Orgasm Diet: Another exciting day of dieting

Orgasm Diet Day Two

Waking up at 5 am is one of my bad habits, generally leading to worse eating habits. No matter how big or nutritious a breakfast I have that early, I always feel the need to snack between then and lunchtime. I often set myself to have lunch at midday, but 7 hours in-between leaves loads of room for nibbling on food. Every time I make myself a coffee or cuppa I’m surrounded by cupboards stocked with food, calling out to me to open them, and dive right into their forbidden carb filled chambers.

After eating a balanced meal of tofu on toast I knuckle down to work and start writing. I literally am chained to the desk as I write, because I’m writing a review on metal shackles, and wearing them seemed to help refresh my memory a bit. I type away, and manage to complete almost everything I had planned to write that morning, but now with still loads of time to spare until my next meal. Sitting at the desk I start viewing tweets and corresponding to emails.

Twitter isn’t a dieter’s friend, it’s only just 9am, and many of the people I follow have only just arrived at their workplace after having breakfast. I see tweets for breakfast muffins, bacon croissants, and then even people mentioning how they are already opening up the cookie jar to dunk into their tea upon their desk piled high with work.

Luckily I have the freedom to masturbate, and decide, rather than tormenting myself with peoples tweet feeds and also trying to be strong, I head to my bedroom and masturbate. Success! Masturbation made me feel motivated and lead to be forgetting my diet troubles. My face glowing as brightly, just like the beams from the sun just surfacing, I cheerfully decide to take my work outdoors and end-up walking to one of the National Trust Manors. It’s the first day of the year they’re meant to have everything open, but as I arrive, I find the bookshop I wanted to view to be closed, even though the sign on the door stated that it shouldn’t be. Miffed by this, I wonder around trying to find a shaded area to write, it’s probably one of the brightest day’s we have had so far this year, after the dismally long ice age we experienced at the start of the year. I decided to head to their cafe as it’s now twelve, thinking that it would be an excellent place to get a drink and some shade.

The cafe is rather quiet and their selection of food and drinks is small in numbers but large in price. I opt for the soup of the day and a coffee, and sit down with my writing. The soup isn’t very filling, and I slowly drink my coffee over the next hour before departing.

Walking out of the cafe I straight away feel hungry once again. As the cafe’s prices are far too costly for me to head back in there and buy something else to eat, I decide to head to the stable, and the bathroom for a little wank.

The idea of masturbating in an old manor makes my sex throb excitedly as I head to the secluded stable area. There’s something about the cold flint walls and metal bar windows which makes me fantasies about mistresses, and not just Victorian mistresses in schools, but modern latex clad BDSM mistresses. My mind bounces fantasies of being a mistress in an elegant manor such as this, and the naughty things I’d get up to with its master, but I also envisage about a modern mistress dominating me sexually.

I hide myself out of sight in one of the stables, which are no longer in use, and prop myself up against the cobbled wall. The air is fresh and crisp compared to the mired air outside, its coolness stimulates my body as it brushed against my body, and as I breath it’s cold sensations send chills up along my spine. The tingling vibrations it causes, excite my body and help arouse me more, and as I become further turned on my breathing increases and takes in more and more of the sexual atmosphere I was experiencing.

This time I remembered to bring along my bag of sexual essentials and wield a vibrator in one of my hands and lift my skirt upwards. With the other hand I push my knickers to one side and add some lubricant onto my already moistened vulva. The vibrator buzzes quietly yet powerfully. Already seduced by the Manor and my fantasies, I allow my free hand explore my body in a carefree way. I start to buck rhythmically with excitement, but the uneven floor of the stable distracts me, and I blindly use my spare hand to search for something behind me to stabilise myself. Reaching upwards my figures curl around a metal hay rack. I use the bar to bounce my bodies weight up and down to the rhythms of my vibrators. I start to fantasies that I’m nude in the stable with the cool air whispering across my flesh thrillingly, provoking goose bumps to prick up over my flesh in reaction to the temperature difference my hot body was feeling inside compared to the coldness of the atmosphere. I can feel the heavy gasps of my breath fight back the cold air more heatedly as my body quivers with the thought of my fantasies furthering more, that instead of the vibrator upon my cunt the Manors mistress was teasing me below. Taming me as if I was her mare, she brings me to climax rapidly.

The orgasm was euphoric and I feel as if I could collapse happily right there and fall into a deep sleep. I slowly work my way to the floor and sit there for amount feeling very chuffed with myself, nothing could ruin this moment for me, not even if I had been caught it would’ve been worth it. The crisp air revives the reality of the situation within me quickly, I think about the fantasies the setting had provoked. There’s some magically about it, while normally I take on more of a dominate role, the manor had turned me into a submissive momentarily. It wasn’t the faceless Mistress within my imagination I want to take me, but the building and every tale it had to offer. That’s the good thing about being a switch (a person able to switch between dominate and submissive preferences), I’m able to enjoy various thoughts and ideas which prop into my head, often created by the situation, time, place, and interaction and relationship between someone and something. Maybe on a completely different day I would’ve fantasies about dominating the manner, maybe dominating the faceless mistress or even master, and then the more I think back to the style of parties these venues use to host hundreds of years before my birth and even casual people like I explore its grounds in similar ways before my sexual awakening, my mind wanders from Victorian orgy’s to modern day dogging – the possibilities of the aged place is countless and still vibrates life.

 I get up and head home to finish off my writing for that day. I’m exhausted from my adventure earlier and focus purely on writing and not a single snack or craving happens… if anything from time to time my concentration is distracted by the thought of my experience earlier, arousing not only my body but also my thoughts, I manage to write fluidly and creatively inspired by sexual pleasure.

I finally stop later that evening and have a drink of well deserved cider and some dinner. Feeling accomplished with all I had achieved that day I cheekily pour myself another glass, and this leads onto a few too many. I start feeling hungry, but drunkenly I decide I’m a bit too lazy to masturbate myself, even with a toy, and more to the point one should never operate heavy machinery while intoxicated. I head to a lover’s in the hope that he’s able to fulfil my dietary requirement, but when I get there the house is packed, with people rushing around. I stand in the kitchen waiting for it to calm and it doesn’t. Everyone around me is moving so quickly and is so lively, my mind becomes confused quickly and eyes start feeling dizzy. I need to snack, I’m drunk, I’m in a kitchen, I have nowhere to even masturbate, and even if I do, will I be able to orgasm? I spot a massive bag of crisps on the side, glancing towards them, I shake my head as if to tell myself off, I then decide to check out the crisps nutritional facts, as if they’re not too unhealthy they can’t be too bad of a snack, can they? Reading them through I realise that they aren’t actually too bad, and state plainly on them that they are baked in healthy sunflower oil, but for a second I come to my senses and hold off. I look back at the package and something else spots my eye, it’s a flavour of crisps I haven’t had since I was a teenager. I need to eat them; I need to try them now. Not because I want a snack, but because it may be the last chance on earth where I will have this opportunity once again.

This was a bad mistake, and I’m certain anyone who has an uncontrollable habit maybe encounter when justifying their actions. The novelty of eating some I had a long time ago, leads to me grabbing another packet, because I can’t make-up my mind on the last packet. This time using the excuse: Have they changed the recipe? My mind whirls around these permissible thoughts, and I start feeling sickened by the whole experience.

It’s rather late by now, and getting onto midnight, so I arrange for a lift home, and bid farewell to my lover. I get home and collapse and sleep off the alcohol.

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