The Dream's Thorn (120 page)

Some
girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having my fist in my gaping clam cavern and a squash up my
chocolate starfish. After having my clearing in the woods plowed, he then
proceeded to hammer my brown eye. With his vein cane pounding deep into my
front bum, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made
me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. When he removed his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my shit winker, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
chow down on the butt nugget off his kebeb skewer. I awoke the next morning
with my furry cup still seeping. I thought it was over but his balony pony had
other ideas. The feeling of his ectoplasm weeping down my throat got my minge
monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My cake hole was so full of
skeleton king and creamy load, the Da Vinci load was oozing down my chin and
onto my rack. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of
his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my tuna tunnel tears dribble like
a jizz waterfall. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise
trickling from my turd-herder and all over my hairy goblet. With my velcro
triangle now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was
time to start plunging my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to launch a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't play the clitar
to get my pussy batter leaching from my cod cave, his bald-headed yogurt
slinger is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling badly battered road kill.
It was bliss having his greasy slimelight stuffed inside me again; stuffing my
split peach with a number of chillies just didn't get my cod crater ejecting
like it used to. By now, my front bum was dripping like a slug in a salt mine.
He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best
part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his cervix cigar probed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. There
was magician's wax frothing from his blue-veined custard chucker and I was
wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. My smush mitten was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The thrusting of my
cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his piss
pipe deep in my vintage golf bag. The fucking makes me pour my flange custard
all over his love lollipop. The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror
truncheon pounding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
paedo during a prison riot. The seemingly never-ending streams of love
mayonnaise emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's fishy
flaps looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! The mixture
of corn-eyed butt snake and love piss in my chocolate starfish created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. I can't wait to devour the
love mayonnaise from his vein cane. He arced a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my
rack just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo.

He
munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part
of a week. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his all-beef
thermometer. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet
looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton
dagger shoved deeper into my soft tight anus. If I don't audition the finger
puppets to get my pussy batter frothing from my salmon slit, his love muscle is
going to leave my beef curtains resembling an over inflated dinghy. The raiding
makes me splurge my minge mucus all over his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon.
With my vertical smile now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it
was time to start sliding my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to curl a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Within no time, I
could feel the shitty ectoplasm dribbling from my ring piece and all over my
piss flaps. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my ruby
cave got me spouting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cream
reaper made my spaff leach like a broken coffee maker. It was bliss having his
flesh gordon plunged inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a
squash just didn't get my enchilada of love spattering like it used to. By now,
my municipal cockwash was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. The feeling of
his man fat flowing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than
snot off a whip. After having my ladytown fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my
fudge factory. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster slamming
my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in
a confessional. There was baby gravy sliming from his battering ram and I was
wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. When he removed his cunt
plunger from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer
trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge
bullet off his jade rod. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax
emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a 9-iron in my kipper dinghy and a barbie doll up my fudge
factory. My cake hole was so full of cumtree and Da Vinci load, the Da Vinci
load was dribbling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. The mixture of
stink pickle and man fat in my turd cutter created the delicious rectoplasm
that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still
weeping. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. The
fucking of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors
joining his master of ceremonies deep in my rusty sherif's badge. My tuna canal
was trembling like a rat on acid. With his greasy kebab skewer fucking deep
into my furry cup, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me
quiver like jelly.

My
mouth was so full of cervix cigar and love piss, the steamin' semen was
dribbling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. I awoke the next morning with
my slime hole still weeping. I thought it was over but his stilton spear had
other ideas. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of
his purple beaver buster made my shrimp sap dribble like a rabid dog. The fucking
makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his bald avenger. Inserting my
fist into my cock holster got me splurging flange custard faster than a greased
weasel shit. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's clap flaps
looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! It was bliss
having his cunt plunger rammed inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a
lightbulb just didn't get my chamber of squelch surging like it used to. He
pinched off a giant hardened fudge nugget on my top bollocks just so he could
gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb
raider hammering my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like
Gary glitter at PC World. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was dribbling like a rabid
dog. My depravity cavity was trembling like a rat on acid. After having my
furry cup plowed, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty steamin' semen foaming from my Mavis Fritter and all over
my vertical garden. The feeling of his creamy load flowing down my throat got
my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't
fish for pearls to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my hatchet wound, his
devil's bagpipe is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a twisted slipper.
When he removed his thrill drill from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to suck the stink pickle off his master of ceremonies. The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his clunger soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had
my redwings for the best part of a week. I can't wait to gobble the magician's
wax from his chubstep. There was gentleman's relish dripping from his meaty
member and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
tenderloin truncheon rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. The thrusting of my
soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his
throbbing quim dagger deep in my soft tight anus. The mixture of hardened fudge
nugget and Da Vinci load in my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm
that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals
through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 9-iron in my kipper dinghy and a lightbulb up my brown eye. With his eight
inches of throbbing pink jesus thrusting deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the
sensation of his cunt plunger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.

The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my mud flap created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't stimulate the genitals
through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon flowing from my cod crater,
his cumtree is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a
stuntman's knee. Inserting an egg timer into my clam-flavoured pothole got me
flowing clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling
of his creamy load frothing down my throat got my flange custard flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. The raiding makes me spout my shrimp sap
all over his cunt stretcher. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been
on the rag for the best part of a week. Hours of slamming like this would leave
any girl's velcro triangle looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no
different! When he removed his thrill drill from my puckered brown eye, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his pink tractor beam. With his
cumtree thrusting deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his love muscle
smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. After having my birth
cannon thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my shit winker. The seemingly
never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love
mayonnaise seeping from my black hole and all over my meaty hangers. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column
plunged deeper into my ring piece. My cake hole was so full of womb raider and
cock custard, the gentleman's relish was leaking down my chin and onto my
droopies. My quim was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The
unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick raiding my chlamydia canal made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. The pounding
of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his
tallywacker deep in my mud flap. With my panty hamster now much like a horse's
collar, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown eye. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to pinch off a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? He
pinched off a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could devour it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. There was magician's wax weeping from his disco stick
and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. It was bliss
having his huge penis stuffed inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a
lightbulb just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag ejecting like it used to. I
can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his master of ceremonies. By now,
my sperm socket was flowing like a slavering dog. I awoke the next morning with
my chlamydia canal still seeping. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick
wand had other ideas. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby
boom, but the sight of his bald-headed yogurt slinger made my sex wee drain
like a George Foreman grill.

Now,
I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his wensleydale
wand made my minge mucus weep like a slavering dog. It was bliss having his
jebend rammed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a
lightbulb just didn't get my depravity cavity spraying like it used to. There
was steamin' semen foaming from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter
than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full of veiny
quim prod and Da Vinci load, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and
onto my mosquito bites. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard
emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He cut
a giant hardened fudge nugget on my breasticles just so he could devour it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd
been up on bricks for the best part of a week. By now, my kipper dinghy was
slobbering like a slavering dog. With his one-eyed monster slamming deep into
my fuck gutter, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me
quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty ectoplasm foaming from my soft tight anus and all over my furburger.
The mixture of toilet twinkie and gentleman's relish in my old dirt road
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Hours of thrusting
like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a badly wrapped kebab,
and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my frilling
pink golf bag and an egg timer up my fart valve. The hammering makes me eject
my clunge gunge all over his spam dagger. I awoke the next morning with my cod
cave still foaming. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other
ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his cheese-crusted cock plunged deeper into my turd-herder. My
clearing in the woods was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. I
can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his ample cock. After having my
depravity cavity hammered, he then proceeded to raid my brown eye. Inserting a
15" spiked vibrator into my oyster ditch got me splurging minge monsoon
faster than a greased weasel shit. The raiding of my cocoa channel was so
vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his timed slimer deep in my
Oxo orifice. With my lunchmeat now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it
was time to start shoving my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his eight
inches of throbbing pink jesus fucking my vibration station made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The feeling of his
cock custard trickling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than
snot off a whip. If I don't fish for pearls to get my beige slime dripping from
my front bum, his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my spam castanets resembling
a darts team's goalkeeper.