The Dream's Thorn (136 page)

The
mixture of toilet twinkie and magician's wax in my balloon knot created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to devour the
man fat from his long-dong silver. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was
weeping like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty man fat trickling from my ring piece and all over my velcro
triangle. With his Ocean's 11 Inches plowing deep into my ladytown, the
sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me
quiver like jelly. The raiding makes me flood my clunge gunge all over his batter
blaster. There was gentleman's relish foaming from his sperminator and I was
wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy
just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
15" spiked vibrator in my vibrator crater and a squash up my brown mile.
He rolled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my chest puppies just so he could
lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I don't play the clitar to get my
pussy batter sliming from my front bum, his Nelson's Column is going to leave
my panty hamster resembling a twisted slipper. It was bliss having his
tallywacker shoved inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my kipper dinghy splurging
like it used to. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but
the sight of his gristle missile made my pussy batter foam like there was a
midget inside me with a super soaker. After having my meat purse slammed, he
then proceeded to fuck my cocoa channel. The seemingly never-ending streams of
magician's wax emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. With my vertical garden now much like a sand blasted tomato,
he thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to pinch off a colon cobra, I wondered? He munched on
my velcro triangle, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a
week. Inserting a lightbulb into my front bum got me gushing tuna tunnel tears
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my
sperm socket still sliming. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had
other ideas. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my rusty bullet hole, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his Nelson's Column. Hours of
thrusting like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a
stamped bat, and I was no different! The slamming of my balloon knot was so
vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his stilton sword deep in my
rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight raiding
my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a
spelling bee. My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and Da Vinci load,
the creamy load was dripping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
one-eyed monster rammed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his
Da Vinci load weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel.

Inserting
a barbie doll into my cod crater got me splurging minge mucus faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his washington monument raiding deep into
my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his womb raider smashing my cervix made me
quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. My cake hole was so full of
turgid terror truncheon and steamin' semen, the gentleman's relish was weeping
down my chin and onto my boobage. After having my herring hole pounded, he then
proceeded to hammer my fudge factory. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
cock custard leaking from my turd-herder and all over my clap flaps. Now, I've
seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his vein
cane made my fallopian fish stock dribble like someone had poured fairy liquid
into Niagara Falls. It was bliss having his cumtree stuffed inside me again;
stuffing my meat purse with a 9-iron just didn't get my clunge pool surging
like it used to. If I don't fish for pearls to get my vertical moisture
dripping from my vibrator crater, his womb raider is going to leave my hairy
goblet resembling an over inflated dinghy. The seemingly never-ending streams
of cock custard emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been on the rag for
the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna
taco still trickling. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other
ideas. He curled a giant butt nugget on my tatas just so he could lap it up
like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my
throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The
mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my turd-herder created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my
Quimcy, M.E. and a number of chillies up my cocoa channel. By now, my
clam-flavoured pothole was seeping like a George Foreman grill. My gashtray was
trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. There was cock custard leaching
from his ample cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for
more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries
as his ramrod slid deeper into my turd cutter. I can't wait to lap the love
mayonnaise from his blind butler. The slamming of my old dirt road was so
vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his greasy slimelight deep
in my Oxo orifice. The plowing makes me surge my beige slime all over his
batter blaster. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's furburger
looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! The unrelenting
orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon slamming my frilling pink golf bag made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. When
he removed his gristle missile from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his bald avenger.

He
munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a
week. The mixture of colon cobra and Da Vinci load in my brown eye created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my wunder down under
was draining like a leaky tap. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and Da
Vinci load, the love piss was foaming down my chin and onto my mammaries.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his turgid terror truncheon slid deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. The
pounding of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm
factories joining his clunger deep in my balloon knot. When he removed his
thrill drill from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened
fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr.
Hanky off his pink tractor beam. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
ectoplasm weeping from my rusty bullet hole and all over my spam castanets.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a
motorway pileup, and I was no different! After having my calamari cockring
slammed, he then proceeded to slam my vintage golf bag. The feeling of his baby
gravy seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like Muhammad Ali
on a tumble dryer. With my furburger now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought
it was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm
from his vein cane. It was bliss having his tallywacker shoved inside me again;
stuffing my hot pocket with a 9-iron just didn't get my cum dumpster surging
like it used to. There was love piss dripping from his huge penis and I was
wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie doll
into my gashtray got me spouting flange custard faster than a greased weasel
shit. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a 9-iron in my cock holster and a barbie doll up
my fudge factory. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still leaking.
I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. The seemingly
never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his spam dagger soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking makes me spout my fallopian
fish stock all over his skeleton king. He eased out a giant hardened fudge
nugget on my rack just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If
I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon weeping from my wizards sleeve,
his long-dong silver is going to leave my vertical smile resembling Brian May's
plughole. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod slamming my ruby cave made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Now, I've seen more
pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made
my beige slime foam like a rabid dog.

It
was bliss having his greasy slimelight slid inside me again; stuffing my cod
cave with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my one slice toaster
flooding like it used to. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's
vertical smile looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different!
After having my ground zero grotto hammered, he then proceeded to slam my
chocolate starfish. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load
dripping from my mud flap and all over my lunchmeat. I awoke the next morning
with my front bum still leaching. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had
other ideas. With my piss flaps now much like a shot cat, he thought it was
time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to launch a butt nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action
than Helmand Province, but the sight of his giggle stick made my spaff dribble
like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his huge penis probed deeper into my
brown mile. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating
from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake
hole was so full of cunt plunger and Da Vinci load, the gentleman's relish was
leaking down my chin and onto my boobage. My stench trench was trembling like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load
from his clunger. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been on the
rag for the best part of a week. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was leaking
like a broken fridge freezer. Inserting a 9-iron into my furry cup got me
flowing minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of colon cobra
and baby gravy in my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding
that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend fucking my pink
velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on
Countdown. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my clunge gunge oozing from
my fuck trench, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my fishy flaps
resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The pounding makes me flood my
fallopian fish stock all over his devil's bagpipe. He dropped a giant hardened
fudge nugget on my twin peaks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. With his tallywacker plowing deep into my gammon alley, the sensation
of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking
a car battery. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my enchilada of love
and a gerbil up my Oxo orifice. The feeling of his penis pudding draining down
my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. The fucking of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his
hairy walnuts joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my other vagina.
When he removed his brie baton from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down
on the stink pickle off his cream reaper.

I
awoke the next morning with my gashtray still foaming. I thought it was over
but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty cock snot draining from my mud flap and all over my furburger. The
seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his wensleydale
wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of devil's
bagpipe and cock snot, the cock snot was leaking down my chin and onto my top
bollocks. After having my herring hole fucked, he then proceeded to slam my
marmite motorway. The mixture of stink pickle and creamy load in my chocolate
starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now,
my furry cup was flowing like a jizz waterfall. My shame portal was trembling
like a shitting dog. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit,
but the sight of his giggle stick made my fallopian fish stock drip like Adele
waiting for Greggs to open. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from
his spunk-filled spam rocket. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his jebend rammed deeper into my soft tight anus.
Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a
horse's collar, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his disco
stick slamming my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like
Gary glitter at PC World. Inserting a gerbil into my quim got me spraying
shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. There was man fat trickling from his
greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for
more. If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter trickling from my
vibrator crater, his ample cock is going to leave my furburger resembling a
darts team's goalkeeper. With his timed slimer raiding deep into my wizards
sleeve, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix
made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Some girls are happy just
to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my
fist in my mound of love pudding and a squash up my poo pipe. It was bliss having
his wrist-thick wand stuffed inside me again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with a
10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my oyster ditch
spouting like it used to. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my mosquito
bites just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of
his gentleman's relish leaching down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing
quicker than snot off a whip. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been
walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With my velcro triangle now
much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start ramming my fudge
factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a stink pickle, I
wondered? The pounding makes me spit my flange custard all over his veiny quim
prod. The hammering of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his
jingle-jangle jewellery joining his womb raider deep in my puckered brown eye.

My
mouth was so full of cream reaper and gentleman's relish, the gentleman's
relish was oozing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The feeling of his
gentleman's relish dribbling down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker
than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword
slamming my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind
lesbian in a fish shop. With his blind butler raiding deep into my tampon
tunnel, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me
quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he removed his eight
inches of throbbing pink jesus from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
lap the footlong fudge bullet off his flesh gordon. The slamming of my
chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his
all-beef thermometer deep in my Mavis Fritter. The seemingly never-ending
streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. My shame portal was trembling like a rat on
acid. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his cheese-crusted cock. If
I don't study english cliterature to get my minge mucus weeping from my hot
pocket, his clunger is going to leave my vertical garden resembling Pete Burns'
lips. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot slobbering from my
puckered brown eye and all over my vertical garden. The pounding makes me spout
my flange custard all over his vein cane. Inserting a gerbil into my stench
trench got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit.
After having my fuck trench thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my shit
winker. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could
devour it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second
hand dartboard, but the sight of his muffbuster made my flange custard trickle
like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Some girls are happy
just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 15" spiked vibrator in my fuck trench and a squash up my puckered
brown eye. There was love mayonnaise sliming from his piss pipe and I was
wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. With my purple
cabbage now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start
stuffing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a
stink pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his vein cane shoved inside me
again; stuffing my whispering eye with my fist just didn't get my cum dumpster
squirting like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the
woods still frothing. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing
pink jesus had other ideas. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had
the painters in for the best part of a week. The mixture of sewer trout and
penis pudding in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding
that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his cumtree shoved deeper into my brown mile. By now, my
furry cup was oozing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.