Monday, July 2, 2012

The vacuum sealed cervix

A multiplace hyperbaric chamber

Flight attendants and vacuum sealed diaphragms: I first noticed the dome of my diaphragm under significant vacuum when I inserted my Reflexions in Tahoe (at an elevation of more than 6,200 feet) for dive-sex last summer. It was such an amazing feeling that developed as the dome suctioned tighter against my cervix and anterior wall as Limnaea, my G550, was descending to land at McCarran at an elevation of about 2,200 feet! I love the feeling of pressure as the latex membrane stretches over the tip of my cervix. It’s rather like the pressure on my toes in my toe pads when I walk or stand en pointe.

Now, we are beginning to see a few flight attendants’ coming in to be fitted for latex diaphragms as the word spreads about the eroticism of wearing one with a pressurized dome. Most admit wanting latex because of the experiences of friends, but a second reason is that a Latex flat spring diaphragm is the safest for use as ‘flood insurance’ during dive-sex which flight attendants have discovered and are scheduling private classes during layovers. The flight attendants reasons are reversed from the escorts for whom a latex FS is a standard part of their equipment when with a dive-sex client. But then most escorts haven’t had experience vacuum sealing the dome of a diaphragm during a flight. Unfortunately only about 40% of the women who have come to us wanting to learn how to vacuum seal the dome of their diaphragms have the proper pelvic anatomy to do so.

There are several caveats for women wanting a high vacuum in the dome of a latex FS diaphragm. First she mustn’t be allergic to latex. While that seems obvious some women want to try anyway which is not a good idea! Second as mentioned above she must have the proper pelvic anatomy. Some women, because of their vaginal rugae (the folds in the walls that allow the vagina to expand when aroused and during childbirth) are unable to develop a strong vacuum in the dome. The dome will seal effectively enough for contraception when used with spermicide, but won’t develop a significant vacuum in the dome which allows it to adhere to the cervix and anterior wall as tightly as a coat of paint. For the lucky women the thin latex dome will stretch under pressure to develop a high vacuum and a nearly perfect fit. However, a few of them find they can’t stand the pressure on the cervix and don’t pressurize. Because the domes of silicone diaphragms are stiffer and less stretchy under vacuum even I find a silicone dome under strong vacuum puts too much pressure on the tip of my cervix for me to stand it for more than a few minutes and that much pressure can also cause the cervix to bleed.

Returning readers will remember there are some other disadvantages of latex diaphragms: they don’t last nearly as long, discolor quicker, tend to develop an odor sooner and may contribute to infections more than silicone ones. Still, for those of us into dive-sex or wanting a vacuum in the dome the latex Reflexions is a must.

The dome vacuum: For a woman whose anatomy allows developing a high dome vacuum, inserting a tight sealing cervical barrier while in an aircraft at altitude with a typical cabin pressure of 8,000 feet, allows the dome to be under a vacuum of several pounds per square inch at ground level. I can get somewhat the same result by ‘pumping down’ as I described in my March 31, 2012 post, ‘Ballet-sex exams, dome suction’, but it doesn’t approach the seal developed with a 2 to 3 psi dome vacuum. Some examples of the strong dome vacuums that can theoretically be obtained locally are:

Las Vegas atmospheric pressure at 2028 feet above sea level say 13.7 psi (2,000 ft)..

Lake Tahoe atmospheric pressure at average surface elevation 6225 feet above sea level, say 11.8 psi (6,000 ft).

Typical passenger plane cabin pressure kept at the equivalent of 8,000 ft, 10.9 psi.

Differences in air pressure Vegas from Tahoe = 13.7 psi minus 11.8 psi = +1.9 psi.

Differences in air pressure Vegas from typical pressurized passenger plane = 13.7 psi minus 10.9 psi = 2.8 psi.

Adolph’s Multiplace Hyperbaric Chamber: There are several local multiplace hyperbaric chambers, but they are all associated with medical facilities open to the public. Given the size of his fetish-diver training facility and the pressure related problems he has encountered with students, primarily women, sent to him for training he has recently had a six bed hyperbaric chamber added to the private hospital he funds for fetish related injuries here in the valley since a lot of the patients are from his training facility. A nice thing is that there is direct access through a tunnel from ‘The Well’, his 216 ft deep underwater training facility, to the admitting area at the hyperbaric chamber.

Until Adolph’s hyperbaric chamber became available there has been no convenient way to tell for sure if a woman being fitted for a latex FS diaphragm could successfully pressurize the dome and if the seal will hold or not, unless she (accompanied by her fitter) was taken up in a small unpressurized plane to 6,000 feet to insert and that was very expensive and could take several hours for the drive to and from the airport and the short flight. Now for groups of as many as six – who have been prescreened for suitability - the dome vacuums can be tested before the woman actually buys the diaphragm. It’s still an expensive test, but it’s worthwhile for a flight attendant desiring to high-vac her dome, a few wealthy women who fly a lot and for medical personnel having access to a multiplace hyperbaric chamber. And of course high-vac diaphragm fittings and tests are now available for guests at The Lorelei, Adolph’s European style spa, yet another profitable revenue stream for an already successful operation.


  1. Well, if no one else is going to comment, I guess it’s up to me.

    “You hounds! The good woman writes an intriguing post for our edification, and you just sit there doing impersonations of complacent turnips, with not a word of thanks. Egregious, I call it!”

    Anyway, Captain Jill, that’s danged interesting. Sadly, I know little about women’s cervical caps—either inserting, removing, fitting, or merely watching . But when I am around, self-respecting women need no internal birth control. They merely fire a well-heeled foot into the regions (mine to be specific) that make ordinary men squeal and fall over wishing for death. And then they go on their way.

    I’ve heard of other uses of hyperbaric chambers. I knew a soldier who’d been trapped in an exploded vehicle. He looked like he’d been flayed. The pressurized oxygen in the chamber saved his life. I don’t think he could have breathed without it. It also speeded healing and slowed infection. I saw him a couple of years later in a bar. Sitting by himself in a corner. The waitresses---hardened by guys half crazy with loneliness, fear, or grief—-avoided even looking at him for more than a second. [I imagine you and your pals are better able to handle such wounds in your hospital visits. If you can explain how, I’d sure like to know. I mean that.]

    I’m not the hardest guy in town, but I know what’s right. I sat at his table, introduced myself by saying, “Man. You look like shit.” I managed to rub his scarred arm. After a few shots and beers, it was a tie who cried harder.

  2. Dear Captain Jill,

    I fear that my commenting has been an intrusion, given your long-standing following of admirers. My intention has been merely to provide a bit of entertainment via witty (okay, weird) word play, building on themes that you provide. As I said in my first email to you, you are a talented, complex (gee, no kidding), and intriguing person, but those engaging qualities do not give me license to disrupt what you have built.

    So, I bid you adieu. Before I go, permit me to share a bit of nonsense I was going to post at your next pointe show quiz. I'd hate to have it sitting on my hard drive, alone and unloved...

    Best from

    Lance de Boyle

    "Who is the maker of these pointe shoes?"

    My responses to the current Pop Quiz will reveal to your Keen Eye that I have no idea what I’m talking about. Yet, your kind consideration of the Lame Excuses below (which aren’t bad as lame excuses go), will I hope elicit Compassion of such depth as to restrain your Whip Hand and show Mercy in your grading.

    LE1. I had no way to study. Despite hours of diligent, LSD-enhanced searching, I was unable to find resource materials, exam schedules, libraries, or locations for class discussion in this Most Complex, Mysterious, and Exquisite Blog---whose qualities no doubt reflect those of the Blog Mistress Herself.

    LE2. My knowledge of things balletical was gleaned from a fleeting moment watching—entranced---as Tiny Paulette Rosenberg strapped pointe shoes (pink ones, a rarely used color in ballet) to her Tiny Tootsies.

    Yet, despite my stunning ignorance(and please follow me closely here) I have the manly courage (you might say,testosterogenic idiocy---the “sterogenic” part lifted from several of your posts) to answer, anyway.

    The Answers….

    a. Mam’selle, I confess it was not I. But perhaps someone else. [Imprecise, yet strangely correct.]

    b. The shoes may have been manufactured by those fellers over at the roulette table, strangling themselves with tear-moistened towelettes, wailing to no one in particular, “Oh, Jesus. Now I’ve lost the house AND the business! What am I gonna do?” [Do what I do, Pilgrims, when the proceedings turn perilous. Pocket your last silver dollar, climb on the V-Twin, and roar west down Interstate 40 before She (aka Demon Succubus with Short Temper and Long Tail) knows you’re gone.]

    c. It’s possible that the shoes were made by persons who believe strongly that the universe consists of five elements: Earth, Wind, Fire, Water, and Satin. [And who would deny them their harmless fetish?]

    d. Oookaaaay. I got NO idea, Captain Jill, but the Popsie Bunhead whose pinkies inhabited them is no doubt about 5 foot 2 inches, 105 pounds, pert (where pert is a plus), and cute as a basket o’ bunnies in tutus and sailor suits.

    [Bunny turnout!]

    “Well, there it is. How’d I do, Captain?”

    “Ha! Not even Ha Ha close. Ha!” [The Deadly Quadruple Ha!] “And a big fat F,” applying salt to a significantly chaffed area—my soul.

    “Perchance a smiley face for the Cleverly Embedded Compliments, then?”….


    “Okay. What about partial credit for Artful Alliteration?”....

    “Nnneeuuuoooo.” I take that as a pretty definite answer, though it sounded like a feral female cat itching for relief down to her marrow.

    “Well, I call your grading harsh, Ms. Jill. Is there no balm in Gilead for these grievous wounds I bear? ......Eh? ...... Meh? ….. I say, Hellloooo?” …..

    Dang! Turning on Her Elegant Heels, she went.

    And now I am alone with my F. No smiley face to ease the pain. In this Vale of Tears there’s not enough beers to drown my infinite sorrows.

    PS. If you drown in one of your underwater shenanigans, I will be real pissed. But I will come for you and carry you back. I'm THAT good.

  3. Adieu dear Lance! You're welcome back any time.

    1. Interesting visitor. I wonder what that brief visit was all about.

      I have done surgery in a hyperbaric chamber and, he is correct, some amazing results are possible. Another (male) surgeon and I were wondering and tested sex at both high and low pressures. No real noticeable difference except that when going to "high altitude" any air in one's body requires release. Perhaps our farting was more interesting than our fucking - which was pleasant enough.

  4. Well, that sabbatical didn't last long. Hardly enough time for anyone to say, "Where, oh where, is Lance? I am bereft and desolate in his absence." [Former lovers have told me that they were able, temporarily, to cope when I took off, by restocking the panty drawer. Don't look at me. I didn't take their undies.]

    I may be suffering from Ms. Jill withdrawal. "Gee, I miss the zany doings there."

    You're very kind to invite me here, Ms. Jill. If I over-stay, or write stuff that is improper, I can take it if you deliver the heave ho. I may hoick and blubber awhile, but the 138th Infantry trains its children to hoick and blubber in a manly way.

    In answer to your q, Doc Brenda, I chose to leave before Ms. Jill felt I was infesting the place with my (odd? deranged? hallucinatory? unbelievably hunky? all of the above?) comments. I'd developed too much respect for her, in a short time, to give her any grief.


    In Xanadu did Captain Jill
    A stately pleasure-dome decree:
    A place holy and enchanted
    By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
    Through caves measureless to man
    Down to a sunless sea.

    A pleasure dome with caves of ice!
    Weave a circle round Her thrice,
    For She on honey-dew hath fed,
    And drunk the milk of Paradise.

    Captain Jill’s PLEASURE DOME
    Where pleasure is
    Under a dome,
    As foreshadowed by
    The first line.

    Rule 1 to our Clients. “Don’t you DARE stop what Ms Jill ordered till She curls her toes tight and cute like a bunny, and lifts off like a Saturn rocket.

    Skeptical guy: “How does a bunny fit in there?”

    Lance: “You REALLY don’t GET strong women, do you? See, deep in their Lady Soft Parts---Girl Central---it’s All Bunny All the Time. Watch ‘em go ‘Awww’ when they see this…

    “The Mature Alpha Male, with tender strength, assists Such Women to feel safe enough to reveal their Inner Bun and proffer the Bunny Tum, which he lightly tickles to build that all-important trust.

    “I don’t get it.”

    “Well, there’s a BIG surprise!”

    Our Guarantee. If Ms. Jill hasn’t made you pass out, you’re already dead.

    Ms. Jill’s Motto. If Ms. Jill hasn’t done it, it’s because she hasn’t found anyone with guts to try it with her.

    Ms. Jill’s Challenge. “Big sissy pants! What could go wrong? Lance’ll do it. He’s not afraid of ANYthing!”

    Uh, yeah, well, but I’m NOT doin’ THAT, Ms. Jill! Not because I’m afraid. Oh, no. For, Lance de Boyle:

    1. Is a direct descendent of Couvier de Boyle, Knight Templar.

    2. Eats Kellogg’s Hell Flakes for breakfast. And

    3. Though now a somewhat scarred and rudely armored knight, waits ready to strap on and ride forth to protect the Lady Buns.

    No, it’s because Lance can’t GO for that. Nnnoooo. No can do. Lance can’t go for that.

    Let’s see what phantasmagorical HORROR show She’s lined up NOW. [reads plans]

    “Okay, so we blow Cheezwhiz up our noses while tied at the bottom of a well littered with dildos diaphragms cigar butts and cheap toupees while an escaped mental patient twists our nipples with pliers.” [No commas for hallucinatory effect.]

    Oh, Is THAT all? Well, okay, then, Ms. Jill. I’ll hop right on it. I’ll get the cheese. But I’m telling you, if the whole deal goes south, don’t be surprised if I say, “BAD Bunny!” This’ll have you Ladies on tippies real quick. Lullaby. Almost unbearably beautiful

  5. Dear Captain Jill,

    Reading some of your past posts (because the future ones are hard to find)---when I should be hard at work turning 7.5 megs of unfiltered flapdoodle I've written into an online teacher prep program---I realized that in many ways the life you describe strongly resembles that of a combat soldier---though with somewhat more satin, leather, latex, and saucy ribbonage. ["saucy ribbonage"? What does that even mean?]

    There is (it seems) an undercurrent or back-beat of tension, of anticipation. [That's not a critical comment.] And then intense episodes akin to missions---sexual or clean up operations---all of them rather dangerous, and all of them having a powerful climax. (I just noticed the idiotic pun, but I'll leave it there because it has nowhere else to go. So, I'll it five bucks, shake its little paw, and wish it a good life without me.)

    Your sex gear serves the same purpose as the panoply of an infantry soldier---aggression (penetration, striking) and defense.

    And given your personal qualities (you strike me as brave, strong, and relentless, to name a few), I'm sure that you would make a stunning company commander of infantry, whose troops would follow you anywhere and undertake anything.

    In case you want further challenges (because you don't give yourself enough as it is), you could become Airborne Ranger Captain Ms. Jill in a year or so--given credit for your Las Vegas experiences.

    AND you would be quite fetching in full battle dress--even without the ribbonage.

    Best from

    Lance de Boyle


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Powys , Wales, United Kingdom
I'm a classically trained dancer and SAB grad. A Dance Captain and go-to girl overseeing high-roller entertainment for a major casino/resort