365 Days With Self Discipline Novels & Stories

The intense pain has me biting hard on my tongue to stifle the groans threatening to spill over my lips. Damn it. It's a lot worse than the last. I roll on my back, wrapping my arms around my stomach. Hah....it hurts. It hurts too much. Lying on the bare snow, the cold drilled into my bones, numbing some part of the pain. Hah—exactly how long will I have to bear this? Will I even be able to last the thirty days like this?

The final week in the Plain of the Three Musketeers was a blur of exhausting repetition. There was no grand breakthrough, no sudden surge of triumph—just the relentless cycle of practice, failure, and adjustment until the routine consumed everything else. Wake up. Train. Miss the mark. Fix the angle. Train again. Sleep when his body gave out, then wake up and repeat. By the fourth day, Danial lost track of time altogether. The pocket dimension operated on its own elastic rhythm, stretching hours or days depending on his focus. Counting hours felt pointless, so he stopped trying.

His two eldest Children, Luthur Jr and Ava, have been out with him for The indentures finale and for some new episodes. * * "Everyday is filled with defining moments. From the moment we wake up, we define ourselves when we decide to get up and exercise or sleep an extra half hour. We define ourselves when we call in sick even though we could go to work. We define ourselves when we watched television instead of reading a book on business or investing. And we define ourselves when we turn our money to a sales person to invest for us instead of learning to invest for ourselves."

I shouted at the empty room. “Madam, madam.” A janitor called out. I kept mute; I cried out. My door is locked already. “Ma'am, please open the door,” she continued. “You can't keep doing this to yourself.” I refused to answer her. “Ma'am, at least eat something. It's been two days since you haven't taken anything.” She begged, her voice soft and hurt. I didn't answer, tears and blurred vision as I was looking at our wedding pictures. “No…!” I yelled again.

I had just walk to lanes office with a little to no smile on my face. Seven days. I had gone seven full days without getting fucked, masturbation, or falling into the black hole of lust-filled fantasies. It didn't went easy on me. All I could feel was My body feeling susssy for fuck and squirt. I had to distract myself with everything I could long walks, cold showers, loud music, even reading books that weren’t erotica. But I did it. And I was proud. I wanted to walk in here and show him I was getting better.

I take a drink of my beer to distract myself and to have a moment to get my thoughts together. I’m not here to fuck local pussy. I’m here for a business deal and then I’m getting the hell off this island. But then the devil on my shoulder leans in and whispers that I can do both. The image of her riding my dick while those big tits bounce is filling up every available space in my brain. But I didn’t become as successful as I am by giving in to every desire. Discipline and hard work are what made me who I am today, and I’m not going to screw that up by letting my dick lead me. No matter how much I want to.

*You are watching a man do a good thing and you are catastrophizing it into meaning something it doesn't yet have the right to mean. But here is the problem with telling yourself that. Every day he shows up at six fifty-eight. Not six forty-five, not seven-oh-five. Six fifty-eight. Every day the session runs exactly one hour. Every day he says nothing to me except what is necessary — reports on what they covered, anything I should know, a short exchange about Landon's progress. Every day he leaves without pushing for more. It is the discipline of it that is getting to me. The fact that he is not trying.

"Success is when you maintain containment while sleeping. While fighting. While experiencing extreme emotion or physical trauma. Until then, you just know how to build walls temporarily." "How long until it becomes automatic?" "For you? Probably weeks. You have strong will. Good focus. Natural talent for internal control." She paused. "But talent only speeds process. Does not eliminate need for repetition. You will do this ritual six times daily. Every day. Until I am satisfied you can maintain containment unconsciously." "That sounds miserable." "That sounds like the price of freedom." She stood. "Misery is temporary. Exile is permanent if you do not master this. Choose which you prefer."

I’m beyond confused, I hold the penny in my hand and unfold the letter with with my trembling fingers. “Okay, here goes,” I say to myself overtaken with anxiety. X, 37 days, It has taken me 37 days to dislike you, to like you, to love you, to hate you, and to forgive you. No matter how hard I try, I can’t give you up, no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop loving you, so the only thing I want to stop trying with you, is fighting myself for what I really want, fighting myself, you. Our lives may be nothing alike, but we are. We have an undeniable love and understanding for one another and without the other half of me, I’m not truly me. My mom always told me that in the rare occasion that when

Not even once, through all of it. "I have been meditating daily for four hours," he said, "for the last three years." His hand was still at my chin, holding me very steady. "Every single day. That is what four hours of daily practice for three years builds. It is the power of discipline." I reached up and held onto his shoulder because the table edge was too far away and he was right there, and he was solid to me. "I'm still mad at you," I said, into his shoulder.