Andrea’s Loss of Control

I have not written anything like this before. The story you are about to read is autobiographical. It is a real day from my real life. This is not a fictional narrative or a fantasy. My dearest friend encouraged me to write this story out as a way of dealing with my own feelings and issues surrounding these events. I removed a few identifying details, but otherwise, it is a faithful account. Positive feedback is encouraged, but understand this is about me, not you.

I had just finished my first year of graduate school and was facing a long summer of work and saving up for next year’s school expenses. Not complaining, just looking at what was ahead.

Some school friends invited me out for a bit of post-exam celebration at a private club in the city. The dirty-minded will assume I mean some sort of sex club, but it was nothing like that. It was just a place where well-to-do people go for dinner and drinks. My friend’s parents were members.

While enjoying drinks in the lounge, I met a couple who changed my life— Andi and Ian.
Before I talk about them, you should know a little more about me. Obligatory details: I am 23 years old, 5’5” and about 105 pounds. Years of track and field competition has me pretty lithe, and recently more total-fitness training has added a little muscle to my otherwise very feminine figure. My best feature, however, is my natural red hair. Suffice to say, I am used to getting attention, both wanted and unwanted.
My personality is one of confidence and control. I have always enjoyed sex, but I have generally been the initiator and the one in “control” if you understand what I mean. I had always enjoyed the feeling of power that sexual intimacy had given me.

But Andi and Ian somehow changed all that.
Andi was the one to break the ice. She and Ian were at the next seating area over and “couldn’t help” overhearing me talk about exams and summer plans. Next thing I knew, Andi and I were talking all about graduate school and life dreams. I must say, she was mesmerizing. She was so smart and confident. A woman of the world who at age 40 (so I estimated) had already been to all the places I had only read about. I couldn’t quite place her accent, but she was clearly eastern European And she was beautiful. Not in cover girl/pop star kind of way. She was classically beautiful—in any time period, in any culture. The kind of woman who would still be beautiful when she was 70.

Ian said very little that night. I never learned what line of work he was in nor where they actually lived, but his company (which he owned) had memberships at clubs like this one in several cities around the country and the world to entertain clients and conduct the “real business” when they traveled.

Whatever he was thinking that night, his dark hair and dark eyes gave nothing away. He was obviously a man of intelligence and talent, but he was also much more. If you have ever seen a bull at pasture, you might understand the unexpressed but very real power contained within him. Just like the relaxed bull could in a flash gore the coyote that crosses its path, Ian was clearly a force. I would not want to challenge him in the board room.

Like Andi, Ian too was attractive, but his was a strictly masculine beauty. He was Apollo to Andi’s Aphrodite. They lived above and beyond me. And not just in terms of wealth, which they clearly had. If I had thought more about it at the time, I should have just walked away. After all, what usually happens when mere mortals get involved with the gods?

But I was enjoying myself too much. It was as though their charm and sophistication rubbed off on me while I was with them. I felt better about myself in their company. They bought me drinks I couldn’t afford, and Andi would sometimes touch my arm and—as the night went on—my thigh in such a meaningfully nonchalant way that sent tingles through my whole body.

Eventually, in the breeziest of breezy manners, Andi suggested I join them tomorrow at their beach house. Ian, it seemed, was going to be in business meetings all afternoon, and she really wanted a girlfriend to enjoy the beach with. Upon reflection, she didn’t so much “suggest” I join as tell me what was going to happen tomorrow. As they left the club, she texted me an address.

When I left the club with my friends a while later, I had no intention of going to the beach the next day. When I went to bed that night, I thought an afternoon at the beach would be nice, but of course I wasn’t going. The next morning I was a little wistful, knowing that my obligations this summer meant no beach vacation would be forthcoming. That afternoon I found myself on the highway making the hour and a half drive to the address Andi had texted the night before.

Just before 3pm I pulled up to what had to be the largest house on the beachfront. Even then, I had half a thought to just drive off and forget the whole thing, but I didn’t. Instead I walked to front door and rang the bell. Not knowing quite what to expect, I wore an electric blue tied bikini but over top wore some cut-off denim shorts and a loose white button-up blouse. Given the house and the Jaguar parked out front, I felt very under-dressed, but there was nothing to do about that now.

After what seemed like an eternity, Andi answered the door, and I was speechless. She wore an orange strapless bikini and a sheer cream-colored cover that reached to her mid-thigh. She looked like a Greek statue come to life.

Andi greeted me like I was an old friend who had dropped by unexpectedly. I, on the other hand, moved and spoke like a robot. Quite an impression. She invited me in, but only for a moment. She grabbed her bag and in an instant we were walking off toward the boardwalk.

Andi put me at ease with her natural and effortless conversation. I can be shy and a little introverted, but this was different. Soon I too thought we were old friends. We walked the boardwalk together and I swear went into every swanky boutique it had to offer. Andi delighted in pointing out tops, hats, dresses, and anything else that “would so cute on you.” She had exquisite taste. She was like an artist, and I was her personal canvass.

After an hour or two on the boardwalk, Andi said the beach was calling. At her suggestion we shed our outer things and strolled the ocean’s edge. I held my sandals in my left hand while she hooked my right arm tight against her body. The touch of her skin on mine was exhilarating. At 5’10” or so, she was a good deal taller than me, and the side of her large, perfectly shaped breast frequently brushed alongside my upper arm. I was having a hard time thinking about anything else.

We never sat; we just walked. I found this odd at first, but I came to realize what was happening when I noticed practically every head on the beach turning our way as we passed. The young, slender redhead going arm-in-arm with the perfectly blonde goddess. I could feel men and women alike drinking in the sight of us. I found their lust and/or jealousy intoxicating. I think that was in fact Andi’s intent.

It was maybe going on 6 o’clock when Andi suggested we return the beach house. She said she had a pitcher of mimosas and some finger food we could enjoy before dinner. I was well past turning down anything she suggested at that point, so to the beach house we retreated.

Once inside, Andi ushered me to the most enormous couch I had ever seen and quickly brought two large glasses and set them on the glass coffee table. We drank and talked some more, but I can’t really remember what we said. I was completely taken with this larger-than-life woman. I had had several boyfriends, and more than a few one-night stands by this time in my life. In fact among my friends I was considered the sexually experienced and adventurous one. But with Andi on that couch, I felt like a young virgin again. And I desperately wanted her to make a move. I was used to being the predator. Somehow I was becoming the willing prey.

I didn’t have to wait long. With a softer voice than she had previously used, Andi said, “Your binkini is so lovely, darling,” as she touched the string near my neck and traced her fingers along the edge of the fabric all the way down to my breast. With her palm now covering my breast, she moved in to kiss me full on the lips. It was like no other kiss I had ever enjoyed. I had grown up in the age of Katy Perry. I had kissed more than a few girls. And I had more than kissed a lot of those. But this was an ageless woman who knew what she was about.

I totally surrendered to her kiss. I, who had always been the initiator, who had always been in control, was surrendering. I was giving away control, and I couldn’t help myself. I didn’t even want to help myself.

Soon Andi was kissing my neck, ears, and chest, and I was yielding by the second. After who knows how long—she was in no hurry—I felt her gently pushing me down onto the pillow behind me, and I gladly let her. We continued to make out with her now on top of me when I felt her tug on the tie that held my bikini top in place. She deftly slipped the knot and a moment later my 32C breasts were fully on display. She got no resistance from me. If anything, I wanted it more than she did.

With this new territory open to her exploration, Andi caressed, licked, sucked, and basically did whatever she wished to my increasingly sensitive nipples. I was in ecstasy. She paused from time to time to whisper sweet words of praise and compliment—how beautiful my breasts were, how wonderful my skin felt, how delicious I tasted. Each expression of praise made me want to give her more and more of myself. I had never felt this way before. I had had plenty of sex, but I had never been taken this way before— not by a man, let alone by a woman.

My pale white breasts kept her attention for quite some time, but we both knew things were not going to stop there. And they didn’t. With similar smoothness of an expert hand, Andi untied my bottoms, and just like that, my entire body, unencumbered by a stitch of clothing, was presented before her. She uttered several words in a language I didn’t understand but which I assume was her native tongue. Whatever she said, I knew they were words of appreciation and I spread my legs a little further, saying nothing but begging in my mind for her use her magical lips and tongue on my now aching pussy. As though hearing my thoughts, she planted an exquisite kiss on my pussy lips.

You should know that I have always been into sex and the feelings it produces in me. I know some woman can take 20 or 30 minutes to reach orgasm, and some struggle to even get there at all. My body is quite different. I can orgasm after just a few minutes of skilled attention. And Andi was more than skilled. Couple that with the fact that I had been sexually on edge for literally hours up to that time, I had my first, explosive, gushing orgasm within a very short. I must have seemed so wanton. I have never been one to cum quietly, and this one was record-setting intense. I screamed at my climax, and even in that neighborhood of spacious homes, I am sure the neighbors must have heard me.

As I was slowly descending Mount Euphoria, I also remember thinking I was going to stain the couch. I knew I must have drenched Andi’s face, and I could already feel my juices soaking into the cushion. But the thought didn’t last long. No amount of thought lasted very long. Andi’s lips, tongue and fingers were doing things to me I had never felt before. My first orgasm was quickly followed by the squeals of a second and then later even a third, and although her tempo varied, still she never entirely relented.

I have no idea how long all of this lasted. I was moving outside of thought and time. Andi played on my body like a virtuoso does on a violin, moving fluidly from my pussy to my neck, lips, breasts and back again, as I gave myself to her completely.

I don’t know precisely when Ian had entered the room. I don’t know if he and Andi had planned for this all along, or if his “business meetings” just happened to conclude as Andi was making love to me, but through my fog I eventually became aware that he was sitting on the large couch behind Andi, presumably admiring her work.

I probably should have felt embarrassed or at least a little self-conscious, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but pleasure. Ian began adding his own words of encouragement and affirmation to Andi’s. “Good girl.” “That’s right.” “Let yourself enjoy this.” At any other time, if a guy said something like “good girl” to me, I would have told him to fuck off...at least. But in my current state of surrender, I found his words thrilling. A little jolt of pride ran through me each time I heard them.

Again, my recall of some details that evening is spotty, yet some parts remain very, very vivid to this day. I quite clearly remember Andi lifting her head from between my legs and saying with a broad smile on her face, “May Ian have a turn?” I remember thinking how polite she sounded and—I admit this is utterly bizarre on my part—how grammatically correct her question was. In fact Andi and Ian were curiously “polite” throughout the entire event, even a little formal at times.

After Andi’s question, “May Ian have a turn?,” there was a pause. Both of them were looking into my eyes. It took me a while to realize they were waiting for me to answer. Everything with Andi up to that point had just sort of, well, happened. I can’t remember anything that one would call a conscious decision on *my* part after my reluctant decision to ring Ian and Andi’s doorbell. But now they were awaiting my decision, my foggy, half-conscious, multi-orgasmic decision.

Talking seemed out of the question. Anyone who knows me will doubt the veracity of this account when I say I could not really talk at all. I can talk a mile a minute at other times. But in this case, after a pause of several seconds, I simply nodded. It was like my final act of submission. I knew I now belonged to both of them. What had started as a girl fling, was about to become a threesome, with me as the centerpiece.

Andi moved off the couch and knelt on the floor beside me, while Ian took her place between my open legs. Ian was every bit as orally talented as Andi, but his “style,” if you will, was more masculine. Not violent or brutish, but definitely more aggressive.

The brief pause earlier had allowed to come down just a little bit, but the change in manner of the tongue and fingers on my already impossibly engorged pussy quickly ramped me right back up. And this time it was no longer either/or. While Ian was doing delightful things between my legs, Andi began kissing me. At first her tongue was dancing in my mouth, but soon she was once again kissing and gently nibbling my neck and ears (which are practically another sex organ for me!).

After a little while, Andi stood up and repositioned herself, placing her knees on either side of my head, lowering her pussy to my lips. I knew what she wanted, and I tried my best to give it to her. It could not have been very good for her. I was barely awake. But somehow I was enjoying the taste of her— pungent and a little sweet at the same time.

I could no longer see Ian obviously, but I could certainly feel him. He had this technique where he would lightly pinch my clit, not at the tip, but around the hooded part, and roll it between his fingers that way. At the same time, his tongue was just long enough to curl up inside me and precisely reach my G- spot, as though he already had a map of my garden. These two things together were driving me to ecstasy, and combined with Andi’s attentions elsewhere on my body, I was soon in the throes of yet another orgasm. The two of them didn’t quit there, though. Again, time had lost any meaning to me, but at some point I stopped having “orgasms” and found myself in just a constant state of orgasmic bliss. One wave would crash and before it could recede, the next one was already there. Did this last for a minute or two? Or an hour or two? I don’t know and I never will.

The next memory I do have is realizing that Ian had removed his tongue and fingers from pussy. In fact he had left couch. I perceived him returning and kneeling between my legs, as he said, “I am going to penetrate you now.” It was at the same time a statement and a question. And once again I was struck by the formality of his words. He didn’t say “fuck” or “bang” or “screw.” He was simply a gentleman. This time however there was no significant pause. True to his word, Ian entered me, and I welcomed him.
Ian’s cock wasn’t huge, but it was certainly gratifying. His was right in that sweet spot between uncomfortably large and unsatisfyingly small. And again, he knew what he was doing.

His movements were slow and gentle at first. But his pace and intensity built and built. I was already so on edge that he quickly brought me back to my orgasmic state. It is impossible to describe the overwhelming sensations of doing my feeble best to orally satisfy a beautiful amazon woman while her Greek god husband had his way with my now well used and soaking wet pussy. I don’t think the English language has the capacity to adequately describe what I was feeling.

Ian had tremendous endurance. Sometimes he altered his rhythm and his pace, but he went on and on for what seemed like ages. Finally though, he was evidently close to cumming. I heard Ian’s voice distinctly once again, “Are you ready to receive this, my love?” At that moment, I literally had a woman’s pussy in my mouth, so my response probably sounded something like, “mmmph, mmmph, mmmph.” In my diminished state, I assumed he was talking to me. But I was wrong, for at that moment Andi lifted herself from my lips and arched her back, exposing her pussy to her husband. I couldn’t see, but I could hear his guttural, almost animalistic climax as he unloaded himself all over his wife. As he did so, Andi—for the last time that night—kissed me full on the lips and screamed out what I believe was her own orgasm. The sounds of climax and sex eventually subsided, and all that remained in the air was the panting of three well-satisfied humans.

With that I drifted off into a deep sleep, perhaps the deepest I had ever known. I awoke the next morning still on that couch but covered in an impossibly thick, luxurious blanket. I don’t know what time I had fallen asleep (it must have been very late), but now I could see bright sunshine streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I couldn’t immediately find my clothes, but somebody had left a robe folded neatly at the other end of the large couch. I put it on and followed the sound of familiar voices coming from what turned out to be the breakfast room. There is more to say about what happened that morning, but that is perhaps another story for another day.

Later, and dressed once again in my clothes from the day before, I made the long drive home, alone with my thoughts. What had I done? Aside, from having sex with a married man (and a married woman!), as well as my first threesome, I had “surrendered.” This bothered more then and still does now. Am I a submissive? Am I a willing plaything? And what would I do if Andi and Ian ever called again?