Discovering My Cousin Isabelle

My cousin Isabelle lives in London. She works as a model and, on the weekends, as a sex therapist.

She's been my secret sexual heroine for years.

We'd only ever met twice in person but we'd kept up frequent online messages and the occasional hand-written letter.

That all changed this past summer -- the season when I finally got to spend extended and long-awaited time with her -- time that allowed me to gain exposure to her exotic, intriguing, and sensual inner world.

Like many girls I've known, my sexual journey didn't begin well and was littered with brief, unfulfilling sexual antics with many rude boys. After a time, I made a pact to protect myself and to learn everything and anything that could put me in control when it came to intimacy. For some reason, as I took this personal vow, I immediately thought of Isabelle.

She's only three years older but she's always had a sophisticated style and seemed light years ahead of boys our age.

This was the summer I turned 19 and I felt it needed to be special. I'd been saving up for more than a year, and when my mother finally agreed to let me spend it abroad, I knew I needed to travel to London and spend time with Isabelle.

I wanted the proper sexual guidance and felt strongly that she'd know just what to say, and perhaps even what I should do.

When I landed, she'd arranged to have me picked up at the airport, and after a speedy check-in at the hotel, I was whisked to a sidewalk café so we could have a proper introduction and get fabulously reacquainted.

From the moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I'd made the right decision. She was even more beautiful and worldly than I remembered.

"I'm not actually a sex therapist," she confessed within minutes of our first lunch together.

"But in your messages -- I've told everyone about you."

"Yes, it's true," she said, "I do offer a kind of therapy, one might say, but that's not exactly the whole of it."

"There's also your modeling. I've been following you for some time," I informed her as I attempted to keep my eagerness under control.

"Yes, I do model," she continued, "and it pays quite well, but the real money comes on the nights when playing out my dream vocation."

"And what's that?" I asked, more than willing to learn as much as possible.

Isabelle gestured for me to lean close across the table while she looked around the light lunch crowd.

"What did you tell your mother before making this trip?" she asked.

"I only told her that I needed to see the world before the world passed me by," I admitted to her; it was mostly true.

"And what are you really hoping to see?"

"Your world," I said boldly and honestly.

"I'm an Executive Mistress," she whispered, the gleam in her eyes brighter than the daylight dancing inside my water glass.

"A what?" I begged.

"A dominatrix," she told me with great pride, "and I school naughty gentlemen in the fine art of sexual submission and obedience."

I was speechless. I knew Isabelle was cultured and sophisticated, but my small-town upbringing hadn't prepared me for the revelations she was offering. My cousin was the most enticing person I knew and she'd just given me the keys to my own secret sensual desires.

"Are you really? And these men -- they pay you to mistreat them?"

"Not at all," she replied. "I treat them to the very things their inner beast wants and needs. And I do it all from a place of power. I love it."

I was desperate to know more and riddled her with questions, attempting carelessly to conceal my physical desires and arousal. I could feel a low sense of burning within myself but didn't know how to control it.

As I listened, I played with my food and tried to act casually as she went into detail about the true nature of her life.

But Isabelle saw through me in an instant and suggested that I too was in need of exploring my power. There was an undeniable connection between the two of us, and no matter how much I tried to deny it; I was immensely sexually drawn to her.

She said she suspected the real reason I'd asked to come visit was that I was on the verge of my own sexual awakening. She told me the look of anticipation in my eyes reminded her of herself at my age.

The more she revealed, the more engrossed I became.

She told me of a client with a voyeur fantasy -- how he longed to be controlled while a young woman watched -- and encouraged me to join in their next session.

The very idea of it excited me more than anything I'd known, but I was too embarrassed to confess I'd gotten wet thinking of it. Just hearing stories of her secret life filled me with such longing. My body was coming alive in such a short time so I accepted the invitation before my mind had the chance to say no.

In two days, I was introduced to the world of pleasurable sexual dominance.

Isabelle's playroom, as she called it, was a sea of red and black; scented candles provided the only light in her otherwise dark arena. In my wildest fantasies, I'd never imagined such a place even existed.

The room was filled with flowing silks, long mirrors, restraints of assorted types, and a lone chain dangling from the ceiling mid-center.

I was elated as she guided me through, explaining each object, and expressing the rules of her house. Limb by limb, I began to feel my body energize, my imagination filling with thoughts I'd barely allowed myself to consider just days before.

As we walked, and as I listened to Isabelle explain how her secret world operated, a tingling overcame me as my arousal began to truly stir for the first time in my young life.

The sudden impulse to touch and be touched by Isabelle was taking over.

Before entering her private chamber, Isabelle told me she wanted me to be fully immersed in the experience. And when she asked if I was truly ready, I knew my eyes gave me away before I even had the chance to agree.

She had taken me shopping the day prior, and as we prepared for her client session, she personally dressed me.

I was fitted in a short, plaid skirt with white stockings, black heels, and a plush, red bra that pushed my breasts forward in a way that excited even me when I saw them. Over the bra, I wore a sheer, short-sleeve blouse that Isabelle made sure was buttoned low enough to expose the top of the bra.

As she moved about and made the proper adjustments, my body began to react to her touch. I was uncomfortable at first; she was my cousin, and the very idea that she alone was exciting me like never before was almost too much to bear.

I tried dismissing my reactions and made no point to let on how exciting it was to have all her attention, but something inside me wished it to never stop.

No one had ever been so attentive to my needs or my body, and the sensations it created inside were like none I'd been exposed to. Part of me was ashamed, but the more her hands moved across the outfit, the more I wanted.

With my attire properly adjusted, she placed me in a dark corner facing the door and prepared to usher in her client.

"Now remember," she reminded me, "not a word. You can move about as much or as little as you like, but don't let him hear your voice."

As she said it, she made one final modification to unbutton my blouse even more; the feel of her fingertips on the material pressed straight through to my breasts.

She blew me a kiss and disappeared into the next room.

We'd gone over how her sessions worked, but I had no real idea what to expect. And yet it didn't seem to matter, the exquisite sensations running through my body, down into my thighs, were beyond enticing.

I placed my hand onto the bra where Isabelle's fingers had just been. Her warmth was still present on the fabric.

But then the door opened. And then I saw him.

A nude man, wearing only a black collar and eye mask was brought into the room, Isabelle guiding him by the hand.

He wasn't exceptionally tall, or even that handsome, but his physique held my gaze. He'd taken good care of himself and his penis, though soft, seemed stout and able. His was definitely a man's build.

Isabelle walked him to the center of the room and hooked the dangling chain to the collar around his neck; she fastened his hands tightly onto the chain.

"Is she here?" he asked.

"Silence," Isabelle demanded as she scolded him sternly. "You are being watched and she is quite young. That's all you need know."

"Yes, Mistress," was his meager reply.

I watched as Isabelle began circling the naked man: Her fingers gently stroking his chest and arms, her gaze first on his body and then quickly on me.

"She seems very pleased with you," Isabelle whispered into his ear while looking at me.

I blushed and was glad to be in the dark corner, yet somehow knew my feelings were already quite obvious.

My eyes darted between Isabelle's movements and the man's nude body. I watched as she ran her hands across his back, springing life into his soft penis. As she continued touching him, it throbbed and began to grow as she caressed his back, her hands running down to his firm butt cheek.

"And now," she whispered, her hands slapping hard onto his butt; his body thrust forward with delight; his cock stiffened and began to grow.

The chain snapped tightly as he pulled aggressively against it.

"Are you prepared to please me?" Isabelle asked.

"Yes, Mistress," he cried out.

Watching the scene from the shadows, I felt my arousal ignite. Without a true awareness, I began to run my hands down the front of my body, feeling for the first time a sense of pleasure from my own touch.

Isabelle could see my body beginning to stir in the blackness.

She spanked the nude man again slightly harder. Again his body thrust, and again his cock jumped skyward and grew in size.

As I watched, I instinctively began to fondle myself. I let my fingers caress my breasts over the bra then slowly and gently slid one hand down into my skirt.

My eyes locked with Isabelle's. She smiled back and rubbed herself against the naked man's butt. His cock pulsated in front of him but his hands were bound on the chain and he was helpless to touch himself.

"You like it when I punish you, don't you, slave," Isabelle said as she continued caressing his body.

"Yes, Mistress," he moaned.

Isabelle silently motioned for me to come closer. I eased my hands to my sides and walked slowly toward the two of them.

"Your pain has a witness," she informed him as she watched me emerge from the dark.

"She's coming," Isabelle whispered into his ear as I cautiously approached -- her eyes never off me -- still pressing herself firmly against his naked body.

I stepped within inches of the nude man, my eyes dancing between Isabelle's gaze and his firm penis throbbing in front of him. I watched as she slid one hand down to caress him, watched as he convulsed under the delicious strain.

As I looked into Isabelle's eyes, I slid my hands under my skirt again. My soft pussy was moist against my fingers as I began pleasuring myself to the sight of Isabelle's hands gliding up and down the man's shaft.

"She's watching you," she whispered as her fingers gripped the base of his firm penis. "She wants to see you cum before her."

"Yes, Mistress," was all he said as his head fell back and his body convulsed against the pull of Isabelle's fingers around his hard cock.

My eyes weren't sure where to look. The sight of Isabelle's fingers wrapped around him was more than I'd ever seen, and yet I wanted to look into her eyes -- I wanted Isabelle to touch me the way she was touching him.

"Show her what you're made of," Isabelle instructed as she stroked his rock-hard cock with both hands, her body sliding up and down against his back.

And as she tortured him with physical pleasure, I plunged my fingers deeper into my pussy, the front of my skirt pulling against my wrist as I probed myself again and again.

The nude man let out a short gasp and his body froze in place against Isabelle's touch. As he did, the head of his penis erupted onto the floor.

As he came -- as the cum pulsed from his cock, again and again -- I thrust my fingers deeper inside my wet pussy lips until I was overcome with physical joy -- my body quivering as I pleasured myself.

Isabelle never took her eyes off me.

Slowly the man relaxed; his penis, drained of cum, fell soft in Isabelle's firm hand, his juice dripping down the length of her fingers.

I eased my hand up and felt my fingers drenched in my own juices.

Satisfaction ran the length of my body, my smile spread broad and wide.

I pulled my hands from my skirt and quietly stepped back into the shadows as Isabelle unhooked the chain from the man's neck and lifted the mask from his eyes.

My body was still mostly in shadow when Isabelle finally allowed him to see me: My long legs flowed out from below my short skirt, my breasts nearly spilling outside the tiny bra that held them.

"You may acknowledge her," Isabelle said to the man.

He bowed graciously and was quickly guided out by Isabelle.

I stood quivering with latent tremors of delight, my fingers still moist from the pleasure Isabelle had given me.

It felt as though I had discovered my true self inside her secret world.

That afternoon with Isabelle turned into a celebration and exploration of my sensual power, and I felt elated by the gift she'd bestowed upon me.

I was still quite nervous and visibly shaken when Isabelle returned to the playroom. I didn't know how to comprehend what had taken place and was unsure how to act now that she'd seen me pleasure myself in front of her.

I again felt a hint of shame at the satisfaction I'd experienced by her presence, but Isabelle made no mention of it as she took my hand and looked into my eyes.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" was all she asked.

I quickly confessed that I did, but tried foolishly to conceal the extent of my delight.

"And would you like to experience even more?" she asked.

The feelings rushing through my body were more powerful than I could control so I simply shook my head, yes.

Isabelle took my face in her hands and cradled my chin.

"We've only begun to explore what I can teach you."