The Dream's Thorn (143 page)

By
now, my shamevelope was weeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into
Niagara Falls. The fucking of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his
scroto baggins joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my poop chute. He munched
on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of
a week. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love piss in my brown mile
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant
corn-eyed butt snake on my breasticles just so he could devour it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard
sliming from my other vagina and all over my piss flaps. When he removed his
tenderloin truncheon from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink
pickle off his love muscle. With his batter blaster fucking deep into my furry
cup, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like a
shitting dog. There was baby gravy draining from his cunt plunger and I was
wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. After having my
clam-flavoured pothole raided, he then proceeded to hammer my soft tight anus.
The unrelenting orgasms from his sperminator plowing my vaginal bacon buffet
made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. The
seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his
one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding
like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like the south end of a
badger going north, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to dial
the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
squash in my ladytown and an egg timer up my mud flap. Now, I've had more hands
up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my shrimp sap
foam like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Inserting a number
of chillies into my gashtray got me gushing sex wee faster than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. My ground zero grotto was trembling like a rat on acid.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his purple beaver buster slid deeper into my black hole. The feeling of his
ectoplasm leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. With my fishy flaps now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was
time to start stuffing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? It was bliss having his giggle
stick stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with an egg timer
just didn't get my tampon tunnel squirting like it used to. I can't wait to
consume the gentleman's relish from his devil's bagpipe. My throat was so full
of sperminator and love piss, the steamin' semen was leaking down my chin and
onto my twin peaks. The slamming makes me spritz my tuna tunnel tears all over
his piss pipe. If I don't fluff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock leaking
from my split peach, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my open-faced
ham sandwich resembling a stamped bat.

The
mixture of stink pickle and creamy load in my fart valve created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my piss flaps now much like the
Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start probing my other vagina. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to curl a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?
I awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still foaming. I thought it
was over but his balony pony had other ideas. I can't wait to gobble the baby
gravy from his mutton dagger. The feeling of his penis pudding slobbering down
my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel
shit. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the
sight of his cream reaper made my beige slime slime like there was a midget
inside me with a super soaker. The plowing makes me surge my flange custard all
over his all-beef thermometer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
magician's wax foaming from my marmite motorway and all over my clap flaps. The
pounding of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto
baggins joining his turgid terror truncheon deep in my poop chute. 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 wunder down under and a gerbil up my brown
eye. After having my penis pothole pounded, he then proceeded to slam my
tradesman's entrance. It was bliss having his bald avenger shoved inside me
again; stuffing my smush mitten with an antique doorknob just didn't get my
vaginal bacon buffet spattering like it used to. There was man fat seeping from
his ramrod and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for
more. With his womb raider raiding deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his
giggle stick smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like jelly. The
unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver hammering my kipper dinghy made
me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. When he removed
his vein cane from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer
trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off
his bugger king. Inserting a 9-iron into my cod canyon got me spraying pussy
batter faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock probed deeper into
my rusty bullet hole. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish
emanating from his bald avenger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like an
over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! He pitched a giant sewer trout on
my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. If I don't study english cliterature to get my minge monsoon
dribbling from my shame portal, his timed slimer is going to leave my clap
flaps resembling a sand blasted tomato. He munched on my fishy flaps, even
though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. By now, my
clam-flavoured pothole was dripping like a slug in a salt mine.

My
cake hole was so full of ample cock and love piss, the cock snot was leaching
down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. By now, my gaping clam cavern was
slobbering like a George Foreman grill. I can't wait to consume the steamin'
semen from his spam javelin. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my spaff
oozing from my municipal cockwash, his womb raider is going to leave my beef
curtains resembling a rabid baboon's arse. He munched on my velcro triangle,
even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his love muscle soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. There was creamy load oozing from his bugger
king and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty creamy load sliming from my old dirt road and all
over my spam castanets. My chlamydia canal was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. The thrusting of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he
soon found his trouser conkors joining his jade rod deep in my soft tight anus.
The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my balloon knot created the delicious
sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his
cumtree thrusting my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With my beef curtains now much
like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding my black
hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a colon cobra, I
wondered? Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a lightbulb in my stench trench and a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster up my old dirt road. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt
slinger slid deeper into my poop chute. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand
Province, but the sight of his devil's bagpipe made my pussy batter flow like
Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. When he removed his battering ram from my
ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his spunk-filled
spam rocket. The thrusting makes me spit my flange custard all over his
battering ram. Inserting my fist into my front bum got me splurging vertical
moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of raiding like
this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like Terry Waite's allotment,
and I was no different! With his long-dong silver thrusting deep into my wunder
down under, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quiver
like jelly. He rolled a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could lap
it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my wunder down under
slammed, he then proceeded to raid my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next
morning with my herring hole still frothing. I thought it was over but his
greasy kebab skewer had other ideas. The feeling of his love piss seeping down
my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip.

He
munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the
best part of a week. My calamari cockring was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his master of ceremonies plunged deeper into my rusty bullet
hole. With his love lollipop pounding deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of
his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. There was man fat slobbering from his vein cane and I
was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. I awoke the next
morning with my penis pothole still dribbling. I thought it was over but his
Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
gentleman's relish sliming from my old dirt road and all over my meaty hangers.
If I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff foaming from my municipal cockwash,
his skeleton king is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a sand
blasted tomato. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my turd-herder
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant
footlong fudge bullet on my tatas just so he could lap it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock plowing my
vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a
prison riot. My mouth was so full of muffbuster and ectoplasm, the gentleman's
relish was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my cans. It was bliss having his
Ocean's 11 Inches stuffed inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with a
barbie doll just didn't get my spunk dungeon gushing like it used to. Inserting
a gerbil into my vibration station got me spouting beige slime faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his brie baton from my rusty
sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his master of
ceremonies. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my shame portal and a number
of chillies up my cocoa channel. The pounding makes me spout my flange custard
all over his stilton sword. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my
spit, but the sight of his sperminator made my tuna tunnel tears seep like a
broken fridge freezer. The hammering of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon
found his man berries joining his cervix cigar deep in my cocoa channel. By
now, my fuck trench was weeping like a George Foreman grill. After having my
municipal cockwash hammered, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. The
seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his wrist-thick wand
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my open-faced ham sandwich now
much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start ramming my black
hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a corn-eyed butt snake,
I wondered? I can't wait to suck the creamy load from his chubstep. Hours of
pounding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a gutted
trout, and I was no different!

The
unrelenting orgasms from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus fucking my
bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with
a mortgage. When he removed his meaty member from my fudge factory, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his veiny quim prod. He munched on
my meaty hangers, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part
of a week. The mixture of sewer trout and love piss in my black hole created
the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with
my penis pothole still weeping. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam
had other ideas. There was ectoplasm foaming from his cunt plunger and I was
wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The thrusting of my mud
flap was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his disco stick deep
in my chocolate starfish. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his batter blaster probed deeper into my balloon knot.
Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a
stuntman's knee, and I was no different! With his veiny quim prod thrusting
deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my
cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My throat was
so full of purple-headed trouser snake and man fat, the love piss was
haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. With my piss flaps now
much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to
start ramming my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
launch a butt nugget, I wondered? Inserting my fist into my fuck trench got me
squirting beige slime faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to consume the
steamin' semen from his long-dong silver. The feeling of his love piss oozing
down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
The hammering makes me flow my pussy batter all over his pink tractor beam. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his greasy kebab
skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my smush
mitten thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my turd-herder. Now, I've had more
hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cunt stretcher made my
vertical moisture flow like a George Foreman grill. If I don't flick the bean
to get my minge mucus flowing from my oyster ditch, his thrill drill is going
to leave my purple cabbage resembling Brian May's plughole. My ladytown was
trembling like a shitting dog. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat
sliming from my black hole and all over my roast beef platter. He arced a giant
toilet twinkie on my love bubbles just so he could lap it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. It was bliss having his cream reaper plunged inside me again;
stuffing my stench trench with a 9-iron just didn't get my fuck trench
splurging like it used to. 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 squash in my herring hole and a 15" spiked vibrator up my fart
valve.