In college I took a class called statistics and to be honest, I loved it. It helped that the professor was hilarious, constantly telling jokes, and his attitude and demeanor made it easy to enjoy the class. For example, when he handed out the syllabus, it was entitled, “Lies, Damn Lies, and Statistics,” which I thought was pretty damn funny. He taught us how statistics worked, how probabilities were figured, and why logic wasn’t always logical. I remember in one early class how he announced that statistics showed that ninety-five percent of all pedestrian/motor vehicle accidents happened at crosswalks. He then asked what the fact should lead us, as logical individuals, to conclude. No one wanted to volunteer an answer because we could tell that this was a question designed to make some look like an idiot. But finally he spared us, explaining that the simple would decide to no longer cross at crosswalks, thus increasing their personal risk, based upon a statistic that easily led to the wrong conclusion.
He also showed us how to play a game of Battleship using probabilities, which was equally fascinating. I loved how he positioned his ships and played the computer, explaining how each square had such and such probability of being struck and how to minimize the chance and so on and so forth. It was cool. I learned a lot from him.
And no. I never fucked him either. Get your mind out of the gutter.
As I mentioned yesterday, (the post which I hope you’ve already read and if not then click here please) I’ve been given a task. A major one. I have until Saturday evening to complete a total of 78 orgasms. No more, no less. It’s a daunting task honestly. And in case you’re wondering why I started this whole little blurb with statistics, I thought a few might help you understand just what’s been going through me – besides a vibrator.
First of all, let’s break down the time here. Sunday Morning (let’s say MY morning, so 5am) to Saturday Evening, (my bedtime is usually 9pm) is a total of 6.5 days. That 6.5 days breaks down into exactly 160 hours. 160 hours divided by 78 orgasm, means that I’ll need to have an orgasm roughly every 2.05 hours. That comes to approximately 12 orgasms a day. Of course, I actually sleep for about seven hours each day, which means of the twenty four hours available, I’m only actually awake for 17 of them, give or take. That means that I actually have to cram 12 orgasms into 17 hours, which comes to about one orgasm every hour and a half. For six and a half days.
I’m going to die.
To make matters worse, I didn’t start yesterday morning. I started yesterday afternoon, when I got home from church. Kari had instructed me to wear my ben wa balls, so I had no assistance there, and as soon as I got home from church and felt myself ready and no longer in the last vestiges of my TOTM (Time of the Month) I stuffed myself silly and masturbated quickly to a wet, sloppy, thigh soaking cum. It was very nice thank you, especially after a week of not cumming.
An hour and a half later I went back up to my room and did it again, this time using a vibrator to push myself over the edge. It was pure bliss, rubbing the hard plastic tip against my clit, setting myself up, hips thrusting upward in sexual bliss. Then I came with a gasp, the soles of my feet touching, my knees wide apart, naked from the waist down, lying on my bed. It was beautiful.
But then my little girl wanted to go horseback riding. I could hardly say no, so I skipped the next two “times”. By the end of the day I’d only had seven orgasms, and that was pushing it, with the last two barely three or four minutes apart, followed by exhaustion and curling up into a ball between my sheets.
This morning things have not gone easier for me. The second I woke up my hands slipped downward between my legs and I worked myself into a froth. I checked my email and Kari’s toy of the day is my Husky Dildo, a thick, firm rubber, natural looking, nine inch synthetic cock that neither vibrates, nor moves on its own. In other words, it’s fun to play with, but it isn’t going to send me off half baked by itself. I masturbated again in the barn, and then once again at the gate of the goat pen before heading in. Three more orgasms in the space of three and a half hours. And now I’m here in my room, just after breakfast, bouncing up and down, writing this, trying to cum again. It’s mind numbing and frankly, I’m feeling sated.
Am I crazy? Could a nymphomaniac actually BE sated?
We’ll find out, won’t we?
Total Hours: 160Total Orgasms Required: 78Total Orgasms Experienced Thus Far: 10Hours Elapsed: 28Expected Goal: 14Orgasms Over/Under: -4