Week 101

Before me is my prey, a fragile girl in lace lingerie, her body trembling as she clings to life. Her eyes, filled with terror, stare at me, reflected in the black visor of my mask, her lips quivering as they release faint, water-muffled sounds—gurgles, moans, pleas. She’s pressed against the ceiling, trapped in a tiny pocket of air, her chest heaving in jerky spasms, grasping for the last sips of breath. I hover beneath her in the water, masturbating, savoring her suffering. My corrugated hoses sway, their glossy rubber gleaming, and the sound of my breathing through the regulator blends with the pathetic noises this bitch makes, creating a symphony of her demise.

Her trembling hand reaches for me, fingers brushing against my mask, sliding over the smooth rubber of my headgear. It’s a gesture of desperation, a plea, utter submission—she strokes me like a slave, willing to do anything if only I’d save her. Her eyes, wide and brimming with supplication, scream, “I’m yours, save me.” But I’m a predator, and her submission only fuels my lust. I seize her hands, my glossy-gloved fingers clamping around her wrists, spreading her arms wide and pinning them to the ceiling. She thrashes, her body arching, her nipples, hardened by cold and fear, straining through the lace of her lingerie. I loom over her, my legs clamping around her in a steely embrace, feeling her convulsions as she rubs against my crotch, sending sparks of pleasure through my entire body.

I press closer, my suit squeaking as it glides against her skin, and I feel her spasms caress my clit, where the rubber digs into my swollen labia. My juices flow beneath the suit, sticky and hot, mingling with sweat, enveloping me. Her legs, thrashing in panic, grip my thighs, each jerk, each convulsion of her body a caress that ignites my ecstasy. I moan, the sounds low and animalistic, muffled by the hiss of air through my regulator.

She takes a desperate, fatal breath. Cold, salty water surges into her, filling her lungs, heavy and searing. Her face contorts, her mouth gapes, releasing bubbles of air with a soft gurgle as they rise to the ceiling. Her eyes widen, filled with horror, tears blending with the water, her body writhing and arching, her chest rubbing against mine. I feel her muscles clench, her legs jerking in convulsions, and this is my triumph. Her agony is my passion, her struggle my orgasm.

I press closer, my crotch, constricted by rubber, grinds against her thrashing body, and I cum, wave after wave, the most intense orgasm of my life. Spasms grip me, my muscles tremble, the rubber suit stretches, ready to burst. I moan, my gloved hands clawing at my breasts, tormenting them as I thrust my hips, intensifying the sensation, savoring each of her jerks, each spasm that drives me to the edge of bliss. I scream, unable to contain the ecstasy overwhelming me, the sharp, sweet scent of rubber, heated by my breath, filling every inhale, amplifying my rapture. I see her face before my visor—distorted, mouth agape, the last bubbles escaping, her eyes clouding, losing life.

I cum again, harder, deeper, my muscles contracting, the rubber biting into my crotch. Her convulsions add sparks to my orgasm. Her chest heaves in a final attempt to breathe, but her lungs are filled with heavy, cold water. Bubbles of air, the last remnants of her life, rise, their gurgling a melody of her death. My orgasm slowly releases me.

Her gaze turns glassy, her body stills, but I still feel her final spasms. I stare at her face—frozen, mouth half-open, a lifeless mask in my visor’s reflection…