tagBDSMWorlds Best Diet Plan - Jingle Bell

Worlds Best Diet Plan - Jingle Bell


This is a little something different that I wanted to try in addition to my other novel story - A Proper Scottish Wife. Again, I'm a novice at writing fiction for an audience and I would greatly appreciate any feedback, both good and bad. You can't get better without feedback. Love to hear what people like and don't like. I hope you enjoy.

I was working as a day trader, and my wife worked for the police department as a police officer. Due to the requirements of her job, she was fit; a lean mean fighting machine, in both good shape and great shape, if you know what I mean. She looked fantastic; 5-7 inches tall, 125 pounds, curves in all the right places and no excess poundage anywhere it shouldn't be. I, on the other hand, was starting to put on some pounds. Let's face it, I was getting fat; no, not getting fat, I was fat. I was easily 50 pounds over my ideal weight. I got no exercise, tended to eat crap food and spent all day eyeing computer screens, sitting on my duff.

So, let me introduce myself. My name is Sam; my wife's name is Marcia, and she was getting a little tired of coming home to a guy who wasn't physically taking care of himself. Six foot, 2 inches and 260 pounds, and that wasn't linebacker weight at all. Great husband in all other areas, but she complained one day that she couldn't even ride me anymore because my gut got in the way. Now when your wife spends all day riding in squad cars with other hunky guys, working out with other hunky guys, having lunch with other hunky guys, you don't want to hear that her favorite sexual position is no longer possible because your big belly is preventing her from enjoying herself.

Now rather than just complain about the situation, which is what some women might do, or start sleeping around with other men, which is what some other women might do, she provided a rather unique solution to our dilemma.

"Here's the deal," she said. "I want you to lose weight. I don't want to keep whining about it. I don't want to nag about it. I want you to lose weight. So, if you can lose 40 pounds, I will spend a weekend as your sex slave, doing almost anything that you want."

Whoa, did I hear that right!

"Sex slave, for a weekend! You're joking, right?"

"You know I don't joke about shit like that."

"And you'd do anything?"

"Within limits."

Ah, the catch; what was it?

"What limits?" I asked.

"No golden showers, nothing involving shit, no public humiliation, anything but those things I mentioned, in the privacy of our own home. Other than that, the skies the limit."

"Anal sex?" That was something I'd wanted to try for quite awhile but I never could convince her to surrender the old poop chute.


Now we're getting somewhere, I thought.

"You'll swallow?"


"Hot damn."

Now let me explain something. Marcia likes to give head; she prides herself on it. And honestly, she could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch, but, and this is important, she would never swallow. She'd get me right to the finish line, Boom! Pull off, finish it off with some very good handwork, but never the whole enchilada. When I was in college, a girl that I dated, finished me off and swallowed every drop like it was the sweetest nectar on earth. The feel of her mouth continuing to suck, and that tongue working my cock as I exploded in her mouth had to be the most memorable thing in my life to that moment. While other things replaced it as the most memorable, the fact that I still remembered every detail as if it was yesterday still shows it's right up there near the top somewhere.

Honestly, I was always the more sexual adventurous of the two of us. The most daring thing I'd ever gotten her to try was a little bondage; her handcuffs and some convenient grillwork on the headboard providing the ambience there. Let's face it, I didn't want anything to do with golden showers or shit anyway. And since her job provided our health insurance, I could see why anything public that could get her fired wasn't in my best interest. It sounded like a great plan. While I needed to and probably should lose the weight anyway, this seemed like fantastic motivation.

"And all I have to do to win this cornucopia of prizes is to lose 40 pounds?"

"That's right. In fact, I'm willing to go a little bit farther. We will do a weigh in every month after that. Each month you keep the weight off, you get another weekend. For every 5 additional pounds you get off, we'll add a day. You lose 45 pounds, you get three days, 50 pounds, 4 days and so on."

"Four days of sexual slavery every month if I can lose 50 pounds and keep it off?"

"That's my deal, but I think that I should get something out of this if you don't take off, or keep off the poundage. Two weeks of doing all my chores in the house; the dusting, the laundry, vacuuming, whatever I normally do, you will do for two weeks."

"How long do I have to lose the initial 40?"

"What is it, July 10th right now. You have until Christmas to lose the 40, but if you gain any of it back by the next month, I get two weeks, you get nothing. Oh, and no more sex until you lose the first 20. That should give you a little incentive."

"I'll want that in writing," I said.

"Fine, you write it up, I'll sign it," Marcia said.

Hell, she wants me to lose it by Christmas; it already feels like Christmas to me. My mind, always with a rather active imagination, went into overdrive, thinking of all the things that I was going to do to her and all the ways that I wanted her to satisfy me. Little did I know, how hard I was going to have to work to get my little slave girl.

I immediately wrote up the agreement, which wasn't too specific on the things that she would do, but very specific on the things that she would not. No sense in talking about things that I might want her to do, which after further thought, she wouldn't want to do. Just leave that open but close all the no-no loopholes. When I gave it to her, she read it over carefully, then signed it. I affixed my signature immediately afterward.

"I suppose getting this notarized is out of the question," I said.

"Don't worry, honey. If you lose the weight, I'll want to fuck your brains out. I won't renege on our deal."

"I have a lot of brains," I said.

"Yes you do, and a very twisted brains as well. I'm sure you've already thought of ten things you want to do if I lose," Marcia said.

"Twenty," I said honestly.

She smiled.


God, I couldn't believe how hard it was to lose weight.

I immediately gave up between meal snacks, started eating lots of veggies and fruit, having salads for lunch, but I still wasn't getting much exercise. Asian trading started around 9:30 PM in my time zone, German, London and Paris markets opened about 4:30 AM, New York stock exchange opened at 9:30 AM and went until 4:00. If I was going to do well at my day job, I had to pay attention to what was happening around the world, especially if I was going to play in the currency markets or foreign exchanges. That didn't leave a lot of time. I was hoping I could lose it all by just adjusting my diet. Wrong.

At the end of the first week, I'd lost a little more than one pound. One pound a week; 40 pounds, 40 weeks, that wasn't going to get it done by Christmas. The worst thing was, I'd let myself get way out of shape. It's not like I could start jogging right away, I'd probably have a heart attack. But I could see that diet alone was not going to get the job done. I was going to have 'sweat with the oldies.'

I started walking around the block, figuring that I could swing by the house on each trip, take a quick look at what was happening in the markets, maybe adjust a couple trades, then continue walking. The first time I did that, I could only walk around once before I got winded. Shit, I was in trouble. So my trading rest also became my rest-rest, because I wasn't getting much farther anyway. I managed to do it three times before calling it a day. Not a stellar start. The next day, I did four times around the block, and the next day, five. Of course, I wasn't really getting my heart rate up too high because of the frequent breaks I was taking, so I wasn't doing much for my stamina.

Second week weigh in, maybe two pounds lost, if I stretched it a little.

"Shit!" I exclaimed, loud enough for Marcia to hear and come rushing into the bathroom.

"What's wrong? Did you hurt yourself? Break something?"

"My pride; both hurt and broken. I've lost maybe three pounds in two weeks. At this rate, it's going to be Halloween before I even have sex again," I bitched.

"Oh! My little man thought this was going to be easy did he? You thought I'd swallow and surrender my ass to someone who didn't have to work for it? If it was easy, everyone could lose weight," Marcia said. "Do you know how hard I have to work to keep this figure?" She struck a pin-up pose for my benefit.

"Never really gave it much thought," I said.

"Five hours a week, minimum, just to maintain."

She started stripping right there in front of me, a little strip-tease of her own devising. When she was naked, she pointed to her pussy and said, "Seventeen more pounds and you can tease this tempting tasty treat, honey. Meanwhile, the shower has my name on it. Just remember, that I ain't gettin' any either, toots."

She was right of course. If I wasn't getting any, she wasn't getting any either. While our sex life during marriage had dwindled down to once, maybe twice a week, I was usually able to take care of her needs on those occasions, as well as my own. Now, no one was getting any unless it was with 'Rosie Palms'. I definitely had to up my game.

I got a trading app for my smartphone and went to the clubhouse gym. I went early so I could put CNBC on the tv and watch the market news. I'd walk on the treadmills, or ride the stationary bikes so I could watch while working out, occasionally working a trade on my app depending upon the vagaries of the market. It got to the point where I could work on my trades without slowing down too much on the equipment. The first day in the clubhouse, I could only get an hours workout done, being totally whipped when I finished. By the end of the week, I was closer to two than one, and had a little left over in the tank; enough to walk back to the house without resting first. At my weigh-in for week 3, I had knocked off over three pounds, as much as the first two weeks together.

"Now we're getting somewhere," I said to myself.

So far, all I'd been doing was aerobic exercises, and I thought it was time to start adding some weight work to my regimen. Each day, after the walking or cycling, I started hitting the weight machines. As I figured my legs were getting the workout from the aerobics, I concentrated on the chest and arms, alternating between lifts and presses, and pull downs and the rower. I figured the rowing machine was also good for the back and abs. I started with 70 pounds of weight, and as many repetitions as I could do. I was going for overall strength and fitness rather than muscle bound bulk. Starting out, that was about nine reps twice, but by the end of that week, I was up to three reps of 12. I was now putting over two hours in the gym every day.

One of the guys I met at the gym told me halfway into the week that my diet had insufficient protein for my workout and recommended something at GNC. I picked some up that afternoon. It was lean protein and I took it like a shake. I was really looking forward to my next weigh-in.

"You've got to be kidding me!" I yelled to my wife. "I lost one stinking pound."

"That's to be expected, oh hubby of mine. You're converting fat into muscle. While not weighing as much as the fat it replaces, it does weigh something. Get over it."

"You mean that I have the choice of being some wimpy, skinny guy or being a hunk who's getting no sex?" I complained.

"We. We are getting no sex. I don't like it anymore than you do, but I don't like fat husbands either. The lard has got to go. On the bright side, adding muscle will start burning the fat more quickly, it just takes a while."

"Come on, honey," I whined. "Can't I get a little taste of your gorgeous body? I need a reminder of why I'm doing this in the first place."

"Hey, you get sex now, you'll just figure you can get it anytime just by whining a little more and you'll slack off. No slacking off. It's got to happen now. Keep working."

"You know, your attitude may be just the incentive I need to get a little more creative when you become my sex slave."

"More power to you. I'm still unsure if you're going to make it."

My workouts became even more aggressive. In addition to going two hours of aerobics, one hours of weights, I added swimming, although that was no more than a few laps to start. By the end of the next two weeks, I was doing 20 laps. And finally all the work really started to pay off. I lost another ten pounds and was a short three pounds away from having sex again with my spectacular wife. I figured I would be able to knock that out in the next week. I warned her to be prepared for some lengthy sex sessions as there's nothing like the potato water backing up for six weeks to put a man in the mood.

My next weigh in, I was humming 'Back in the Saddle Again' when I got on the scales. Two pounds, only two fucking pounds.

I screamed. "Aauuggghh!"

"You rang," my wife said, coming into the bathroom. "Should I take off my clothes now?"

"Nineteen pounds. Shit! How can this be happening. I worked just as hard this last week as the previous two and I lost five pounds each of those weeks. The scales must be broken."

"Oh you poor dear. You know the first pounds are the easiest to get off, the rest gets harder and harder. But look at the bright side. I noticed that you're tightening your belt another notch on your pants. The work is paying off. Too bad I have to take another cold shower. I was really looking forward to having your tongue working on Miss Muffy."

"Please, Marcia. I'm just one pound away. Certainly allowances can be made when I'm this close?"

"Sorry dear, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, and this is neither."

She stripped off her clothes and got into the shower, giving me a beautiful shot of her incredible derriere as she lowered her panties. The only positive was that she definitely left the shower on cold. I fucking ran to the gym.

My next weigh-in, I made the twenty pounds, plus another one to be on the safe side. We fucked doggy style, missionary position; she could even ride me again and she had a terrific orgasm out of that one. She finished me off with one of her patented blow jobs, but she still didn't swallow. Damn, I had to lose that last nineteen pounds fast, because I couldn't wait to have those luscious lips wrapped around my pecker when I shot my load.

The progress was slowing. I became leaner, my clothes were becoming baggier, my stamina increased, I really had to work to get my heart pounding; unlike the beginning when a walk around the block wore me out. Whereas it took me seven weeks to lose the first twenty-one, it took me the next seven weeks to lose the next nine. My day trading was suffering a little, but I have to admit to feeling better about myself, even if I wasn't making as much money.

The good thing was, I was getting sex regularly again. Once I hit the twenty pound mark, she no longer made me wait anymore. Because of my increased stamina, I was really hitting the nail on the head when we had sex. During one marathon fuck session that lasted 40 minutes, she was able to cum three times while I pounded that sweet pussy.

"Damn, sweetheart. That was some fine, fine driving you were doing there. You haven't been that energetic since our marriage night. Even if you don't make the 40 pounds, you're workouts are already paying terrific benefits in our love life."

"Well, to celebrate hitting 30 pounds today and in anticipation of reaching the 40 pound mark by Christmas, I went out and made a few purchases today." I pulled two shopping bags out from under the bed.

"So, what did you get?"

"Let's see here. I got butt plugs in 3 different sizes, from small to large, although not as large as the biggest one in there. My God, how does anyone put anything that large in their ass?" I was pulling stuff from the bags as I told her. "I got a couple different vibrators, you know, because I can't keep it hard the whole 48 hours but you're going to know that you were fucked royally." She began handling the stuff as I pulled it out of the bags. "I've got a strap on dildo, plus another one that operates by hand and vibrates. I got this butterfly," I pulled out something that strapped on her legs that vibrated her clit and pussy by remote control. "I got this ball gag, this blindfold, these four nylon cuffs for your arms and legs and the ropes to tie them to the bedposts, these ben-wa balls, this strap, called a tawse, a ping pong paddle, and this whip," showing her a short, soft, 12 stranded whip on which the strands were about two feet long. "What else," looking in the bags. "I also got this slave collar, this leash, these nipple clamps, which I can supplement with clothes pins, this tag that hangs from the collar that reads, 'Sam's sex slave', and some diaphanous lingerie that pretty much enhances your nudity. That about covers it. Oh, and some flavored and stimulating lubricants."

"Stimulating lubricants?" She asked.

"Yeah, they give you a little tingle when applied to the right parts."

"My, my, my, Sam. You are really getting into this, aren't you?"

"You better believe it, honey. I am going to be living out just about every fantasy that I've ever had. And that's just in the first weekend. I don't know what I'm going to do on subsequent weekends."

"Putting the cart before the horse, aren't you. Getting a little cocky, I mean. It took you seven weeks to lose the last nine. You only have a little more than eight weeks left. Those last 10 pounds are going to be the toughest to lose and we're coming up on holiday season, Halloween candy, Thanksgiving turkey, Christmas cookies. Oh, and don't forget pumpkin pie, your favorite."

"I know it's going to be tough, but oh, the rewards, the fucking rewards. And I've got 2 months left to get them." Suddenly, I was hit with an unfortunate thought. "Hey! You're not getting cold feet are you? I don't want to go through all this and have you wimp out."

"I won't wimp out, but looking at all of this stuff," her hand swept over all the toys he'd picked up, "scares me a little. Whips, paddles, collars, leashes, butt plugs. I didn't know you were into all of this. It's scaring me a little."

I laughed.

"Don't worry, Marcia. I'm far more into giving pleasure than giving pain. This is the fuel of my imagination, but we'll devise a safe word for you to use if it becomes too intolerable. I just don't want you to squeal uncle at the least little bit of discomfort or pain. Believe me, you've been hurt worse in your defensive tactics classes than I'll ever hurt you."

"Well, put it away. It's making me nervous."

Hey, I didn't want to make Marcia nervous. I wanted her to accept this just as much as I did. I put it all away, except for the wrist and ankle cuffs and the collar. Those I attached together and hung them on her dresser right over the mirror she used to apply her make-up. What the hell, maybe just a little nervous.


She was right. Those last 10 pounds were a righteous bitch. Every week I was afraid to look at the scale for fear that I wasn't losing enough weight. I skipped the Halloween candy, the second (and third) helpings at Thanksgiving; I even skipped all but one tiny slice of the pumpkin pie. It was my Mom's so that made it even worse, because she makes the best.

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