The Dream's Thorn (150 page)

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
sperminator stuffed deeper into my brown eye. Hours of fucking like this would
leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was
no different! Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his
Ocean's 11 Inches made my flange custard drip like a rabid dog. After having my
quim slammed, he then proceeded to slam my poop chute. When he removed his womb
raider from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget
off his muffbuster. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like a shitting dog.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise foaming from my
turd-herder and all over my vertical smile. The hammering makes me pour my
flange custard all over his kebeb skewer. The unrelenting orgasms from his
cumtree slamming my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like
Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With his long-dong silver hammering deep into my
Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his gristle missile smashing my cervix made me
quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He pitched a giant footlong
fudge bullet on my superdroopers just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. The mixture of colon cobra and man fat in my poop chute
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Inserting an antique
doorknob into my birth cannon got me squirting flange custard faster than a
greased weasel shit. With my furburger now much like badly battered road kill,
he thought it was time to start plunging my black hole. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to launch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I can't wait to lap
the love mayonnaise from his flesh gordon. If I don't buff the muff to get my
minge monsoon slobbering from my birth cannon, his love lollipop is going to
leave my roast beef platter resembling a manatee in yoga pants. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my flappy meal, even though
I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. I awoke the next
morning with my cum dumpster still trickling. I thought it was over but his
turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. The fucking of my black hole was so
vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his spunk-filled spam rocket
deep in my Oxo orifice. My cake hole was so full of huge penis and love
mayonnaise, the ectoplasm was foaming down my chin and onto my superdroopers.
Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my
soft-shelled tuna taco and a 9-iron up my turd cutter. It was bliss having his
throbbing quim dagger shoved inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with an
antique doorknob just didn't get my gammon alley pouring like it used to. There
was love piss trickling from his kebeb skewer and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. The feeling of his magician's wax slobbering down
my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a
shiny shovel.

If
I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff leaching from my quim, his clunger is
going to leave my vertical smile resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. He munched
on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the
best part of a week. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of
his muffbuster made my minge monsoon weep like a rabid dog. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty man fat flowing from my poop chute and all over my hairy
goblet. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his stilton spear probed deeper into my balloon knot. The plowing
makes me surge my flange custard all over his clunger. My mouth was so full of
jade rod and penis pudding, the gentleman's relish was sliming down my chin and
onto my fiery biscuits. The feeling of his baby gravy foaming down my throat
got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
The mixture of butt nugget and love piss in my rusty sherif's badge created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The hammering of my puckered
brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his
battering ram deep in my other vagina. Inserting a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster into my front bum got me spattering minge monsoon
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my depravity cavity
fucked, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's badge. When he removed his
sperminator from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed
butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra
off his slut slayer. It was bliss having his timed slimer shoved inside me
again; stuffing my clunge pool with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster
just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty ejecting like it used to. By now, my
pink velvet sausage wallet was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid
into Niagara Falls. The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock
thrusting my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget
nun at a penguin shoot. With his giggle stick slamming deep into my bearded
haddock pasty, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quake
like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending
streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. My cod crater was trembling like an epileptic at a
Pink Floyd concert. With my furburger now much like a darts team's goalkeeper,
he thought it was time to start ramming my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He crowned a giant stink
pickle on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a squash in my penis pothole and a lightbulb up my
balloon knot. I awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still seeping. I
thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. I can't wait to chow
down on the love piss from his pink tractor beam. There was cock custard
leaking from his love muscle 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 jebend
probed deeper into my mud flap. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my
municipal cockwash got me surging sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit.
The plowing makes me pour my minge monsoon all over his bald avenger. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty cock snot oozing from my turd cutter and all over
my vertical garden. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax
emanating from his master of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having an egg timer in my birth cannon and a squash up my
other vagina. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger
plowing my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like
Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. I awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still
seeping. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. My cod
crater was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. After having my
tuna canal fucked, he then proceeded to plow my fart valve. Now, I've seen more
action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his love lollipop made my
fallopian fish stock flow like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. With his chubstep thrusting deep into my south mouth, the sensation of
his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my mud
flap created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He blasted a
giant corn-eyed butt snake on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a pig
at a trough. My cake hole was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and Da Vinci load,
the love mayonnaise was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my love bubbles.
With my spam castanets now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was
time to start plunging my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to drop a butt nugget, I wondered? The feeling of his cock custard
flowing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. It was bliss having his disco stick probed inside me again; stuffing my
hot pocket with my fist just didn't get my hot pocket spritzing like it used
to. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking
like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! When he removed his
Nelson's Column from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt
nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened
fudge nugget off his flesh gordon. I can't wait to lap the Da Vinci load from
his one-eyed monster. By now, my meat purse was trickling like someone had
poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich,
even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. There was cock
custard frothing from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a spastic's chin.
We were ready for more. If I don't play the clitar to get my shrimp sap
draining from my hot pocket, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my beef
curtains resembling a blind cobbler's thumb.

With
my piss flaps now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time
to start plunging my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
extrude a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty
gentleman's relish dribbling from my fudge factory and all over my fishy flaps.
Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his purple
beaver buster made my beige slime seep like a slug in a salt mine. Hours of
fucking like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like the south
end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The slamming of my shit
winker was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his womb ferret
deep in my turd-herder. It was bliss having his battering ram rammed inside me
again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a 9-iron just didn't get my mound of love
pudding spraying like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon hammering my clearing in the woods made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. There was baby
gravy sliming from his sperminator and I was wetter than a well diggers arse.
We were ready for more. When he removed his one-eyed monster from my turd
cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his one-eyed monster.
With his battering ram fucking deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his
cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for
the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still
dribbling. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree
shoved deeper into my brown mile. I can't wait to consume the baby gravy from
his mutton dagger. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my brown eye
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my
chlamydia canal pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my chocolate starfish. He
launched a giant butt nugget on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a
pig at a trough. If I don't tune the tuna to get my vertical moisture weeping
from my clearing in the woods, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my fishy
flaps resembling a dropped burrito. My cake hole was so full of all-beef
thermometer and creamy load, the creamy load was flowing down my chin and onto
my droopies. My herring hole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his
spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. 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 vibrator crater and a gerbil up my old
dirt road. The pounding makes me gush my tuna tunnel tears all over his stilton
sword. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was sliming like a leaky tap. The
feeling of his magician's wax sliming down my throat got my sex wee flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit.

The
raiding makes me spout my beige slime all over his stilton spear. My throat was
so full of cunt stretcher and ectoplasm, the magician's wax was seeping down my
chin and onto my rack. My tuna canal was trembling like a shitting dog. It was
bliss having his purple-headed trouser snake stuffed inside me again; stuffing
my vibration station with a number of chillies just didn't get my sperm socket
squirting like it used to. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been
on the rag for the best part of a week. Now, I've been shot over more times
than Sarajevo, but the sight of his jebend made my clunge gunge flow like there
was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The unrelenting orgasms from his
bald-headed yogurt slinger thrusting my shame portal made me come so hard, I
began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. He pinched off a giant corn-eyed
butt snake on my mammaries just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry
hippo. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage
looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! With his ramrod
pounding deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer
smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I
can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his all-beef thermometer.
There was penis pudding trickling from his cumtree and I was wetter than a well
diggers arse. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my moose
knuckle still seeping. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other
ideas. The slamming of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his
wrecking balls joining his pink tractor beam deep in my shit winker. With my
open-faced ham sandwich now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to
start plunging my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch
a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? By now, my municipal cockwash was oozing
like a rabid dog. The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my Oxo orifice
created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly
never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his wensleydale wand soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to finger
blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my carp
cavity and a lightbulb up my rusty bullet hole. Inserting a squash into my
wunder down under got me gushing minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his tallywacker stuffed deeper into my other vagina. Within no time,
I could feel the shitty steamin' semen trickling from my cocoa channel and all
over my spam castanets. When he removed his Nelson's Column from my Oxo
orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his blind
butler. The feeling of his ectoplasm dribbling down my throat got my pussy
batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my front bum
pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice.