The coffin is already tilting back toward the water. Bring my knees up to my chest, I roll in the opposite direction, forcing the lid side to sink instead. As it spins, the force of the water shuts the lids and closes me in. Although before it can be completely sealed, the box fills with the brackish water. With no air inside of it to buoy it up, it goes straight down.

Something big slams against the side.

It's sent skittering to my right, spinning like a top in slow-motion. One corner starts to settle against the mud, and the beast strikes again. The casket tumbles rolling along the bottom. I'm in a washing machine spin-cycle that slows to a terrifying carnival ride. My hands cling to the satin liner to keep the lids shut. I clench my mouth shut to keep the stinking water out, but it seeps through my nose and sinuses and drains into my useless lungs. 

The creature bashes into the coffin another dozen times or so (I lose track), each time sending me on lurching, horrifying tumble. When it gets tired of this game, the slithering noises start. A light scraping rolls along the outside of the coffin. I'm certain it's tentacles searching along the white polished surface. One at first, but then hundreds cover every inch, until it seems that it is the box itself that is producing the slithering noises. Now and then, the clang of a handle being slams down rings out like a hammer of doom. The one good stroke of fortune is that the lids are pressed against the bottom, so the tentacles can't easily flip them open and get to the creamy nougat center.

It doesn't give up easily, and I lie down there waiting for it grow bored for what might be days. At some point, I become aware that it's quiet and has been quiet for some time. I consider staying still to make sure it's really gone, maybe even have a nap. But the claustrophobia of being in this box is getting to me. Also the water is incredibly unpleasant to be in and to be filled with.

Pushing with my legs, I try and get the coffin to lift, but it doesn't budge. I shift positions and place my feet against the lid and use my back to heave the base. It's stubborn, but it gives. The first couple of feet is the hardest, then it just seems to float, and I swim free of it.

I try to ascertain the direction of land, but it's like looking through greeny-brown milk. All I can make out is a few strands of dark weeds and the white of the casket. I push off the bottom to get my bearings from the surface, but being full of water has made my body leaden and without buoyancy. I might be able to raise myself by swimming but I'm afraid that to get the momentum required would mean thrashing about. And that would defeat everything I've worked for. So, I continue scanning my surroundings. A slow lighthouse, turning around and around. Tiny sparkling motes of silt drifts like snow back to the lake-bed. Eventually the water clears enough for me to realize I'm not far from the wall. What I first took for any empty void of murky lake is its stucco surface slick with green algae. 

With that as my guidepost, I head off in the opposite direction.

My strides are even. Or as even as I can make them. As a child, I heard that if you tried to walk in a straight line you'd favor the side of your writing hand and eventually end up going in circles unless you compensated for it. I have no idea if this is actually true. It came from some idle chatter of the boys at camp.

It was on a school sponsored canoe trip through a chain of lakes. Each day, when the afternoon got late, we'd stop and set up camp in some wild, wooded area, where food would have to be hidden in trees to keep it safe from bears. Among the boys, the topic of getting lost all alone was a serious one and got discussed often. It was while setting up camp, fumbling with tent poles and flysheets that Ralph, a tall Spanish boy, told us about the trouble of walking in a straight line. Bobby, a brash pudgy kid who was ever wavering between being a bully and being bullied, didn't believe it and said Ralph was full of shit. Three or four of the others got in on the debate. As the only girl, I kept quiet and kept working on my tent so as not to call attention to myself. I wasn't much of a tomboy and didn't belong there with these pubescent boys being rude and rough. Their constant talk about boobs and tits, only reminded me of my lack of development. And when they went off to have a group bathroom break, peeing against trees and judging the power and length of each others' streams, I slunk off alone, ashamed of what was underneath my shorts.

My feet have stopped moving forward. The memory hurts my head. So vivid and real. Yet, utterly confusing. 

It must be Sabina's. But why would she be the only girl on a trip with a group of boys? And it feels as though the person in the recollection couldn't be anyone but me. Could our memories be merging? Or was I−

A dark shape moves passed me, stopping all speculation. My whole mind and body becomes focused on staying perfectly still.

It comes back around, long and sleek, a torpedo cutting through the water. Until, the front of the beast explodes into a mass of writhing tentacles as it changes course to investigate. Me.

The creatures circles closely with its tendrils spread out wide in an impossible black sunburst of hundreds of rays. It comes right up to me and backs off a few times as though sniffing me.

I hope to hell I don't smell like anything it eats, and do my best to think unappetizing thoughts. I'm just an old piece of wood rotting down here. A lump of stone no one would be interested. Nothing living. Nothing yummy.

My odor doesn't seem to have identified me as prey, but it's still curious. One of its longer tentacles extends and starts to probe me. The end of it thunks against my shoulder nearly sending me off balance, before slithering along my collar bone and up my neck. The appendage is surprisingly warm and soft, not simply wet but slick. It slides past my ear. It tickles and causes a spasm that makes me want to shake my head, but I fight the impulse. The creature's long, exploring limb wraps around me and sneaks under my armpit to poke my right breast. It stops there, the end flickering up and down along my side-boob.

I send my strongest thought at it: go away. 

As if to prove my lack of telepathy, more tentacles burst forward and begin scouting out different parts of my body. Another thick probe searches up my dress, pressing along my inner thigh. It tentatively rubs at the front of my panties, then dives with a fast fluid motion between my legs. It pushes between my butt cheeks forcing the lace fabric of my undies up my crack. 

I desire with my whole being to swat it away, especially when it begins twitching at the base of my anus. But it pulls away, fast and flickering. It reminds me of a cord retreating into a vacuum cleaner.

I nearly let out a gasp.

While it was venturing around my privates, its companions spread out over my arms and legs, wrapping them in meaty ropes. They coil and uncoil in what is almost a petting sensation. My feet float free, suspended in front of the great monstrosity. I'm entirely at it's mercy. Other eel-like feelers run over my torso. They find my breasts and take an interest in how they compact and move under pressure. Soon, they're squeezing and fondling them.

It feels--not good, nothing about this is good--but, um, stimulating. It's getting harder not to cry out and moan.

Then, the creature sends out slender, whip-like tendrils. A writhing mass of them shoot straight up my dress.

No. no.no. no, my brain screams.

They spread out along my thighs and force their way through the leg-holes of my panties. They're everywhere. Spreading up my belly and back, covering my ass and mound, and in me. Driving, searching, seeing how far my ass and pussy go. They fill me to completion and an aneurysm of shame and pleasure bursts in my head. All the while, other tentacles rub and tease my clit, and a few of their big brothers play with my breasts. 

I can't believe this is happening. I've become the sexual plaything of a swamp monster. My only hope is that it doesn't know what its doing to me and this is just some natural impulse to identify a new addition to its territory. I mean it is a little better if it doesn't think it's having sex with me. Isn't it?

Even if it is indifferent, I'm filled with a deep sense of arousal that I try to wish away. But it only grows more fervent until an orgasm begins to build. 

In my old life, if I remember correctly, a climax grew as a fever in my head and pressure in my groin area, but mostly with an exquisite tightness in my penis. What I'm feeling now is a full body heat as though I'm a bomb preparing to explode. If I cum, there's no way I'm not madly bucking around and squirming like bait on a hook.

Just when I'm certain I'm completely screwed (both literally and figuratively), the creature withdraws. All of the tentacles pull away, reluctantly releasing their grip and giving one last, lingering caress over the entirety of my body before returning to their host. Then, the monster turns and rushes off, either having lost interest or going to investigate a disturbance in its waters.

I float free for a few seconds before sinking down to the mud. Bending over on hands and knees, I reach down to my sensitive pussy and give it one rough stroke that sends me over the edge. I scream into my arm. My back and legs spasm as jolts of pleasure radiate through me. Almost immediately, a second orgasm hits. And then, a third. My brain turns to a lump of putty knowing nothing but ecstasy.

I come back to myself some time later, lying on my back with a breast cupped in my left hand. 

Should I ever decide to write an account of my adventures, I will most definitely leave this part out, except to tell travelers who come to this lake that they should find a better way of crossing it.

DemonRose

Hey there, my lovelies!

Well, that wasn't supposed to go there! Sabina was only supposed to be threatened by the monster. This story is getting weird, let me tell you. What will the crazy author come up with next? ;)

Well, since you asked. Sabina has been on her own for a few chapters now, so it's time to change that. Next chapter, she'll encounter someone very important. Someone who knows about what's going on and can tell Sabina a lot. When they're not busy with other matters, that is.

Please, if you liked this chapter, slap that favorite button. And don't feel shy to share your thoughts. I really would love to hear from you.

Kisses!