I'm a psychiatrist. My name is Dr. Baker. I was hired by Roy Channing of Channing Chemicals to treat his 21-year old daughter Darla for her inappropriate sexual behaviour.
Darla had recently been expelled from college. My initial impression from Mr. Channing's description of the incidents which had led to her expulsion led me to believe that Darla might be suffering from nymphomania.
Given Mr. Channing's prominent position in the community, the situation had to be handled discreetly.
I have a small property in the backwoods of Maine which is extremely pleasant in the summer months. I felt it would be a good idea for me to take Darla away from the distractions of her home in Los Angeles and give her some intensive psychoanalysis in just such a remote natural environment. I have always been a believer in the theory that the artificial environments of our modern cities have a disturbing effect on the psyche and that, likewise, a return to more natural surroundings can have a calming influence. The plan also had the advantage of removing Darla from the clutches of the Paparazzi who had had a field day recording her naughty college pranks for the gutter press.
The one person who was not pleased with the plan was Darla herself.
"Do we really have to do this psychoanalysis shit?" she complained, during our first session together. "Why don't we just fuck instead? Daddy doesn't have to know what we get up to. When I get back, I can act really good for a week or so, and then we can just pretend that the effects of your treatment wore off. No-one will be any the wiser, and you'll get to fuck a really luscious twenty-one year old. You must be at least fifty. I bet you don't get girls like me throwing themselves at you everyday."
"Who does or doesn't throw themselves at me is not the issue here," I tried to explain. "The issue is whether or not you are going to learn to control your inappropriate behaviour."
"What's inappropriate about trying to get a bit of sex?" she wanted to know. "Sex is fun, right? So why shouldn't I have a bit of fun? It seems perfectly natural to me."
"It may seem natural to you, but how many other girls do you know who run into the boy's locker room after the football match and hop into the shower with the whole football team?" I asked her.
"I can't help it if all the other girls are too chicken," she complained. "The guys like having a pretty nude girl to help them soap up their cocks for them. The only reason I got expelled was cause the coach came in just as I was sucking Billy Mitchell's dick. If you ask me, he was jealous. I think the coach fancies Billy himself. I mean if he's not a homo, why did he say no when I offered to do the same for him? Answer me that."
"You have to learn that your behaviour has consequences," I pointed out. "And that you can't always avoid those consequences by offering to have sex with people."
"At least I know that you're not a homo," she said, ignoring the point I was trying to make. "Cause when I said we should fuck, I saw your dick go stiff in your pants."
"What may or may not happen inside of my trousers is not the issue here..." I began again, having the vague feeling that I was repeating myself.
"Why don't you just pull it out and give it a tug?" she asked. "I won't tell anyone. I know you want to. Masturbating is so much fun."
"That brings us to another point," I replied. "Masturbation may well be an enjoyable pastime, but it is one that is only appropriate in private. It is not appropriate to masturbate during economics class."
"Well, I was bored," she pouted. "And I would have got away with it if Dorothy Matthews hadn't dobbed on me. I reckon Dorothy should do more masturbating herself, then she wouldn't be so uptight she feels she has to spoil someone else's fun."
"You always find someone else to blame," I pointed out, "but the fact is that you bring problems on yourself when you fail to exercise proper self-control."
"I didn't want to go to college in the first place," she claimed. "It was daddy's idea."
"Your father just wants to make sure you can get a good job," I explained. "What sort of job are you going to get without a college education."
"I could be a prostitute," she replied.
"What sort of occupation is that?" I asked her. "I don't think you would enjoy it as much as you may think. You wouldn't have any choice about who you had sex with."
"I know that," she said, her tone of voice implying that she thought I was stupid. "But I could earn lots of money."
"How do you think your father would feel if his daughter turned out to be a prostitute?" I asked her.
"Daddy just wants me to work for him," she replied, in a voice dripping with scorn.
"What's wrong with that?" I asked. "You could make a lot of money that way too."
"My daddy's company makes the chemicals that made a hole in the ozone layer," she explained. "Because of him people are afraid to go to nude beaches anymore because they might get skin cancer and die. At least prostitutes bring some enjoyment to the world."
"But you wouldn't be able to be a prostitute for very long," I pointed out. "Eventually you would get old and no-one would want you anymore."
"By that time I would have saved up enough money to retire to the Greek Islands, where I could laze in the sun and masturbate while I watch all those young Adonises playing in the surf," she pointed out. "At least I can if my daddy hasn't destroyed the ozone over the Greek Islands too by then."
"You really don't like your father, do you?" I asked.
"I just don't like what he does for a living," she replied.
"Well, I think we have had enough talking for today," I said. "This treatment doesn't just consist of talking. You are here to learn how your behaviour can lead to either good or bad consequences. The choice is yours. Here in the country we have to be self-reliant. If you don't go and cut some wood this afternoon, you will not have a fire in your room tonight when it gets cold. If you don't cook dinner for yourself, you will have nothing to eat."
"I'm not lazy, you know?" she whined. "I don't mind chopping my own wood, and cooking my own dinner. It will be fun after being waited on hand and foot. But we can still have that fuck afterwards, if you feel like it."
Sure enough, she proved a very efficient worker. She chopped enough wood not only for the fire in her room, but for one in mine and one in the lounge-room as well. As she worked away enthusiastically, I took the opportunity to look her over.
She was relatively small, with a face that was cute rather than pretty, framed by dark hair that fell loosely to her shoulders. She was wearing a white t-shirt and tight denims that came to a frayed end just above her knees. Her breasts hung a little low for her age, perhaps due to her habit of going braless as she was now. Her breasts swung enticingly beneath her t-shirt as she swung the axe, and the sight caused my cock to stiffen once more.
"All done," she said, triumphantly as she came over to the spot where I was sitting under a tree, pretending to read a book. Her pale green eyes looked straight into mine with an impressive air of defiance.
"Very good," I replied. "I'm impressed."
"Now I'm all hot and sweaty," she said. "Mind if I go for a swim in the lake?"
"Not at all," I replied. "Physical exercise... er, physical exercise of the right sort... is most important."
"Want to join me?" she asked as she unzipped her jeans.
"Not right now," I replied.
"O.K." she said, as she pulled off her jeans. She continued to look me in the eye as she pulled the t-shirt over her head to reveal her soft, pale full-nippled breasts. "Do you like my boobs?" she asked, placing her hands beneath them and jiggling them.
"Whether or not I like your boobs, is not the issue... " I began.
"I can tell you do, Doctor, by the fact that your dick is getting really stiff in your pants again," she giggled. "I wish you weren't such a party-pooper and would come skinny-dipping with me. I'd love to get a look at that stiffy of yours. Look how stiff my nipples are. That's because I get so horny showing off in front of you. I bet my pussy is really wet, too." She grabbed the sides of her skimpy panties and pulled them down. Her pubes were full, but trimmed neatly at the sides.
"You really must learn to curb your exhibitionistic tendencies," I told her, with as much conviction as I could muster.
"Mmmmm, it is really wet," she said, running her fingers over the pink lips of her vagina. "Wanna feel?"
"No, I do not!" I lied.
"Party-pooper!" she pouted, before turning and running toward the lake. I gazed longingly at her pale bottom as it jiggled off into the distance. This was going to be a very long couple of weeks.
That evening went by fairly uneventfully. Darla sat and watched T.V. while I worked on my book.
"Are you really sure you don't want me to sleep in your bed?" Darla asked when I explained the sleeping arrangements. "There's nothing like having your cock sucked to relax you and give you a really restful night's sleep."
"Now, now. None of that," I warned her, and retired to my room.
I undressed and was about to climb into bed when I noticed something lying on the floor. It was a brown paper bag. When I picked it up and opened it, I found that it contained a pile of magazines. They were the kind of magazines that are full of pictures of nude women. Darla was playing games with me again. On the top of the pile was a note saying: "Hope you have a really lovely wank, Doctor."
I knew that I should resist any of the temptations with which she presented me. But, on the other hand, how would she know that I had looked at the magazines?
I turned on the bedside light, and then turned off the room light. Spreading the magazines out on the side of the bed away from the door, I lay down on my left side and began to leaf through them. It wasn't long before my cock was stiff. I grasped it with my right hand and began to stroke it gently as I looked at all of those bare breasts, bottoms and vaginas. I also found myself thinking of Darla standing there nude in front of me, the sweat of all that wood-chopping pouring down over her pale skin.
When I reached the end of one of the magazines, I found an Instamatic photo taped to the last page. It was of Darla. She was nude and she was masturbating. In fact the photo had captured her at the moment of climax as her vagina squirted out a stream of liquid.
Just as I found this photo, the door burst open and in ran Darla in a long night shirt. I looked over my shoulder at her as I shot jet after jet of cum over my bed sheet and the magazine and photo.
"Oooo, goody," she cried, hopping up on the bed beside me. "All those luscious women and you picked me to jerk off over. I'm so glad." She kissed me on the cheek and wiped some cum off of my flaccid cock with her finger and then licked it with her tongue. "MMMmm, yummy cum," she said.
"You get out of here!" I screamed, pushing her off the bed.
"What are you going to do?" she asked cheekily, turning away and lifting her night-shirt to display her nude bottom to me. "Spank my naughty little bottom?"
I grabbed her and pushed her from the room, and then locked the door.
