It was a few months ago, close to midnight, when Pete first called to propose Tanya's visit. To say Thatcher was shocked by the suggestion would be an understatement. But as he held the phone to his ear and looked out at the rolling ranch lands beyond his window, he considered the possibility of finally experiencing Tanya's wet, warm mouth and found himself impulsively saying "yes" before he could even consider all of the complexities that would inevitably accompany such an arrangement. In the subsequent weeks, there were occasional seizures of panic.<i>Why the fuck did I agree to this?! </i>he'd wonder<i>I'm not a swinger! </i>But just as quickly as this doubt set in, the mental image of Tanya's eyes peering up at him from his lap eclipsed it. In hindsight, these imaginings almost seemed like divine intervention. Like his cock was destined to be in her mouth.<br/><br/><i>Divinity</i>, it turns out, was the perfect way to frame it because the sensation of her lips engulfing his shaft was downright<i>heavenly</i>. His chiseled jaw fell open and a sharp moan came forth. As she started to bob her head, swallowing more of him with each downward stroke, he was confident that nothing on earth could feel better than this. He was convinced nothing could be better than having her mouth available at every moment of every day. But then, she stopped, laid her body atop his, and practically begged him to fuck her and he realized there was at least one thing he wanted more than her mouth.<br/><br/>He kissed her desperately as she straddled him. It was only bodies were clinging together like this that he noticed how hot and sweaty he was — a sharp contrast to the blizzard outside. With one arm wrapped around her back, holding her tightly to him, his other reached down and found the base of his drool-slicked member. He angled it towards her bald and pushed himself inside of her for the very first time.