Tyler's Good Girl: The Origin Story

Ugh- nothing has gone right this month, I thought to myself, as I stripped down to my bra and underwear, my tanned summer skin slick with sweat. It was August and 90 degrees outside, and the AC decided now was a good time to break.

I'm Jenna, and my husband John and I just bought our first condo together last month. John was ecstatic to move in together, and I was too -- or at least I tried to be. This was the natural next step for us, right? We're high school sweethearts, together since junior year, each others' "first and only" in everything -- love, kiss, sex. We just made sense together, so it never occurred to either of us to not be together. We had the same values, same hobbies, same friends, and same desire for a big family someday. Everything went according to plan for us -- we checked all the boxes at all the right times. We both graduated from the same college with honors, me with a degree in nursing, him in engineering, and worked our asses off for six years, saving up so we could start our lives together.

Now at 28 years old and married for over a year, we figured this was the time to start trying for our first baby. Amazing, right? All our loved ones praised us for our successful life planning and functional adult relationship, and we were certainly ahead of the curve relative to some of our friends, who were still getting black out drunk on the weekends and having serial one-night-stands. But instead of feeling happy with my "perfect" life, I was increasingly jealous of the reckless, untethered lives of our friends. Of course, I still loved John, but not like he loved me. I could tell from how he looked into my eyes before he kissed me, from how devoted he was from the very beginning, that I was his forever without question, and I told him I felt the same.

But ever since getting married, my dark twisted fantasies of another life, a life without him, had become almost impossible to ignore. I could trace these fantasies back to my early childhood, when I saw an animated movie in which a female character was kidnapped and bound. Soon after, at seven years old, I figured out how to masturbate, and whenever I knew my parents weren't around, I was vigorously rubbing my clit over my underwear while lying facedown, calling this act "rubbing" or "green lighting," as I conceptualized being turned on as the "green light" and orgasm the "red light," forever eroticizing stop lights in my mind, perhaps explaining my obsession with giving road head.

As I got older, my fantasies evolved, born out of cinematic depictions of kidnapping, domination, and coercion. I also became preoccupied with erotic girl-on-girl encounters, like imagining two beautiful women topless in a heated pool at night, passionately kissing while steam rises off the water. Recently, I was fixated on reading online Literotica about consensual nonconsent, sexual servitude, and anal sex, to name a few, quickly erasing my search history after finishing -- you fucking freak, I thought to myself afterwards. These fantasies left me with an acute sense of disgust and confusion. What kind of person is turned on by such things? Further, was I gay? But that didn't make sense -- I was boy-obsessed from an early age, though often too afraid to act on my crushes. That, combined with being a hardcore nerd and late-bloomer, ensured I stayed single and sexually frustrated until John.

Though even after John and I started having sex, I remained frustrated -- it was nothing like my fantasies. Underwhelming and vanilla, just like our relationship. We would kiss briefly, then take our own clothes off as if preparing for an annual physical. I would lie face-up on the bed as he climbed on top of me, pumping away for a couple minutes before finishing, while I looked up at the ceiling, gyrating and moaning for him at all the right times, waiting for the second I could run to the bathroom and clean up. I never orgasmed, but he didn't know that. If there's one thing that watching porn taught me, it was how to fake it.

That's what my sex life was -- a fake. I never learned how to communicate my wants and needs -- sexual or otherwise. I was the ultimate people pleaser, and I had just about reached my limit. Since I'm ovulating this week, we've had sex every day, far exceeding our typical once-weekly scheduled session on Saturday morning, and last night while he was inside me, I had a moment of clarity -- what the FUCK was I doing? Life is too short for shitty sex, and I couldn't fathom another second, not to mention a whole lifetime, of this.

"Choke me, baby," I moaned, thinking of one of my favorite Literotica stories. John immediately stopped and stared at me in disbelief.

"Why would you want me to do that? I could never hurt you like that, Jenna!" he exclaimed.

My face flushed, filled with the same shame and embarrassment I felt after masturbating. John's response was all the confirmation I needed that I was disgusting, flawed, and beyond repair. "Oh, it was just something stupid I saw in a movie... I'm not actually into that. I said it without thinking. Please, can we forget it?"

"Sure, babe. And just so you know, I love our sex the way it is, without all that weird shit... don't you? I mean, I thought so, since you finish every time."

I was frozen, incapable of telling him the truth, as if doing so would cause my whole world to crumble. "Of course I love it. I really don't know why I even said that -- it was so stupid. Who would actually be into that kinda thing anyway?"

John laughed. "Exactly! For a second, I thought you were one of those Fifty Shades of Grey freaks! Now come here so we can finish what we started. Let's make a baby, baby!"

So, that was the end of my sexual exploration with John. I felt numb, ashamed, and hopeless, while also grappling with the idea that this was simply what a married sex life looked like -- all the movies, books, and Reddit threads said so. I should be grateful for John, and the life we built together. It was clear to me now, this morning, sweating in my AC-less condo, that I was the problem. I'll just keep myself distracted with work, being a good wife, and planning for our family, and masturbate when I have to, in private, never sharing my fantasies with another soul, I thought to myself.

Time to address the problem at hand -- this damn AC. I called the nearest HVAC service, and a technician would be coming out in an hour. Just enough time for me to do my hair and make-up before John got home from work, as I was off today. As per Operation Be the Perfect Wife to Forget About My Sexual Depravity, I wanted to get all dolled up and cook him his favorite meal. I wanted to show him that I was still the "normal" girl he married, at least normal enough to be the mother of his super normal future children.

I took a refreshing cold shower, shaved and lotioned my entire body, and was finishing my make-up, completing my natural look with a touch of light pink shimmer in the inner corner of my eye, my long thick brown hair falling around my face in loose curls, when I heard the doorbell ring. What the fuck! Since when are these people ever early? Quickly checking out my petite frame in the mirror, I had to admit, I looked damn good in a black lace bra that perfectly cupped my 32C breasts, and matching cheeky underwear that made my ass look edible. I wanted to fast-forward to the AC being fixed and John coming home, so I could show him my body, and make everything between us right again -- sexy right, not freaky right, of course.

"Coming!" I yelled out, as I shuffled across the hardwood floor in my slippers -- little did I know, I would be screaming that later, too. I opened the door, and couldn't help but stare -- hello tall, dark, and handsome! He looked to be in his late 20s or early 30s and about six feet tall, wearing a dirty white T-shirt, utility cargo pants, and scuffed up work boots, with a black baseball cap and a thick pencil behind his ear, carrying a tool box. I noticed his deep brown eyes, toned biceps and forearms, and calloused hands. He was staring at me too -- men think we don't notice when they give us the old "up-down," but his lingering gaze was painfully obvious, and I knew he was wondering what I looked like under my robe. I snapped out of lust-at-first-sight before he did, introducing myself, "Hi, I'm Jenna! I assume you're here about the AC. Come on in!"

"Um, yeah, that's me! I'm Tyler with South Jersey HVAC. What seems to be the problem?" As soon as he stepped inside, closer to me, I was met with an intoxicating scent -- a touch of Old Spice mixed with his natural musk. I felt faint as I inhaled his pheromones, my rational brain unable to combat evolutionary biology.

"Well, as you can probably tell, the AC isn't working. Like, at all. Can you fix it before I pass out?" I giggled, nervously.

"Of course, Miss. When it comes to HVAC, there's no problem I can't fix. Show me where your AC is so I can get started."

I felt my heart beat quicken as blood rushed to my vagina, initially unsure why. Was it his unabashed self-confidence? Or the casual way he ordered instead of asked? I opened my mouth to speak, but my breath caught in my throat. With my supple lips slightly parted, I nodded my head, then turned and walked towards the back bedroom as if in a trance. I was hyper-conscious of my hips swaying back and forth, knowing he was staring at my ass as he followed behind, leaving little distance between us.

I opened the door to the utility closet after fumbling with the knob, as my animalistic attraction to him rendered me suddenly unable to complete the simplest of tasks.

"Welp... here it is," I exhaled. "I'll get out of your way so you can work your magic." I was then overcome with an intense urge to serve him, as the waitress in me added, "Can I get you anything before you get started? Cold water? A snack?"

"Thanks, but I think I'm OK. All I need is the satisfaction of knowing I fixed this problem for you," he said as he knelt down in front of the unit, gazing up at me with a devilish half-smile. There it was again -- that breathless feeling, drunk, like I was fighting an intoxicating agent for control of my mind and body. I knew if I didn't back away from him immediately, I would lose the battle, surrendering to the primal desires that had haunted me since childhood.

I hesitated a second too long, distracted by a wetness flooding my underwear. My eyes widened, and he noticed. As I turned towards the door, he stood up and grabbed my wrist, firmly but gently pulling my helpless body back to him. I couldn't fight against him -- his grip felt unbreakable.

Now facing one another, our bodies close but not touching, he said, "On second thought, there is something I want..... you."

Instinctually, I tried to step away from him, back to my husband, back to normalcy, as I had done my whole life, just like a good girl should. But instead of letting go, he grabbed my other wrist and held my arms up in front of my chest, daring me to struggle against him, his biceps flexing under the short sleeves of his T-shirt. I felt my arms relax as my body submitted to his -- I realized then that fighting was pointless. There was no denying my pussy was throbbing for him, and his sheer physical strength rendered escape impossible. But for the sake of my marriage, I made one last attempt to resist.

"Please, let me go. I'm a married woman... I don't want to do this," I whispered, unconvincingly.

"Yes, you do. A happily married woman wouldn't have eye-fucked me like you did when I walked in. Your husband isn't fucking you right, but I can, and I will," he asserted.

"No... I'm begging you, Tyler. You can do anything except fuck me. We're trying to get pregnant, and I'm not on birth control. I can't have another man's baby," I pleaded, but against all logic, the idea of him filling my pussy with his cum made my wet vagina somehow wetter.

"You might as well give up now, Jenna. There's nothing you can say that will stop me from having my way with you, from using your body for my pleasure. If I want to cum inside you, I will. Do you think you can stop me?"

I shuddered, whimpered, and moaned. He released my wrists and allowed my arms to drop to my sides. He held the same power over me, whether touching me or not. But I couldn't give in -- I'd fended off my dark, twisted fantasies for decades now, with a picture-perfect life to show for it. Would I risk it all to have him inside me, to fuck me like I'd never been fucked before? I realized then that my answer didn't matter. He'd already decided for me, as soon as we locked eyes. In this moment, I belonged to him.

"No... I can't stop you from having your way with me. That much is obvious. But just know that I don't want this, and I won't enjoy a second of it," I lied, and he knew it.

"Oh really? So you're not wet right now? Don't fucking lie to me, cuz I'm going to check anyway."

I couldn't speak -- there was nothing left to say. I couldn't lie to him again. Frankly, I was surprised he couldn't see my wetness leaking through my clothing. He swiftly closed the distance between us, reached under my robe, and pulled my panties to the side, slowly sliding in one finger, then another. I gasped in ecstasy as he worked his fingers inside me, first penetrating me, then rubbing my clit, the sound of my wetness filling the room.

"That's what I thought. Your mouth is telling me no, but your body is screaming yes for me. Admit that you want me, and I'll go easy on you. But if you lie, or try to resist me again, I'll have to punish you."

He removed his fingers from inside of me, and began lightly stroking me outside of my underwear, similar to how I touched myself as a girl. "If you want me to stop teasing you, you'll tell me how much you want me. You'll beg for me... you'll be my good girl."

My physical reaction to his words made my legs weak, and I grabbed onto his biceps to steady myself. How did he know that all I wanted in this life was to be a good girl? Not just a good girl, but his good girl -- I saw now that everything up until this point was training so I could best serve him.

Suddenly, a deep sense of calm washed over me as I relinquished what little control I had to him. He was right, about everything. I didn't just want him -- I needed him. When his fingers were inside me, I felt whole, like I was missing him before we ever met.

But despite this realization, there was also a part of me that wanted to know how it felt to be a bad girl, to tell someone "no" for once. Plus, the idea of him easily overpowering my feeble attempts to fight back was so undeniably erotic.

"Make me beg, then. I'm not afraid of you... you're all talk," I said with a piercing gaze, my body coursing with adrenaline, trying to anticipate how he was going to dominate me next.

Before I could register what was happening, he forced his right hand around my neck, effortlessly pushing me up against the wall. I gripped his forearm with both hands, but he was immovable. He started pressing harder until he was sure I couldn't breathe, then backed off just enough to keep me conscious.

"I'm all talk, huh? Look who can't talk now. In a second, I'm going to let go, and you're going to fucking beg for me, AND you're going to call me Daddy. Make it believable, or I'll have to choke you out again for being a bad girl."

He released me, and I opened my mouth wide, gasping for air as he pinned both of my arms against the wall, a reminder of his strength. As much as I loved being choked, I knew it was time to submit, at least for now. My underwear was soaked and my pussy ached with longing -- I couldn't survive another second without him inside of me. We were both still clothed, and he pressed his massive erection into me -- I wasn't sure I could handle his size, though that didn't matter, of course. He was going to make me take it.

"I'm sorry, Daddy... I was made to be your good girl. Please use me however you'd like... I'll do anything to have you inside of me," I pleaded while staring at his lips, craving them on mine. I meant every word, and he could tell.

"There's Daddy's good little girl... keep being good for me. Now come here so I can reward you." He let go of my wrists and pulled me close to him, his hands firmly gripping my waist, making me feel small. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and he kissed me deeply, his hands finding their way to the back of my head, tugging down on my hair and tilting my face up towards him. He worked his tongue into my mouth, slow and deliberate, then bit down on my lower lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to enforce my submission. I moaned desperately, as pleasure and pain became a single arousing force that sent electricity pulsing through my veins. How had I gone so long without him?

***TO BE CONTINUED***