Free Bubbles and Troubles by Bebe Balocca

again?” he asked.
    “If it’s anything like the hot tub, then yeah,” she answered. “Definitely.”
    Brock stepped into the sloppy putty-grey gloop first and held a hand out to steady Carmen as she followed. The mud was hot, although not as hot as the tub they’d just left, and silky-smooth. Carmen moved through the bathwater-warm stuff and found a seat on another hidden ledge next to Brock. Hints of eucalyptus and lavender wafted up from the lapping surface of the bath. “Damn,” Carmen noted, “those gnomes were awesome to build this for your family. Did they dig out the whole cavern for you? How did your dad know where to look?” She shifted down on the bench so that the soothing mud was up to her chin.
    “The magic folk have used this cavern for centuries,” Brock answered, “possibly millennia. It’s no accident that Castle Speranza is built right next to this place, you know. Father did have the gnomes enlarge the hot spring and mud baths, and of course they added the bathrooms for us as well.”
    “Mmmmm,” Carmen hummed. She melted into the mud. Her skin, bones, and muscles felt as shapeless and liquid as the sludge in which she sat. Carmen felt herself slip into another meditative state and lost awareness of time and place. Her body dissolved in an ecstasy of release, breaking into living bits of mud, clay and rock, joining with the volatile earth, hardening into stone, disintegrating against the finger-like, curious root of a tree and being drawn into the tree itself, emerging as first flower, then fruit of the tree, before falling back to the soft, welcoming earth and merging once more with the living clay.
    Carmen woke to see Brock’s face before hers and to feel his splayed hands slip-sliding over her breasts. She exhaled slowly. “It happened again, like in the hot tub over there,” she said, dazzled. “Something changed me. I don’t feel the same. What’s in this stuff? What’s going on?”
    “A good thing,” Brock replied. He scooted her back against the unseen bench to expose her mud-coated chest. “What’s happening now, Carmen,” he whispered, “is a very good thing.” His hands, greased by the silky gloop, slid over her tits and plucked at her hardened nipples. Carmen closed her eyes and leaned into his caress. Her hair, flecked with brown, stood on end and her lips drew into a sensual pucker.
    Brock pressed his spread fingertips into her skin and traced a path up to her neck and over her scalp, then down the back of her head and over her shoulders. Carmen smiled crookedly. “I’m sure I look like a filth monster,” she told him, “not to mention the fact that I’m forty years old and no spring chicken, but, God help me, neither of those facts bothers me a bit right now. Brock, you are the hottest man I’ve ever known. I adore the way you make me feel.”
    Brock worked his massaging fingers down her back and beneath her ass. “You,” he said huskily, “are magnificent, Carmen. Mud is sexy, especially what we’ve got down here, and I promise you that age means absolutely nothing to me. The way you live, the way you love your town and your friends and your animals, the way you move when you’re dancing…”
    He knelt in front of her on the floor of the bath and spread her knees. “I want you to enjoy this place,” he whispered.
    Carmen felt his fingertips nudge the entrance to her cunt. The mud was warm and tingling and slippery—better than any lube on the market—and she arched against his caress as he penetrated her. Heat grew on the stiff tips of her tits and in the sensitive centre of her pussy. Carmen brought one hand to her breast to roll her hardened nipple and lowered the other to Brock’s wrist, urging him to fuck her deeper.
    Brock’s gem-blue eyes darkened. “I find you desirable in every single way, Carmen,” he promised her. He lowered his face to hers for a kiss and swirled his tongue in the soft recesses of her mouth.
    “Can we do it