Encouraging Our Hotwife Fantasies

I tossed my keys into the kitchen counter and kicked off my shoes. I’d just gotten back from dropping my 12-year-old daughter, Samantha, off at her friend Amelia’s house for an overnight. While I was there, I talked with Amelia’s dad, Craig. I called him Coach when we spoke face-to-face because he was the coach of the girls’ soccer team Samantha played on. His last name was Sprague, and I refused to call him Craig Sprague — that’s just weird. It was fun to flirt with Craig and call him only "Coach," mainly because he always insisted I call him Craig.