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As she drifted into bitter consciousness, Leshana was stricken by how awful she felt. What occurred to her first were the aches, the unmistakable throbs of bruises; the most prevalent ones resonated between her legs, deep in the warmth of her cunt, and a similar pain was in her behind. In a strange moment of truly abstract thought, she acknowledged that she had been raped; more bruises on her breasts, hips, and thighs, ones that suggested she had been manhandled, went hand-in-hand with this assumption. She also realized that she had a migraine, each pound making her skull resonate like a tuning fork, leading her to wish for the embrace of unconsciousness again. Beyond her physical pain, and what she suspected would be emotional distress as time went on, she was aware of how hot and humid she was, and that realization saw her acknowledge what she was hearing, which was most notably the scream of cicadas, but also a thousand animals cawing and calling and howling in muted hollers of the wild. Warily, she opened her eyes, and she dared to turn her head away from the foliage-covered ground beneath; she saw dirt, trees, and vines. The sights, sounds, and smells converged at once into a rough thought; I'm in the jungle. In her weary, beaten head, that thought struggled, clambering up from her base thinking and desires to become more sophisticated and articulate. It rolled across her consciousness again, much more detailed than before. Somebody raped me and left me out in the jungle. Probably to die. She tried to move, remembering she had limbs; as dazed as she was, she briefly wondered - in that dreamy, abstract way - if she wasn't concussed.

Attempting to move her arms and legs proved fruitless; she was bound with sturdy clothesline around the wrists and ankles. Her twin tails were unbound, but of no use to her in such a situation. She thought to whimper, but she stopped herself; the last thing she wanted to do was attract a predator. With all her strength, she whipped her body to the side, and then she rolled over. It aggravated her bruises so much that she laid there, upon her back, her eyes squinted shut; she kept them closed in exertion as she forced herself to sit, opening them just in time to see a big, steel-grey paw smack down on her face, whereupon it shoved her back to the ground, leaving her no choice but to whelp in shock and pain. Her eyes wide, the fear overruled by the flow of adrenaline, Leshana took in the sight of her predator; one Grey Scarborough, a tall, fiery-haired wolf who regarded her with a grin. "Morning, sleepyhead," Grey chuckled, his toothy smile spurring painful memories for Leshana, mere fragments, but they stuck her like broken glass. Some kind of an abduction, unending rape and torment - it was like a horrible film reel recovered from a fire, because there wasn't enough there for her to piece together the whole plot. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up," Grey mused, snapping Leshana out of her near trance. "After my little lullaby this afternoon," he grinned, pulling a monkey wrench out of his hip pocket, "I thought I might have put you into a coma; as sexy as vegetable rape can be, that shit gets old." Leshana was only vaguely aware of the words, for she flinched and scooted back at the sight of the wrench, her head filled with vivid visions of the wolf steadily beating her to a pulp - but he tossed it over his shoulder with contempt. She heard it land with a wet noise; shlup! Leshana was not quite sure why, but that noise filled her with dread. She quivered and whined.

"So do you remember last night?" Grey asked with a startling animosity, a direct contrast to his calm - if not sociopathic - demeanor from moments before. Leshana again saw that tattered film reel; as the pain in her behind throbbed, she pictured him tearing his knot out of her asshole, but she couldn't tell if it was a real memory or a simple exposition on her part. Slowly, she shook her head. "I can't remember," she answered quietly, earning a nonplussed shrug from the tall lupine. "It doesn't matter," Grey said with a casual flair, his voice having already bounced back to something of a friendly tone, "not where you're going." As he reached down to grab her, Leshana responded with a shrill squeal and unbridled rage. She snapped at Grey's looming paw, and she kicked with her bound legs as one, bruising his shin, but nothing more. Grey, momentarily frustrated, delivered a ruthless backhanded slap to the vixen's muzzle that sent her to the dirt; in that moment of weeping and confusion, he snatched her up by her pretty, brunette locks, and he dragged her back as she squealed like murder. "Nobody can hear us out here, you shrill, loud-mouthed twat!" Grey boomed from the top of his lungs, down to Leshana's weeping features. His face, though manic, had lust hidden in the eyes; Leshana was oblivious to it, or simply too frightened to notice. "Now," he said quietly, turning her, "look at this." For just a moment of blissful ignorance, Leshana looked and didn't see anything - and then she did. It was quicksand, a pit of gooey death, and the sight of it made her heart sink - a prophetic feeling for what was in her immediate future. "No," she whimpered under her breath, struggling against the grip Grey had on her hair. She tried to punch at his paw with her own bound ones, but she succeeded only in earning his wrath in the form of a violent jerk upon her scalp. Her general silence came after a startled yelp, but her weeping would not quit; Grey surmised it wouldn't quit until her head was under that muck, and at the thought, a lump appeared in the crotch of his jeans. He grinned wide, and he took hold of Leshana more properly; one paw on her tails, the other on the scruff of her neck, he threw the bitch like an old, rolled-up carpet into the trash dump, feet-first, and that was how she landed squarely in the muck, jamming in up to her waist.

Leshana squealed with an anguished cry; the throb in her skull was compounded by the aches in her body, but those pains were all small problems in light of her impending demise. In some rational manner, she thought to stand up, in the hopes that if her feet could touch the bottom, then maybe she could keep her head above the muck, and then-- what, exactly? It was a question that spawned out of pure cynicism, perhaps even spite. Acknowledging the futility of any all struggling drained the color from her face, but it made her fight against the muck - and she succeeded only in digging herself in deeper. As the cool slime crawled up her body - or so it felt, yet she was simply sinking in - she started to weep. Grey, ever the involved spectator, watched her struggle intently; he palmed the thick, commanding bulge of his penis, coaxing shudders and moans from his lips. "You sick, worthless son of a hell-hound bitch!" Leshana squealed, unaware of Grey's subtle masturbation. Her hair, ordinarily well-groomed, was slopped over her face in messy clumps, cemented there by splashes of the quicksand muck when she landed. On top of that, her glasses had been missing since the night before, and her hindered vision only added to the dread of the situation; for Leshana, a feisty girl with all the subtlety of a train wreck, it spurred a blood-boiling rage that was utterly useless in almost any situation, including a slow death in quicksand. "You're completely fucking sick and depraved!" she screeched, thrashing against the uncaring bondage of the muck, wiggling herself in yet deeper, her warm soon-to-be corpse burying itself. "Does this fucking get you off!? Watching some poor, innocent girl die like this?" Though she began with that righteous anger, it trickled off into something more feminine and terrified, the voice of a frightened little girl. Grey reflected on her words, and, satisfied with his own thoughts, he unzipped his pants, and he fished out the erect, knotted length of his penis; even with her vision as lame as it was, Leshana saw it clear as the day, and she felt a pang of revulsion. "Yes," Grey answered simply, taking hold of his turgid manhood, "it most certainly does."

Leshana wanted to scream her lungs out, but she didn't; instead, she writhed against the cruel, shifting grip of the muck, succeeding in lifting her bound arms from its' grasp, but nothing more. She felt the cool ooze inches beneath her modest bosom, and she cried out with utter desperation heavy on her words. "Oh my gawd, somebody fucking help me!" the vixen yowled, her voice cracking with exertion, her throat rendered scratchy from squealing. As she squealed, Grey bit his lip, and for just a few moments, he masturbated more furiously than ever. "You want to live," Grey murmured, "don't you? You want to live just so badly." His tone was gentle, thoughtful, not at all teasing. Leshana stared at him through crusty locks and blurry eyes, her jaw slack; the expression said dumbfounded, and she saw a ray of hope. Was Grey just torturing her? Was it part of some sick foreplay for him? "Yes!" she suddenly gasped, forcing her mouth to work. "Fucking yes! Yes! I don't want to die like this!" She paused, hoping that the wolf's next words wouldn't be oh? How do you want to die, then? Thankfully, they weren't, and he paused, his expression pensive, his stroking paw nearly idle, but not quite. "Hm," he grunted, walking off a few feet. Leshana watched as he disappeared from her flawed vision, and she started to huff and weep like a child on the verge of a tantrum - but he returned with a length of rope, and her heart fluttered. "Oh!" she gasped, unable to think of anything more articulate than that. She wagged her wrist-bound paws high above her head, and she quaked as he started to wind up. He hauled the rope back, and then he let it go forward; it swung back again, further this time, and further forward again. Soon, at the apex of its' forward swings, it was over the edge of the quicksand. Leshana's maw worked noiselessly, trying to beg him to just throw it, but she succeeding in saying nothing - not until Grey stopped swinging the rope altogether, and he let it hang on the ground at his side. "You rotten, sick...!" she started to moan, earning a sudden punishment from Grey - he kicked dirt in her face, and after she managed to spit that clump of earth out of her mouth, she whined in exaggerated helplessness. She knew no words would sway the wolf, and she didn't say any.

Leshana's pert breasts disappeared past the muck, and Grey started to masturbate again, the length of rope ineffectually clutched in his other paw. Leshana no longer squealed or screamed; her throat was too rough from what she'd already accomplished, which her inner cynic reminded her was absolutely nothing. "Rrh, yeah," Grey growled, pumping his dick harder and harder, his fist bumping into his knot each time. His canine cock squirted with pre that harmlessly soaked into the pliable earth beneath, and it was abundantly clear that he would soon climax. "Moan for me, bitch," he grinned, startling the squirming, softly weeping girl out of her self-pity. "Wh-what?" she croaked, snapping her gaze up to his, just as the quicksand muck passed her nipples. "You heard me - moan! Moan like a fucking whore! Moan your head off, and I'll throw you the rope. You have to make me cum first." He showcased his menacing teeth, glistening with spittle. Leshana gave it not a second thought. She started to groan and huff, delivering the most lewd whore-moans she could to Grey's pert ears. The quicksand was coming up fast on her armpits, and even with her feet straight down, bent in that tippy-toes manner, she could not feel the bottom. She was suddenly so very aware of how cold the muck was the further down it went; her feet were frozen, nearly numb, but feeling that uncaring ice on her behind and her cunt was almost therapeutic, chasing away the aches with its' chilly temperature; with those off her mind, it was easier to fake it for Grey. "Ohhh, god, I'm so wet," Leshana groaned with obvious uncertainty, but she was trying, and Grey rewarded the effort with a few more squirts of pre. "God, that's right, bitch," the wolf grunted, closing his eyes momentarily. Now the sand was up to the vixen's armpits; her muzzle was not far off. "Mmh, you're so sexy! I want your cock inside of me!" Leshana wept, her voice unapologetically afraid.

"Yes...! Oh, god," Grey grunted, arching his back where he stood. He clutched the base of his knotted penis, and he shot his wad far; with luck alone, he splattered Leshana in the face, his salty jizz slopping into her eye, causing her excruciating pain which made her squeal all over again - though those sounds were a sight more strained by her damaged throat. That's not going to matter for long, her inner cynic helpfully told her, and, not for the first time that night, she really thought she had been concussed. "Okay," she whimpered, pawing at her afflicted, watering eye with muck-covered paws, "you came! You got off! Please, throw me the rope!" In a way, what came next both surprised Leshana in its' honesty, and promptly yanked the rug out from under all hope she might have harbored. "Sure," Grey cooed, his tones even and perhaps a little bit sexy in his afterglow. His penis still dripping with discarded jism, Grey wound up a few times to get ready to toss the rope, and then he chucked the entire length of it into the sand. It plopped uselessly into the muck, but Leshana still groped for it. With her eyes sore and nearly useless without glasses, she didn't realize the wolf wasn't holding it until she tried to pull it taut. Again, she squealed, but this time, it was a noise of supreme outrage. "YOU SON OF A BITCH!" she called, her voice so hoarse and shrill that she sounded like a banshee screaming its' way out of hell itself. "If I get out of this fucking quicksand!!" But she wasn't going to; it was as simple as that. Her fantasies of ripping the wolf's eyes out and making him swallow them so he could see the inside of his asshole as she shoved a red-hot fire poker up it, they were just that; fantasies. And they were just as far-fetched and impossible as her simple wish for survival.

"Scream, honey," Grey said under his breath, his words a confidential whisper; only he could hear them, and it seemed they held no purpose other than his own perverse pleasure. The muck was beyond Leshana's neck, and though she tilted her head back, it still oozed in through the corners of her mouth. Breathe through your nose, moron! her rationality screamed at her, but she panicked; she gulped for air through her mouth, and she nearly inhaled that cold ooze. Just barely, she swallowed a great mouthful of it, and as it slid down her throat like an icy brick, she screamed to a god that had stopped listening a very long time ago. "I don't want to fucking DIE LIKE THIS!" she screeched, her words interrupted and muddled as more quicksand muck entered her slowly disappearing muzzle. She swallowed again and again - in an insane, terrified state, she thought maybe I can eat my way out of this!, but it was an idea just as lacking in hope as it was in sanity. With her gut fast filling with the muck, which slowly turned to cement inside of her warm - but rapidly chilling - body, Leshana was doomed in more ways than one, but before that blockage could kill her slowly and agonizingly, and before hypothermia could freeze her to death, she inhaled a great mouthful of the shifting sands. Her eyes went as wide as dinner plates when she realized it; hoping against hope that air would somehow fill her caked lungs instead next time, she took another hoarse, deep breath, and she further filled her delicate lungs and windpipe with the rapidly-hardening sludge. She thrashed and punched at the slime, working her mouth, staring at the blurry, but fading image of Grey, still standing silently, his pants still unzipped, even though his shaft had long since receded into its' sheath.

The wolf watched as Leshana's face - what little was uncovered - turned blue, and her eyes rolled back. He licked his lips when her pretty muzzle disappeared entirely, followed shortly by her bound paws. He zipped his jeans back up, and he walked off with a calm stride.