My Cousin Isabelle Pt 02

I had been in London for less than a month when I discovered my taste for the delicious sensations provided by oral sex had grown tremendously.

So many aspects of my sexual awareness were expanding, and when a young English gentleman - though he turned out somewhat less than gentle - asked me on my first date since arriving from America, I learned he had rather specific and peculiar sexual tastes.

When he introduced me to his fiancé - the one who showed me much more than I did in return - I learned that her time in boarding school was in reality an education in pleasing other girls. When she asked if I wanted to study with her, to improve the lacking aspects of my broadening education, I could hardly say no.

But it was Benjamin, engaged to her less than six weeks, I discovered, who first offered the lesson; he was a very impatient teacher.

Of the many reasons I wanted to come on this trip was the idea that European boys, and possibly men, were that much more sophisticated and experienced; I'd nearly sworn off boys in my home country altogether after one too many disappointing sexual encounters.

The summer before was when my body finally emerged.

I was the youngest in my class and had just turned 18, and I watched enviously as the bodies of all the girls around me developed. Tawny Melrose was nine months older and grew an impressive chest and shapely hips nearly overnight, and the number of times I either had to listen to another story of her lustful weekend antics or watch discreetly while she repeatedly lathered her impressive curves inside the girls' shower was infuriating.

I wanted those; both hers and mine.

One fall afternoon after an exhausting game of lacrosse, I found that Tawny and I were the last two still inside the locker room. I was a mess of grass and mud, and when I finally emerged from the shower, I found Tawny fondling herself in front of the full-length mirror at the end of the lockers; and when she noticed me, she did nothing but grin.

"Aren't they amazing?" she asked while continuing to run her hands over the bountiful flesh and across her nipples.

I noticed they'd already reacted to her touch and the tips were peeking through her fingertips each time she ran her hands across them.

"I still can't believe they're mine," she said in a playful tone, completely unconcerned that I'd seen her. "And they're so firm. I can't help myself sometimes; watch this."

When she said it, she pulled her hands back and shook side to side from the waist; her magnificent young breasts barely moved; they were so tight and firm, yet delightfully full.

As I approached my locker, still wet from the shower - my towel completely covering my flat chest - I expected her to stop, to sense my apprehension, and start getting dressed.

She merely placed her hands back onto her breasts, spread her fingers, and began rubbing them again.

She stood there, her towel barely around her waist - the tiniest hint of her butt cheeks above it - completely naked from the waist up.

I was slightly uncomfortable yet so excited by the movement of her hands across her impressive breasts; I tried not to stare, to open my locker and dry my hair, but the way she touched herself, the way her hands cupped her breasts - her fingers rubbing along her nipples - I froze in place with my eyes glued to her every move.

She was so engrossed and unashamed in the feel of her own body. When I expected her to laugh or make fun of me in some way she surprised me again.

"Do you want to feel them?" she asked and turned from watching herself in the mirror toward me: "They're so soft and firm."

I had no idea what to say; my face turned beet red.

"Come on," she encouraged. "There's nobody here. You can touch them. I just covered them in body cream."

I remained frozen but couldn't take my eyes off her. As she invited me to feel her breasts she began walking toward me; as she did, I saw her towel was coming loose around her waist.

"Have you ever touched another girl's tits before? I have," she said in an alarming fashion as she inched closer to my frozen body.

When her towel came undone and she made no attempt to catch it or cover herself my heart skipped and rose into my throat. I swallowed hard in an attempt to catch my breath and shake the paralyzing grip she had over me, but nothing changed.

Her hips had expanded as well, and she had the most perfect v-shaped pubic hair; so keenly manicured.

As she stepped uncomfortably close, so close I could nearly feel the warmth radiating off her, she let her arms drop and she reached to hold me by the waist. I was convinced she'd feel the trembling in my limbs and once again turn and laugh; but instead, she reached for my hand and slowly placed it directly onto her right breast.

I thought my hand would melt.

"What do you think?" she asked. "And go on, pinch it a little. Can you feel how firm it is?"

It was gloriously firm in my hand and my heart raced inside my chest.

"Now try the other one," Tawny instructed.

With slight hesitation, I reached for her left breast but she stopped me short.

"No, with your other hand, silly; play with both of them. I do."

And like an obedient servant, I reached up with my other hand and began fondling both her magnificent breasts in my hands; the feel was so soft and round and firm; they moved like delicious mounds of flour or putty inside my fingers; her hard nipples rolling against my fingers as I gripped and massaged each one.

As I did, Tawny's eyes closed and her head fell back slightly; she let out a low moan each time I clutched her breasts tighter.

"Yes. Like that. Just like that. Can you feel how young and firm they are?"

I could; my hands took on a life of their own and I continued massaging Tawny's breasts and pinching her nipples between my fingers. I had fantasized about this moment so many times while attempting to conceal my fervent looks at her naked body in the girls' shower.

Tawny began to sway a little and her head rotated ever so slightly from side to side; I became aware of the pleasure both she and I were enjoying.

She gripped my sides tighter and dug her fingers inside my towel; I could feel her hands pressing against my wet skin as I continued rhythmically massaging her breasts, pushing them up and around inside my hands; my eyes glued to them.

Then, with no warning, Tawny pulled my towel down. I could feel the tension of the moist fabric lowering under my arms and I was too overtaken by desire to do anything about it other than let it happen.

A second later, I was naked too, and Tawny, her eyes still closed and her head still doing rhythmic circles began to feel her way to my chest.

But when she got there, her hands stopped; her palms were directly over my nipples - mine barely noticeable - but I sensed something was wrong.

She quickly opened her eyes, pulled her hands back, and stared right at my flat chest.

"It's okay," she casually said as I quickly let go of her breasts out of terror and embarrassment, "you'll get yours soon enough."

Then she turned on her heels, skipped to pick up her towel, and proceeded toward her locker.

"I hope you liked it," she said back to me as she rounded the corner out of my view.

It took a second before I realized I was still naked. Though no one was around, I jerked my towel back onto my flat, thin body and dressed as quickly as I knew how.

As shaken as I was by the humbling encounter, something was stirring in my body in an exciting new way; my skin was still wet from the shower but the wetness between my legs was there as a direct reaction to my hands on Tawny's breasts.

I felt I was so behind all the others in my sexual experiences and could feel that my body wanted more.

As the months of that school year lingered on, I began to take more notice of the budding desires stirring within me; others noticed too.

And when it finally happened, when I reluctantly gave in to someone I imagined was a very promising sexual prospect, my world changed.

Though my mother never knew, and hopefully never will, I'm quite reluctant to admit that my first sexual experience with a boy was in her room on her bed while my parents were on vacation.

My body had blossomed since my encounter with Tawny in the locker and boys had been quick to notice.

I still can't believe I allowed such a terribly arrogant boy to convince me that sex on my mother's bed was going to be the best sex of my young life; it may have been his, and I'm sure wild tales of our tryst made the rounds, but I'm here to say it was anything but memorable.

Brief is the only word that comes to mind. He was nearly 20 and I thought that meant he was experienced; I had no idea that someone was capable of coming before he'd even given me the courtesy of putting it all the way inside.

That night, my biggest concern was how to avoid letting the stain set on my mother's new sheets.

Once on the plane to England, after wishing my youth a fond farewell, I found myself even more easily aroused, and the idea of opening myself up to truly memorable experiences made me wet multiple times.

I'd even been tempted to pleasure myself inside the cramped bathroom on the plane from New York, but I held out in anticipation of significantly more meaningful indiscretions until after I arrived.

Being introduced to Isabelle's secret world of sensuality and dark pleasures let me know I'd made the right choice; and after seeing firsthand the many ways she could pleasure herself, and indirectly pleasure me, through the many erotic sessions she conducted with her clients, opened my senses like nothing I'd ever known.

One particularly warm July afternoon, we had gone out to lunch. There was a quaint sidewalk café only a few blocks from her flat and we had just finished a late meal where we had discussed the possibility of me joining her as sort of an apprentice, if you will; it was Isabelle's idea, or so I let on, and when she proposed it I nearly screamed with restrained delight.

The idea of working with her was wildly exciting and she'd already come up with a plan by the time she revealed it to me.

We had finished our wine - Isabelle seemed to know everything about ordering just the right wine - and she'd excused herself to go to the ladies'. I was enjoying a bit of discreet people-watching when a young man, somewhere near his early 30s I imagined, rushed up to the table like an escaped animal.

"You will forgive this abrupt intrusion," he hurriedly said, "but I must know your name," he exclaimed as he set himself down in Isabelle's chair. "You're the most ravishing creature I've seen in weeks and I must get to know you."

I thought it was very amusing, and was certain he was making fun of me when he pulled out a pen and paper while eagerly awaiting a response.

"Again, please forgive me," he said, "but I've been watching you and your friend for the past twenty minutes and your presence at my favorite bistro has to be a sign. Now please, tell me your name so I can ask you on a date."

"Are you for real?" I asked, still convinced he'd been put up to this and was merely waiting to make a fool of me.

He produced a business card from his vest pocket, quickly planted it in my hand, and bent down on one knee in front of me.

"Benjamin Thompson, at your service," he exclaimed and took my hand again so he could proceed to kiss the back of it.

As reserved as I was attempting to be, the whole performance was slowly beginning to interest me; and when he leaned to whisper in my ear, I felt a sense of intrigue run through my limbs.

"You will forgive my forward nature, but by all means," he said, "let me ravish you."

And then he straightened up as though he'd never said it.

This was a far different approach from the immature boys I'd been insulted by in my hometown in America.

I found myself immensely flattered and infinitely excited. Without a word, I reached over, took his pen, and wrote my name and number on his paper.

The look on his face was one of extreme gratitude, but as returned my gaze his eyes caught sight of Isabelle, just over my shoulder, returning from the ladies'. He quickly pocketed the small paper and stood up.

"You've made my entire day," he declared. "You won't regret this."

Then he leaned in and whispered in my ear once more.

"I know how to satisfy the yearning inside a young lady and I mean to be your introduction to it."

Then he hastily made his escape before Isabelle could sit down.

But I was quick to learn that she was always protecting me, always on the lookout to see that I wasn't being taken advantage of.

"Who was that?" she asked as she sat down and crossed her legs rather tightly.

As much as I'd been completely distracted by Benjamin Thompson's ardent request for my attention, I was also keenly aware of Isabelle's radiant presence, especially when we were in public.

Her costumes worn inside her private arena were delicious adornments to her dominant personality, but during our outings, she was nearly always the center of attention, and she achieved this by simply getting dressed.

That afternoon, as if by magic, she'd instantly thrown together another incredibly sexy outfit that, were anyone skilled enough to take stock of, they - like me - would have noticed how much of her upper thighs were visible to the naked eye; her tightest of skirts - this one leopard print - was bettered only by the modestly sheer top and matching bra she'd chosen.

We were at the corner outside table, and Isabelle had positioned herself far enough away from it to give her legs room to move about. Once or twice at lunch, when she'd cross or uncross her legs, I had the distinct pleasure of looking directly up her skirt; and what was especially glorious was the complete lack of panties; Isabelle, she told me, only wore them for her clients.

Once I'd been made aware of this insight, it was almost impossible not to be on the lookout for opportunities to glimpse her small, dark patch on display in those brief moments while she would adjust her legs.

I sometimes forgot myself as my eyes traced the length of her thighs when her eyes were hidden behind her menu or wine glass; it was best when she'd get a call on her phone.

While casually responding to more questions from her clients, she'd openly leave her legs wide while offering me extended glances at her exquisitely shaped pubic hair. Occasionally - I'm sure quite deliberately - she'd inch her hand toward the hem of her skirt and play with it while she talked. More than once, I excused myself to the ladies' just to have the pleasure of revisiting it in my mind while the feelings were fresh between my thighs.

"Tell me," Isabelle playfully scolded and gently nudged my ankle with her foot, "who was that?"

"He said his name is Benjamin," I confessed, "and that he thinks I'm the most beautiful girl he's ever seen. He asked for my number."

"Did he?"

"And he wants to take me on a proper date."

"And what did you say?"

"I wrote my name on his notepad."

"Just like that?" Isabelle asked. "A complete stranger, some bloke off the street, asks for your number and you oblige him?"

"And then I wrote down

your

phone number."

Isabelle grinned and rubbed her foot up the back of my leg.

"It seems you're learning to take care of yourself, my darling. That was very smart indeed."

While she complimented my actions she continued running the toe of her shoe against my leg, and as she reached higher with her foot, she once more revealed the heavenly, lightly shaved area between her upper thighs; I was only able to catch glimpses of it with my peripheral vision but I sensed that she was well aware she was on display if I were brave enough to look directly at it.

My body was reeling with sensual pleasure as I considered the delicious possibilities that had been offered to me during our lunch; a new gentleman had asked for my number and Isabelle's daring attire and probing foot against my leg entered my mind and proceeded to ignite fires of thirst within me.

I'd still never thought to let on how enticing it was to be with Isabelle, and so I filed it away as nothing more than a private desire I may never reveal. Often, I wondered to myself how lustful I was to think of Isabelle in that way; my own cousin at the heart of my sexual yearning.

Isabelle's expression changed again and she dropped her foot back to the ground.

"Come on, darling," she said as she stood up and adjusted the tight mini-skirt around her hips, "we've still got plenty of work to do this afternoon; and as we walk, you can tell me your thoughts about this Benjamin character."

"Did you catch a good look at him?" I asked as we made our way out of the gated area and back onto the sidewalk.

"The better question," Isabelle said as she took my arm in hers, "is did you get a look at him?"

"Of course. I think he's quite charming. And very polite."

"That's not what I meant," she said as she readjusted her sunglasses. "Did you notice whether or not he comes well prepared?"

"Well prepared?"

Isabelle stopped cold, took me by the shoulders, and looked at me over the frames of her sunglasses: "My darling. Was he packing a large family jewel between his legs? Did you get any sense of the size of his offer?"

"You mean, did I..."

"Notice whether or not he's got a large cock?"

"Isabelle. I didn't..."

She straightened me out, locked my arm in hers again, and started us back on our course toward the lingerie shop: "There's still so much we need to talk about. You've got to start prioritizing."

"But Isabelle."

As we walked, she began explaining the nuances of what it meant to be a woman of the world desired by others.

To think of it now, it seems such a simple idea. Like anyone, I was always aware of attractive men and women, but it wasn't until Isabelle shared with me the nature of our place in society - what it means to be a desirable woman who uses that knowledge to position herself in a place of power - that I even had the slightest idea that I could use my natural gifts to my advantage while pleasuring others and exploring myself.

Isabelle was right; I still had so much to learn before I could use my power to achieve my sexual dreams and inner desires.

As we entered the lingerie shop, I decided to make a special purchase; I would buy something especially inviting to wear for my date with the young Mr. Benjamin Thompson.

...