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A Mysterious Voyage: Ian's Story

Scene 1: The Boarding

Ian, a 21-year-old athlete, embarks on an adventure in the dark of night. With only a bag on his shoulder, he walks up the ramp of a mysterious ship, which waits silently at the dock.

Scene 2: The Crew's Outfit

Once aboard, one of the crew members, dressed from head to toe in a black rubber suit, approaches Ian and hands him an identical uniform. Ian takes it, knowing it is an essential part of his new life aboard.

Scene 3: The New Suit

In a narrow, metallic cabin, Ian gets dressed. He puts on the shiny, form-fitting black rubber latex suit, followed by a pair of matching boots, ready to join the crew.

Scene 4: New Companions

In his new outfit, Ian meets his cabin mates. They are three young men his age, also wearing the same suits and boots. They shake hands, and Ian, delighted, feels welcomed into the group.

Scene 5: The First Night

That night, they all sleep in their black latex beds. Despite the unusual attire, Ian falls into a deep sleep, knowing he has found his place among his new companions.

Scene 6: The Awakening

At dawn, the first ray of light illuminates the cabin. Ian wakes up and stretches with a yawn, the rubber suit adapting to his every movement. It's a new day aboard the ship.

Scene 7: The Captain

Finally, Ian goes up to the deck to meet the Captain. With a military salute, he introduces himself to the man, whose imposing figure stands out in his latex suit with a yellow stripe. Ian is ready to begin his service with the crew.

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Connect to your docking station!

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Tom - Navydiver Part 2

The next morning, the sky was brilliant blue above the harbor, but the tension Tom felt came from within. His muscles had been tingling from the moment he got up—not from exhaustion, but from anticipation. Today he and Lars would be doing a practice dive together.

The locker room held the same smell as the day before: a mixture of rubber, salt, metal, and sweat. But now Tom sensed something extra—something personal. Perhaps it was memory. Or longing. He only knew that his breathing quickened when Lars walked in next to him. His cock began to grow again.

Lars said little. He just looked, briefly, with that same look as yesterday—warm, controlled, but with a gnawing intensity behind it. As if their bodies had already had the conversation, and words were unnecessary.

Tom took his Viking drysuit from the rack, still wet from the previous session. He held it for a moment, his fingers over the stiff rubber, the dried salt along the shoulders. He knew Lars had worn the suit before it reached him. The thought alone sent a shiver deep in his stomach.

He slid his body inside, slowly, paying attention to every part. The cold inside crept up his legs, the moisture clinging to his skin. His breath caught briefly as he slid his arms inside, his chest enveloped by the rubber. Everything felt tighter. Heavier. Closer. He was locked in again—and he loved it.

Lars stood opposite him, already halfway into his suit. Their eyes met. No shame. No distraction. Just that subliminal knowing. And Lars let his eyes roam over Tom's body for a moment—over the taut zipper, the trapped warmth, the shiny surface of the suit still clinging to drops from the previous dive.

Tom stood still, feeling Lars's hand on his chest, fingers sliding over the rubber, as he slowly pulled the zipper all the way closed. The sound—that heavy, slow one—cut through the room. It felt like Lars was sealing something.

Then Tom helped him, and their roles reversed. His hands slid over Lars's shoulders, down his back, pressing the suit firmly in place and slowly closing it.

He felt the warmth of Lars's body beneath the rubber. And he felt the tension—not just that of the suits, but also that of their breathing, their silences.

Then came the gear. Their harnesses, oxygen tanks, weight belts. Everything was donned with slow, muscular movements. Tom tightened Lars's mask strap, a little tighter than necessary. Lars turned, looked at him through the full-face mask. There was a smile in his eyes.

They walked together to the water's edge, heavy with weight, but light in their steps. Their suits squeaked softly against each other, the rubber glinting in the sun. With a shared step, they disappeared beneath the surface—into the blue, in silence, in connection.

They knew they had stayed too long.

When Lars tapped his dive computer and held it up, Tom saw the warning flashing: NO-DECO LIMIT EXCEEDED. He nodded briefly. They would have to go to the decompression chamber; in a way, that felt like a blessing. Because up there, in the open air, everything would suddenly be light and noisy again. Down here, it had been pure. Quiet. Deep.

They slowly aborted the dive, hand in hand on their way to the surface. The bubbles of their breath sounded like a long goodbye. At the diving platform, someone was already approaching them, gesticulating—a diving officer. "Too long, too deep," came a muffled voice over the radio. "Decompression chamber. Now."

They said nothing. Lars grabbed Tom's arm and pulled him along. No discussion. No explanation. They knew the protocol. But their gazes still held that slow, shared warmth. As if they already knew: this isn't over yet.

In the changing room leading to the decompression chamber, their suits remained on. The instructor was stern: “Keep your drysuits on, complete seal. Oxygen masks on as soon as the door closes.”

They stepped into the decompression chamber together—a metal cocoon, cramped, round, soundproof. The door closed with a dull thud.

On the hook above them hung the heavy oxygen masks—old-fashioned models, with rubber hoods, double-hose. They put them on. Tom helped Lars, his fingers pressing against the straps, firmly, almost possessively. Lars’s hands did the same for him. As the pressure began to rise, their breaths filled the chamber, loud and rhythmic. The mask filled their field of vision, the rubber pressing against their jaws. Tom felt the sweat on his temples, the mask pressing them back. He felt his heartbeat vibrating beneath the layer of latex. And across from him: Lars, breathing just as heavily, his chest rising and falling beneath the suit, hands on his thighs, fingers trembling slightly.

Lars leaned forward slightly, the mask heavy on his face, and rested his hand on Tom's thigh. Tom inhaled deeply. He felt everything. Every layer. Every tremor.

The silence wasn't empty—it was charged. Tom felt his cock harden again.

The sound of their breathing filled A soft hissing sound, regular, like a wordless conversation. Tom's eyes closed briefly. His back leaned against the wall. He was enclosed, both outside and inside. But instead of constriction, he felt only surrender.

The air pressure slowly dropped. A soft tap-tap-tap in the metal walls announced the end of their hyperbaric stay. Tom felt his breathing calm, the mask seeming to loosen its tightness. Or perhaps it was his own body surrendering, no longer tense, but carried.

A light turned green. The door opened.

The transition from the muted, warm interior of the decompression chamber to the cooler outer space felt like leaving a dream. Their bodies protested slightly against the sudden change in light, air, and temperature—but the worst of it was that their moment seemed to fade. As if it had remained underwater.

Slowly, without haste, they began to remove their gear.

The oxygen mask came first. Tom hooked his fingers into the rubber straps and pulled them loose. A hiss of air escaped, his face freed. He inhaled deeply—regular air. No helmet, no hose. And yet it felt strange… as if he'd lost something.

"Come on," Lars said, and together they walked to the changing room in their drysuits. "I want to show you something," Lars said. "Keep your suit on!" Tom was a little startled by the brute command, but actually found it rather exciting.

Back in the changing room, Lars picked up a similar type of oxygen mask as in the decompression chamber. Only, it had a corrugated black rubber hose attached to it, with a gas mask filter screwed onto the end. It was a black rubber oxygen mask with a set of head straps attached to it. Lars picked up a second, similar type of oxygen mask, also with the same rubber hose and gas mask filter attached to it. Tom felt his heart pounding in his throat. "What's this? What's this for?" he asked nervously. "You'll find out in a moment," Lars said. Again, he was startled by this brutal yet firm answer. "Put on the rubber hood of your drysuit." Lars did the same. "I'm going to put this mask on you now, but first I want you to take a deep breath and hold it." Tom did exactly as Lars asked. He took a deep breath and held it. Lars placed the mask over Tom's mouth and nose and tightened the head straps to secure the mask. "Now exhale and breathe in and out normally through the mask," Lars said. Again, Tom did exactly as Lars asked. Tom breathed normally into the mask. Immediately with the first breath, Tom noticed it. Fuck!! There were poppers in the mask's filter. Tom was familiar with this. He had snorted poppers before, but from a bottle, not with rubber oxygen mask. This was much more intense. He felt a slight tingling and a warm feeling inside. The poppers rose to his head, and he felt incredibly horny. His cock grew thicker and harder than ever before. He saw Lars do the same, and the poppers were starting to work on him too. "Just breathe easy, let that stuff do its thing," Lars said. He couldn't resist, he started touching Lars. He rubbed his hot rubber suit until he felt Lars's enormous hard cock. Fucking hell, this was so good. "Now, is this good or what?" Lars asked. "Fucking hot, man," Tom said. Lars rubbed Tom's rubber suit and touched his hard cock. So the two rubber divers sat facing each other, breathing through their oxygen masks. With every breath, the poppers became stronger and stronger. Both men were now incredibly horny. The strong smell of poppers mixed with rubber and sweat made both men incredibly horny. Rubbing each other's cocks, they came almost simultaneously in their rubber suits. A huge, incredibly horny orgasm, and both men pumped their enormous load in their suits. Still panting heavily, they removed the masks. "Hot, huh?" said Lars. "Fuck, man, that was intense," said Tom. "We all do that here from time to time," chuckled Lars. "And you're going to enjoy it even more. It's hard work, but it's also hot fun. Come on, let's get changed," said Lars. "The oxygen mask is yours now. Always keep it with your gear; we all have one, like I said."

Lars stood behind Tom, his hands sliding down the back of the rubber suit and finding the zipper at the top. Slowly, Lars opened the thick zipper that ran over Tom's shoulder, the sound sharp in the silence. Tom closed his eyes. He felt every inch of opening—the cool air on his warm back, the shiver it caused.

Lars whispered, his voice rough, close to Tom's ear:

"Are you okay?"

Tom nodded.

"Better than ever."

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