Lure Of The Scuba Temptress

Jason slid down the rocks to his favorite beach, excitement running through him in anticipation of his early morning dive.

The tousle-haired teen came here often before heading off to work and it was a stirring way to start an otherwise dreary day. He opened the nylon bag he had slung over his shoulder, and retrieved his clear silicon dive mask, his rocket fins and his weight belt and looked over the calm turquoise sea awaiting his entry.

It was a place few visited, up the coast from the St. Lucia dive resort his family operated. This place belonged to him, a quiet unspoiled reef where he could explore the many caves and caverns in the pocked sea wall, and explore himself once he was well inside.

Jason spat in his mask and rinsed it and, looking around to assure he was indeed alone, he doffed his jean cutoffs. He preferred to dive nude with his undersea friends, the eels, the turtles and the rays who frequented this unspoiled spot. He was a natural freediver with a lean build and the confidence of someone who spent countless hours underwater, swimming effortlessly through the deep.

He finned out 50 yards to the point when the shallow bottom dropped into an abyss, drew three deep breaths, tucked and effortlessly propelled himself downward. He finned deeper as the light dimmed and the colours of the spectrum narrowed to shades of blue and grey. Sixty feet down he found the entrance to his favorite cavern and a shimmering curtain of silvery fish parted and darted away as he entered. He finned into the darkness, the buzzing of distant motorboats fading and soon the only sound he could hear was the gentle, regular thumping of his heartbeat in his ears.

Until he heard the bubbles and the distant hiss of shallow breathing. He immediately halted finning and looked about. A scuba diver? Here? This far from the popular sites? He scanned his memory and recalled no dive boats on the surface above before he entered the surf, and he was annoyed that there was a trespasser -- or trespassers -- exploring his personal underwater playground.

At this point he would normally turn and fin back to the surface for a breath of air, but his curiosity got the better of him. He proceeded gingerly into the deeper recesses of the cave and soon saw a glint of light off a scuba tank.

He was surprised to find a solo scuba diver, a short, stocky older woman with shoulder length silver hair swirling over her head. She was wearing a beavertail shortie suit and carried a small tank on her back, the kind his folks' resort would assign short, squat divers. In spite of his quiet approach, she quickly turned and trained the beam of her light on him. He noticed the sharp eyes behind her mask and a confident air despite her petite frame. She noticed the boy's hesitation and knew his lungs must be nearing their limit. With a small smile, she gestured to her regulator, and pulled it out, offering him a breath.

Jason hesitated, then nodded. As he neared, he watched her eyes checking him out, but his need for air surpassed his modesty at the moment. She put the reg in his mouth, retaining control of the mouthpiece as he drew three deep breaths. Their eyes locked -- a fleeting connection in the silent, alien world of the underwater cavern. He returned the reg and gave the woman an "OK" gesture. She nodded and gestured at the surrounding beauty of sweeping sea fans and rock formations girding the chamber they'd entered, as if to say, "Impressive, isn't it?"

After a minute of drinking in the beauty of the chamber -- Jason suspected she was also inspecting his junk while he hoped his cock would remain deflated -- she offered another breath. He took it, mindful he would have to exhale the compressed gas in his lungs as he returned to the surface. When he returned the reg this time, she winked and motioned toward a sandy chute leading down to another, deeper chamber, someplace he'd never be able to explore on his own as a freediver. Her eyes glimmered with an unsettling mix of warmth and something unreadable. She tilted her head, smiling behind her regulator, and gestured downward, tapping her reg to assure the boy it would be safe -- and fun! -- to join her.

Jason hesitated but she firmly took his hand and almost propelled him deeper with her. "She's stronger than she looks," he thought to himself while admiring her form, as James Bond would say. They descended another 30 feet and indeed the chamber was worth the trip, this time stalagmites greeted them, evidence this was once a dry cave in ancient times when the seas were much, much shallower.

Jason felt the adding pressure on his ears and mask, now far deeper than he'd ever been before as a freediver. When he motioned to the woman's regulator, she offered it with a knowing smirk, and playfully withdrew it before she finally passed it to him. "Not funny," he thought darkly, realizing he was a good 200 feet from the cavern entrance and another 60 to the surface. Like it or not he had a new best friend for the remainder of his dive. He took a deep, satisfying breath, his chest relaxing as precious oxygen filled his lungs.

She motioned again, indicating she wanted to explore the cavern further. Jason looked about, the walls of the chamber shimmered with bioluminescence, casting eerie patterns across their faces. It's breathtakingly beautiful, but he was beginning to feel the weight of the rock above him and the growing distance from the open sea.

He gestured toward the exit, but the silver-haired temptress only beckoned him further into the labyrinthine cavern. Her eyes narrowed, the warmth replaced by something sharper. She points deeper, as if to say, "Trust me. Just a little farther. You know you want to."

And Jason did, his cock now stirring in this impossible but erotic situation, even with a woman old enough to be his Nan. He remembered what the shop's divemaster, a notorious pussyhound once accused of fucking anything with tits and a willing cunt, telling those criticizing his taste one day: "Put a mask on her face, a tank on her back and a reg in her mouth and she's Sophia Fucking Loren!" To howls of derision from the rest of the shop crew. But there may be something to that, Jason thought.

His reverie ended when the woman grasped his growing dick and purred as she stroked it. She deftly unzipped her rubber jacket exposing her fat sun-weathered tits. She gave him a short hit of air and tugged the back of his head into her ample bosom, and he sucked her purple nipples. "I guess we're doing this!" Jason gasped to himself.

He saw her unbuckle her beavertail to reveal her bush -- if she was concealing an actual pussy there wouldn't be that much fur -- startling to a lad raised on online images of well-trimmed snatch. He knew what the woman wanted -- demanded -- next.

They descended to the floor of the deep chamber and the woman dropped the torch into the sand. Pulling the reg out of her mouth to feed Jason, she bubble-growled "Fffffuuuccck me!" And he did, thrusting his cock into her well lubricated pussy and he groaned into the reg as she tightened her grip on his pumping member with muscles he didn't know women had. It didn't take long for the young diver to blow and he cried out through the reg until she ripped the rubber tits from his mouth to take a gasping breath of her own. She pushed him off and he floated limply for a moment.

The woman retrieved her flashlight, zipped up her suit and refastened the tail, and turned to go deeper. Wham, bam, scram. Panicked, Jason grabbed her leg -- No!!! he bubbled. We need to go up! She turned to face him, her eyes now pinched and angry. Jason's vision began to blur as he realized the gravity of his situation. Surfacing is no longer an option--not without her, not without the regulator. She held his fate in her hands.

The cavern, once a place of wonder, now felt like a trap.

The boy lunged for the woman's regulator but she finned back with a calm, almost cruel deliberation. Her eyes behind the mask were sharp, predatory.

He signaled desperately--universal gestures for air, for help--but she just watched, poised like a predator playing with its prey. For a moment, she placed the regulator back in his grasp, letting him take a single, shallow breath before pulling it away again.

She gestured deeper into the cavern, her movements unnervingly calm. His head shook violently, but as he lunged for her reg again she grabbed his wrist, her grip vice-like, with the other hand taking her knife blade to the base of his cock. He felt the serrated edge pressing against his still turgid shaft.

Their gaze met a final time, her stormy grey eyes letting him know there would be no more air -- he had to flee. He backed away quickly, running into the sharp coral slicing his shoulder, blood smoking into the water. Jason turned and began furiously finning upward and out toward the light.

Adrenaline rushed through him even as his eyesight narrowed, his chest convulsing with the need to breathe. The cavern walls seemed to press closer, the shimmering bioluminescence now a mocking glow against the encroaching darkness. His vision was further impaired with condensation clouding his mask, but his wide, frantic eyes were locked on the cavern entrance getting closer and closer with each kick, the distant patch of light taunting him.

Jason tried to hold it together, to conserve his air with steadier strokes, but his body was beginning to betray him. The urge to breathe was overwhelming--an insistent pressure building inside his lungs that he couldn't escape. His throat ached, the dry, burning sensation in his lungs worsening. His diaphragm spasmed, aching for the release of air. It was a pain he'd never known before, sharp and insistent, but he knew that the moment he gave in, he would lose everything. The ocean's cold embrace seemed to mock his attempt to escape.

Then, miraculously and in spite of his failing energy, Jason found himself free of the cavern and he looked up at the dozens of feet of water remaining between him and his next breath. He doffed his weight belt and began clawing upward, still fighting the reflex to breathe. His face contorted with exertion, his lips pressed tight, trying to keep any air in his lungs as long as possible. But the gasping feeling went into overdrive, like a physical force inside him, urging him to open his mouth and inhale, to let the water fill his lungs.

His hands grasped frantically at the water in front of him, as if trying to drag himself upwards with sheer willpower. His body was moving slower now, his arms feeling like lead, his legs growing weaker with each passing second. His mind raced: Just a little longer... just a little longer...

Jason's body shuddered as he kicked harder, now only 30 feet from the surface, sunshine and air. Fresh air--he could almost taste it. But his body was at the absolute limit of its endurance. Every second torture. The burn of his lungs a relentless monster, but he pushed on, driven by the single thought of escaping the suffocating depths. Twenty feet. Ten!

Then his ascent was cruelly halted. With fading consciousness he looked down and saw the woman had grabbed him by the ankle, determined to drag him back to the airless depths. Bubbles burst from his dying mouth. He had no fight left in him and knew he was done.

And then he knew no more.

With wisps of air remaining in her tank, taxed from her struggle with the boy, the woman towed Jason back into the cavern and she found a vertical chute close to the entrance. She propelled his lifeless body upward, knowing it was a dead end, getting tighter and tighter the closer it got to the surface, terminating under the ironshore, tantalizing inches away from air and safety. The dome of the holes at the top, wide enough to admit light, offered no exit large enough for Jason to escape. It would look like a wrong, panicked turn in turbid water. She pulled off his mask and belt and dropped them on the cavern floor beneath the chute -- drowning divers often tore these off before sucking in water. Jason would be found someday, but surely not before she was wheels up and on her way back to Dublin.

Later the woman swept the beach of Jason's belongings, loaded her jeep rental and drove down the coast to the dive resort, dumping the boy's clothing and effects in a dumpster along the way. It was early afternoon on another sunny day and a mild prickle of alarm went through her as she entered the parking lot and saw a Royal Saint Lucia Police cruiser parked in front of the dive shop. But she stuck to the plan -- she strode past the policeman and a babbling couple by the door and toted her now-empty tank to the counter inside the shop.

The divemaster was watching the police officer interviewing his boss and missus, straining to hear their conversation, and hardly noticed the frumpy woman in the shapeless sweatshirt, straw hat and baggy shorts standing in front of him. She cleared her throat and announced the return of the rental tank and reg assembly. He turned to face her and broke into a broad, insincere smile.

"Did you have a good dive?" he asked as he pulled the gear to his side of the counter, quickly inspecting it for damage. She sweetly replied the reef was bountiful and the water warm and clear, unlike the seas off her native Ireland. He shivered theatrically and laughed.

She nodded toward the policeman. "What's going on?"

The divemaster shrugged. "The owners' boy didn't show up for work today," he reported. "Playing hooky, I guess."

"Well," the woman said, "he'll turn up sooner or later and I imagine he'll get a talking to." Or not, she thought, DNA evidence of her encounter the young man still oozing from her cooze. She'd wash that down the drain presently in the shower but not before taking to bed and reliving the deep fucking and tasting his spunk in the light and air she denied him. She made a mental note to grab the largest snorkel she could find from the beach rental bin on the beach.

She turned to go, but the divemaster felt obliged to remind her that while he was persuaded of her vast experience as a diver, he'd still feel better if she joined them on the boats during the remainder of her stay. She scrunched her nose and had acid words about "cattle boat diving." No thanks.

"It can be very dangerous down there, young lady," he said, shaking his head.

The woman leaned over the counter and whispered: "I can be very dangerous. You should try me sometime."

They made a date for an off-the-books night dive that Friday evening, and she promised him she wouldn't tell a soul. Against the rules and all that.

As she waddled out the door, she turned and waved coquettishly. He whistled inwardly and thought, "See ya Sophia."

OOOOooooOOOOOoooo