Introduction

 

My name is John Thomas Smith. I was given the nickname Tank in high school. Not because I had a thing for armored military vehicles but because some said, I was built like a tank. My build served me well on the football field but it is an unlikely moniker for someone in my profession. I'm a clinical psychiatrist.

A few months ago, a colleague suggested I write a paper on promiscuity. He knew it was a subject that I had done some research on and one in which I held more than a casual interest. I told him I would consider it. The trouble with a scholarly paper is it is easy to make it so scholarly that even the scholars can't understand it. I had four and maybe even five subjects that I was either treating or whom I knew would make excellent candidates to be interviewed.

There were a couple of approaches to getting the data. I could be sneaky and not tell the subjects I was actually conducting an interview instead of treating them. Easy enough to do and they wouldn't be likely to read my paper, but I favored the straight forward approach of telling them what I was doing and why.

To attempt to make things as clear as possible in the murky world of the human psyche let me try to establish what promiscuousness is. This is made even more difficult because the 'experts' can't seem to agree on the definition. One definite included the phrase 'miscellaneous mingling' another uses the term 'indiscriminate'.

For our purposes, a promiscuous woman is a woman who engages in casual sex. I'll lay aside the legal and religious definitions. One word comes to my mind and it's been around since the mid fourteen hundreds and it's the word I'll use. Slut is a perfectly good word to use in this report.

I have always found it strange that a man who engages in casual sex is called a womanizer while a woman who does the same thing is called a slut. Maybe there should be a word such as 'manizer'.

It is not my purpose to define abnormal female sexual behavior. Nor do I intend to categorize promiscuity as abnormal behavior. To most of us abnormal behavior is simply something we don't do or agree to or think anyone else should do. Some things considered by society as abnormal are also criminal and that's a line you don't want to cross, but with the exception of prostitution I won't get into it.

In less enlightened times a woman with a high libido was considered a nymphomaniac. If a woman couldn't or wouldn't control her sex drive she was classed as a slut, floozy, or a whore.

I've never thought it was my purpose as a therapist to "cure" someone of a high libido. I try to help them come to terms with their condition and to accept it. I also try to get my patients to be extremely careful and to exercise some discrimination in the choice of their sexual partners.

The libido scale is one of my inventions. It's a simple concept. The scale is from one to ten with five being "normal" or average. All of my subjects are in the seven or higher range.

 

 

CHAPTER 1 - SHELLY B

 

My first interview was with Shelly B a twenty-nine year old professional designer. Shelly readily agreed for me to use her story in my paper. Her story begins...

 

I think the credit, or perhaps the blame, depending on your point of view, should go to my Aunt Karen. I don't mean to imply that she caused me to become promiscuous. Hell, I did that on my own. She just guided me.

Aunt Karen came to live with us after my mother died. I was about fourteen at the time and Aunt Karen wasn't all that much older than me. She didn't try to be my mother, just a friend and a confidant. She was there when I wanted to talk and she left me alone when I wanted to be left alone.

My brother was older than I was and mother's death didn't seem to affect him as it did me. Of course he grieved, but he rallied much quicker than me.

My father mourned, but of course, he had Aunt Karen to comfort him. My brother and I were not supposed to know that within a month of arriving, Aunt Karen was sleeping in Dad's bed. Not just sleeping if you know what I mean.

I was old enough to know that it was good that Dad had someone to turn to, but young enough to resent it. For a time Aunt Karen and I maintained an uneasy truce, but after a few months she won me over and we became friends.

Her friendship and especially her council came in handy after I discovered boys. I mean, of course, I discovered I liked boys. That's a tough time for a teenager, but especially a girl.

One day, right out of the blue, I decided I wanted to know more about boys and what they could do for me. Until then I had been content to just engage in heavy petting and maybe if I liked him enough, to let him play with my breasts. Suddenly that just wasn't enough any longer. I wanted more. I needed more.

Because everyone knows that no one under the age of eighteen ever has sex, we will have to consider that this occurred just after my eighteenth birthday. You are free to think anything you like on that subject.

"Karen," I said to my aunt one day. "I'm going to have sex."

"Really?" she said stopping what she was doing to give me her undivided attention. "Have you decided what kind of sex you will have?"

"I didn't know there was but one kind," I said.

She proceeded to tell me about lesbian sex, oral sex, anal sex, and of course old fashion man and woman sex. She also mentioned some of the sex games people played, things like bondage and spanking. More importantly she explained solo sex.

"Honey, masturbation is good, it's healthy, and it's essential," Karen said. "I'm not talking about what you have surely already explored. There is more to life than your finger." She took me to her bedroom and demonstrated solo sex.

Karen had a vast array of fake penises. Long ones, short ones, fat ones, and battery powered ones. She had white ones, black ones and a few that were pink. When it came my turn to try them, I discovered I really liked the vibrating ones.

Aunt Karen cautioned me to not insert any of them too deeply and the next day she took me to her doctor and her doctor took care of my hymen. It took a couple days for me to get over that procedure and then I was able to use the dildos like they were intended to be used. Deep and hard and often.

While I became a huge fan of solo sex, it didn't satisfy me for long. I still wanted the boy thing, but there was something else - some kind of dark desire lurking not very far beneath the surface of my interest. Again, I went to my mentor for guidance.

"Okay, Shelly," she said. "The thing to keep in mind is don't devalue your pussy by giving it away to any old boy that wants it. In fact, they all will want it. Your first time should be special. It should be a memory-making event. Most eighteen year old boys don't know how to screw correctly so it should be with someone who knows what they are about." I interrupted her to ask if I should take notes. She laughed. "No, you'll remember it, I'm sure. You should take your time and select a man who knows what he's doing; a man that will give you wonderful memories, a man who will do what you want, or need, him to do."

"Who was your first?" I asked her. "Did you choose someone who knew?"

"I did, because my mother told me what I'm telling you," she answered. "I carefully selected a man several years older than I was. I flirted with him enough so that he would know I was interested. He asked me out and of course, I accepted. It was a magical night, Shelly. One I shall never forget. He took me out to eat, to a movie and then back to his apartment where he fucked me for hours." She saw the shocked expression on my face. "Yes, Shelly, he fucked me. He not only fucked me, Shelly, he introduced me to adult games that I had never dreamed of. After we'd fucked for maybe half an hour, he introduced me to some bedroom bondage. God I was hot from having his dick in me, but when he tied my wrists to the headboard and then spread my legs wide and tied them to the sides of the bed, I felt so horny and hot I couldn't stop myself. That was the first time, and by no means the last, that I soaked the sheets. I want to make it clear, he fucked me, that night, really fucked me until both of us were utterly sated and totally exhausted. He did not make love to me. He tied me up, he even spanked me a bit, and he put his dick in me and we fucked. Making love is entirely different, but you'll figure that out in time."

"I thought it was the same thing," I murmured. Karen hugged me and laughed.

"Well, it's not. Both are great and I'd be hard pressed to say which is better. Now here's the best bit of information I can give you. You can't wear it out. It doesn't make any difference if it's fucking or making love, you just cannot wear your pussy out. You can get it so sore you can't touch it, but it will be right back to normal in a short while. Also, if you get spanked, your bottom will do the same. It will glow red with the heat of the spanking and it will sting and, best of all is I discovered, it will add a whole new dimension to your arousal. If you pick the right person to spank you, not only will you enjoy the experience, but your bottom will go back to normal in just a few hours."

Aunt Karen, whop was flushed in the face from relating her memories, continued to explain how differently men and women are. How it takes a man some time to get an erection and to eject his come again, but a woman can just keep on keeping on. She told me how I could use my hands and mouth to hurry the process of getting a man hard if hurrying was necessary.

We spent many interesting hours discussing sex and so I went out armed with this knowledge in search of my first man. I found him in an unlikely place - the basement at my high school gymnasium. He was the janitor at school and he was old and he was black as midnight.

I had gone to the gym basement one afternoon, long after classes were over. I wasn't looking for my man at all. I was looking for someone to unclog the shower drain in the girl's locker room. Since I was the last one in the shower it fell on me to get something done about the problem.

I had never been in that part of the gym before. It was not only the basement, but it was actually a sub-basement. I meandered around for a while looking for Mister Jinks, the custodian. I found him in his tiny office beating his meat while looking at a pornographic magazine.

I stood in the doorway watching him stroke his big black dick for several moments until he noticed me.

"What'ch doin' down here, girl?' he demanded casually stuffing his blacksnake back in his overalls.

"The shower drain is stopped up," I stammered. By that time, I wasn't a complete stranger to a man's penis. I had given blow-jobs and hand-jobs to my dates on several occasions, but I had never seen anything like that thing Mister Jinks had. Nothing even close to the color or the size.

"I'll fix it," he said apparently unconcerned that I had caught him jacking-off. "Be up there in a minute or two."

I ran back up the stairs to the locker room to finish dressing. The shower would have to wait. I was finishing up when Mister Jinks came in.

"You girls and your long hair is what keeps getting the drain stopped up," he grumbled heading into the shower room. "I'll have it right in a few minutes and you can finish takin' your shower."

I opened my mouth to tell him that I was finished, but for some reason I didn't say anything. After a few minutes, he announced that the water was draining so I could take a shower.

"Go on ahead, girl," he said. "Take your clothes off and get in there. I'll just wait a while to make sure it drains okay." I don't know why something so unreasonable sounded so reasonable to me, but it did.

Without thinking about what I was doing, I stripped while the old man watched and went into the shower. He followed me in and leaned against a wall while I got the water just right. He watched me closely while I lathered myself and washed my body.

"Damn, girl," he said with a silent whistle. "You got the body of a grown woman. Nice big titties, too."

"Thank you, Mister Jinks," I said, soaping my breasts again for his gaze. "Did you get all dirty unclogging the drain? Shouldn't you take a shower?"

He stared at me a moment, grinned, and took his overalls and shirt off. He kicked his boots off and stood naked to allow me to see him. He had a slight pouch for a stomach, but he was in good shape otherwise. My eyes went to his big pecker.

"You like what you see, Miss?" he asked me. I nodded because I did like what I saw. He came over and got under my shower with me. He smelled like pipe tobacco and there was the slight odor of whiskey.

I came while he soaped my boobs and I came again when he washed my pussy. Then he soaped all round my ass cheeks, patting them playfully, but not painfully. That feeling of having my bottom also made me cum, especially as his fingers were edging inside my pussy. I knew what I wanted from Mister Kinks and I didn't have to wait long. I really came when he put that beautiful black dick in me and started fucking me. We were on a bench in the dressing room when the fucking started. He fucked me good and hard and I remembered what Aunt Karen had told me of her early experiences.

"Tie me to the bench. Tie my hands up above my head so I'm vulnerable," I muttered into his ear as he leaned over me with his cock thrust deep into my sopping wet pussy.

Mister Jinks looked momentarily shell-shocked at my request but he looked around us and found my stockings. He used them to tie my wrists together and I was only too willing to have my arms raised over my head so he could tie the free end to the metal rail under the bench.

Being bound that way with my back on the bench and my legs hanging off either side made me feel wonderfully submissive. Mister Jinks put his big black snake back inside me and pounded me until I lost consciousness from the number of orgasms he gave me. When I came too, he was sitting on another bench, fully dressed and smoking his pipe. He'd untied my wrists.

"You need another shower, Miss," he said, and this time you need to wash out your pussy, but first I think you should be punished for leading me into what could be a whole heap of trouble and also for clogging up the showers."