Thatcher was in such a heightened state of arousal, that it seemed impossible he could feel any hungrier or more lustful for her. But the moment she pressed her palm to the bulge in his underwear, his brain started to buzz and light up like a slot machine that just hit the winning jackpot. He bit his bottom lip and put his hand on the back of her skull as she started to kiss down his chest. He wanted her<i>closer, closer, closer </i>and with each smooch of her lips he pressed her face as tightly to him as he could. Through out the tour of the house and even when he was tonsils deep in his butthole, the ghost of Pete seemed to be hanging over everything they did. But now, he was the furthest thing from Thatcher's mind. It was just Tanya.<br/><br/>When he felt her fingers in the band of his underwear, he was instantly eager to join her in her nakedness. He lifted his hips from the bed just long enough for her to gain purchase and pull them down. His cock sprung forth, all eight and half inches of him desperate for her attention. Even Thatcher was amazed by how hard he felt, by how heavily his balls hung beneath his manhood. He bent his knees to help her pull his underwear all the way off. As they were cast aside like the rest of her clothes, he pulled her to his mouth again, kissing her hungrily. When the kiss broke, he was guiding her mouth back down his chest.<br/><br/>In his mounting desperation, he was surprised that fell from his own lips. "Spit on it," he growled.