She Stole, She's Caught, She Sank

By Muckster Mike

Diane walked down this road after work every day, two blocks to the bus stop, and only yesterday the inside of this window was covered, not with a curtain but with a sheet, showing dark, unlit space around the edges. Today, it was lighted inside. A pink neon sign glowed the words:

Just Open Today --

Jewelry & Accessories

Rings stacked high on carved mannequin-hands, bracelets draped over horizontal poles, and glittering necklaces of diamonds, sapphires, rubies and gold beckoned brightly upward from black, velvet-covered shelves behind the polished, shining glass of the store window.

I promised myself I would never do this again, Diane thought to herself. But her fingers itched. Oh, how badly they twitched and curled and craved, with the desire to walk into that store -- and see if it was possible to pocket only one of the beautiful, gleaming items!

Free of charge, of course.


She's a beauty, Gerald thought. And on the first day he opened shop and all. What a babe she was! Obviously an office kind of girl, she was dressed in a snug gray linen skirt that ended exactly at the knee. It was the kind of skirt that hobbled women, restraining her legs from taking a long step. 

She minced, rather than strode, into his store.

She wore a white silk blouse with pearl buttons that flowed modestly over generous breasts, and high, high heels on her shiny black pumps. She sashayed into the store as if everything displayed there was hypnotic to her. She was a doll, with blonde fluffy hair that fell just over the shoulders, wispy bangs, and big blue eyes. Rather regretfully, though, Gerald thought that most real-life girls did not look quite like the models in cosmetic ads.

Her nose was a little long, and bent downward in the middle. The hair couldn't be the real color, for it sported dark roots. She was older than his preference. He really adored girls around the age of twenty-five, but, over thirty, this one was.

No matter. The way she walked in and looked around, hunting for a clerk as if she didn't want to find one, said it all. Gerald reclined in his plush easy chair in the cluttered back room, not watching her in real life, but idly flicking the switch on the remote control in his hand. The images blinked from camera to camera, for there were twenty of them stragetically hidden in various spots around his store, providing him with a view of his entire inventory from various angles.

I think this one is looking to steal something.

Don't let me stop you, babe.

There wasn't a clerk in sight.

Diane walked slowly up and down the isles of "Bespangled". Her high heels barely made any tapping noise at all on the tile, for she was already in heavy sneaking-around mode. She glanced warily around herself, looking for the video camera that generally was prominently displayed in places like this, as a deterrent to people exactly like her. Not finding it, she proceeded to go right down the center aisle, scoping out the less expensive items, for all the real gold was always under glass, lock and key. You couldn't even pick up a ring there without having to get somebody to come out and open the locks for you.

Unless you smashed the glass. But that wouldn't be ladylike.

Diane stopped in the center of the aisle, her eyes taken by a diamond-cut faux gold necklace with a crystal pendant.

That would go so nicely with my new blue velvet cocktail dress, Diane thought. She looked around the store, not a glance but long and thoughtful examination. Still, she could find no sign of human life. Distantly, she thought it a little odd that she had not yet spotted a telltale camera, either; barring some kind of constant watch by a store employee, what was to stop her from slipping the necklace into her purse?

For a second or two, she thought that perhaps something was fishy here, but the idea was banished by the way her hand tingled as it touched the beautiful necklace. The craving was upon her! She had been stealing small items from stores since she was a teenager, and had not yet been caught. Anyway, the next thought that flashed into her mind was that this store, having only opened its doors on this very day, perhaps had not yet installed full security. Perhaps she was lucky, to have found this place so quickly.

The golden metal felt cool against her warm, sweaty palm, and the pendant glittered invitingly as her heart pounded so loudly that she was certain that if there was another human in the store, it would be heard! It was the thrill she was addicted to, the idea that once more, she was daringly walking into yet another room full of treasures, and how very much she wanted to walk out with one glimmering prize!

I'm not hurting anyone, really I'm not, because I only take small things and they don't cost much...


She did it!

Gerald leapt up from his chair, his eyes glued to the monitor.

Clearly and distinctly, the camera hidden in the ceiling flashed the image of the blonde office-doll looking around and around his store before she picked up that five-dollar necklace of fool's gold and glass. She gave one more shifty glance around herself before the item dropped from her hand and slid, almost as if she would say, "I don't know what happened! It just dove in by itself!" into the dark and murky depths of her shining patent-leather handbag. 

Time to move. She's going to be out of here like a shot!

Actually, his first move was an easy one. There was a switch on the wall, and he flicked it; with a satisfying snap, the glass door that served as the entry to "Bespangled" locked shut.

Diane walked softly, her high heels making even less sound on the tile than before. Five feet from the glass door, she heard a snapping noise; her heart stopped for just a second, but she really didn't believe the first thing that flitted through her head until she tried to open it.

Going somewhere with my property, Missy?" came a voice behind her.

Diane whirled.

She saw a short, middle-aged, paunchy man with thinning, graying hair barely covering his shiny, balding scalp, little round glasses on his nose, skin the color of children's school paste, dressed in plaid pants with suspenders over a somewhat worn white shirt, and a name tag just above his left breast pocket read:


"M-M-M...Mr. Kowalski, I don't know what you're talking about!" Diane stammered. 

He couldn't have seen me! Just couldn't have! He wasn't here and there isn't a camera in sight!

The bald, paunchy man walked up to her. Diane trembled in fright as he reached out one pudgy arm and relieved her of her purse. He opened the clasp and fished around inside, and within a second or two, he was holding the glittering gold necklace with the crystal pendant in front of her.

"You're under arrest," said Mr. Kowalski in a calm voice. 

"You're not a policeman," Diane said breathlessly. 

He took her by the arm. "No, I am not. This is what is known as a citizen's arrest. I have you on-camera putting that necklace into your purse. Come with me quietly, please. We are going to the back room where you will wait while I summon the real police."

Oh, shit! Diane thought.

"I have the money," she said. "I'll pay for it. I'll pay."

"That isn't the point," said Mr. Kowalski. 

His pudgy hand was cold on her forearm as he pulled her  along. With the other, he still held her purse. With her wallet, her I.D., and her charge cards. What could she do but follow? Shit, shit, it's finally happened. I promised myself I would never do this again, but I just can't seem to stop, and now I'm going to have a police record and maybe spend the night in jail.

He led her to the back of the store. There were two doors there. One was open,and the inside was lighted, revealing an office with, she saw with a sinking heart, a video monitor on the wall over what looked like his messy desk. So there were cameras after all! She could see a view of the entire store on the screen, from a lens that must have been hidden in a corner!

She expected to be going into that room, where she would sit in the chair across from his desk as he called the police from the phone that sat amidst a mass of disorganized paperwork.

But no...next to this door was a closed wooden door. He pulled a key out from his pocket and she watched dismally as he unlocked it. The room was dark inside, but he pushed her roughly forward into the blackness. She heard the door snick shut, and her heart leapt in fear -- no police after all?

Mr. Kowalski was standing in front of the door, blocking her exit. There was nothing else in the room at all but four blank, white walls, the bareness undisturbed by anything except what looked like a small panel with a lever on it, and the light switch by the door...and in the center of the room, what appeared to be a cell of some type. No bars. The cell was made of clear plexiglass, four walls of it, built from the floor to the ceiling. It was small, only a little bigger than the size of an upright coffin. The only interruption to the smoothness of the glass surface were the metal hinges and cut edges of a door constructed of the same clear material.

"What..." she whispered.

"This is your holding cell," Mr. Kowalski said calmly. "I can't trust you not to make a run for it while I'm busy on the phone. You will wait inside for the police to come and take you away to jail, as you deserve." With yet another key, he deftly opened the clear glass door, and waved her to go inside.

"I will not!" she burst out.

With a fierceness and sudden burst of strength that was hard to believe in such a soft, sedentary-looking man, he dropped her purse on the floor, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pushed her inside. The door was shut behind her in a second, and his key was turning in the lock.

Diane pounded on the door.

"Let me out! Let me out! You can't do this!"

But Mr. Kowalski ambled slowly over to the lever on the wall. His small pale eyes, behind their little lenses, grew bright with anticipation.

"Call the police!" she screamed.


Her screams were muffled behind the glass, but he could hear the words.

No, no police, Gerald thought. I can teach you a lesson much better than they can. What will they do, slap you on the wrists with a small fine after a boy friend or husband bails you out, and you never spend a single night in jail?

He pulled down the lever a quarter inch. The ceiling above, inside the cell, opened a crack. He giggled as he watched Office-Babe jump backward in disgust and astonishment.

A small stream of heavy black mud plopped down at her feet. Spattering droplets sullied each of her shiny black pumps and sprayed dark streaks on her slim, pantyhosed legs. Her mouth became an O of surprise and a thin "Eeeek!" escaped her lips. She cried out,

"What are you doing!"

Oh! It was always so gratifying to see that initial surge of shock! Her bounteous chest bulged as she gasped. He pulled the lever down just a little farther, and the stream of mud coming from the ceiling widened.

She jumped back, and stared in horror at the thickening pool of mud on the floor. The puddle grew, and with small mincing steps, she backed into the corner, her blue eyes shining with terror.  Her rounded ass pressed into the glass as she cowered, the mud spreading ever-wider until it finally reached the toes of her shiny black pumps.

"You're going to bury me alive!" she screamed.

He did not answer, but pulled the lever down another quarter-inch, and the opening in the ceiling cracked just a little farther. The mud was now coming down in a steady stream. It reached all four corners of the plexiglass cell, crept up the high, high heels of her shoes and slowly, in heavy clots, engulfed the toes of her shoes. She pulled one foot up, and then the other, in disgust and terror, whirled around, and began to pound on the glass, screaming, "No! No! You can't do this! Please let me out!"

His answer was to pull the lever down just a little more, and the stream from the ceiling turned from a creek into a river. The mud on the floor thickened, and crept up to encase her ankles. She began to dart wildly around her small cell, begging, "Please! Just shut that thing off! I'll pay for it! I'll pay! You can't do this, it's murder, please, please, let me out!" 

"They never found a single one of you," he said, loudly, for he knew that his voice would be as muffled to her as her screams were to him. Oh, that was the beauty of it! They always screamed, so loudly, but through the glass, the loudness could not split his ears, but was reduced to the comfortable level of a TV on medium volume. Yet, he could hear the fear in her voice as the mud took her ankles and began a slow journey up her calves.

"They'll find me! Someday! You can't get away with this!"

She kept moving her legs, in and out, in and out. Her shoes were almost invisible now, beneath the heavy slabs of mud that clung to them, and her legs were coated in slime the color of coal. He lowered the lever a little more, and the gush from the ceiling widened. The mud's journey up her legs took on additional speed and traveled the remainder of her calves, to rest only an inch from the bottom of her gray linen skirt. The skirt was snug, restricting her movements considerably, and she could no longer lift her legs high enough to free her shoes. Instead the mud shivered and shook and rose in lumps beneath her knees, which could no longer break the surface.

Guess that skirt is just a hair tight, isn't it? he thought evilly. He watched in fascination as the mud brushed, stained, and then finally covered the hem of her skirt.

"Please, make it stop! Please! I'm so scared!" she screamed. She began to put one hand on opposite sides of her tiny cell, and pushed, in an effort to lift herself out. It was so much fun to see how slippery the inside of the cell was, and the way her hands slid down over the plexiglass without taking her up even so much as an inch! Her breasts heaved under her snug white blouse as she strained, as if to pop the small pearly buttons in front, and the mud was now midway up her gray linen skirt. She twisted, moved in a semicircle, one way and then the other, making long folds in the skirt, and tried to push herself up once more, but instead the mud traveled upward, and began to cup the undersides of her buttocks. She pounded on the glass again,  looked at him entreatingly, and begged:

"I don't want to die here! Please! Just make it stop! Oh, God, I'm so scared! Just let me out! Please!"

And his answer was to bring the lever down another quarter inch. The river gushing from the ceiling widened some more, and the mud around her crept up her buttocks caressingly, to engulf both of those luscious orbs at last. She twisted, and pounded, and screamed again:

"Please! Let me out!"

The mud reached the black patent leather belt around her waist. With a gargantuan effort, she groaned and gasped as she once more tried to lift herself up by pushing downward on the slippery glass. She bounced upward perhaps an inch, and then plopped back down, and the mud swallowed her belt. Now the mud was around her waist, staining her white blouse.

Why, oh why, did the sight of a woman becoming slowly engulfed set his loins on fire? With pleasure, he watched her struggle some more, her hands pushing in and out of the mud.

Then, she burst into tears.

>"No! Please don't do this! You're burying me alive! I'm so scared! Please, just stop it! I'll never do it again!"

Tears streamed from each of her blue eyes, running her mascara, as the mud slowly traveled up her belly, now moving with her breathing. His eyes grew brighter and the desire within him became unbearable as her rib cage was taken, and the mud now began to caress the underside of her ample breasts. She could no longer keep her arms completely out, and they were blackened up to halfway between her elbows and her armpits. She now could not lift herself upward even a fraction of an inch, for her hands were slippery with it, and when she tried to push on the wall, they simply left black streaks on the glass.

She sobbed, tears now raining down her face:

"Please! Just let me out! Stop it! Stop it! Help me, please, I'm going to be buried! I won't be able to breathe in here!"

The mud quivered and shivered around her as it slowly crept up the undersides of her breasts. He loved the way the whiteness of her blouse bunched up around them, pushed up by the inexorable upward pressure of the mud, and the breasts themselves appeared to float, until, dually, they were taken by heavy, slick rolls of mud! He could not help but stare at them being helplessly sucked under!

She was terrified, shaking, struggling deep in his very own homemade quicksand cell, and at his mercy!

But suddenly her face twisted into rage, blended in with her continued sobs came a shriek:

"I'll fix you! I may die in here but you aren't going to get any more pleasure out of it!"

And his view was broken as she dipped both arms in, and flung handfuls and handfuls of mud at the glass. 

Damn. Now and then, they pulled this! He had to be content with hearing only her muffled cries, and the sobs she could not stop; and the occasional pounding as her fist still connected with the glass. 


The heavy mud was creeping up her breasts, pushing on her ribs, and making every breath an effort as the pressure on her abdomen increased. Her hands kept slipping on the glass, for the mud acted as grease. She looked down in horror as her breasts were now covered, and the white of her shirt showed a black stain of about an inch above the surface; then, the mud seeped into her armpits; she flailed her arms wildly. She looked up in terror as the stream of mud continued to fall from the ceiling; he would not stop! He would not help her! He meant to kill her! Her heart pounded in fear so intense that she felt her chest, pushed heavily on all sides by the ever-rising goo, would yet burst. 

"Somebody! Please! Help me!" she sobbed. "Please! Let me out!"

The mud was now up to her shoulders, and moved, up and down, up and down, in front of her breasts with her terrified gasps and moans of fear. She could see big rolls of it, where her arms pushed heavily underneath; it shone, it shook, in great heavy rolls and slimy wet bulges. 

"Please! Somebody! I'm trapped in here! I'm being buried alive in mud by a maniac! Somebody, please hear me!"

The mud closed over her shoulders and she felt her feet disconnect with the floor as her body weight finally was displaced. Coldly and slickly, it traveled up her neck until only her head was out. Her head bobbed up and down with her efforts to keep herself up; the ends of her hair floated on the surface; her cheeks felt the clammy wetness as the mud slid up each one; she fought, she pushed downward into the murky depths with all her strength! The mud brushed the underside of her lip as she sank a little farther; yet, the mud was carrying her upward at the same time! 

Her arms flailed wildly, making the surface bounce around. She traveled upward, still struggling to keep her nose out; her head was tilted way back, her ears now being covered, and her screams and sobs cut off as the mud finally closed over her mouth!

And then her head touched the ceiling. She could rise no farther, but mud continued to fall, and completely fill her tiny cell; Diane knew at last that she was going to die as her forehead connected solidly with the ceiling, the merciless advance of the mud did not cease, her nose was covered, and she could not breathe!

Her chest hitched wildly under the mud. No more air! She was suffocating!

Only her two terrified blue eyes looked out at the four scant inches that were left of her cell before the mud filled what was left of her room; her eyes squeezed shut as the cold slime closed over her eyelids; her arms clawed wildly at the smooth walls and at the corners and at the ceiling; all went black as she was totally encased in a dark wet tomb of incredible heaviness; her chest jerked with a final struggle for the air that was no more...

Oh, God, I'm pushed under! I'm dying! I'm soo scared! Oh, I'm dying!


It was always such a mess when Gerald released the door. The mud always fell out in a huge, clumpy puddle, leaving him standing about two feet deep in his secret room; and his hapless victim was always unconscious, and completely coated, looking like a very bad statue sculpted by a kindergartener with black Play-dough.

Immediately he pulled a syringe from his pocket and jabbed Office-Babe in the butt with it. There. That should keep her unconscious for awhile!

Pushing the lever on the wall all the way up and clicked one further notch made two pieces of tile on the floor separate, and now his drain was functioning nicely. The mud slowly ran into a huge, underground pit. Of course he'd have to scrub the whole place down, later, but for now, at least he could open the door without the mess spreading into his store.

He picked up Office-Babe in his arms. She was leaving now. He would dump her into the back of his van and find some place in town to abandon her.

She would wonder how she got there. She would, however, remember exactly what happened, why she was now in a public place sullied from head to toe, and would slither back home in shame and humiliation.

She would never step into his store again, and it was unlikely that she would take up her trade once more to rip off some other innocent storekeeper.

He had never been reported. Not once. Although he did like to move "Bespangled", and with it, the machinery for his secret room, from town to town before too many of these lovely thieves piled up.

It made for some high construction costs, but Gerald was quite handy with a set of tools.

He had also never had an item successfully stolen from his store.


Production on "She Stole, She's Caught, She Sank" is scheduled to begin in early spring.


Beautiful, blonde, generously-busted model/actress. Acting ability can be minimal, although ability to whimper like a puppy with one paw caught in a bear trap is a plus.

This is YOUR big break!!!



Actor, male. Sleazy appearance with beady eyes is a plus.

This is YOUR big break!!!



Jewelry store.

Compensation Package:


A new stream of customers with deep pockets and cravings for YOUR baubles are sure to swarm in like salmon swimming to the spawning-pool when "She Stole, She's Caught, She Sank" goes on sale, with your signage and address prominently displayed. And please consider the wonderful deterrence factor! Not a one of them will dare shoplift from YOUR store after they have viewed the horrendous punishment awaiting THEM if they pocket so much as a twenty-five cent tin ring and try to slither past the cash register!



Unfortunately, we lack the finances required to construct an actual indoor falling-mud trap, and so will substitute yet another sinking of a curvacious babe in a genuine bottomless pit of quicksand constructed by Mother Nature herself!

We have over-used our single site and are, right now, looking for new locations rife with deep, quivering, oh-so-delicious bogs of slippery, sucking, greedy, grabbing, hungry, anatomy-hugging mud!



Tune in tomorrow, same time, same place, same channel, same site, and the stuff we have up here won't change either!

Happy Sinking!