Your erotic stories

Angie drove home not expecting her husband to be there as usual, his job always kept him until the wee hours of the morning on the weekends. Hunter's was a manager and bartender at the local nightclub, which had often made Angie wonder how much of the young clientele he sampled as well. He never came home smelling like anything other than beer and smoke, but she wished just every now and then he would show her the same devotion he did his job. They had just had an argument over that very subject this morning.

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He was forty-five, and she was 18, an obvious difference in age, but there were other factors contributing to the hardship of undertaking a romance. He was married with two daughters, one who was 18, and the other who was 16. The problem did not lay with them, but with the wife, who had fallen out of love with her husband a while ago. They were only staying together for the kids, and that was where it all started.

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My wife is a bitch! I use the word bitch to describe my wife's overall personality and not as an adjective to suggest the occasional mood that she exhibits around the house. Oh, she knows that she is a bitch and is most proud of that title. My wife pretty much rules the household and finds it quite delightful to make me squirm should I show the slightest bit of discomfort in her presence. If I look guilty, then I must have done something wrong or I am up to something, she is fond of saying.

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In another story in the Courtney series, I take a look backwards to the early days. This particular tale may very well be the reason I eventually married her. I was living in a studio apartment with just enough room for myself and my dog Max, which was a mix of all things big and slobbery. What Max lacked in looks he made up for in charm, but not towards strangers.

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