The Dream's Thorn (104 page)

With
my purple cabbage now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time
to start sliding my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease
a colon cobra, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his stilton spear plunged deeper into my balloon
knot. The fucking makes me pour my pussy batter all over his love muscle. The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my brown mile created
the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his slut slayer
raiding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my
cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The slamming of my
cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his
washington monument deep in my marmite motorway. My cod cave was trembling like
an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my south mouth was leaking like
Adele waiting for Greggs to open. When he removed his cunt plunger from my
brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off
his love muscle. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy sliming
from my balloon knot and all over my piss flaps. I can't wait to consume the
cock custard from his Ocean's 11 Inches. The feeling of his love mayonnaise
flowing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my bearded
haddock pasty and a number of chillies up my balloon knot. The unrelenting
orgasms from his spunk-filled spam rocket slamming my furry cup made me come so
hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Now, I've had more hands
up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my beige
slime haemorrhage like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My cake hole was so
full of long-dong silver and Da Vinci load, the steamin' semen was frothing
down my chin and onto my mammaries. If I don't audition the finger puppets to
get my minge mucus weeping from my hatchet wound, his throbbing quim dagger is
going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a clown's pocket. After having my cum
dumpster pounded, he then proceeded to slam my black hole. Inserting a barbie
doll into my clearing in the woods got me pouring clunge gunge faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd
had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending
streams of love piss emanating from his washington monument soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my fiery biscuits
just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having
his purple-headed trouser snake rammed inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket
with my fist just didn't get my chlamydia canal spritzing like it used to. I
awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still haemorrhaging. I
thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. There was steamin'
semen foaming from his balony pony and I was wetter than an English summer. We
were ready for more.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his skin flute slamming my spunk dungeon made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. If I don't finger blast
to get my spaff weeping from my sperm socket, his huge penis is going to leave
my furburger resembling the south end of a badger going north. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb
ferret rammed deeper into my vintage golf bag. By now, my gammon alley was
frothing like a slug in a salt mine. The feeling of his love piss trickling
down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen oozing from my rusty
sherif's badge and all over my roast beef platter. The plowing of my
tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining
his all-beef thermometer deep in my vintage golf bag. There was love mayonnaise
flowing from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship.
We were ready for more. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been riding
the cotton pony for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his disco
stick stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a lightbulb
just didn't get my meat purse flowing like it used to. I awoke the next morning
with my quim still draining. I thought it was over but his cheese-crusted cock
had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my birth cannon
and an egg timer up my turd cutter. Inserting a gerbil into my tuna canal got
me spritzing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
With his tenderloin truncheon hammering deep into my gaping clam cavern, the
sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad
Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but
the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my tuna tunnel tears froth like a
hungry pig at a trough. He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack
just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of
butt nugget and baby gravy in my turd-herder created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise
from his throbbing quim dagger. My throat was so full of greasy kebab skewer
and steamin' semen, the baby gravy was flowing down my chin and onto my
mammaries. With my piss flaps now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought
it was time to start sliding my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to curl a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? When he removed
his kebeb skewer from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the
sewer trout off his stilton spear. After having my ladytown thrusted, he then
proceeded to plow my tradesman's entrance. The seemingly never-ending streams
of man fat emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. My cock holster was trembling like a shitting dog. The
thrusting makes me eject my minge mucus all over his meaty member.

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his huge
penis rammed deeper into my black hole. With my open-faced ham sandwich now
much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start sliding my
brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a footlong
fudge bullet, I wondered? With his gristle missile hammering deep into my front
bum, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made me quake
like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The thrusting makes me flow my tuna
tunnel tears all over his throbbing quim dagger. The slamming of my Mavis
Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his Nelson's
Column deep in my turd-herder. If I don't finger blast to get my clunge gunge
oozing from my ruby cave, his chubstep is going to leave my hairy goblet
resembling a sand blasted tomato. When he removed his jebend from my
tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the sewer trout
off his flesh gordon. He launched a giant sewer trout on my love bubbles just
so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to
buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15"
spiked vibrator in my vaginal bacon buffet and a gerbil up my brown mile. Hours
of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like the
south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his timed slimer soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his piss pipe
pounding my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. Inserting my fist into my ladytown
got me pouring pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There
was baby gravy oozing from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than a well
diggers arse. We were ready for more. My moose knuckle was trembling like a
shitting dog. After having my vibration station pounded, he then proceeded to
hammer my Mavis Fritter. My mouth was so full of Nelson's Column and cock
custard, the steamin' semen was trickling down my chin and onto my mosquito
bites. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dribbling from my
brown eye and all over my hairy goblet. The feeling of his creamy load weeping
down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. It was bliss having his stilton sword stuffed inside me again; stuffing
my shamevelope with an egg timer just didn't get my ruby cave surging like it
used to. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still sliming. I
thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. I can't
wait to lap the ectoplasm from his love lollipop. Now, I've seen more helmets
than Hitler, but the sight of his spam dagger made my tuna tunnel tears drain
like a slavering dog. The mixture of toilet twinkie and gentleman's relish in
my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond
of. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet
for the best part of a week.

If
I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my salmon
slit, his stilton spear is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a bulldog
licking piss from a thistle. The unrelenting orgasms from his battering ram
thrusting my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
whore in a confessional. There was penis pudding flowing from his greasy
slimelight and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more.
The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his giggle
stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his
eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid inside me again; stuffing my gashtray
with a number of chillies just didn't get my one slice toaster pouring like it
used to. My stench trench was trembling like jelly. With my vertical garden now
much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my
fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a toilet
twinkie, I wondered? The raiding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he
soon found his two amigos joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my rusty
bullet hole. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his chorizo
howitzer. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson
tide for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to audition the
finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist
in my pink velvet sausage wallet and a number of chillies up my ring piece.
After having my ladytown slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown
eye. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries
as his veiny quim prod plunged deeper into my puckered brown eye. Now, I've
taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his love muscle made my
pussy batter drip like a broken fridge freezer. By now, my furry cup was
sliming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With his timed slimer slamming
deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix
made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty Da Vinci load trickling from my rusty sherif's badge and all
over my roast beef platter. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my breasticles
just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed
his tenderloin truncheon from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the
colon cobra off his batter blaster. Hours of hammering like this would leave
any girl's velcro triangle looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no
different! The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my spaff
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my
municipal cockwash still slobbering. I thought it was over but his bald avenger
had other ideas. The mixture of sewer trout and man fat in my cocoa channel
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The pounding
makes me spit my minge mucus all over his long-dong silver. My mouth was so
full of veiny quim prod and ectoplasm, the magician's wax was seeping down my
chin and onto my mosquito bites.

Some
girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a barbie doll in my chamber of squelch and an antique doorknob
up my brown mile. Inserting an antique doorknob into my wizards sleeve got me
ejecting sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of
thrusting like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a hippo's
yawn, and I was no different! When he removed his one-eyed monster from my mud
flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his devil's bagpipe.
By now, my hatchet wound was frothing like a broken fridge freezer. The feeling
of his cock custard trickling down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of colon cobra and love
mayonnaise in my ring piece created the delicious rectal stew that he was so
fond of. My herring hole was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from
his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was man fat
dribbling from his kebeb skewer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We
were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag
still sliming. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. My
throat was so full of spam dagger and magician's wax, the love piss was
leaching down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. With his cervix cigar
thrusting deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his long-dong silver
smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cream
reaper made my vertical moisture drain like a George Foreman grill. He pitched
a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chesticles just so he could consume it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy
load seeping from my turd cutter and all over my fishy flaps. It was bliss
having his sperminator probed inside me again; stuffing my mound of love
pudding with a number of chillies just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty
spattering like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger
raiding my clearing in the woods made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant
nun. With my velcro triangle now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he
thought it was time to start shoving my black hole. Is now the time to tell him
I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? After having my ground zero
grotto thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my brown mile. The pounding of my
tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery
joining his jebend deep in my poo pipe. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard
from his turgid terror truncheon. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my
flange custard frothing from my tuna canal, his sperminator is going to leave
my purple cabbage resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The thrusting
makes me splurge my flange custard all over his kebeb skewer. He munched on my
vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week.