Prende il fango... Mud sottomette

The mud didn't wait. It grabbed me, slow at first—then rough, relentless. My body sunk, my instincts gave up. I didn't fight it… I let it happen. I wanted it to happen. Stuck, stretched, stripped by nature itself. The mud made me open, made me feel filthy, primal, submissive. By the time it had all of me, it was already too late. I was moaning into the earth, offering my body to the filth like a good boy. This is what happens when the mud takes control. This is how I want to be used.