Bless Me Father

Sometimes the best stories come from a mix of personal recollections and experiences interspersed with fiction. I picked this topic because it involves breath play and was something we actually did when we were in middle school, probably 13 years old or thereabouts.

I never wrote a story about a controversial type of play, nor one with an all female cast. The technique I used to write it was making myself do it in 400 or so word installments so that it read like a serial story to be continued. It is a first draft. Feedback appreciated.

Bless me Father. . .

This story is a work of fiction. It involves hypoxia, breath play; do not try this at home. Breath control is dangerous and little can be done to reduce the degree of risk.

I could still remember the trauma of confession. Sister Agatha Christi caught us with dirty books. After confiscating the 'unspeakable' material, she marched us right over to the confessional that afternoon. It was humiliation of the highest order.

St. Bridget School for Girls was a prison run by nuns. The priests were the wardens and they only answered to God. The circle of girls I was with had a lot in common. My best friend Meg lived four doors away and had three brothers and two sisters. Yvonne lived up the block and had four brothers. I had three and Maryjo had none. She was the baby girl at her house and an ugly one at that.

Every morning, at 7:30 a.m. we would meet at the corner for our morning procession to church. We were required to attend every day, with chapel veils to cover our heads, and sit with our class. No excuses. The sidewalk was wide enough for the four of us to walk together.

We wore uniforms that consisted of a starched white short sleeve blouse, school monogram on pocket, tucked into a stiff, pleated, navy blue skirt that swiveled around the waist like a hoola hoop, navy or white crew socks, and penny loafers or saddle shoes. For school pictures and special Masses, navy blue tams perched jauntily on the side of our heads were required.

By the fall of that fateful year, all four of us discovered our sexuality. Yvonne was the first to spring buds, I was second, Meg and Maryjo argued over who was last. We discovered how to rock on our seats in class, with our foot under our hoo hoo and pass the afternoon in absolute bliss without detection from Sister Agatha Christi.

However, Sister Agatha was a sharp, old cookie. She had an infuriating ability to be at the wrong place at the right time. I think she knew what we were up to but was way too busy with the 'bad boys' to be closely monitoring our clandestine activities, until one day.

It wouldn’t have happened if Maryjo hadn’t hit her head on the toilet in the lavatory. She survived of course, but the rest of us wanted to strangle her. It was my first exposure to breath play.

~~~

The rain was loudly pelting the windows. As usual, I was slouched in my seat, in an unladylike way; shirt pulled out of the waistband of my skirt, and twirled my hair with the pencil. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Yvonne mouthing words to Maryjo.

Yvonne had skin as white Dresden china, coal black hair with a straight fringe across her forehead, buckteeth, and big blue eyes. The expression she wore on her face was insistent, as if she were trying to talk Maryjo into something. In Sister Agatha Christi's class, (we called her Aggie for short,) one had to learn how to read lips because her hearing was so good. I swear she could hear a fart across the room.

Finally, Yvonne raised her hand to go to the bathroom. Aggie, busy supervising three boys at the blackboard, handed her a hall pass.

A little while later, Maryjo raised her hand to go to the lavatory, too. Aggie gave her the pass without even looking at her.

"Simon, your word is recapitulate. If you misspell it, go to the board and write it ten times."

"Yes sister."

He misspelled it.

My word was hyperventilate.

"h-y-p-e-r-v-e-n-t-i-l-a-t-e"

"That’s correct, young lady.”

Aggie was about to call another name, when she realized the other two girls hadn't returned. I didn't think much about it until Sister asked me to go tell the girls it's time to come back.

"Take this hall pass and go tell those other two they've been gone far too long."

Well, I was out of there like a shot.

I raced down the hall, turned to the left, and skidded to a stop in front of the lavatory. Harsh whispers and hisses were heard from behind the door.

~~~~

I barged in.

"Hey you guys, Aggie wants you back in class."

Yvonne had Maryjo, whose big brown eyes were red with tears, cornered between the frosted window and cold tile wall.

I approached. "What's up?"

Yvonne gave Maryjo the stink eye. "She claims she misplaced the book."

I couldn't believe it. The book was a big deal, a confiscated, XXX rated paperback, of the likes none of us had ever seen, a coup.

Instead of arguing who'd read it first, we drew straws. It was Yvonne's, so she already read it. I drew the top straw and was the next one to read it.

I devoured it over the weekend and had to change panties every time I read it. In fact, it was so good, I joked with Yvonne about the salty aroma that wafted off the pages.

The following Monday, I gave it to Maryjo, who's had it for over a week now.

"Meg called me last night to tell me she wasn't coming to school today, but, asked me to speak to Maryjo because she hadn't received the book yet," said Yvonne.

She was the wild card in our group of quirky misfits. The rest of us were students at this private Catholic school, this prison, because our parents wanted us straightened out. However, Maryjo, a single child, grew up sheltered. To her chagrin, her parents wanted her to be a nun.

We adopted her, mostly to corrupt her. It was a kick getting her to participate in our shenanigans, especially when she invoked St. Bridget for guidance. ~snicker~ Afterwards, she'd be more elated than the rest of us at having broken the rules. Our motto was no guts, no glory.

Reading the nasty book was something that made her extremely enthusiastic. However, what an airhead.

Maryjo was wringing her hands. "The very first day I got it, I locked myself in my room and read about five chapters. My dad came to knock on the door to tell me dinner was ready. It freaked me out so much, that I hid the book and haven't been able to find it since."

I had no sympathy for Maryjo. She could get us all in trouble. "Shit! Where did you leave off?"

"That's what I asked the bitch," added Yvonne. "I think she likes it so much she doesn't want to turn it over."

"No...err...I wouldn't do that!"

Maryjo was never good at lying. She had that look on her face, all shifty eyed, unable to look at either of us. I think Yvonne hit the nail on the head.

~~~~

I was annoyed. "Where did you leave off in the book?"

Believe it or not, she was looking up at the ceiling for an answer. Now I understood where Aggie would lose her patience with unprepared students.

"You're not going to find it up there," Yvonne said testily. "Your guardian angel is not going to tell you."

Slowly, her eyes lowered to meet ours. "Well...uh..." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and stammered. "The part where her head was shoved...you know...and she was made to...you know...and then they...you know."

I knew the part she had in mind and so did Yvonne, because she grinned so wide, the light bounced off her shiny buckteeth at a 30-degree angle.

Maryjo was ripe for taunting.

As I grabbed Maryjo by the front of her blouse and pulled her along with me to the empty stall, she leaned back on her heels in an effort to brake. However, it was useless. Yvonne was right behind her.

I made her kneel with one hand, and pulled up my skirt with the other. Maryjo was trapped between my panty clad pussy and Yvonne, the enforcer.

Yvonne took off her headband and said, "Put your hands behind your back and clasp them together." Like a martyr, Maryjo complied anther wrists were bound. We were now play-acting as we've done many times before. However, this was the first time we did it at school.

Using my extra sultry slut voice, I whispered wetly in her ear, "Is this where you left off, nasty girl?" Maryjo blushed. The red spread from her hairline all the way down inside her blouse. Yvonne reached around Maryjo's front, put her palms on her breasts, and squeezed. It's amazing we hadn't puddled our juices on the floor.

"The girl in the book was made to do all kinds of nasty things," I rubbed my hands along the camel toe. It felt naughty.

"It wasn't her fault," added Yvonne while she continued to maul her tits.

Maryjo got this dreamy look on her face. She leaned in closer to me. I could feel her hot breath against my panties. "You can be made to do those things too," I went on.

"Do you remember what things they were Maryjo?"

~~~~

Poor Maryjo, or rather, lucky bitch.

I've been in her place before, under Yvonne, not knowing when to take a breath, or how much, before my nose was pinched.

The sensation of my hardened tongue thrust against her panties was at first dry, and through our combined efforts, was soon damp and juicy. Not knowing when I'd be made to stop breathing WAS the adrenalin rush. There was no struggle for air, but rather, a welcoming of the blackness, the endless floating, and then, the dreaded slam back to consciousness in someone's arms. Afterwards, I was lightheaded. It lasted for about an hour or so. Was I riding on the physical high of an altered state, hypoxia (becoming dangerously low on oxygen) or humiliation or both?

Yvonne stuck her head out of the lavatory to listen for footsteps down the hall and came back to report.

"All clear."

Maryjo stared at my crotch, the place where her nose would soon be imprisoned.

I arched my pelvis to her face. "Stick out that little popsickle tongue of yours."

Long, flat and hard, her tongue pressed against the V of my panties. I put my hands on her head and rode her face, letting her take just the tiniest whiffs of air. The nubby nose fit perfectly against the crook of my clit. Round and round I rubbed, stopped to let her breathe, then rubbed round and round again. She didn't struggle, in fact, was eagerly munching meow.

Meanwhile, crouched behind Maryjo, Yvonne was fingering her pussy with one hand while holding her around the waist to catch her. Innocent Maryjo broke through another barrier and miraculously transformed into a bathroom slut, masturbating herself on Yvonne's hand and eagerly sucking my clit. My face was flush, my pussy swollen with desire. I played tease and denial for a bit, but then, I came while holding her head against me like it was a basketball. It was not an explosive cum, but a controlled one. Afterall, we were in the school lavatory.

Yvonne was giggling. "Woo-hoo! Maryjo's about to cum." She did, too. Her whimpering was so loud, I had to put my hand over her mouth.

Suddenly, Sister Aggie appeared out of nowhere. Yvonne let go of Maryjo just when she went limp and hit her head on the toilet.

Do not try this at home. Breath control is dangerous and little can be done to reduce the degree of risk. At the time, we didn't realize how dangerously close we were to hurting each other playing this game. What we experienced was fainting, albeit we recovered quicker than those who have fainted before. Needless to say, we stopped after this last incident.

Nikita © 2008

Sanity and common-sense aside, this story is wildly hot. The characters, the setting, the casual, diary-like dialogue are a perfect mesh of style.

Loved it and would love to read more of the same.

tessa :wave:

And Billy Joel claims they start much to late....
Seriously, like the style, the gritty, in your face attitude that somehow reeks of innocence trying to be discarded. only a pubescent schoolgirl can really pull that off. I'll leave the technical dismemberment to Mr Dean but the idea and execution seem close to spot on in my first read through. As for the breath control aspect, you seem a little hesitant, I think a clearer picture of that aspect and its physical effects could be drawn. If done well with clarity and gritty realism it would serve you better than any warning or disclaimer. It was also a bit of a tease to leave us were you did but I suspect this is an ongoing adventure.

Yours
Mad

Thank you Tessa and Mad.

Mad, I can develop the breath play section more, how it felt, etc. I caught the misspellings after it was posted. (Bring it on Dean :blurp_ani )

There are extra sentences that can be combined to make a smoother one that covers the points.

As far as the ending...I like to end those shorts like that and I've gotten spanked for doing it too. :)

Would a continuation of this parable help?

Quote:

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Originally Posted by nikita

Thank you Tessa and Mad.


As far as the ending...I like to end those shorts like that and I've gotten spanked for doing it too. :)

Would a continuation of this parable help?

---

You bet, with details!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by nikita

Sometimes the best stories come from a mix of personal recollections and experiences interspersed with fiction. I picked this topic because it involves breath play and was something we actually did when we were in middle school, probably 13 years old or thereabouts.

I never wrote a story about a controversial type of play, nor one with an all female cast. The technique I used to write it was making myself do it in 400 or so word installments so that it read like a serial story to be continued. It is a first draft. Feedback appreciated.

Bless me Father. . .

This story is a work of fiction. It involves hypoxia, breath play; do not try this at home. Breath control is dangerous and little can be done to reduce the degree of risk.

I could still remember the trauma of confession. Sister Agatha Christi caught us with dirty books. After confiscating the 'unspeakable' material, she marched us right over to the confessional that afternoon. It was humiliation of the highest order.

St. Bridget School for Girls was a prison run by nuns. The priests were the wardens and they only answered to God. The circle of girls I was with had a lot in common. My best friend Meg lived four doors away and had three brothers and two sisters. Yvonne lived up the block and had four brothers. I had three and Maryjo had none. She was the baby girl at her house and an ugly one at that.

Every morning, at 7:30 a.m. we would meet at the corner for our morning procession to church. We were required to attend every day, with chapel veils to cover our heads, and sit with our class. No excuses. The sidewalk was wide enough for the four of us to walk together.

We wore uniforms that consisted of a starched white short sleeve blouse, school monogram on pocket, tucked into a stiff, pleated, navy blue skirt that swiveled around the waist like a hoola hoop, navy or white crew socks, and penny loafers or saddle shoes. For school pictures and special Masses, navy blue tams perched jauntily on the side of our heads were required.

By the fall of that fateful year, all four of us discovered our sexuality. Yvonne was the first to spring buds, I was second, Meg and Maryjo argued over who was last. We discovered how to rock on our seats in class, with our foot under our hoo hoo and pass the afternoon in absolute bliss without detection from Sister Agatha Christi.

However, Sister Agatha was a sharp, old cookie. She had an infuriating ability to be at the wrong place at the right time. I think she knew what we were up to but was way too busy with the 'bad boys' to be closely monitoring our clandestine activities, until one day.

It wouldn’t have happened if Maryjo hadn’t hit her head on the toilet in the lavatory. She survived of course, but the rest of us wanted to strangle her. It was my first exposure to breath play.

~~~

The rain was loudly pelting the windows. As usual, I was slouched in my seat, in an unladylike way; shirt pulled out of the waistband of my skirt, and twirled twirling my hair with the a or my pencil. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Yvonne mouthing words to Maryjo.

Yvonne had skin as white Dresden china, coal black hair with a straight fringe across her forehead, buckteeth, and big blue eyes. The expression she wore on her face was insistent, as if she were trying to talk Maryjo into something. In Sister Agatha Christi's class, (we called her Aggie for short,) one had to learn how to read lips because her hearing was so good. I swear she could hear a fart across the room.

Finally, Yvonne raised her hand to go to the bathroom. Aggie, busy supervising three boys at the blackboard, handed her a hall pass.

A little while later, Maryjo raised her hand to go to the lavatory, too. Aggie gave her the pass without even looking at her.

"Simon, your word is recapitulate. If you misspell it, go to the board and write it ten times."

"Yes sister."

He misspelled it.

My word was hyperventilate.

"h-y-p-e-r-v-e-n-t-i-l-a-t-e"

"That’s correct, young lady.”

Aggie was about to call another name, when she realized the other two girls hadn't returned. I didn't think much about it until Sister asked me to go tell the girls it's time to come back.

"Take this hall pass and go tell those other two they've been gone far too long."

Well, I was out of there like a shot.

I raced down the hall, turned to the left, and skidded to a stop in front of the lavatory. Harsh whispers and hisses were heard from behind the door.

~~~~

I barged in.

"Hey you guys, Aggie wants you back in class."

Yvonne had Maryjo, whose big brown eyes were red with tears, cornered between the frosted window and cold tile wall.

I approached. "What's up?"

Yvonne gave Maryjo the stink eye. "She claims she misplaced the book."

I couldn't believe it. The book was a big deal, a confiscated, XXX rated paperback, of the likes none of us had ever seen, a coup.

Instead of arguing who'd read it first, we drew straws. It was Yvonne's, so she already read it. I drew the top straw and was the next one to read it.

I devoured it over the weekend and had to change panties every time I read it. In fact, it was so good, I joked with Yvonne about the salty aroma that wafted off the pages.

The following Monday, I gave it to Maryjo, who's had it for over a week now.

"Meg called me last night to tell me she wasn't coming to school today, but, asked me to speak to Maryjo because she hadn't received the book yet," said Yvonne.

She was the wild card in our group of quirky misfits. The rest of us were students at this private Catholic school, this prison, because our parents wanted us straightened out. However, Maryjo, a single child, grew up sheltered. To her chagrin, her parents wanted her to be a nun.

We adopted her, mostly to corrupt her. It was a kick getting her to participate in our shenanigans, especially when she invoked St. Bridget for guidance. ~snicker~ Afterwards, she'd be more elated than the rest of us at having broken the rules. Our motto was no guts, no glory.

Reading the nasty book was something that made her extremely enthusiastic. However, what an airhead.

Maryjo was wringing her hands. "The very first day I got it, I locked myself in my room and read about five chapters. My dad came to knock on the door to tell me dinner was ready. It freaked me out so much, that I hid the book and haven't been able to find it since."

I had no sympathy for Maryjo. She could get us all in trouble. "Shit! Where did you leave off?"

"That's what I asked the bitch," added Yvonne. "I think she likes it so much she doesn't want to turn it over."

"No...err...I wouldn't do that!"

Maryjo was never good at lying. She had that look on her face, all shifty eyed, unable to look at either of us. I think Yvonne hit the nail on the head.

~~~~

I was annoyed. "Where did you leave off in the book?"

Believe it or not, she was looking up at the ceiling for an answer. Now I understood where Aggie would lose her patience with unprepared students.

"You're not going to find it up there," Yvonne said testily. "Your guardian angel is not going to tell you."

Slowly, her eyes lowered to meet ours. "Well...uh..." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and stammered. "The part where her head was shoved...you know...and she was made to...you know...and then they...you know."

I knew the part she had in mind and so did Yvonne, because she grinned so wide, the light bounced off her shiny buckteeth at a 30-degree angle. check your commas, it looks off to me

Maryjo was ripe for taunting.

As I grabbed Maryjo by the front of her blouse and pulled her along with me to the empty stall, she leaned back on her heels in an effort to brake. However, it was useless. Yvonne was right behind her.

I made her kneel with one hand, and pulled up my skirt with the other. Maryjo was trapped between my panty clad pussy and Yvonne, the enforcer.

Yvonne took off her headband and said, "Put your hands behind your back and clasp them together." Like a martyr, Maryjo complied anther wrists were bound. We were now play-acting as we've done many times before. However, this was the first time we did it at school.

Using my extra sultry slut voice, I whispered wetly in her ear, "Is this where you left off, nasty girl?" Maryjo blushed. The red spread from her hairline all the way down inside her blouse. Yvonne reached around Maryjo's front, put her palms on her breasts, and squeezed. It's amazing we hadn't puddled our juices on the floor.

"The girl in the book was made to do all kinds of nasty things," I rubbed my hands along the camel toe. It felt naughty.

"It wasn't her fault," added Yvonne while she continued to maul her tits.

Maryjo got this dreamy look on her face. She leaned in closer to me. I could feel her hot breath against my panties. "You can be made to do those things too," I went on.

"Do you remember what things they were Maryjo?"

~~~~

Poor Maryjo, or rather, lucky bitch.

I've been in her place before, under Yvonne, not knowing when to take a breath, or how much, before my nose was pinched.

The sensation of my hardened tongue thrust against her panties was at first dry, and through our combined efforts, was soon damp and juicy. Not knowing when I'd be made to stop breathing WAS the adrenalin rush. There was no struggle for air, but rather, a welcoming of the blackness, the endless floating, and then, the dreaded slam back to consciousness in someone's arms. Afterwards, I was lightheaded. It lasted for about an hour or so. Was I riding on the physical high of an altered state, hypoxia (becoming dangerously low on oxygen) or humiliation or both?

Yvonne stuck her head out of the lavatory to listen for footsteps down the hall and came back to report.

"All clear."

Maryjo stared at my crotch, the place where her nose would soon be imprisoned.

I arched my pelvis to her face. "Stick out that little popsickle tongue of yours."

Long, flat and hard, her tongue pressed against the V of my panties. I put my hands on her head and rode her face, letting her take just the tiniest whiffs of air. The nubby nose fit perfectly against the crook of my clit. Round and round I rubbed, stopped to let her breathe, then rubbed round and round again. She didn't struggle, in fact, was eagerly munching meow.

Meanwhile, crouched behind Maryjo, Yvonne was fingering her pussy with one hand while holding her around the waist to catch her. Innocent Maryjo broke through another barrier and miraculously transformed into a bathroom slut, masturbating herself on Yvonne's hand and eagerly sucking my clit. My face was flush, my pussy swollen with desire. I played tease and denial for a bit, but then, I came while holding her head against me like it was a basketball. It was not an explosive cum, but a controlled one. Afterall, we were in the school lavatory.

Yvonne was giggling. "Woo-hoo! Maryjo's about to cum." She did, too. Her whimpering was so loud, I had to put my hand over her mouth.

Suddenly, Sister Aggie appeared out of nowhere. Yvonne let go of Maryjo just when she went limp and hit her head on the toilet.

Do not try this at home. Breath control is dangerous and little can be done to reduce the degree of risk. At the time, we didn't realize how dangerously close we were to hurting each other playing this game. What we experienced was fainting, albeit we recovered quicker than those who have fainted before. Needless to say, we stopped after this last incident.

Nikita © 2008

---

Well, I've few complaints. A couple of misplaced commas and one or two other minor mistakes. I like the beat, I'll give it a 38.

Quote:

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Well, I've few complaints. A couple of misplaced commas and one or two other minor mistakes. I like the beat, I'll give it a 38.

---

Thanks Dean. What does 38 mean to you? :bondage: To me, it's a bra size.

All I can say is, I liked the story, but the ending wasn't at all satisfying for me. You simply must continue it, otherwise the entry of Aggie into the loo, and poor Maryjo's head-bang are pointless.

The spellings didn't bother me - I'm sure you can spell really (you can certainly spell hyperventilate). HDean was right about the commas - the last one in the highlighted sentence was unnecessary in my view.

Gentlemen, thank you for the feedback. I've incorporated the technical ones. Mad, I expanded more on breath play. It is highlighted. TYWD, I added some, but it is not yet finished. I will add some more to it. Seems like it is turning into a serial. :)

Bless me Father...

I could still remember the trauma of confession. Sister Agatha Christi caught us with dirty books. After confiscating the 'unspeakable' material, she marched us right over to the confessional that afternoon. It was humiliation of the highest order.

St. Bridget School for Girls was a prison run by nuns. The priests were the wardens and they only answered to God. The circle of girls I was with had a lot in common. My best friend Meg lived four doors away and had three brothers and two sisters. Yvonne lived up the block and had four brothers. I had three and Maryjo had none. She was the baby girl at her house and an ugly one at that.

Every morning, at 7:30 a.m. we would meet at the corner for our morning procession to church. We were required to attend every day, with chapel veils to cover our heads, and sit with our class. No excuses. The sidewalk was wide enough for the four of us to walk together.

We wore uniforms that consisted of a starched white short sleeve blouse, school monogram on pocket, tucked into a stiff, pleated, navy blue skirt that swiveled around the waist like a hoola hoop, navy or white crew socks, and penny loafers or saddle shoes. For school pictures and special Masses, navy blue tams perched jauntily on the side of our heads were required.

By the fall of that fateful year, all four of us discovered our sexuality. Yvonne was the first to spring buds, I was second, Meg and Maryjo argued over who was last. We discovered how to rock on our seats in class, with our foot under our hoo hoo and pass the afternoon in absolute bliss without detection from Sister Agatha Christi.

However, Sister Agatha was a sharp, old cookie. She had an infuriating ability to be at the wrong place at the right time. I think she knew what we were up to but was way too busy with the 'bad boys' to be closely monitoring our clandestine activities, until one day.

It wouldn’t have happened if Maryjo hadn’t hit her head on the toilet in the lavatory. She survived of course, but the rest of us wanted to strangle her. It was my first exposure to breath play.

~~~

The rain was loudly pelting the windows. As usual, I was slouched in my seat, in an unladylike way; shirt pulled out of the waistband of my skirt, and twirling my hair with a pencil. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Yvonne mouthing words to Maryjo.

Yvonne had skin as white Dresden china, coal black hair with a straight fringe across her forehead, buckteeth, and big blue eyes. The expression she wore on her face was insistent, as if she were trying to talk Maryjo into something. In Sister Agatha Christi's class, (we called her Aggie for short,) one had to learn how to read lips because her hearing was so good. I swear she could hear a fart across the room.

Finally, Yvonne raised her hand to go to the bathroom. Aggie, busy supervising three boys at the blackboard, handed her a hall pass.

A little while later, Maryjo raised her hand to go to the lavatory, too. Aggie gave her the pass without even looking at her.

"Simon, your word is recapitulate. If you misspell it, go to the board and write it ten times."

"Yes sister."

He misspelled it.

My word was hyperventilate.

"h-y-p-e-r-v-e-n-t-i-l-a-t-e"

"That’s correct, young lady.”

Aggie was about to call another name, when she realized the other two girls hadn't returned. I didn't think much about it until Sister asked me to go tell the girls it's time to come back.

"Take this hall pass and go tell those other two they've been gone far too long."

Well, I was out of there like a shot.

I raced down the hall, turned to the left, and skidded to a stop in front of the lavatory. Harsh whispers and hisses were heard from behind the door.

~~~~

I barged in.

"Hey you guys, Aggie wants you back in class."

Yvonne had Maryjo, whose big brown eyes were red with tears, cornered between the frosted window and cold tile wall.

I approached. "What's up?"

Yvonne gave Maryjo the stink eye. "She claims she misplaced the book."

I couldn't believe it. The book was a big deal, a confiscated, XXX rated paperback, of the likes none of us had ever seen, a coup.

Instead of arguing who'd read it first, we drew straws. It was Yvonne's, so she already read it. I drew the top straw and was the next one to read it.

I devoured it over the weekend and had to change panties every time I read it. In fact, it was so good, I joked with Yvonne about the salty aroma that wafted off the pages.

The following Monday, I gave it to Maryjo, who's had it for over a week now.

"Meg called me last night to tell me she wasn't coming to school today, but, asked me to speak to Maryjo because she hadn't received the book yet," said Yvonne.

She was the wild card in our group of quirky misfits. The rest of us were students at this private Catholic school, this prison, because our parents wanted us straightened out. However, Maryjo, a single child, grew up sheltered. To her chagrin, her parents wanted her to be a nun.

We adopted her, mostly to corrupt her. It was a kick getting her to participate in our shenanigans, especially when she invoked St. Bridget for guidance. ~snicker~ Afterwards, she'd be more elated than the rest of us at having broken the rules. Our motto was no guts, no glory.

Reading the nasty book was something that made her extremely enthusiastic. However, what an airhead.

Maryjo was wringing her hands. "The very first day I got it, I locked myself in my room and read about five chapters. My dad came to knock on the door to tell me dinner was ready. It freaked me out so much, that I hid the book and haven't been able to find it since."

I had no sympathy for Maryjo. She could get us all in trouble. "Shit! Where did you leave off?"

"That's what I asked the bitch," added Yvonne. "I think she likes it so much she doesn't want to turn it over."

"No...err...I wouldn't do that!"

Maryjo was never good at lying. She had that look on her face, all shifty eyed, unable to look at either of us. I think Yvonne hit the nail on the head.

~~~~

I was annoyed. "Where did you leave off in the book?"

Believe it or not, she was looking up at the ceiling for an answer. Now I understood where Aggie would lose her patience with unprepared students.

"You're not going to find it up there," Yvonne said testily. "Your guardian angel is not going to tell you."

Slowly, her eyes lowered to meet ours. "Well...uh..." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and stammered. "The part where her head was shoved...you know...and she was made to...you know...and then they...you know."

I knew the part she had in mind and so did Yvonne, because she grinned so wide the light bounced off her shiny buckteeth at a 30-degree angle.

Maryjo was ripe for taunting.

As I grabbed Maryjo by the front of her blouse and pulled her along with me to the empty stall, she leaned back on her heels in an effort to brake. However, it was useless. Yvonne was right behind her.

I made her kneel with one hand and pulled up my skirt with the other. Maryjo was trapped between my panty clad pussy and Yvonne, the enforcer.

Yvonne took off her headband and said, "Put your hands behind your back and clasp them together." Like a martyr, Maryjo complied and her wrists were bound. We were now play-acting as we've done many times before. However, this was the first time we did it at school.

Using my extra sultry slut voice, I whispered wetly in her ear, "Is this where you left off, nasty girl?" Maryjo blushed. The red spread from her hairline all the way down inside her blouse. Yvonne reached around Maryjo's front, put her palms on her breasts, and squeezed. It's amazing we hadn't puddled our juices on the floor.

"The girl in the book was made to do all kinds of nasty things." I rubbed my hands along the camel toe. It felt naughty.

"It wasn't her fault," added Yvonne while she continued to maul her tits.

Maryjo got this dreamy look on her face. She leaned in closer to me. I could feel her hot breath against my panties. "You can be made to do those things too," I went on.

"Do you remember what things they were Maryjo?"

~~~~

Poor Maryjo, or rather, lucky bitch.

I've been in her place before, under Yvonne, not knowing when to take a breath, or how much, before my nose was pinched.

Yvonne learned about breath play by watching her brothers do it. One of them took deep breaths quickly until he was hyperventilating. The other stood behind him and squeezed his chest until he passed out. He had fainted. Yvonne thought it was cool, so she tried it on me and I returned the favor.

After that first experiment, we began to improvise.

The sensation of my hardened tongue thrust against Yvonne's panties was at first dry, and through our combined efforts, was soon damp and juicy. Not knowing when I'd be made to stop breathing WAS the adrenalin rush. There was no struggle for air, but rather, a welcoming of the blackness, the endless floating, and then, the dreaded slam back to consciousness in someone's arms. Afterwards, there was a lightheadedness that lasted for about an hour or so. Was I riding on the physical high of an altered state, hypoxia, humiliation, or both?

Yvonne stuck her head out of the lavatory to listen for footsteps down the hall and came back to report.

"All clear."

Maryjo stared at my crotch, the place where her nose would soon be imprisoned.

I arched my pelvis to her face. "Stick out that little popsickle tongue of yours."

Long, flat and hard, her tongue pressed against the V of my panties. I put my hands on her head and rode her face, letting her take just the tiniest whiffs of air. The nubby nose fit perfectly against the crook of my clit. Round and round I rubbed, stopped to let her breathe, then rubbed round and round again. She didn't struggle, in fact, was eagerly munching meow.

Meanwhile, crouched behind Maryjo, Yvonne was fingering her pussy with one hand while holding her around the waist to catch her. Innocent Maryjo broke through another barrier and miraculously transformed into a bathroom slut, masturbating herself on Yvonne's hand and eagerly sucking my clit. My face was flush, my pussy swollen with desire. I played tease and denial for a bit, but then, I came while holding her head against me like it was a basketball. It was not an explosive cum, but a controlled one. Afterall, we were in the school lavatory.

Yvonne was giggling. "Woo-hoo! Maryjo's about to cum." She did, too. Her whimpering was so loud, I had to put my hand over her mouth.

Suddenly, Sister Aggie appeared out of nowhere. Yvonne let go of Maryjo just when she went limp and hit her head on the toilet.

Nikita © 2008

This is the next part to Bless me father...

The look on her face was one of uncomprehending shock. Yvonne paled. The words "Oh shit" escaped my lips and Maryjo was crying.

We quickly got ourselves together and dusted Maryjo off. I volunteered to take her to the school nurse, mostly to avoid any interrogation. I was certain we'd be dealt with harshly.

We shuffled slowly to the clinic in silence. Both of us were wondering what to say.

The door was open. That meant the nurse was in.

"What's wrong Maryjo?"

She kept crying. Smart move, too. Then, the nurse looked to me.

"Maryjo hit her head on the toilet."

"How did that happen?"

I shrugged.

"Go back to class. Maryjo's in good hands."

The nurse gave her ice wrapped in a towel and promptly sent her home. She had a lot of explaining to do.

When I returned to class, Yvonne was sitting at her desk. Her red face streaked with tears.

"How's Maryjo?" asked Sister Aggie.

"The nurse sent her home."

Nothing else was said about it the rest of the afternoon. We were waiting for the other shoe to drop, but, surprisingly, Aggie sent us home with a sealed note. That meant we wouldn't know what it said until our parents opened it.

"You must return the note tomorrow signed by your parents," she said through gritted teeth. Her face betrayed her barely contained outrage.


We were sitting at the dinner table eating spaghetti and meatballs. Dad was happily satisfied. He unbuckled his belt to let his belly breathe. It was good time to spring the note on him.

"Dad?"

"Yes honey?"

"Sister Aggie gave me a note to be signed."

He didn't seem too interested. The school often sent notes home to be signed. "Oh?"

"Three of us stayed in the lavatory too long. It happened like this. Maryjo started her period. Yvonne went with her to help. Sister Aggie sent me to fetch them. We were gone too long and Sister Aggie had to come get us."

By now, I figured out if I mixed the truth with the lie, it was more convincing. He opened the envelope, gave it a cursory glance, signed it, and gave it back to me. The note said I had detention Saturday morning for abusing the rules of lavatory privileges. I had to appear bright and early dressed in my school uniform along with the other two offenders. Fuck.

Maryjo was going to pay.

Nikita © 2008