This is fantasy - do not try at home. Breathplay is dangerous.

This is the first in a series of stories about the Asphyx Club. I hope you enjoy!

***

I stopped in my tracks. I could not believe what I saw. Surely this was not allowed?

I was walking among the clubs advertising to the new first year students. There were sports clubs, drama clubs, music clubs, hobby groups - all staffed by second and third year students encouraging the new students to sign up.

But among the tables and banners stood a metal frame. Chained to this was someone in a shiny black rubber suit. His arms and legs were outstretched, his wrists and ankles chained to the corners of the frame. He wore a black gas mask, with a tube running down from it. I was amazed that this was allowed by the university.

"Hi - are you interested in joining the Asphyx Club?"

I jumped, embarrassed that I had been caught staring. "Err... Is he OK in there?" I asked.

Next to me was an older man, maybe in his early thirties. He stood out compared to the students elsewhere in the hall.

"Oh yes! Let me introduce myself. I'm Peter, and I run the University Asphyx Club."

He saw my confused expression, and continued.

"The Asphyx Club provides a safe environment for students to practice breath play and breath control. Some people are attracted to this, but it is very dangerous to do alone, even with others if you are inexperienced. So the university lets us run this club to prevent the risk of harm."

He reached out and took the tube running from the gas mask. At the end of the tube was a rubber bag, inflating and deflating with each breath. He passed me the bag.

"This is known as a rebreather. It decreases the oxygen you get, by forcing you to rebreath part of your previous breath. If you look at the base, you'll see a small hole that allows fresh air in. Put your finger over it, and feel the suction and pressure."

I glanced down at the rubber bag in my hands. It felt alive, expanding and contracting like a slow heartbeat. I found the hole, and placed my finger on it, feeling the alternating push and tug. The bag now expanded larger with every out breath.

"Why?" I asked.

Peter smiled. "Many people find the light headedness that comes with partial Oxygen deprivation pleasant, like being high. Others enjoy the struggle to breath, especially when combined with bondage, like our demonstration here. It is a great way to forget the stress of your studies. When you are struggling for oxygen it makes all your other troubles go away, you are only focused on your next breath. Really, it is like meditation: that also focuses on controlling your breathing, to fully focus you on the present."

It didn't really make sense to me. Why would someone put themselves through this? I noticed the bag now rapidly expanding and contracting in my hands.

"By the way, you might want to remove your finger from that air hole."

I looked back to the rubber clad figure, he was now struggling hard against his chains. I realized I had almost suffocated him, and dropped the bag as if hit by an electric shock.

"Sorry..." I said.

"Don't worry." Peter laughed. "He enjoys it, which is why he volunteered to demonstrate today. He'll have several hours in that suit." He handed me a card. "If you are interested, we are holding an open evening tonight. Come along at 7pm and you can learn more."

***

I paced back to my desk, and looked at the card again. For the last hour I had been undecided. Should I go to the Asphyx Club open evening? I knew it was wrong, and I should not go. It seemed such a bizarre idea to intentionally suffocate yourself for pleasure. It seemed foolhardy and immoral. And yet... if the university allowed it, it could not be that bad. But part of me was intrigued to know more, a strange feeling I could not properly describe. And yet I knew it was wrong...

I looked at the time: 8pm. My indecisiveness had led to a clear outcome - I'd now missed the event. Relieved at no longer facing the choice, I left my room and headed to the student bar.

***

Was it fate? Was it coincidence? Was it my subconscious directing my route to the bar?

I saw the sign: "Asphyx Club Open Evening - All Welcome". Somehow I had found myself at the right location, albeit at the wrong time.

Without allowing myself to stop and think, I walked straight in.

***

I found myself in a mid-size room. Seats for about 50 people were laid out, with about half occupied. I slipped into the last row, hoping no one had seen me enter so late.

At the front was Peter. "Don't worry - there's no pressure. But if any of you do want to volunteer, I'll give a demonstration to end our open evening."

No one in the room moved. I thought back to what I had seen earlier in the day. I realized I had been obsessing about it all afternoon. What must it be like to experience that: bound and with your breathing restricted? I decided to leave it to fate again: I would count to five, and if no one else volunteered, I would raise my hand.

One... two... three... four... five...

"Excellent! We have a volunteer at the back of the room. Please come forward. A round of applause, please!"

I acknowledged the attention, suddenly shy at being the focus of the room.

"Many thanks for being our final volunteer today. You are very brave - most first timers are too nervous to put themselves forward for a public hanging."

Wait... what?

Surely I had misheard Peter. On the table at the front of the room was various paraphernalia that had obviously been used for his talk. Hoods, bags, gas masks, bondage restraints. But with a sickening feeling in my stomach, at the end of the table I saw the noose.

"Let me bind your arms for you." He gently pulled my wrists behind me, and bound them together. "Now just wait here a moment while I get everything ready. We'll have you strung up in no time!"

I was in a daze as I watched him. He placed a low stool below a hook in the ceiling. He stood on the stool to reach up to attach a pulley to the hook. Then he fastened the noose to the base of the pulley. Finally, he stepped down, and pulled the rope connected to the pulley. The noose smoothly lifted.

"Now, can you please step up". He held my shoulder, and guided me to the stool. I felt light headed, my legs wobbly, wondering if I could make the step. "Please..." He kept me balanced as I tentatively stepped up.

The noose was hanging an inch in front of my face. I leaned backwards to avoid it.

"Do you want a hood?" I looked through the loop of the noose - everyone in the room was leaning forwards in their seats, hungry to watch me hang.

"Yes" I quietly croaked, my throat suddenly dry. He took a black hood from his pocket. It was made of a spandex material, shiny. He pulled it over my head, plunging me into darkness. The material clung to my face and neck.

I jumped as I felt the noose drop onto my shoulders. In my darkness, every touch seemed magnified as he adjusted the noose, tightening it, until there was gentle, but insistent, pressure around my neck. My heart pounded, and I was already gasping, as if to prepare for what was to come. Then I felt the noose rise, the knot pushing my head slightly to the side. I lifted onto my toes, expecting to raise into the air.

It stopped. I was balanced on my toes to reduce the pressure on my neck. I could breath easily, but the rope had a solid grip, insistent and waiting.

"Do we have a volunteer to, erm..., help him off the stool? Ah... lots of volunteers now! You, please come up to the front. Another round of applause please!"

I felt anger, anger that this stranger was gaining celebrity for pushing me off, while I would be the one struggling, suffering.

"Are you ready?"

My mind was screaming: No! Let me down! You are all crazy! I want to get out of here! But... did I want to become known as the coward who had chickened out of this? In my first week at university? This could taint my reputation and affect my time here. I slowly nodded, unable to trust myself to speak.

"Great! He's all yours!"

I felt fingers on my arse, gentle pressure. I instinctively clenched my butt cheeks, tensed my body, pushing back. The fingers pushed harder, sinking into my flesh. I took a half step forwards, struggling to balance on my tiptoes. More force, my left foot moved forwards again, but found only air. My body over-balanced, and I tilted forwards. A final firm push, and my right foot slipped off the stool.

The sudden shock of the noose: what was insistent pressure before instantly became a vice-like grip. I kicked my feet backwards, seeking the stool. But only air.

I panicked, flailing my legs, struggling helplessly against my bound wrists. I twisted my arms, trying to raise my hands to my neck, but I could only move them mere inches behind my back.

I strained my lungs, and through a hoarse rasping, realized I could get some air. Each breath in and out took enormous focus, but it was enough to calm myself slightly. My heart was still racing, but I relaxed in the noose, hanging limply, with just my fists clenched.

I thought back to what Peter had told me earlier in the day. Nothing else mattered but each breath. The world was distilled to the iron grip on my neck and the immense effort to expand and contract my chest. Each breath in felt so cool, fresh, precious.

I began to feel light-headed. A few dots flashed in my eyes against the blackness of the hood. I realized where the pleasure lie, although it felt remote compared to the other sensations. And then... a growing pleasure, slowly spreading from my crotch. I sought the feeling, as an escape from my physical constraints.

Then I tried to pull in another breath, and nothing. My chest ached as I tried and failed. I kicked and struggled again, with an animal desperation, jerking and swinging in the noose.

I lost my illusions - this was not just a restriction of my breathing as I had seen earlier. Now my throat was sealed, and my body moved beyond my control. Surely I would not die here? This was a university club! But darkness was rising to take me. No longer the darkness of the hood, but a sinking, slowing drop into unconsciousness.

My sensations dropped - no more tightness in my chest, my legs and arms relaxing, no more straining lungs. The last to go were the intense glow between my legs and the grip of the noose.

All encompassing black...

***

Ringing. Pressure. Light.

The ringing resolved itself into applause. I moved slightly and realized I was lying on the ground. I opened my eyes, and saw Peter looking down at me, his face beaming with pride.

"Well done!" He helped me to my feet, my legs unsteady. I was drenched in sweat.

I bathed in the attention of the crowd, proud at what I had achieved. I had faced my fears, and done something no one else had been brave enough to try. I felt a rush of elation at just being alive, each breath seeming special.

But as I moved, I realized more. I felt the telltale warm dampness between my legs. Had I wet myself? I glanced down. No, not that. That giveaway smell. I had to get out before it spread visibly through my jeans. I turned away from the room, facing Peter.

He glanced down, unconcerned. Quietly, only so I could hear, he whispered, "Welcome to Asphyx Club!".