Katie was tired of dieting. More precisely, she was tired of diets. She had tried them all – Weight Watchers, Atkins, Cabbage Soup, Nutrisystems, South Beach, even the Cookie Diet (which sounded particularly good, but only served to give her an eternal revulsion to biscuits). They all helped her lose a few pounds at the time, but the moment she stopped, or even wavered just a fraction, the weight piled back on.
It is not as though she is particularly overweight. She still had her figure and could turn heads on a regular basis. Philip, her husband, was as voraciously hungry for her as he had been the first night she had taken him into her bed. But she wasn’t happy in herself. So, between diets, when she did spot a man feasting his eyes upon her body, as soon as she had passed she assumed they had looked away having seen her arse. And when Philip tried to start anything she would invariably make some excuse or, when she felt she couldn’t do so yet again, got into the habit of just spreading her legs and faking it. It was blatantly unsatisfactory for the both of them. On the occasions when she was on a diet and her weight more in line with what she considered ideal, life was different. She felt more attractive, livelier, sexier. She enjoyed their sex again and had real orgasms once more. Consequently, even Philip got some extra treats, although that only highlighted their absence the more between times.
It was Anya who provided her with the ultimate solution, albeit unintentionally. About a year earlier Anya had lost nearly two stone and had managed to keep it off since. Katie thought she looked great. Even tempting! It was at one of their weekly lunches that she finally summoned up the courage to ask Anya her secret.
‘Calorie control,’ revealed Anya. ‘Simple as that. So long as the calories I burn up each day exceed those I put in, presto!’
‘Yeah, right,’ was Katie’s dismissive response.
‘Honestly, that’s all I do.’ Anya picked up her glass of Merlot. ‘250 calories,’ she said as she lifted it to her lips.
Katie put hers back down on the table untouched. ‘250?! That’s a lot of calories to burn off.’
‘But worth it. I feel fitter, am more confident in how I look, and can still enjoy occasional treats.’
‘What do you do to burn it all off?’
‘Gym, cycling, walking, golf.’ Then, after a pause, she added jokingly, ‘Sex.’
Anya may have said it in jest, but it made Katie think. Gym – boring. Cycling – crap weather. Walking – ditto. Golf – totally uncoordinated. But sex… Katie could do sex.
‘Here, have this.’ Anya rooted around in her handbag, finally pulling out a small purple device. ‘It’s a calorie monitor. You can record what you eat and it converts it into calories, and you can even record your exercise. I don’t need it anymore.’
Once home, Katie sat down with a cup of coffee (15 calories) and played with her new gadget. The food data she was quite familiar with having spent years dieting. It was the exercise options she wanted to explore. None was appealing. Sex wasn’t on it… but you could add your own entries. A quick look on the internet and a new exercise category was loaded into the monitor – half-an-hour of sex, minus 200 calories. Nearly a complete glass of wine.
Katie wasted no time. That very night she went up to bed early. When Philip retired he found the bedroom lit with candles and Katie lying stark naked on top of the bed inviting him to play. However, Philip liked Katie to be quite placid during sex, so the next morning, as she recorded her exercise, she adjusted the calorie count for half-an-hour of sex to just 50 calories.
Philip must have thought it was Christmas when virtually every night for the next fortnight he got to enjoy Katie’s finer assets (as he viewed them), fucking her to his heart’s delight. But it was the following Saturday evening when Katie made a reassessment of her strategy.
She was on her knees in the kitchen, sucking off Philip’s cock as he cooked dinner, when, as she swallowed his load flooding into her mouth, she wondered how many calories that counted for. Seven per teaspoonful she discovered on Google whilst he drained the potatoes. He always gave a good load, maybe, say, six teaspoonfuls. That, she worked out, would amount to 42 calories per blow job, totally negating the placid sex that might follow. But she was determined not to give up the wine, nor, for that matter, the cum.
There was only one solution (assuming gym, cycling, walking and golf remained off the agenda). She needed more active sex, and if Philip wasn’t going to deliver then she would keep him for occasional top-ups when she had had a naughty cake at lunchtime for example, but had no choice but to find an alternative supplier, as it were. Maybe more than one. After all, you don’t just exercise on one machine at the gym.
A few business trips away from home and her calorie monitor had some further additional entries. “Sex (Thomas) – 200 calories”. Thomas was a supplier. Cute. A bit younger than her. Liked to be tied to the bed whilst she fucked him cowgirl style. “Sex (David) – 150 calories”. Another supplier. Okay, not so beneficial, but that was because he was so good at licking her out that she couldn’t resist, although the sensational orgasms this resulted in certainly burned off more calories than most. “Sex (Simon) – 250 calories”. Client this time. Sessions with Simon were like physical assult courses. They bounced around the hotel room, his cock penetrating deep inside her pussy over the dressing table, over the back of the chair, in the shower, up against the wall, out in the corridor, even on the bed! The pounds fell away, and this time stayed away. At last, she had found a diet that worked for her.
Over the months she added a few more cocks to the monitor. Peter from marketing was always up for a little extra curricular activity when away from his wife. Justin, from Health & Safety, was surprisingly disrespectful of health and safety when using the riding crop and vibrator on her. And when she added Nathan, Anya’s husband, she realised why Anya always had a smile on her face – fabulous cock, and knew exactly what to do with it.
A few months later, following a chat with another friend, Michelle, that was somewhat reminiscent of that she had originally had with Anya, Katie suggested she pass the calorie monitor on to her. So, that night, she dug it out from her bedside draw with the intention of removing the extra exercise categories before so doing. But she paused. She didn’t mind sharing wine with her closest friends, so why not cock. Therefore, instead of deleting them, she added their phone numbers… including Philip’s.
There was just one she did remove. “Sex (Joanna) – 300 calories”.