Caper in the Crater

Big Tits

Standing on the floating dock, you look across the water at the many floating heads and brightly colored buoys. This may be a little more difficult than you had originally anticipated. Still, you’ve come this far and you’ve already paid the entrance fee, best to make the most of things and explore the kind of antics you can get up to.

You turn your attention back to the rented gear laid out in front of you and spare a glance for your buddy next to you, whose gear is nearly assembled ready for buddy checks. Bending down to complete your preparations, a blast of cold air is suddenly funneled down the entry tunnel, raising goose bumps on any exposed skin, which in reality is nearly all skin thanks to the itty-bitty blue bikini you’re sporting.

Between donning swim wear and pants that morning you’d caught a glimpse of your reflection and been pleased to notice your time in the gym has been paying dividends. The cuts on your arms have become more defined, solid legs and shoulders, tight little ass and a stomach that couldn’t quite manage to be called flat owing to the abs that were poking through. In short, you looked hot. And capable, a winning combination.

Ignoring the intrusive draft of February air, you turn back the task at hand, connecting hoses, checking valves and gauges until you too are ready to enter the water. You turn to your buddy and swap gear, quickly completing buddy checks and applying defog to your mask. You kneel down to give your mask a quick rinse and as you do, you inhale a cloud of rising steam, causing the whispy hairs at the back of your neck to curl free of the tightly laced French braid trailing in a dark brown rope down your spine to the center of your back.

Here at the eleventh hour, you make a snap decision. Anxious though you are to break in your brand-new pink and white rash guard, you decide now is simply not the time. You regretfully peel it off, hoping the tight turtleneck won’t muss your hair and make a tight mask seal difficult, and you pad halfway up the tunnel to deposit it with the rest of your street clothes. February in the mountains it may be, but geologic forces beneath the Crater keep the water of the natural hot spring heated to an average of 94 F, at the surface. And here the normal rules of hydrodynamics are broken. The deeper you dive, the warmer the water becomes as you draw closer to its underground source.

It’s chillier here in the tunnel, the artificial entrance that has been bored out of the limestone, beehive-like structure, making it possible for visitors to simply walk in, rather than being lowered down through the chimney hole that marks the natural entrance of the structure, some fifty feet above the water. The cold seeps up through your bare toes, and you move with a dancer’s grace quickly back to the place where your buddy is waiting for you. Your reservation allows you access to the Crater for only an hour, and that time must include set up and tear down, time is ticking on.

With final checks complete you quickly slip into your boots and then your BCD, your buddy helps to support the weight of your cylinder while you tightly cinch down the shoulder and waist straps. All buckled in, the two of you sit side-by-side on the floating dock, don your fins and give each other the ‘okay.’ With enough air in your BCD to be positively buoyant and regulators in, you complete a controlled seating entry, sighing slightly in pleasure as the warm water wraps around you like a gentle caress. Together, you paddle the short distance to the square of buoys at the center of the Crater and make eye contact. You buddy flashes you a thumbs down and an okay, a question. “Are you okay to descend?” You respond with an affirmative okay of your own and it’s inflator hoses up as you descend into what seems like the world’s largest hot tub.

You keep one hand on the mooring line of the buoy and a close eye on your depth gauge, carefully controlling your descent. Equalizing the pressure in your ears has always been a struggle, you don’t even enjoy flying for that reason, and you want no issues today. Within a few minutes you arrive at the maximum allowed depth of forty feet. This is where the hour-glass shape of the Crater narrows before opening up again at the bottom. hatay escort A small squeeze of your inflator hose to become neutrally buoyant and you’re ready to start exploring your underwater environment.

Directly beneath you is a horizontal square of PVC pipe, marking the limit set for recreational divers by the Crater. Off to the side, just barely visible in the gloom is a suspended wagon wheel, another depth marker just for fun. You know from experience that further up and bolted to the silt covered wall is a stationary platform, there’s a light marking its location, but the platform itself is invisible. You turn to your buddy and wave a finger in a circle, indicating that you’d like to take a lap and he signals his ascent. The Crater is small and it isn’t long before your exploration has hit all of the highlights; perhaps it’s time for a little mischief.

Checking to make sure your buddy is watching, you twitch aside your bikini bottoms to give him a flash of bum. His answering ‘ok’ and wiggly eyebrows boosts your confidence and you know without having to look to closely he’s grinning around his regulator, if he keeps this up his mask will spring a leak. With a self-satisfied smirk of your own, you grow bolder. Facing him fully now, you check for traffic before freeing both breasts for his watching enjoyment. The dim lighting and the silt that drifts off the Crater’s walls make discerning details difficult, but even so you can tell the warmth of the water has left your nipples flushed and perky. He moves in to better investigate for himself when you suddenly find you’ve drifted rather close to the Crater wall. It would be a shame if an accidental brush were to disturb the silt and further degrade the visibility for everyone else in the water that day, and Crater rules ask you maintain a five-foot distance.

Your buddy’s grasping fingers are frustrated when you slip your swim suit back into place, and just in time. Another dive pair has been making their descent near by. The quiet in this enclosed place is nearly absolute beyond the gurgle of your own bubbles, and you hadn’t noticed them at all until they were practically on top of you. Quickly, the two of you resume swimming in laps, ‘nothing to see here guys,’ you think to yourself. You ascend slightly and alight on the stationary platform. This would be an ideal location for an underwater encounter, warm, fresh water, with a solid, silt free surface, the only drawback being a lack of privacy. You had to book two months out to schedule dive time on a winter weekend, and it isn’t as if you could afford exclusive access, if such a thing even existed. The Crater is so popular that a group of dive enthusiasts has driven twelve hours from Montana just to complete a stress rescue certification in the dead of winter.

So what to do? A quick glance at your gauges shows you still have over half a tank of air and nearly twenty minutes to kill. You’ve paid good money to be here and dammit if you won’t get your money’s worth. Looking up you can see clear to the surface and beyond to the late morning sunlight filtering in through the natural entrance of the Crater. You are able to spot at least one dive pair and know that another is circling somewhere out of sight. Looking down though is a different story. There is no light source there and you can only see a few feet beyond the blades of your fins, who knows what might be lurking down there? Divers, treasure, monsters?

You have an idea, an idea you probably shouldn’t have, and turn to your buddy. Underwater communication is always tricky and you stupidly haven’t brought your slate, because why would you? It’s such a simple dive. You signal to descend and he signs his affirmative. A few moments later you’re back to that square of PVC, your depth boundary. A quick 360 confirms there is no one in sight and you wrap a leg twice around one of the four mooring lines. Anchored in this way, without having to worry about buoyancy or drift, you let one hand resume its work on your breast while the other settles lower, sliding past the band of your bikini bottoms to slip between the moist folds below. Your buddy’s eyes widen and you notice with satisfaction the growing bulge in the front of his swim shorts. It’s harshatayota.com difficult, but you manage the proverbial ‘pat your head and rub your tummy,’ one hand kneading you breast, rolling and pinching the nipple, gently tugging as if to make it more visible-the other hand stroking and exploring, fighting the natural lubrication of the rich mineral water to create the friction necessary for pleasure. You’ve just about managed this latter task, beginning to feel a different texture emerging, one orders of magnitude more slippery, and you arch against the line, taking care to avoid banging your head on the first stage of your regulator.

Your thrust yourself seductively toward your buddy, arching your back, when from the periphery of your upraised eyes, you catch a flicker of movement. Faster than a startled marlin, you right yourself, rearranging clothing as necessary and releasing the mooring line. Your buddy, lacking a tether of his own has drifted a few feet lower and you move to join, peering upward for the source of the movement. You quickly find it, several feet up, a new diver has accidentally descended to quickly and is already moving to rejoin his buddy. Ultimately, a false alarm, but the danger remains. The Crater doesn’t expressly forbid sexual acts, but somehow you don’t think they are appreciated, and you aren’t really the sort that likes to perform to an audience. You’ve now decided to act on the less-wise part of your earlier idea, you’ve entered the water expecting an orgasm and now that you’ve gotten yourself all riled up, you’re determined to get one.

Looking at your buddy, you quirk an eyebrow and give the thumbs down, indicating you want to descend further. He cocks his head at you, looking for confirmation. You signal again, you point at him, “you, descend, okay?” there can be no mistaking you meaning. He agrees, you aren’t often a rule breaker and he finds your occasional rebellious streak attractive. The two of you complete a 360 to ensure no one is nearby who might notice your disappearance, and then together you descend single file, using the mooring line as a guide and taking care not to disturb the silty walls of the narrow waist of the hot spring.

You’ve entered a new world now, very little light filters down to you through the silty water and narrow opening; you both hold tight to the line, it wouldn’t serve to lose one another down here. Looking up, even the PVC square has disappeared and you see only a hazy circle of light remains to remind you the rest of the world still exists, below is only darkness. It’s noticeably warmer here, where you will be safe from curious eyes, as long as no one notices your bubbles-and given the crowded, murky conditions you’ve just left behind, this seems unlikely.

Your gauges are now showing just shy of 50 feet, you burn through your air more quickly at deeper depths, so now the clock is ticking. You resume your earlier pose with one leg double wrapped around the line, while also grasping it one arm above your head arching into a bow shape, hips and breasts thrust forward as the other arms reaches for your buddy, enticing him closer. He presses close to you, maneuvering your free hand to join its mate on the line. His meaning is clear, your job is to hold the line, and his is to hold you. One strong arm loops around your waist below the bottom of your cylinder, pulling your hips flush to his. He is already hard and waiting, his fingers rub experimentally down the front of your bikini bottoms and you eagerly press toward him, a moment later the fingers dive beneath the fabric to begin probing your depths, and you feel his body hum with pleasure to find your earlier work has not been in vain. You are slick and ready for him.

While his fingers have been occupied with your warm pussy, you have taken turns with your regulator, pulling in a deep breath, then removing it to trail bubbly kisses down his neck and across his broad shoulders, down his chest where his curly blond hair is floating on end. So engrossed in this activity are you that for a moment you nearly forget where you are, and you need to hurry to clear your regulator and draw breath. Speaking of hair, your long braid has been floating up near your face, and your buddy decides this would be an excellent handhold. He wraps it twice around his fist, pulling you closer still. Once again, you move aside the fabric of your top to expose your breasts, and you press together, skin-to-skin, rubbing gently, ivory smooth against the soft and springy mat covering his solid chest. Here in this weightless world, any sort of friction or sense of weight is welcomed as a novelty.

The fingers that have been playing with your pussy, stroking and teasing, leave you now even as you strain towards them. In a moment, he has his shorts unzipping and he brushes you with the tip of his thick length, sending shudders through your body. Somehow, you remember to breathe. He has released your hair and with one hand guides himself into you while the other kneads your ass, reluctant to allow any space between you. You sigh and melt in to him, craving every inch of him, wanting to be filled entirely. Buried to the hilt, he tangles his legs with yours, withdrawing with agonizing slowness only to seat himself again more fully a moment later. You squirm with impatience. Your free leg has been floundering through all this, desperate for something to do, something to reach for, to hold on to and it takes all your will power to maintain your hold on the line, though if asked at the moment you wouldn’t have any idea why it’s so important.

Slowly at first, then building speed, he begins to move within you and it seems as though each thrust carries him deeper. You are reaching, straining toward that peak where you know ecstasy awaits you, and you begin to make little whimpers around your regulator, you feel more than hear that his breathing is becoming more ragged and strained. He is ready to pump you full, to fill you to the brim, but he holds himself in check, your pleasure has always been his pleasure. The more your writhe and moan, the harder he becomes, taking personal pride in the reactions he can wring from your sensitized body. Higher and higher he takes you, your whimpers coming faster, rising in pitch. You see the summit there just out of reach, and you grasp him tightly, straining for the pleasure you know is there if you could only reach out and take it. You grow rigid around him, wrapping him in your three free limbs, clenching all your muscles inside and out. Your whimpers turn to screams and you feel that surely someone far above you must notice that something odd is happening below, your world can’t be shattering this violently without someone else suspecting.

You feel him groaning against you, shuddering as he finds his own release. You stay locked that way together for days, months, years, time has no meaning, time doesn’t exist. His head has dropped onto your shoulder, the edge of his mask niggling slightly against your neck. You release the air you hadn’t realized you were holding, and will your lungs to expand again, shuddering. The first rule of SCUBA “keep breathing.” Everything has gone limp, including your hold on the line and distantly you congratulate yourself on the foresight of tethering yourself hands free. Reluctantly he raises his head, locking eyes with you. You each remove your regulators and share a kiss, lips pressing gently together, you imagine passing all of the love and warmth you feel for him through the connection. It’s probably the most chaste and innocent contact you’ve had since you both awoke that morning.

Dearly though you would like to remain in this hidden world, each the other’s only company, you know without needing to look at your gauges that your time in the Crater must be nearly up and your oxygen supply getting dangerously low. You adjust your clothing and very slowly begin your ascent. At the waist of the hourglass, you pause, checking carefully for any divers who might spot you. The coast is clear though and you continue your ascent back into the bright, cold world above, no faster than one foot per minute, nothing to see here folks, just a normal dive in the Crater.

You share a mutual smirk as your heads break the surface and you inflate your BCD’s to become positively buoyant. The outside chill funnels down the entry tunnel and you shiver in your wet things as you help each other tear down your equipment. Outside may be cold and bleak, but your latest underwater adventure, heated by one of the earth’s natural marvels, will surely keep you warm and satisfied through the long drive home, back to the unfortune reality of the real world.

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