The Mile Under Club

It's not uncommon knowledge that copulating in water is not only possible, it's also a lot of fun. Stay safe out there folks, because showers, bath tubs, hot tubs, and even the odd pool, if you're privileged or brave, all have the deliciously sinful potential to become your kinky playground, often at a moments notice. But perhaps this is all to a little mundane for you, maybe you're bored with swimming pools and are looking for your next adventure. If this description fits you, I might be able to interest you in an exclusive group known as the Mile-Under Club. You've heard of the Mile-High Club, this is for those souls who wish to venture in a different direction, namely down, below the waves and into a land of weightless wonder.

Let's clarify something real quick, just as the Mile-High Club doesn't refer to a literal mile, the same is true of the Mile-Unders. The deepest dive record was just broken in the Red Sea and that still had a 'one' in the thousandths place, and it took 12 hours to surface from that sucker. So, what do we need to join the Mile-Under Club? A SCUBA cert. to begin with, or some seriously insane free-diving skills, the best in the business can manage a five-minute breath hold, can you cum in that time?

Next: location, location, location. This one is trickier than you might think. If you have a private pool, please pay careful attention to the pH, those are some harsh chemicals that you do not want getting washed up into sensitive areas. Personally, I would prefer hot spring, otherwise why bother with an open diving cert.? This does significantly narrow your options, but it does introduce new standards of safety.

Most hot springs are devoid of fish, and by extension, all the little fishy germs and leavings that come with them. They are also fresh water so there's no need to worry about salty crusties occurring in awkward places. If these safety reasons aren't enough to convince you, I have one final argument that I think you'll find more than a little persuasive. Access. Unless your wetsuit has a bum flap, in which case I would love to know where you found it, you're going to need some pretty warm water, unless you want to invent some sort of extreme Penguin Down-Under challenge. I'll be sitting that one out.

Now we have our qualifications and a location picked out, let's go dive. Ladies, I recommend a two-piece swimsuit and diving with a little extra weight might not be a bad idea, being neutrally buoyant, essentially weightless, can turn the actual bumping and grinding of the act in to something of a challenge. Make it easy to keep an eye on your depth, find a ledge to hang out near, a guideline, or maybe even just the bottom if it's shallow. I personally recommend Meadow Hot Springs in central Utah, shallow with an undercut to hide from any surface swimmers. I like to gather up and discard any glow sticks or flashlights dropped by other swimmers, it's my thank you for being allowed by the owner to dive on private land.

Enough logistics, let's get on to the fun stuff. You've assembled your equipment, completed your buddy checks, and now it's time set your inflator hoses up and you and your buddy slide below the surface in a curtain of bubbles. It's a bit of a tight squeeze for the two of you and after inadvertently kicking up the bottom more than once, you decide to wedge your fins in a rock at the bottom while you finish your exploration of your submerged surroundings. The water is warm and clear, but there really isn't much to see. The cavern is small and quickly your interest is exhausted. A quick glance at your tank pressure shows you've consumed only about one third of your O2, so you decide you have time to play a game with your partner.

This may not have been your intention when you were planning your dive, but now here you are and the conditions are just too perfect to resist. You decide to put on a little show for your partner. It's true, your bikini leaves little to the imagination. Not much of a one for mystery, you catch your partner's eye and slowly move your hands upward to cup you breasts. The water dampens your movements, your hands lazily knead and massage. The weight of your environment supports and slows your hands into graceful caresses. Even with your equipment you take on an ethereal, languid quality impossible to achieve on land carrying your full weight.

You now command your partner's full attention, and even through his mask you can see his eyes are wide with excitement, and heavy with anticipation. You scan down his body and see a bulge where before the fabric was flat. You smile around your regulator and push aside the fabric covering your breasts, allowing him now to see the effects of your ministrations; the swollen, erect nipples, flushed with color from the hot tub-like temperatures. The muted light that has filtered down through twenty feet of water softens the edges of your surroundings, adding to the dreamy quality of your desire. If you're asleep, you hope this is one dream you'll be able to take to completion.

You reach for one another, his hands replace yours on your breasts, pressing and pulling the nipples tighter and tighter into beady pebbles, sensitized almost to the point of pain. Your hands, meanwhile have floated lower to the gradually enlarging mass you noticed below the cummerbund of his B.C. dissatisfied and impatient, your grow bolder, reaching past the waist band of his swim trunks to grasp him directly. You leverage yourself closer to push his shorts down over the voluptuous ass some girls would kill for and now he is fully exposed to you. You hold tight with one arm looped around his bum, and with the other hand begin to pump his cock, setting a rhythm that brings him fully to attention.

He is eager to return the favor. When his fingers slip past your bottoms to find your slit, you are pleasantly surprised to discover that even underwater you can still be wet. His fingers spread you lips and begin an exploration of their own, stroking and teasing while his other hand still tightly holds your breast captive. You moan into your regulator, but of course no sound comes out, it registers only as so many more bubbles.

You're finding it difficult to maintain your rhythm, distracted as you are by his fingers and his hands. Normally, this might be the time when you exchange a few dirty words or ask for a change of scene. Underwater this is impossible, the two of you are alone with your bubbles. Down here, anything important enough to be said must be done in sign or body language, and right now, both are rather busy.

The feeling of being in a snow globe is heightened by the intense quiet, the only sound that registers is your own breathing. He smears your juices across your thighs and abdomen, playing with you just a moment longer. It registers somewhere in the back of your mind that this is the point on land where you might need a towel and you appreciate the lack of clean up your exotic setting provides. You chalk it up to one more advantage of being a diver.

His mind is made up now as his hands withdraw from your heat and shoves aside the flimsy fabric you call a bathing suit, pushing it down over your ass and drawing you in still closer. Together your hands guide his rock-hard shaft into the juncture of your thighs and your head droops back, barely avoiding your first stage where it attaches to your tank, savoring the feeling of him sliding in to you. How can something be at once so solid and strong and still be weightless?

You scramble to remember and implement the golden rule of SCUBA: keep breathing. You're succeeding well at this while he tries a few experimental thrusts, slowly at first, acclimatizing to your alien environment. Which crazy human first thought it would be a good idea to try to breath underwater? Isn't this dangerous? The thought turns you on. You start to float away and he holds you tighter. You release the remaining air from your B.C. to become negatively buoyant and settle down together to balance on a rock on the floor of the spring. You clench around him, trying to keep from floating off as you fight for balance on your narrow perch. You know from experience that falling off will land you past your ankles in super fine silt in less time than it takes to draw breath, an irritant you don't really want to be dealing with at the moment.

You're back to focusing on your breathing when he begins to pick up steam, using his buoyancy training to his advantage now. Holding tight to each other he forces himself deeper and deeper into your secrets. You've given up on balancing now and have your legs wrapped around his waist, wedged under his tank with his hands on your hips, easily bouncing you up and down. You've forgotten all about your breathing by now and with your eyes closed you might even be a mermaid or a sea goddess, taking her pleasure where and when she desires it, as is her right.

Together you reach higher and higher, straining toward that peak you know is there, just out of reach, until all at once you have reached the summit and he is vibrating inside of you, rigid with his climax, shooting his cum deep inside you, filling you to your core where it will later mix with the water surrounding you. In a daze, you slowly unclench your legs and you float back into yourself. You take a moment to be grateful for hormonal birth control, doubting the effectiveness of condoms in these circumstances.

You swipe between your legs, curious at the texture of your own lubricant you find there, somehow managing to be so much more slippery than the water around you. You lock eyes with your diving buddy and see a twinkle there, visible even through the mask. The two of you readjust your swimwear and you wonder vaguely what you would have done if you had lost track of your bottoms entirely, instead of keeping them near your knees for safety purposes. Briefly you picture the mortified face of the swimmers you left at the surface if your bottoms had gone floating up unattended, save for your bubbles.

Breasts and bums now appropriately concealed, you take stock of your surroundings. Your pressure gauge is still showing half a tank and all fins are accounted for, exactly where you left them. Feeling playful, you remove your regulator from you mouth and begin to trail kisses along your buddie's shoulder and arm. You clear your reg, take a pull of air, and begin again, letting your bubbles tickle around his neck and what you can reach of his chest. Breath, caress, breath, caress.

At first you are nearly over come with feeling. You love this nut-ball so much you're nearly fit to burst and you're doing all you can to show it. This sudden well of emotion seems a tad excessive, and after a moment you realize your current efforts to demonstrate your physical desire are a product of your continuing arousal. You push in closer now, hoping for a round two. You jostle for position on the silty base, alighting a minute later on a sturdier rock. You begin to grind your hips against him, desperate for the friction your own wetness deprived you of earlier in a cruel trick of biology. You've wrapped yourself around his thigh now, feeling the hard muscle of his leg. He holds you tight against, knowing what you want and lets you set the pace, allowing you to find your pleasure for yourself. Fingers pressing tight against his shoulders, you ride him hard and fast.

You realize now that this is what you have been building towards and the world around you narrows to the sensation of your body against his. You're climbing a mountain again and this time, you don't simply reach the summit, you throw yourself off the other side in ecstasy. Where before you were moaning into your regulator, now you are screaming, he might even hear it. You claw onto his shoulders, past caring whether you may be hurting him. If you are, he doesn't seem to mind, almost as anxious for you to reach your climax as you are. You vibrate with the after shocks of your orgasm and slowly float back down to reality. You allow your muscles to unclench and would fall off his leg if he weren't supporting you.

Reality rears its ugly head and you force yourself to stand on your own. Thoroughly satisfied with the results of your dive, you begin to gather up your things. Fins are snapped on and you collect glowsticks, flashlights and any other detritus left behind by careless bathers. This is one time where the diver's mantra: "Take only pictures, leave only bubbles," does not apply, you consider this your payment for the free use of the property. You give the thumbs up signal to your buddy to begin your ascent and he flashes you the standard okay. You reach an arm above your head and kick for the surface, emerging a moment later in the bright August sunshine, grinning widely enough to make your mask leak. Where should you dive next?