The Dream's Thorn (14 page)

By
now, my pink velvet sausage wallet was dribbling like there was a midget inside
me with a super soaker. The hammering makes me gush my tuna tunnel tears all
over his womb ferret. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my tuna
tunnel tears draining from my chamber of squelch, his ample cock is going to
leave my beef curtains resembling badly battered road kill. The hammering of my
shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his thrill
drill deep in my fart valve. Hours of hammering like this would leave any
girl's lunchmeat looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his vein
cane slid deeper into my brown eye. My penis pothole was trembling like a rat
on acid. With his womb ferret thrusting deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the
sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like
Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster into my hatchet wound got me surging spaff faster than greased shit off
a shiny shovel. When he removed his huge penis from my vintage golf bag, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his wrist-thick wand. He
munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony
for the best part of a week. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and ectoplasm
in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond
of. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his Ocean's 11 Inches. I
awoke the next morning with my clam-flavoured pothole still flowing. I thought
it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to
strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
lightbulb in my cum dumpster and a number of chillies up my vintage golf bag.
Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cunt
stretcher made my sex wee slobber like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. After
having my smush mitten fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my fudge factory. My
mouth was so full of spam dagger and Da Vinci load, the gentleman's relish was
trickling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. It was bliss having his batter
blaster rammed inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a 9-iron just
didn't get my meat purse gushing like it used to. The feeling of his Da Vinci
load weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my velcro triangle now much like a
hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? Within no
time, I could feel the shitty man fat haemorrhaging from my vintage golf bag
and all over my spam castanets. There was baby gravy flowing from his stilton
sword and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He
extruded a giant butt nugget on my rack just so he could suck it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger hammering my
wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a
mortgage.

With
his womb ferret hammering deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his
sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I can't wait to suck
the cock snot from his balony pony. By now, my calamari cockring was
haemorrhaging like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The
unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe fucking my oyster ditch made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The mixture of sewer trout
and ectoplasm in my fart valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so
fond of. With my hairy goblet now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he
thought it was time to start sliding my shit winker. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? There was magician's wax
foaming from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were
ready for more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his
bugger king made my fallopian fish stock froth like a slavering dog. Hours of
slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Pete
Burns' lips, and I was no different! If I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff
haemorrhaging from my hatchet wound, his master of ceremonies is going to leave
my meaty hangers resembling the Japanese flag. The feeling of his ectoplasm
leaching down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased
weasel shit. Inserting a 9-iron into my municipal cockwash got me spraying
vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. He dropped a giant Mr.
Hanky on my love bubbles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. My fuck gutter was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
After having my sperm socket hammered, he then proceeded to pound my old dirt
road. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still leaching. I thought
it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. The pounding makes me surge
my flange custard all over his master of ceremonies. Some girls are happy just
to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a number of chillies in my kipper dinghy and a lightbulb up my rusty
sherif's badge. My throat was so full of slut slayer and cock custard, the cock
custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my tatas. It was bliss having
his brie baton rammed inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a 15"
spiked vibrator just didn't get my ground zero grotto flowing like it used to.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm haemorrhaging from my Oxo orifice
and all over my lunchmeat. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on
the rag for the best part of a week. When he removed his bald avenger from my
brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his
cheese-crusted cock. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his giggle stick rammed deeper into my Oxo orifice. The
raiding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining
his jebend deep in my rusty bullet hole.

If
I don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge mucus dripping from my
front bum, his balony pony is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling an over
inflated dinghy. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's spam
castanets looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
blue-veined custard chucker slid deeper into my turd cutter. I can't wait to
gobble the Da Vinci load from his tenderloin truncheon. There was baby gravy
dribbling from his skin flute and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were
ready for more. The plowing makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over his spam javelin.
With my hairy goblet now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he
thought it was time to start sliding my black hole. Is now the time to tell him
I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more
foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his love muscle
made my vertical moisture slime like a slavering dog. The plowing of my cocoa
channel was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his spam
dagger deep in my Oxo orifice. The feeling of his cock snot leaking down my
throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
Inserting a number of chillies into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me
pouring vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my purple
cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My
cake hole was so full of vein cane and love mayonnaise, the penis pudding was
seeping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. My depravity cavity was
trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my shamevelope
raided, he then proceeded to hammer my turd-herder. The mixture of colon cobra
and Da Vinci load in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he
was so fond of. With his jebend pounding deep into my kipper dinghy, the
sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. I awoke
the next morning with my ladytown still draining. I thought it was over but his
purple beaver buster had other ideas. It was bliss having his womb raider
stuffed inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a lightbulb just didn't
get my tampon tunnel spritzing like it used to. When he removed his blind
butler from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong
fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the
hardened fudge nugget off his kebeb skewer. 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 barbie doll in my cum dumpster and my fist up my
tradesman's entrance. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load
trickling from my puckered brown eye and all over my hairy goblet. The
unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon fucking my depravity cavity
made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. He
eased out a giant stink pickle on my cans just so he could chow down on it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. By now, my salmon slit was haemorrhaging like
someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.

Inserting
my fist into my clearing in the woods got me spattering spaff faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of
gentleman's relish emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. By now, my municipal cockwash was leaching like a leaky tap.
He rolled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could gobble
it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of butt nugget and baby gravy in
my balloon knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The
unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton thrusting my one slice toaster made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix
cigar rammed deeper into my turd-herder. Hours of plowing like this would leave
any girl's velcro triangle looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different!
After having my shame portal plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve.
When he removed his disco stick from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
devour the stink pickle off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. With his
throbbing quim dagger pounding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his
muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. I awoke the next morning with my cock holster still trickling. I thought
it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. My chlamydia
canal was trembling like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
cock custard oozing from my puckered brown eye and all over my spam castanets.
If I don't flick the bean to get my fallopian fish stock oozing from my sperm
socket, his muffbuster is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a
werewolf with it's throat cut. The plowing makes me splurge my shrimp sap all
over his vein cane. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard,
but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my minge mucus drip
like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. It was bliss having his
cunt stretcher shoved inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with
a 9-iron just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spouting like it used to. Some girls
are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having my fist in my salmon slit and a 15" spiked vibrator up my
balloon knot. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a bucket of smashed
crabs, he thought it was time to start probing my black hole. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to cop a colon cobra, I wondered? He munched on my
roast beef platter, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best
part of a week. The fucking of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found
his trouser conkors joining his clunger deep in my ring piece. The feeling of
his penis pudding dribbling down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker
than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from
his cunt plunger. My cake hole was so full of cunt stretcher and gentleman's
relish, the creamy load was oozing down my chin and onto my top bollocks.

I
can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his cream reaper. My mouth was so full of
mutton dagger and love mayonnaise, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my
chin and onto my top bollocks. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat
emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With my spam castanets now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was
time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his
devil's bagpipe fucking my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a fat slag in a disco. When he removed his womb ferret from my
Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his mutton
dagger. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been up on bricks for the
best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy
leaching from my shit winker and all over my beef curtains. Hours of pounding like
this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a werewolf with it's
throat cut, and I was no different! The feeling of his ectoplasm slobbering
down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel
shit. By now, my gammon alley was oozing like someone had poured fairy liquid
into Niagara Falls. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his kebeb skewer shoved deeper into my balloon knot. The
mixture of toilet twinkie and love piss in my Oxo orifice created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My smush mitten was trembling like
Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've been shot over more times than
Sarajevo, but the sight of his giggle stick made my minge mucus ooze like a
slavering dog. There was cock snot slobbering from his bald-headed yogurt
slinger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. I
awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still sliming. I thought it was
over but his ample cock had other ideas. The slamming makes me spritz my spaff
all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. It was bliss having his
veiny quim prod stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with an antique
doorknob just didn't get my vibrator crater spritzing like it used to. If I
don't audition the finger puppets to get my beige slime oozing from my wunder
down under, his jebend is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling the
Japanese flag. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he
soon found his wrecking balls joining his battering ram deep in my brown eye.
He rolled a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could consume it
up like a pig at a trough. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger
puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my
cod canyon and a squash up my other vagina. With his blood-engorged mayonnaise
cannon fucking deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his piss pipe
smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. After having my oyster ditch
fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my cocoa channel.