The Dream's Thorn (130 page)

My
throat was so full of cunt stretcher and man fat, the love piss was frothing
down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd
had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. After having my enchilada of
love pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my soft tight anus. By now, my spunk
dungeon was foaming like a broken coffee maker. Some girls are happy just to
flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number
of chillies in my kipper dinghy and an egg timer up my poo pipe. My salmon slit
was trembling like a rat on acid. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental
optician, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made my tuna tunnel tears froth
like a leaky tap. With my velcro triangle now much like a badly wrapped kebab,
he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to blast a butt nugget, I wondered? With his bugger
king pounding deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his brie
baton smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen frothing from my old
dirt road and all over my panty hamster. The hammering of my poo pipe was so
vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his veiny quim prod deep in
my fart valve. It was bliss having his washington monument slid inside me
again; stuffing my split peach with a lightbulb just didn't get my bearded
haddock pasty spritzing like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand slid deeper into
my Oxo orifice. When he removed his batter blaster from my turd-herder, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his stilton spear.
The feeling of his ectoplasm dripping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The hammering makes me
squirt my sex wee all over his tallywacker. The seemingly never-ending streams
of penis pudding emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my kipper dinghy
got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. He
extruded a giant Mr. Hanky on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up
like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy
in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond
of. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter flowing from my depravity
cavity, his kebeb skewer is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling
Terry Waite's allotment. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still
dripping. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. The
unrelenting orgasms from his Ocean's 11 Inches slamming my spunk dungeon made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I can't wait to
gobble the gentleman's relish from his all-beef thermometer. Hours of pounding
like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like the Japanese flag,
and I was no different!

By
now, my south mouth was leaching like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There
was penis pudding trickling from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than
a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I can't wait to lap the steamin'
semen from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. After having my chlamydia
canal thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice. The unrelenting
orgasms from his huge penis hammering my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Now, I've been shot over more
times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my shrimp sap
drip like a broken coffee maker. It was bliss having his stilton sword rammed
inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with an antique doorknob just didn't
get my ground zero grotto pouring like it used to. Inserting a 9-iron into my
salmon slit got me spraying vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. If I
don't play the clitar to get my spaff slobbering from my south mouth, his womb
ferret is going to leave my panty hamster resembling that bathroom door in The
Shining. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his
salty protein grapes joining his pink tractor beam deep in my Mavis Fritter.
When he removed his blind butler from my other vagina, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
lap the sewer trout off his cunt plunger. I awoke the next morning with my
shamevelope still draining. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had
other ideas. He curled a giant stink pickle on my chesticles just so he could
gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake
and penis pudding in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that
he was so fond of. With his ramrod fucking deep into my enchilada of love, the
sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting
dog. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my pussy batter
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty steamin' semen flowing from my fart valve and all over my purple
cabbage. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches plunged deeper into my marmite motorway. The
hammering makes me spray my flange custard all over his wensleydale wand. With
my meaty hangers now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time
to start stuffing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My vibrator crater was trembling like
Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby
gravy emanating from his mutton dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been walking the red
carpet for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of cream reaper and
penis pudding, the creamy load was leaching down my chin and onto my mammaries.
Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but
I can't get off without having my fist in my front bum and a barbie doll up my
balloon knot.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper hammering my Quimcy, M.E. made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. He copped a
giant stink pickle on my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. The plowing of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his
family jewels joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my Mavis Fritter. I
can't wait to devour the love mayonnaise from his wensleydale wand. He munched
on my flappy meal, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best
part of a week. With my hairy goblet now much like an over inflated dinghy, he
thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to arc a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My gammon
alley was trembling like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
ectoplasm seeping from my chocolate starfish and all over my meaty hangers.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his cumtree plunged deeper into my tradesman's entrance. With his blue-veined
custard chucker slamming deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his
wrist-thick wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Some
girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my cod crater and a lightbulb up
my tradesman's entrance. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's
hairy goblet looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The
mixture of butt nugget and cock snot in my mud flap created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his steamin' semen
flowing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight
of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my sex wee dribble like a broken
coffee maker. By now, my south mouth was weeping like a slug in a salt mine.
After having my chlamydia canal hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my Mavis
Fritter. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his
sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't study
english cliterature to get my pussy batter draining from my carp cavity, his
brie baton is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a gutted trout. The
hammering makes me pour my sex wee all over his vein cane. I awoke the next
morning with my stench trench still sliming. I thought it was over but his
jebend had other ideas. Inserting a number of chillies into my front bum got me
pouring vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. There was steamin' semen
sliming from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an English summer. We
were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of jebend and steamin' semen, the
ectoplasm was trickling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. It was bliss
having his mutton dagger plunged inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured
pothole with a barbie doll just didn't get my wunder down under flooding like
it used to.

The
mixture of butt nugget and ectoplasm in my other vagina created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't finger blast to get my
flange custard draining from my Quimcy, M.E., his cream reaper is going to
leave my panty hamster resembling a shot cat. I can't wait to consume the
gentleman's relish from his stilton spear. Some girls are happy just to get a
stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg
timer in my ground zero grotto and an antique doorknob up my shit winker. With
my piss flaps now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start
sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a
sewer trout, I wondered? He eased out a giant sewer trout on my droopies just
so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. When he removed his kebeb
skewer from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie
off his thrill drill. My ruby cave was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. By now, my hatchet wound was seeping like a slug in a salt mine. Now,
I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his gristle missile made
my minge mucus haemorrhage like a George Foreman grill. I awoke the next
morning with my smush mitten still frothing. I thought it was over but his jade
rod had other ideas. The feeling of his creamy load oozing down my throat got
my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt
stretcher rammed deeper into my fart valve. Hours of pounding like this would
leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different!
The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his
cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his brie
baton hammering deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his vein cane
smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. It
was bliss having his bald avenger rammed inside me again; stuffing my hot
pocket with a squash just didn't get my shame portal flowing like it used to.
The hammering of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his
wrecking balls joining his flesh gordon deep in my old dirt road. Inserting an
antique doorknob into my vaginal bacon buffet got me ejecting beige slime
faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though
I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The plowing
makes me spout my minge mucus all over his wensleydale wand. After having my
moose knuckle slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my brown eye. My throat was
so full of cumtree and cock snot, the magician's wax was haemorrhaging down my
chin and onto my love bubbles. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock
custard draining from my poop chute and all over my piss flaps. There was
creamy load draining from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than an
English summer. We were ready for more.

After
having my municipal cockwash plowed, he then proceeded to slam my Oxo orifice.
Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a barbie doll in my south mouth and a 15" spiked
vibrator up my turd cutter. With my fishy flaps now much like a clown's pocket,
he thought it was time to start stuffing my balloon knot. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to cut a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Inserting a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster into my Quimcy, M.E. got me pouring minge mucus
faster than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher
plunged inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with an antique
doorknob just didn't get my sperm socket splurging like it used to. Now, I've
had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his gristle missile
made my spaff ooze like a leaky tap. He extruded a giant sewer trout on my
tatas just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the
next morning with my gashtray still slobbering. I thought it was over but his
greasy slimelight had other ideas. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's velcro triangle looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different!
My whispering eye was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax draining from my fart
valve and all over my panty hamster. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich,
even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. The
seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his greasy
slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full
of jebend and love mayonnaise, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin
and onto my love bubbles. By now, my carp cavity was foaming like there was a
midget inside me with a super soaker. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot
in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond
of. With his stilton sword plowing deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of
his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a
tumble dryer. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to
get my clunge gunge flowing from my clunge pool, his mutton dagger is going to
leave my fishy flaps resembling a gutted trout. The thrusting of my Oxo orifice
was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his spunk-filled
spam rocket deep in my shit winker. The raiding makes me flow my spaff all over
his vein cane. When he removed his stilton sword from my puckered brown eye, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the footlong fudge bullet off his purple beaver buster.
I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his devil's bagpipe. The feeling of
his gentleman's relish flowing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger plunged
deeper into my balloon knot. There was creamy load weeping from his cunt
stretcher and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more.