Having finally been completely encased, they then run a test for the pressure in a tank filled with a special kind of gel, that would allow them to simulate the temperature and especially the pressure.
Karen – Dive Test by MonsterP63
Author’s note: I have a friend who’s fantasies is multi-layer, neoprene suits and bondage while diving. She sent me this image (AI-generated) as part of her fantasies. It inspired that story.
The door opened. An athletic-looking woman entered, her shoulder-length hair tied in a ponytail. She looked at the man in uniform standing near the entrance desk.
“Hey, Chief. I’m here. What’s the situation… Why are all the trucks still here?” she asked, glancing through the window at the row of fire trucks, still in their garage.
“We are… not involved… yet, Karen.” said the man, visibly uneasy.
“What? Why? What’s going on?” she asked, frantically looking around.
“There is an incident off the coast, at sea.”
“At sea? But we’re… far from it. What a rescue station in Nuremberg has anything to do with something… where is it exactly? In the Baltic Sea?”
“No. Atlantic. Off the west coast of Ireland, at about… 2000m deep.”
“Fuck! But still… why are you asking me that?”
“You scuba dive, right?”
“Yeah but… I’m not certified for deep-sea diving. Anyway, at that depth, you need a ROV, not a diver.”
“Yeah… usually.”
“Cut the crap, will you, Chief?” asked Karen, her fists on her hips. “What are you hiding?”
“Well, see..” he said, looking embarrassed, “The University of Nuremberg has created a deep sea suit, allowing someone to dive at these depths. In this case, the rescue needs a physical person as it’s too delicate for a ROV. So, you see? They want to use the Nuermber’s suit. I’ll spare you the details for later but the important point is their suit: it needs to be tested. That’s where you come into play.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Well… Please, don’t be mad at me if I’m wrong, I’m basing my assumptions on what I heard. Apparently, you like to put many suits over one another. I heard that you once put on a spandex catsuit, then a wetsuit and finally a dry suit. Am I… right?”
“Yeeeaaahhh…” stretched Karen, puzzled, intrigued and scared at the same time. “What does it have to do with it?”
“Well, that suit is multilayered, as… many, many layers. And since the water at the bottom of that trench will be around 2 degrees, we have to test the suit for leaks and put it under pressure.
“But… 2000 meters is 200 bars, give or take.” said Karen with wide eyes.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I mean, just inflate the suit, you’ll see the outcome.”
“That’s the point, Karen. The suit is made to withstand high pressure coming from the outside, not the inside. And we need someone in there to tell us how it feels, if she’s able to move, etc. Would you be… volunteering?”
“I would need more details,” said Karen, blushing. Just the thought of being encased in multiple layers was arousing enough.
“Good,” he said, smiling. “Come with me, they’re waiting for you in the briefing room.”
“Really?” she said, stunned.
Karen followed him. The room was cramped with equipment, monitors, computers, pumps, and tanks. They could barely find space to walk. And in the middle of it, flanked by a man and a woman in lab coats, a large rectangular container, containing water, and it felt cold just looking at it.
The man and the woman introduce themselves as Pete and Lynda. They just waited there, smiling.
Karen took a peak inside. She saw straps and chains, linked to every wall.
“The suit is quite buoyant,” said Lynda, in the lab coat. “It’s to keep you down.”
“Uh…?” said Karen.
Just behind it, Karen’s eyes were drawn by the makeshift cloth hanger, a rod supported by two stands. She counted: 1, 2… 5 suits. FIVE SUITS!”
“You… you think she’ll fit in?” asked Pete to Lynda, almost whispering.
“Say what?” asked Karen.
“It’s just that you’re a little more athletically built than the model we had when we designed the suit. The fit might be a little tighter than expected.” said Pete.
Karen repressed a smile.
“If I have to be… squeeze a little to save a life, I’m ready to cope with it.”
“Uh… okay. Lynda here will proceed with the inserts.” said Pete.
“Euh… wait. Inserts?” asked Karen.
“Yeah. I mean, it takes close to an hour to fit you in. That would not be a good time to need to have a pee, wouldn’t it? So, we install relief tubes as well as feeding tubes and of course, breathing tubes.”
“Oh… yeah, Karen,” said the Chief, “I didn’t mention it but, once inside the suit, if all goes well, you are to be shipped directly to the rescue operations without removing it.”
“Oh. I see.” she said. She was eager to try the multi-layered suit. She was also eager to help save a life. And she had to… calm herself down, look preoccupied. It was an internal struggle. It was scary and arousing.
“Okay, if you are ready, we can begin the procedure,” said Lynda, inviting Karen to take place on an exam table, surrounded by a large curtain.
Some time later, the curtains were opened and Karen reappeared wearing what looked like a set of latex underwear. Tubes protruding from her nose and mouth, the tubes at her crotch through the latex panties.
Pete took the first suit and handed it to Karen.
“This a latex layer. It is for skin protection. The suit isn’t only designed for deep sea operations but hazardous environments, think almost nuclear protection,” said Lynda, handing her the suit.
Karen took it and searched for the zipper, having a puzzled look at the woman.
“Oh, here. Let me help you,” she said, taking the collar of the suit and stretching it wide and feeding it over Karen’s feet.
Puzzled, she looked in amazement at the suit was being pulled through the collar over her legs. She felt the cold latex quickly wrap her legs, including each toe through a toe sock. The latex was thick and as the suit gradually engulfed her, she realized that it was also tight. Very tight.
She liked it. But she also had to hide it. Weird.
Getting her arms inside the small neck opening was a stretch (pun intended), but then the suit took its place as she pushed her arms into the sleeves, down to the attached gloves.
She felt compressed all over her body, in an equal manner everywhere, and the crotch was pushing hard on her inserts. Oh, they were there for her bodily functions but they had… unexpected side effects. So far.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, which only emphasized the tightness of the suit around her waist, her chest, gently yet firmly squishing her breasts.
She felt at peace, but it was disturbed when they pulled a tight latex hood over her head. She opened her eyes in surprise as both, Lynda and Pete, stretched the large yoke of the hood and pulled it down, leaving her eyes behind tiny holes and her breathing/feeding tubes through narrow holes around the mouth and nose. While one was pulling on the collar opening, the other was carefully placing the yoke of the hood inside, making sure there were no wrinkles.
The eye holes were barely bigger than her iris
“How does it feel?” asked Lynda.
Karen gave two thumbs up. Yes, she was okay. More than okay, especially when Lynda crouched down and began to rub her legs with her hands.
“Sorry, there was a wrinkle there. It could create a bad pressure point under the rest of the suits. We have to make sure there aren’t any wrinkles on any layers. That’s why it’s so tight.
Karen answered with one thumb up. She was totally in agreement. A pressure point could become a major burden after a short time.
Pete handed over a shiny blue spandex catsuit, also complete with attached gloves and feet, although they weren’t toe socks like the latex layer.
“That’s to make it easier for the wetsuit to go on.” said Lynda with a smile.
Karen nodded. She couldn’t do more.
The spandex layer was put on. It was a struggle as it tended to stick to the latex layer, and also because it was really tight. Karen even wondered if there were any stretch left to it.
Once the spandex hood was added, Karen could already feel her limited range of movement. And that was only two layers. She wondered if that was a rescue suit or a kinky suit.
The third layer was put on. it was a 3mm wetsuit with a smoothskin finish all over, a little like a triathlon wetsuit.
The spandex suit helped to put on the neoprene layer, but it was nonetheless tight.
They began by grouping it at her feet, then slowly pulled it upward, engulfing her lower legs, then her thighs, and finally her hips. They literally lifted her off the ground to put the suit in place, making sure that the crotch was in place. FIRMLY in place.
Karen repressed a moan.
Putting her arms through the tight sleeves was also a struggle and she was glad she had someone to help her. It reminded her of that old wetsuit she had kept, a little too tight, but boy, did she like the squishing feeling.
Her feet got enclosed in the neoprene boots and her head squeezed into the neoprene hood, this one being a standard dive hood with a ring around the face. Then the the zipper of the suit was pulled up, needing both Lynda and Pete to do so. That’s when she really felt how tight and constricting that suit was.
She moved around, flexing her arms and her legs. Her mobility was very restricted, and there were two more layers to go! That can’t be.
She crouched down, bent forward, backward, sideways. She tried to reach her toes, which she could easily do while naked but could barely reach her calves.
Her breathing was getting faster. Both from the high compression of her lungs, and by the arousal.
“Ready for the fourth layer? It’s body stocking, again to help put on the final, high-pressure, drysuit.
She nodded.
Well, that layer stretched, a lot and was thus easy to put on. Four layers. And even tho that last layer was thin, with the boots and the gloves added, she felt the additional constriction and restriction.
Pete took the heavy-looking drysuit.
“It’s a tight-fitting dry suit made out of three layers. The inside and outside layers are latex. The middle layer is a mix of neoprene, polypropylene, and polyvinyl chloride soaked in a thick paste of silicone. It provides protection against puncture as well as insulation to extreme temperatures, all while maintaining its flexibility,” he said, demonstrating that, although that thing was 4mm thick, it was rather quite flexible. “The numerous D rings all along the suit are there for the tie-down in the tank.”
It was flexible. Not exactly… stretchy. Pete and Lynda struggled to put it on over Karen’s legs. They struggled a lot, even asking themselves if they should go on, mumbling something that, even their skinny model wouldn’t have been able to put it on.
Centimeter by centimeter, the suit rose up, squishing Karen even more, Karen who wasn’t complaining at all. Well, she was duly gagged, remember?
She was keeping her eyes closed. She was inside her own world. A very tight and confined world. All she could hear was her fast pounding heart and the sound of her breathing. Short and fast.
She wondered how she would be able to move inside that suit, even more saving someone’s life! No way she would be able to pick a screwdriver, and the fifth layer wasn’t fully on yet!
The outer layer suit had attached boots that looked more like heel-less ballet boots, and had mittens for the hands. That in itself would greatly affect the small dexterity she had left.
She felt her world almost disappear as she was heavily compressed as the suit zipper was pulled up: Pete was pulling the edges together and Lynda was pulling, standing on a step ladder, over Karen.
“Can you move around, Karen, please?” asked Pete.
It was weird. Yes, she liked high heels but that felt different. Actually, more secure. She couldn’t really feel the floor. She was just feeling layers and layers of soft rubber, neoprene, spandex and silicone.
“Okay, time for the headgear.”
The headgear was a helmet. Fortunately, the drysuit didn’t have a hood but the helmet would greatly replace it, being watertight. It provided her with a narrow field of view and looked more like a motorcycle helmet than a diving helmet.
The hoses for her breathing and feeding were linked to a connector located in the chin portion of the helmet.
“How do you feel?” asked Lynda, looking directly at her, through the helmet. The voice was faint. She could barely hear her. Karen tapped on her helmet, around the ears.
“She can’t hear us. Are the headphones turned on?” asked Pete.
Lynda froze, mouth agape, looking at the table.
“Oops?”
“Oh shit!” said Pete, seeing the earphone plugs on the table.
“It’s only for the test anyway. We’ll add them before the actual dive.” said Lynda.
“Yeah, should be fine.”
They guided Karen to the water tank and helped her get in. It wasn’t exactly water but some sort of thick gel that would be able to get to a much lower temperature than water, and also at a higher pressure. She didn’t feel it at all. As she was slowly set down on her back, she realized that she was neutrally buoyant, and that they could put her at any level in the tank. It felt great!
Her straps were linked to the numerous D rings covering the drysuit. Her legs were linked together at the ankles, the calf, below the knee, over the knee, mid-thigh, crotch, while her arms were linked to the suit at the wrists, mid-lower arm, under and over the elbow and at the shoulder, then each one of those straps was linked to more straps, themselves linked to the side of the tank.
Some sort of electric winch pulled them tight, putting Karen into a relaxed but unmovable pose, lying on her back, feet pulled in one direction, her head/helmet pulled in the opposite direction and everywhere over her body, pulled in the opposite side directions.
She couldn’t move.
From the exterior, she was immobile, but inside, she was squirming. Oh, that whole bondage feeling, that restriction, the tightness, the bondage, the immobility, the isolation from the external world. She was actually glad not to have any earphones.
She was alone in her tight confined world. She could see, however. Well, sort of. The gel created a fog-like layer. From the exterior, it seemed clear, but from her point of view, it distorted everything. She could see shadows moving but couldn’t make out anything. They seemed to be gesturing but she couldn’t make out anything of it.
And she was orgasming. She didn’t know if it was part of the package, part of the experiment, or if she was just a weirdo, but she was having a ball in there.
She lost track of time. She was totally fine in there. She didn’t feel the pressure increase, or the temperature of the water get lower or higher. She was good, feeling good, and constantly aroused. She could wiggle a little and that small wiggle, along with the inserts, was teasing at just the right place.
“Are… Are you sure she’s alright?” asked Chief.
“She’s perfectly fine,” said Lynda, looking again at her computer.
“So, what’s the problem?”
“It’s been three hours. The tests are over. Everything is working. We had to stop the procedure but we forgot to tell her that SHE’s the one who can abort it by stretching her right hand and reaching for the button there, and since she doesn’t have earphones, we can’t communicate with her.
“Make signs, write a message. Come on, people use your imagination. Damn university students. Good with books but poor in real life.” said the Chief in disbelief. “Let me take care of it if you can’t do it yourself.”
“Don’t you think we didn’t try? We’re not stupid.” said Lynda, her tone harsh. “Although the gel looks clear from this side, from her side it diffracts lights. I doubt she could even see us. We tried in case she could but she apparently couldn’t.”
“Well, bang on that damn tank! She knows Morse Code.”
“What do you think we’ve been doing for the last hour?” said Pete, with a dry tone, holding a fireman’s axe, pointing at the multiple small dents on the side of the tank. “But that thing is made out of 3cm thick titanium. She can’t feel anything inside that gel. and we have to be careful. Also, it’s under pressure at 200 bar. One small puncture and it will trigger a catastrophic failure. She will get depressurized in a flash. You know what that means, right?”
“Yeah. Instant death.” mumbled the Chief, head down.
Karen wondered how long she would be kept in there. She didn’t mind, she was in her happy place, and another orgasm was slowly building. But didn’t she have a rescue to perform? Oh that can wait… after that orgasm.
(c) monsterp63
September 2024