Under Water - Part Three

Aug 31, 2018
I had to fight the battle of time compression, trying to squeeze a week aboard Natalya's yacht into a few chapters. A couple of re-writes later, we resume:

Part Three - Chapter 1

Leviathan! Kraken! Hydra! Jörmungandr! No, the great beast looming ahead in the dark
water is far greater than any of those. It's eyes light up the night, bathing its enormous
body in a snow shrouded glow. It's arms reach up and out, eager to pull what it needs from
the sea. I have once been in the belly of such a beast, inserted and extracted by
helicopter, but tonight I approach from the sea. The Zodiac bobs up and down in the waves,
my view constantly changing, exposing light and shadow, odd angles, and the oil rig, our
target for tonight.

Natalya warned Ilse and I that we are not wearing full survival suits capable of extended
survival in the icy water. Dismissed as too restrictive, our suits sacrifice survival time
for easier movement. I remember Natalya's instructions, 'If you fall out of the Zodiac, pull
this cord which will inflate your life vest and activate a flashing beacon. Then start
praying, because we only have a few minutes to pull your arse out of the water before you
turn into an ice cube'.

I remember reading about people surviving near-death experiences, claiming that their "life
flashed before their eyes". Scientists say that such images are not displayed in any
chronological order, but rather as multiple events throughout different stages of someone's
life. Sitting in a bobbing Zodiac amidst icy waves much taller than my comfort level might
not be near-death, but it is quite adequate to show me flashes of my last seven days aboard
Natalya's yacht.

The First Day

We had left the dock in Amsterdam and headed out the IJ Canal toward the North Sea. Cappy
let most of the regular crew off the yacht in Amsterdam, leaving a much reduced complement of
only three female crew members. With this skeleton crew, Natalya, Ilse and I were assigned
various tasks. From her work on the insertion and extraction teams, Natalya used her
navigation and communications skills to back up Cappy on the bridge. Ilse helped the other
three crewmembers using her seamanship skills. Lacking any useful nautical skills, and
prohibited from going up to the main deck in order to prevent any attempt at escape, I was
assigned duties below deck.

Even though I let Cappy know that I had good mechanical skills and could help in the engine
room, she reminded me of Cappy's Rule Number 1, "Touch anything on my ship, I kill you."
'You not allowed in engine room', she said, 'It is good you have mechanical skill. Toilets
on ship are mechanical. Clean them! Laundry machines mechanical too. You do laundry'. It
wasn't the worst assignment I could think of as it ensured that I would have free access to
all areas of the middle deck to plan my escape.

Cappy took charge of the galley, but I was told that everyone more or less grabs something
quick for breakfast and lunch when they have time available. The only meal that required any
real effort was the evening meal. Cappy made her famous "Fish Stew" the first night and I
was introduced to the crew. When I complained about the over-salted stew full of undercooked
vegetables and overcooked "mystery" fish, Cappy said, "Kitchen is mechanical. You now cook.
Dishwasher is mechanical, You wash dishes too'. By the end of my first day on the yacht, I
had been turned into a steward, housekeeper, laundress, caretaker, chef, and dishwasher for
six women.

At last, the Zodiac approaches the small dock at the base of the oil rig, used by supply
ships to unload equipment and transfer crew. Right at sea level, we are much too low to use
the dock, designed to mate with the much higher deck of re-supply ships. If we were at that
level, we could have used Swing Ropes to board like a regular crew change. It is impossible
for anyone to board this oil rig from a small boat, at least that is what Natalya was told.
Two years ago, Natalya had spent a week on this very same oil rig, watching, studying, and
talking with the crew, producing a security report detailing 10 risks and vulnerabilities.
The oil rig managers and their security team immediately dismissed 9 of those as "impossible"
or "not cost effective". Natalya blamed the reluctance of this all-male group on "male
arrogance", unwilling to accept critique from a woman. She is now ready to show them that
Risk Number 5 is quite real.

Escape Attempt

When I first boarded the yacht, Natalya decided that it was not necessary to lock me in my
cabin. I was prohibited from the main deck, which included the large salon, a dance studio,
a spa, Natalya's suite, Cappy's cabin, and the pilothouse. While the engine room was off
limits, the middle deck gave me free run of the crew's quarters, guest cabins, main galley,
laundry and storage areas.

By observing the angle of the sun as it shone through the portholes, I was able to determine
our direction, North. We were too far from shore for me to swim, even with a flotation
device. Any realistic chance for escape required a boat, and a few casual questions to the
crewmembers yielded the result. In the lower rear section of the yacht was a Zodiac capable
of being launched while the ship was underway. Confident of reaching this area without being
seen, I had no way to quietly defeat the locked door, unless I had the key. I assumed both
Natalya and Cappy had such a key, but doubted they carried it on them, creating the need for
me to search their cabins. But to do that I had to reach the upper deck without being seen.
The companionway steps were too exposed, however, the answer came to me in the laundry room.

In the left corner of the laundry room was a cloth sided cart, commonly used in hotels and
hospital for gathering large quantities of dirty clothes and bedding. Above the cart was an
opening in the ceiling. I moved the cart aside, slid a table over in its place, and climbed
up onto the table. A laundry chute? As I peered up into the darkness, I saw light coming
through a thin seam on what must be an access door. But to where? I guessed that it was
either the owner's cabin, where Natalya was staying, or the main salon, for collecting used
table linens. Either way, this looked like my secret passage to the upper deck.

Standing on the table I was able to get my head into the bottom of the laundry chute, but
there were no handholds on the smooth sides. If I could get further up into it I might
attempt the climb, and after adding a chair, the laundry chute swallowed me from the waist
up. I pressed my back against one side of the chute, kept my elbows at my side, and reached
straight out with my hands to the opposite wall. The chute was narrow enough for me to brace
myself against all four sides, and after lifting my legs off the chair, I was able to hold my
position inside the chute. I alternately slid my hands upward, balancing the opposite force
with a snake like slither of my back. Once my knees entered the chute, I was able to use
both my knees and hips to hold my position, allowing me to rest my upper torso.

The extra appendages made the rest of the ascent much faster and I was only a meter away when
suddenly, the chute above me was bathed in light. I looked up to see a hand enter the chute,
holding, holding, what? What else? Clothes! I watched as the clothes slid along the side
of the laundry chute, falling toward my face. Closing my eyes, the soft impact against my
face was followed by a faint musky odor. I opened my eyes. My right eye was obscured by
dark fabric, but my left eye traced the thin strip of fabric laying across my face. Unable
to focus on the closest part, I followed the seam outward and the lacy fabric came into view,
then a small pink bow. A thong? I am staring at a thong?

The chute overhead darkened and the swish of more clothes was confirmed a moment later with a
more substantial impact against my face and arms. The sound of the access door closing above
me sealed me in complete darkness. Remaining still, not wanting to make any noise, the
weight of the clothes pressed down on me. I could feel dampness from the clothes laying
against the bare skin of my arms and in the confined space I detected a familiar smell.
Natalya's sweat! A smell I knew well from our sparring matches, I inhaled deeply, fondly
remembering the many times my face was squeezed between Natalya's legs, buried in her
armpits, or pressed tightly against these same sweat-dampened clothes.

My mind returned from this temporary holiday, needing no other proof that the laundry chute
led to Natalya's suite. But if she were in her suite, there was no choice but to retreat and
return at a later time, I slowly and quietly worked my way down the chute, unable to see
anything below due to the clothes covering my head. After my knees cleared the bottom of the
chute, I moved down a little further then reached out my legs to feel for the chair. It's
gone! Where is it?

Hands! Hands reached up and undid my trousers, sliding them down. Unsure of who they
belonged to or what they were doing, I froze. I could see nothng below me, so I made a
muffled attempt to speak, 'I saw some clothes stuck up in the chute'. No response. The
hands continued their work and my underwear was pulled down. Wrapping themselves around my
exposd cock, the hands rubbed back and forth, stroking me to an erection. Then, softer flesh
pressed against the head of my cock, slowly parting to let my cock slide between. A hand
firmly grasped the base of my cock, while teeth gently raked against the remainder. My
excitement was intensified by the situation, not knowing who was working below me. I was not
going to last long, but then, OUCH! I felt a pinch againt my ball sack. Then another. And
another. Then more against the shaft of my penis. Some were sharp, others less so. What
was happening? I had to end this.

Uncertain of what I would land upon, I worked my way downward in the chute and the pinching
stopped. I risked the final drop, landing with a loud THUNK, fortunately finding the table
still there even if the chair was not. As I cleared the chute Natalya's clothes spread out
and fell to my sides, allowing me a view of my cock. Looking down there were at least a
dozen clothes pegs pinned to it, with more hanging from my ball sack. No one else was in the
room but the door had been left open. Further down the companionway, I heard a cabin door

I immediately thought of Ilse, and carefully climbed off the table. Bending over to grab my
trousers with my right hand, I slowly waddled down the companionway and knocked on her door.
It opened a moment later and Ilse's head peered around the edge. I stuck out my left arm and
forced my way into her cabin, still holding my trousers partway up. Ilse backed away from
the door and stood there, completely naked. Her clothes were nearby on the floor, but my
attention was captivated by her hair, her face, her breasts, her legs, and everything in
between. Her body defined perfection. Ilse tipped her head slightly and smiled as she
looked down at the laundry pegs still clinging to my crotch.

Behind me I heard a GASP! Turning I saw Natalya in the doorway with a pained expression on
her face. She said, 'I'm sorry. I heard a loud noise down here and I wanted to, but,
but...'. Her eyes seemed to water, just shy of tears. I dropped my trousers with my right
hand and reached my hands out toward her, 'Natalya, it's not what it looks like'. But I was
uncertain of exactly what it looked like to Natalya. I was alone with a completed naked Ilse
in her cabin, trousers at my feet, with an erect cock studded with clothes pegs. There was
no believable explanation. Even an alien abduction would sound more likely than the truth.
Natalya turned away, closing the cabin door behind her. I bent over and reached down to pull
up my trousers so I could go after her, but as I grabbed them with my hand a bare foot came
from behind and pinned them to the floor.

'Not so fast', said Ilse, 'I know what you were doing. You were trying to escape through the
laundry chute. If Natalya knew, she would throw you into the sea or turn you over to
Interpol. I just saved your life'. Pressing her bare hips against my bum, she continued,
'But my silence has a price, one you must pay every day. Now turn around so I can finish'.
As I turned around to face Ilse, I wondered if my escape attempt from the yacht has instead
wrapped me tighter in the spider's web.
Likes: Zonyt
Aug 31, 2018
It's a pain to look over all the current and past tenses trying to shift from first person to flashbacks on stuff I just wrote, but here goes:

Under Water Part III Chapter 2

Natalya opens the large black bag laying on the floor of the Zodiac and pulls out
what looks like a small crossbow. But there is no bowstring, rather it uses
compressed air to silently shoot a grappling hook with attached line. Indeed, the
device would not look out of place in a James Bond movie. Natalya fires three
lines onto the oil rig, one for her, one for Ilse, and one for myself. After
testing each line, we each hook up a small motorized winch, attach it to the
harness we are wearing, and silently rise up the lines to the level of the loading

Natalya had carried up a smaller black bag with her, and opening it now, she hands
each of us our small packs. We had been briefed on our objectives, I was to work
independently while Ilse and Natalya worked in tandem. It was a typical operation
for me, attaching my signal interupt connectors to various equipment and using my
other tools and skills to safely disrupt operations. The main difference for me
was the target itself. .

We did not expect to encounter anyone patrolling the oil rig, as Natalya's
suggestion for this in her risk assessment had been deemed too expensive by the rig
operators. They were confident that their radar could detect any helicopters or
ships approaching and warn the operators in the control booth. Even when Natalya
pointed out to them that their radar was unable to detect a small Zodiac hidden
amongst the waves, they held to their belief that no one could board the rig from a
Zodiac. We had just done the impossible, and did so quite easily. Nonetheless,
since we might encounter a stray roustabout or technician, Natalya had thought it
prudent for Ilse to be prepared.

The Practice Dummy

On the second day of our journey, Natalya decided that Ilse needed training in
hand-to-hand combat. She asked me to help, and I was pretty certain that "help"
meant that I was to be the practice dummy. I complained, 'I don't really have
anything to wear, the clothes Cappy got for me won't work'. 'Just wear your slave
outfit', said Natalya. I put on a baggy T-shirt and my white slave swim trunks and
met Natalya and Ilse in the dance studio aboard the yacht. Being a practice dummy,
I was thankful to see several mats placed over the floor. Ilse was wearing a
rather tight fitting light grey tank top and much looser pink knit bottoms that she
borrowed from one of the crew members.

I noticed Ilse's perky breasts pressing against her top. 'Shouldn't Ilse be wearing
some type of bra?', I asked. Natalya replied, 'Ilse says the ones Cappy bought are
too tight for her to wrestle in. And besides, you won't be hitting her, she'll be
hitting you.'

Natalya was in her element, if you consider her element to be "How to disable a
taller male opponent in 10 seconds or less". She walked Ilse through several
moves, at a slow speed, explaining the different nuances. Then it was time for the
real thing, and to help Ilse learn, Natalya ordered me to only offer minimal
resistance. I was fine with this, as my main concern was to guard against any
errant blows to my own unprotected crotch. Each scenario began with me approaching
Ilse as if I were trying to grab her. She, in turn, would make a defensive move,
hoping to quickly drop me to my knees or flat on my back. After Ilse landed a
number of solid blows to my face and torso, she would ask 'Are you alright?'.
Pride overcame pain, as I looked up from the mats I responded, 'Just fine', even
while wondering why Ilse seemed to be enjoying it so.

Next we worked on wrestling moves where we both started on the mat. The typical
scenario was that I had grabbed Ilse, taken her to the ground, and she needed to
escape. Natalya described each move, after which Ilse would strike some vulnerable
portion of my anatomy with one of her loose appendages. In the interest of
modesty, I began most moves by holding Ilse around her waist, but Natalya kept
intervening and re-positioning my hand onto Ilse's breasts. 'That's where a real
man would grab her', scolded Natalya.

After one of the moves, Ilse ended up on top of me, facing my feet, with her bum
sitting crosssways at a 45 degree angle directly on my face. Her right bum cheek
and thigh completely covered my right eye, with most of her weight pressing down on
the right side of my face. Her left bum cheek sat high on my forehead, leaving my
left eye uncovered, the meaty part of her flesh hanging out over the left side of
my head. Ilse's right leg was bent, her knee pressing down firmly on my ribs.
Leaning back slightly on her right side, Ilse's right hand had secured my own right
hand. Her outstretched left leg was fairly straight, beyond the left side of my
body and slightly bent at the knee, just enought for her left foot to pin my left
wrist beneath it.

I looked around with my free left eye. Directly above me was Ilse's left breast,
my view enhanced by the slight twist in her torso. As I traced the roundness with
my eyes, I could see a thin arc of sweat on the lower side, darkening the grey
fabric. Ilse' nipple pressed outward against the thin grey fabric, and while
Natalya was advising her of the superiority of this position, it looked to me like
Ilse's nipple was growing larger with excitement. The view toward my right
stopped at my nose, where the pink fabric from Ilse's knit shorts bunched up,
obscuring everything beyond. To my far left was Ilse's thigh, a solid wall of
flesh. But I was able to look down toward my feet, along the length of Ilse' left
inner thigh. Her tensed muscles could not hide within her nearly perfect smooth
skin. I looked closer, noticing a small and very faint pink line on her inner
thigh, perhaps a fading scar from shaving too close? A handful of faint blonde
hairs remained nearby, stretching outward in all directions. My view ended at her
knee, my own chest obscuring anything below that level.

Instead of getting up, Ilse started asking Natalya questions about different moves,
all while sitting on my face. She asked about the possibility of a second attacker
grabbing her from behind, wanting Natalya to play that role. Once Natalya was
behind her, Ilse's left hand moved down to her crotch, which was hidden from
Natalya's view. Her fingers brushed my nose as she pulled the crotch of her loose
fitting shorts aside, exposing her cameltoe. She ran her fingers vertically up and
down the large outer lips, separating them to expose her much smaller pink inner
lips, all while continuing to converse with Natalya. Ilse pressed her middle
finger against her vagina, then rubbed it slowly in a side-to-side motion to open
it up. She shifted her weight slightly, enough to let my nose slip inside the
moist slippery folds. Removing her hand, the pink fabric slid back, covering my

'Ilse, you can get off now', I mumbled from under her bum. 'Don't be a pussy!',
said Natalya, 'this is how Ilse will learn. Let me finish answering her
questions.' Natalya was right about the superiority of this position. With both
hands secured, my head locked down, and a knee on my chest, I could neither roll
nor try to kick out with my lower body. As I looked out past the pink folds of
Ilse's shorts, down her inner thigh, I wondered if the view I had right now would
be any different were I somehow trapped inside Ilse's pussy!

Ilse's game of questions continued for several minutes before she finally got up.
After standing up, I reached up and wiped away the moisture Ilse had deposited on
the outside of my nose, but some had seeped inside my nostrils. Lacking a
handkerchief, and needing to clear my nose, I sharply inhaled, as if snuffling a
bad cold, drawing Ilse's scent deep within. The intensity was overwhelming, it
even felt like I could taste her on the roof of my mouth.

Annoyed, I decided to offer a more spirited defense. Quickly pinning Ilse, I sat
atop her, straddling her chest. My ball sack rested between her breasts, which
sagged slightly outward to either side, and my instant excitement from this
turnabout was evident in my enlarged cock. The head protruded slightly to the side
of my slave shorts but I did nothing to conceal it. I looked down at Ilse's
stunned face with my own wicked smile, and as her eyes left my crotch and looked up
at me, our eyes met. For once, Ilse looked timid, unsure of herself. 'No, No,
No!', shouted Natalya. She took Ilse aside and gave her instructions quietly, then
asked us to repeat these same moves. As before, I blocked Ilse's first move and
got ready to pin her. Suddenly, Ilse's hand reached into my white slave swim
trunks, grabbed my cock and pulled up. HARD! I crumpled to the ground, rolled
into a ball and clutched my groin. 'Paybacks are hell', yelled Natalya, 'That's
all for today'. As I writhed on the floor, I watched Natalya get up and walk out
of the dance studio, leaving me to wonder which payback she was referring to. I
was left alone with Ilse. 'In my cabin, in five minutes', ordered Ilse, 'I need a
practice dummy for my bum'.
Likes: Zonyt
Aug 31, 2018
Under Water - Part Three - Chapter 3

Natalya had warned us against using the main steps up from the oil rig dock. It was one of the few places where there was a security camera being monitored from the main control room. To bypass this, we need to ascend a vertical ladder well over 10 meters high, and do so in the snow. Natalya leads the way, followed by Ilse, then me. As we climb, I look directly up at Ilse's bum, rocking side-to-side as she steps on each rung of the ladder. A snowflake strikes my eye, which I immediately close. Whether it is the sting or the darkness, my mind travels back to the yacht and my encounters there with Ilse's bum.

Still A Dummy

Ilse had ordered me to her cabin after the hand-to-hand combat lesson, and I debated whether to go. I remained a captive on Natalya's yacht, not really sure where we were going or what Natalya's plan was once we got there. By informing our employer that it was "I" who aborted the Greeenpeace mission, she had totally destroyed my life. Not only was I pursued by Interpol, but now my former employer had unleashed a wave of assassins trying to find me. I dare not return to my flat, as that was surely being watched. My only hope was to retrieve my confidential safe deposit box, which contained several fake passports and enough cash to get me to an obscure country somewhere on the planet. But while on the`yacht, I was at the mercy of Natalya, and from her earlier discovery of Ilse and I after the laundry chute fiasco, along with her cold comments during the hand-to-hand combat lesson, my future did not look very promising. I still could not come up with any plausible reason for what Natalya saw, and dared not risk the chance that Ilse would inform her of my ill-fated escape attempt. Thus my immediate future was dominated and controlled by both Natalya and Ilse. Seeing no recourse, I reported to Ilse's cabin and knocked on her door.

'Enter', I heard her say through the door. Ilse had changed clothes, and was wearing nothing but a tight black bra with matching wide-banded thong. 'Sit down', she said. There were few choices of seats, but I deemed the small sofa to be the safest.

'What did it feel like when you were inside the chair at my sister's brothel?', asked Ilse. 'Initially I felt trapped. I was unable to move, it was dark, and I really didn't know where I was. Then the lights came on and I was able to see through the fabric above me. I saw you come and sit down on the chair, and me. You are one of the most beautiful women I have ever known, but being inside the chair was not as much a sexual experience as it was a sensual one. By that I mean that I was restrained to the point when no sexual act was possible, yet I was intimately close to you. I could smell you, I could see you, I could feel the heat of your body. Being inside the chair cut me off from the rest of the world, allowing me to focus all my attention on you. I watched every movement of your arms, your legs, your breasts. Even your breathing. I concentrated on every word and sentence from your mouth. It was very intense'.

'Did you feel like you were being dominated by me?', questioned Ilse. 'No, not really', I replied. 'You did not know I was in the chair, so there was no Mistress and Slave interaction like when we walked to the yacht. It felt a bit like I was spying on you, somewhat like a voyeur or a paparazzi'. '

'Was it different when Natalya sat on you?', asked Ilse. I replied,'The small details were very much the same. I have have known Natalya for several years, but never was I this close to her, watching her, listening to her, without her being aware of my presence. Beyond the concentrated sights, smells, warmth and pressure, I could almost feel myself rising out of the chair and hovering in the room, enough to give me a mental picture of Natalya sitting on the chair. My mind filled in the details from the times I previoulsy saw Natalya sitting on chairs. Why did you let Natalya sit on me without telling her?'

Ilse laughed,'Natalya is so dominant physically and with her sense of command and leadership. She always makes good decisions, but she can only act on what she knows. The chair was the beginning, and in case you haven't noticed, I now control what she sees, what she knows, and especially what she doesn't know'. Looking back over the past few days, I realized how right Ilse was.

'My sister told me that there is an intense form of domination requested by some of her clients called facesitting', stated Ilse. 'She informed me of all the precautions they are required to take at the brothel, but encouraged me to try facesitting on someone so I can experience what it feels like. And for that, I need a facesitting practice dummy. And that is You! If you refuse, I will tell Natalya about your adventure in the laundry chute and you can accept the consequences, dire as they may be'.

I did not currently have a girlfriend, but was familiar enough with oral sex. This did not sound anything like the same. My prior experience with a woman's bum was always short-lived and done in the name of fun, but from the little I knew of facesitting, this would be neither. I contemplated my chance of a successful one-man mutiny to take over the yacht but that chance seemed too small to attempt. For now I responded, 'I accept'.

'Lay on the bed', ordered Ilse. I got up and obeyed, laying my head at the foot of the bed. The mattress was similar to the one in my cabin, a firm bottom topped with a soft foam layer into which I immediately sank. Ilse walked over, turned around to face away from me, and began to lower her bum toward my face. Ilse was quite trim and athletic, but I was surprised at how wide her bum looked from this angle. The black thong failed to hide her cameltoe, which was the last thing I saw as it nestled onto my nose, my eyes closing as her bum cheeks pressed down on them. The weight on my face was somewhat less than I expected, so I assumed that Ilse was using her arms and legs to limit herself. After a few seconds, she lifted her bum and I could see her hands grasping her bum cheeks. As she lowered again, she pulled apart those cheeks, allowing my face to enter deep within her crack, the weight now much more intense.

I cursed myself for not drawing in a deep breath as her flesh pressed itself into every opening and contour. My nose flattened slightly, constricting my nostrils, and the combination of the thong fabric and her labia cut me off from all air. I raised my upper lip and forced it upward into her bum crack, where it molded itself into an inverted V shape, and drawing my lower lip downward, I opened a small channel for air. My head was forced down into the foam, the back of my head reaching the firmer lower section where it could go no lower. With her bum cheeks settled on either side of my face and her knees together, I doubted anyone walking in would see my head under Ilse's bum.

Ilse remained still, and after several minutes said, 'Something is not right. I don't feel any dominance. You shouldn't be able to hold your breath this long. I have no control or power over you. I want to shift positions'. Ilse lifted up and settled further back on the bed, covering my mouth. With her legs spread slightly apart, my eyes were left uncovered and my nose was pressed against her thong. The added weight on my mouth closed off that source of air, but I was able to easily breathe through my nose, drawing in the same strong scent I had experienced earlier at the hand-to-hand combat training, and which still lingered deep in my sinuses. I looked up and saw Ilse looking down, her eyes implying her sense of frustration was all my fault.

Her hand came in over her right thigh and hovered for a moment over my face, lowered itself, and then pinched my nose between her thumb and forefinger. I expected this and had drawn in my breath, but after nearly a minute I had to exhale. With my nose blocked, I forced the breath out through my mouth, where it fought to escape through the fabric of her thong and any small crack it could find. The warmth of my breath spread out across my face, surely the same sense of warming penetrated deep into the folds of her pussy. With my nose still sealed by Ilse's hand I reversed the flow and tried to draw in a breath through the same path. Opening my mouth wide, I drew in little air, instead pulling her thong away from her crack and partially into my mouth. My attepts alternately pushed her thong agasint her pussy, then pulled it back into my mouth, but yielded little fresh air. It was time to panic, so twisting my torso and kicking my legs, I reached my hands under her bum cheeks and lifted just enough to get a breath. 'That's better', said Ilse.

Over the next several days, I was called back into Ilse's cabin many times to be her facesitting practice dummy. I was placed on the floor, on the small sofa, or with my head hanging off the side of the bed. She sat on me in both forward and reverse positions, clothed and unclothed, tied up and untied, lubricated and unlubricated, tongue in and tongue out, sexual and non-sexual. Ilse became more dominant in her facesitting as we practiced, but I also changed. I had overcome my fear of suffocation, and as Ilse learned the limits of my ability to hold my breath, she would reward me with the chance to breathe when I needed to. She was recognizing the small signs I made when my body needed air and responding accordingly. By constantly changing something I was never sure what Ilse would try next, so I began to look forward to our facesitting sessions. But I was not prepared for what she wanted to do when she called me to her cabin in the early afternoon of the sixth day.

Instead of the bed, Ilse ordered me to get undressed and lay down in the large whirlpool tub in her cabin. It was similar to the one in my cabin, large enough for two people. I had no idea of her intentions, but after Ilse adjusted my position several times, I ended up flat on my back inside the tub with my feet hanging out over one end. Ilse then disrobed and carefully stepped into the tub, assuming her preferred position, facing my feet, leaving my mouth and nose uncovered, with her bum cheeks straddling my eyes. She turned on the faucet. I guessed at her intentions, and was both aroused and scared. How high would she let the water go? Would she allow me a breath, not knowing that my nose and mouth were UNDER WATER!

The water spread around the outside of my body, looking for any cracks or contours in its attempt to get beneath my back. Ilse seemed unconcerned and sat quietly, enjoying the now familiar feeling of my face wedged into her crack. With my eyes covered I could not see her or her intentions. The water rose several centimeters, rising against the sides of my torso, then covering my arms and surrounding my ears. Still no sign from Ilse. Was this the end for me? Beieng drowned in a bath tub? Was that her plan all along? I pleaded with her, 'Ilse, I'm going to need some way to breathe if the water gets much higher'.

She lifted her bum and looked down at me through her legs. I raised my head slightly off the bottom of the tub. 'Oh, I forgot. Here, use this', she said. She reached over and grabbed a snorkel! 'The mouthpiece rotates and there is a flexible corrugated section too', she claimed. Ilse adjusted the snorkel and I opened wide so that she could insert the mouthpiece, just as the water reached my lips. The snorkel tube was slightly off to the left side of my face and pointed upward. I had not snorkeled for many years, and did not particularly enjoy it when I did. I hurriedly tried to remember the instructions I had been given about where and when to breathe, and how to clear the water from the snorkel. Ilse pushed my head back down to the bottom of the tub and lowered her bum cheeks onto my face, adjusting herself slightly to accomodate the protruding snorkel tube.

The water continued to rise, submerging my chest, and I took my first breath through the snorkel, exhaling slowly through my nose. I had no idea how this was supposed to work with a mask, unless you consider Ilse's bum to be my mask! I continued to breathe in this manner as the water rose, and could only guess the depth as measured against my own outstretched legs. The sound of the water cascading from the faucet became louder once my ears were completely submerged. I could hear nothing else nor see anything by the darkness beneath Ilse's bum as I lay encased in the warm water.

At last, the water was turned off and the roar of the faucet was replaced with an occasional trickle or splash or splat, as Ilse displaced a few drops of water while moving her arms or legs slightly. I continued breathing in through the snorkel and out through my nose, then heard Ilse's voice, distorted by the water, 'Those bubbles through your nose are tickling my pussy. I like it. Keep doing what you are doing'. I really had no choice but to do so, lest I inhale water through my nose.

Ilse adjusted her bum slightly, and from the angle of the bones in her bum cheeks, I was able to tell that she was leaning back. At least one of us was relaxing. I on the other hand paid close attention to my breathing, trying to flex my facial muscles to stave off the numbness caused by her weight. We remained this way for several minutes, the only motion I could detect being the fingertips of one of her hands brushing against my nose. Was she massaging her pussy or playing with the bubbles rising from my nose?

Ilse shifted again. I heard a faint metallic click, followed almost immediately by an enormous roar as the jets in the whirlpool tub were activated. The sounds of the pumps and jets were magnified under the water and various parts of my body were blasted by the underwater jets. The gentle sound of the bubbles rising from my nose and popping at the surface was overwhemlmed by the cacophony of thousands of bubbles swirling inside the tub. Those bubbles were having an effect on Ilse, and I could feel the muscles in her bum and thighs relax. She settled deeper into the tub, and onto me.

We remained in this position for several minutes, then several more, and I began to wonder how much longer this would last. I was grateful for the bouyancy the water provided to Ilse, slightly lessening the weight on my face, but I was approaching the point at which I had to do something. My face and shoulders were numb and my feet overhanging the end of the tub were tingling with pin pricks. The roar of the jets brought on a concern about permanent hearing loss. I lifted both my arms, grabbed the sides of the tub with my hands, and tried to pull myself upward into a sitting position while lifting Ilse up with my face and upper torso.

The movement startled Ilse and she slipped forward slightly, knocking the snorkel from my mouth. My hands slipped from the sides of the tub and unbraced, her weight quickly overwhelmed my face and neck muscles, dropping us both back into the tub. Only this time, I was UNDER WATER without a snorkel! I tapped frantically against her outer thighs with my hands, and she must have seen the snorkel floating freely, yet she remained sitting on my submerged face for nearly a minute longer.

I felt Ilse sit back slightly, increasing the weight on my face, before rocking forward and lifting herself upward. I thrust my face above the level of the water and drew a breath. While looking up at the twin orbs of Ilse's bum cheeks, her upper torso twisted slightly, and as she peered down at me she said, 'Sorry, I must have fallen asleep. The warmth of water, the tingling and massaging of the jets, and your face between my bum cheeks. Everything felt so perfect!'.
Likes: Zonyt
Aug 31, 2018
Under Water - Part Three - Chapter 4

After climbing up the ladder, we reached the base level of the oil rig, but rising
above us in a number of places were much taller sections of infrastructure, cranes, and
living quarters. Natalya knew of no cameras on this level, and reviewed with Ilse and
I the only other locations where cameras were present. Nonetheless, she warned us that
her intel was over a year old, and that while unlikely, they may have installed others.
If we were discovered, we were to try to reach one of the big orange Vomit Comets that
the crew used to evacuate the rig in the event of an emergency. These would drop
nearly 20 meters into the sea, plunging well under water, before bobbing to the surface
in a ride more intense than any amusement park.

This was not quite a normal operation for me, as I had no time to prepare or study the
type of equipment I would encounter on the rig. The signal interupt connectors I had
were the ones retrieved by Sven from the Greenpeace ship, designed for nautical
equipment, and I am uncertain how many would be usable tonight. But connectors could
be loosened and wires cut or striped to cause a short circuit, plus I had my syringes
of slow working acid and glue to apply. My main concern was the safety of the workers,
so I had to be careful of the equipment I worked on tonight, avoiding anything under
pressure or anything controlling the same.

We split up and headed out to our targets. I had given Natalya and Ilse the task of
disabling the cranes. Those control rooms would be unoccupied at this hour and I had
enough familiarity with cranes to brief them on things they could work on. I had a few
specific pieces of equipment in mind for myself, one of which dealt with plumbing, and
I chuckled to myself about the stink it would cause. Other than those, I was looking
for targets of opportunity, and amongst the maze-like assortment of small buildings,
pipes, junction boxes and equipment I was pleased to see that nearly all of the doors
and panels were unlocked. Natalya was right again. As I walked around I saw equipment
costing tens of thousands of Euros with keys still in place, or protected by cheap
locks costing just a handful of Euros.

The congestion of equipment and tight walking spaces reminded me of the pilothouse
aboard Natalya's yacht. I remembered how that adventure turned out.

The Ice Storm

I had been watching the angle of the sun breeching the portholes and determined that
for the past 5 days we were headed North. The crew had shifted to warmer clothes and
doned jackets, even during the day. Looking east, I saw distant snow capped mountains.
Had those been to the west I might have suspected Iceland, but I was fairly certain
that we were now off the coast of Norway. The seas were a bit rougher but the
excellent ship stabilizers made that difficult to tell below deck.

Late that afternoon, I got a call from Cappy over the intercom, asking me to bring
coffee and mugs up to the pilothouse. The request was unusual because previously I had
not been allowed topside. Rather than risk the creation of a new "Cappy Rule Number
5", I made the coffee and delivered it as ordered. The pilothouse was a nice size, but
the copious amount of equipment along with two chairs didn't leave a lot of room to
walk or stand. Ilse and Cappy were on the pilothouse, dressed in rain gear, looking
out at the turbulent North Sea. The skies ahead were dark with low heavy clouds.

I poured Cappy a mug of coffee. 'Heading into bad storm. Ilse, go out now and secure
hatches. Stow gear. Tell rest of crew to watch frostbite. If hands frozen, put under
armpit. Skin-to-skin best thing for frostbite'. I stayed for a while watching the
rough seas, which made the yacht seem that much smaller. Ilse tightened the openings
of her rain suit, slipped on a pair of wool gloves, and stepped outside. As the door
opened the cold air rushed in.

Cappy turned to me and said, 'You do good job below. Crew like you. If crew like then
I like too'. I imagined this was about as big a compliment as Cappy would ever give.
'Thanks', I replied, 'As long as I'm on board, I'm willing to help anyway I can'. I
began to hear a "tinking" sound and asked Cappy what it was. 'Ice Storm', she replied.

The door opened about 10 minutes later and Ilse entered. Ilse stomped her feet to
shake off the thin accumulation of ice, then removed her gloves. Looking at me, our
eyes met and she gave me a wink. Should I be worried? She then turned toward Cappy
and said. 'All secure. But it's really cold outside. I think I have FrostButt'.

'FrostButt? What is FrostButt?', asked Cappy, 'I never hear it'. Ilse replied, 'It's
when you have Frostbite on your arse cheeks. Mine feel numb'.

Cappy replied, 'Oh, like when sit on metal bench to watch outdoor ice hockey', said
Cappy. 'Ilse, pull down pants'. Ilse did as instructed and bent over, pointing her bum
toward me. I bent over slightly to see what this mysterious FrostButt looked like.
Ilse's bum cheeks did have a pale white tone, but I suspected they would soon return to
normal. She hadn't really been outside long enough for the cold to cause any real
damage. As I was about to report this, Cappy reached around Ilse, grabbed my hair, and
forced my face against Ilse's bum cheeks. 'Skin-to-skin best way to fix FrostButt!'.

With my nose deep inside Ilse's crack, I smelled a setup, among other things. Ilse's
bum cheeks were indeed cold, but not overly so. Still, I could feel her cold being
conducted into my face, while my own warmth flowed into her bum cheeks. Ilse took
advantage of this opportunity, grabbing my head with her own hand, and constantly
shifting her bum while my face was pressed tightly against it.

Ilse was still wearing her rain jacket, and the accumulation of ice pellets on it began
to melt in the warmth of the pilothouse. Some of the cold water dripped down onto
Ilse's exposed lower back, causing her to shudder. I watched the drops trickle into
her crack, my own nose acting as a stopper, trapping the water in place. Other drops
landed directly on my forehead before running down my face, past my eyes and ponding at
my cheeks. Ilse released my head and I pulled back, unleashing the still cool drops to
run down my face. 'Now my face is cold', I said. Hearing a rustling sound, I turned
in time to see Cappy pulling down her rain pants. In between her two skinny dimpled
arse cheeks was the hairiest crack I had ever seen. 'Skin-to-skin best way to fix cold
face', she said. I half fell and half stumbled down the companionway steps, but could
not outrun their laughter.
Aug 31, 2018
Under Water - Part Three - Chapter Five

As I moved about the oil rig, I spotted a white helmet carelessly left in one of the small operator's rooms. I adjusted it to fit my head and put it on, ensuring that even if I were spotted, I would look like one of the roustabouts out for a walk. I cursed my lack of knowledge and research about the equipment on the oil rig, as done properly, I could halt operations here for at least a year. Instead, I concentrated on disabling equipment that moved things, opening leaks on pumps with which I had familiarity, jamming locks and confiscating keys, unhooking connectors, and in general trying to create the largest possible surprise when the crew of the oil rig awoke this morning.

I doubted it would equal the morning surprise I had. But technically, that would be yesterday morning, when I awoke to find the yacht anchored in a fjord.

About Face

I awoke on the seventh day of our journey, the one on which Natalya would reveal to me our destination and her plans. The yacht was still. No wave motion, no engine noise. Quiet. I looked out the porthole and confirmed that we were stopped, and that we were close to land.

There was a knock on my cabin door. 'Time to wake up!', it was Natalya's voice, 'Dress warm and meet me down below outside the engine room'. Whatever her plan, it was underway.

A few minutes later I went below and found Natalya and Ilse standing outside the door to the room containing the Zodiac, which had been my goal earlier in the voyage. Ilse handed me a Life Jacket to wear over my warm Fjällräven parka, matching the one Natalya had on. 'You'll need this', she said.

I climbed into the Zodiac, and was slightly embarrassed by my lack of seamanship skills, such that Natalya and Ilse had to handle the launching. Natalya started the engines and steered us toward the shore. Free from the confines of the ship, I was presened with a panoramic view of the fjord. The hills on either side were steep, but were not of the majestic height found in tourist literature. Perhaps those were the snowcapped ones off in the distance. We headed toward a small inlet with a narrow beach, and I was somewhat surprised by the lack of trees. There were no signs of habitation anywhere. Further into the fjord, I saw two whales surface and exhale a stream of misty air and vapor from their blowholes as they searched for herring.

We entered the inlet, disturbing the shorebirds which flew up overhead. Small Puffins lept from their protruding rocks and disappeared under the water. Natalya landed the Zodiac onto the rocky beach, and I assisted her in pulling it onto shore. 'Beautiful, isn't it?', she asked. 'I agree', was my response. 'We are near the border of the Troms and Finnamrk regions of northern Norway, north of Tromsø, the main northern city. The population up here is pretty sparse, mostly some small fishing villages. Let's take a walk', suggested Natalya.

We walked quietly along the shoreline, until Natalya stopped. She bent over and picked up what looked like a plastic bottle, handing it to me. 'Look at it closely', she said. It was a typical American brand, not uncommon in Europe. 'It must have been dropped by a local fisherman', I said. 'Wrong answer', said Natalya, 'Every plastic bottle in Norway has a special label and a barcode so it can be recycled for credit'. Unsure of where Natalya was taking this, I held on to the bottle as we continued walking.

I spotted something green a few feet away and picked it up. I recognized the empty green plastic bottle of Coco Rico, a popular drink in Puerto Rico. 'Good find', said Natalya, 'bring it along'.

After a little further walking, Natalya stopped again, stooping down to examine some rocks. 'Come, turn some of these over', she ordered. The rocks looked ordinary to me, but I did as she asked. While the top of the rocks were ordinary, the bottoms of the rocks were coated with a black tar-like substance. I smelled the rock, confirming my suspicion that the substance was oil-based, but was in some stage of decay. 'Where did this come from?', I asked. 'There was an oil spill 50 kilometers from here', Natalya responded, some of it washed into the fjord. 'It looks like it is starting to decay', I questioned her, 'How long ago did it happen?', 'It was fifteen years ago', was her startling response.

'Let's head back to the yacht', she said. As we walked back to the Zodiac, Natalya picked up three more plastic bottles. During my scouting for the mission against the Greenpeace ships, I knew they were concerned about plastic bottles, arctic drilling, global warming, and many other environmental issues, trying to raise awareness. But I personally knew nothing about cleaning up oil spills, and I could not see the value of me cruising the shoreline to pick up plastic bottles. We arrived back at the yacht, greeted by Ilse, who helped us secure the Zodiac. 'Come to my suite at 11:00. I will explain everything to you then', said Natalya.

It was only 9:00 AM, so I turned to Ilse and said, 'I'll be in the galley cleaning up'. 'Fine', was her respose. I carried the plastic bottles to the galley and placed them into the recycling bin, got everything squared away, then spent some time playing solitaire with a well worn deck of cards while waiting for Ilse to find me and order me to her cabin for our usual 10:00 face sitting practice. I was somewhat surprised when 10:00 arrived and I had not seen her. Maybe it has something to do with Natalya's meeting, but I decided to check on Ilse, so I went to her cabin and knocked.

'Come in', Ilse said. I entered and then closed the door. Ilse was fully clothed, wearing Levi jeans and a wool sweater. I thought to myself, "Face sitting in jeans? That might be interesting". I went over and sat on the edge of her bed.

'What are you doing?', asked Ilse. 'I'm here for our 10:00 face sitting practice', I said. 'There won't be any more facesitting', said Ilse. 'Why not?', I asked, 'I was looking forward to it'.

'That', 'is', 'the', 'problem', pronounced Ilse slowly, 'Well, that and something else. I sat on you for MY pleasure, not yours. I wanted to dominate you. I NEEDED to dominate you. When I caught you in the laundry chute, I had POWER over you. I could control you because of what I knew. The physical part was secondary. I have no sexual interest in you. We never had regular sex anytime this week, did we? That's because I'm a lesbian!'.

'You're a, a, a', I choked out in surprise. Ilse interupted, 'A Lesbian. That's right. This is the seventh day, your last. After the meeting, if you want to leave, you can. I'm certain Natalya will let you go. I no longer have any power over you, no control. It won't matter that you tried to escape, Natalya won't care one way or the other'.

I sat stunned, not moving or speaking. I looked over at Ilse, still beautiful, still attractive, and gave our facesitting sessions one last try. 'Mistress Ilse, will you please sit on my face', I asked. 'NO!', she said. I got down on my knees. 'Please, Mistress, one last time', I pleaded. 'The answer is still no. Those words are in your mind, they are in your mouth, but they are not in your heart. Now get OUT!', ordered Ilse.

I"m glad I did not have to see the sadness in my own face as I left the cabin, closing the door on Ilse and on our mutual adventure in facesitting.