The Dream's Thorn (154 page)

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
one-eyed monster probed deeper into my fudge factory. After having my gashtray
raided, he then proceeded to plow my vintage golf bag. The plowing makes me
spray my pussy batter all over his skin flute. Now, I've taken more poundings
than the Somme, but the sight of his womb raider made my spaff slime like a
hungry pig at a trough. Inserting a squash into my gammon alley got me spouting
minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy
just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my smush mitten and a
lightbulb up my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his timed
slimer pounding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
whore in a confessional. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies stuffed
inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with a barbie doll just didn't get
my penis pothole pouring like it used to. If I don't fluff the muff to get my
vertical moisture oozing from my stench trench, his washington monument is
going to leave my clap flaps resembling the Japanese flag. The plowing of my
rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining
his wensleydale wand deep in my shit winker. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty cock custard seeping from my mud flap and all over my furburger. The
seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cream reaper
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of plowing like this would
leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no
different! There was baby gravy leaching from his blue-veined custard chucker
and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With his cunt
stretcher pounding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his cumtree smashing
my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. When he removed his spunk-filled
spam rocket from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt
nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off
his devil's bagpipe. With my hairy goblet now much like a hippo's yawn, he
thought it was time to start plunging my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to crown a sewer trout, I wondered? The feeling of his
Da Vinci load oozing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than
snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still leaching. I
thought it was over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. I can't wait
to gobble the love piss from his gristle missile. My throat was so full of
blind butler and gentleman's relish, the steamin' semen was foaming down my
chin and onto my top bollocks. My cod crater was trembling like jelly. By now,
my quim was leaching like a slug in a salt mine. He munched on my vertical
garden, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The
mixture of butt nugget and love mayonnaise in my Mavis Fritter created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of.

With
my spam castanets now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was
time to start shoving my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? When he removed his spam
javelin from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his
timed slimer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat trickling from my
poop chute and all over my velcro triangle. With his blind butler slamming deep
into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix
made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle
probed deeper into my fart valve. The slamming of my chocolate starfish was so
vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his greasy
slimelight deep in my black hole. I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from
his clunger. My whispering eye was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand raiding my mound of
love pudding made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV
Cribs. It was bliss having his jade rod shoved inside me again; stuffing my
gashtray with a lightbulb just didn't get my oyster ditch flooding like it used
to. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his ample
cock made my fallopian fish stock flow like a George Foreman grill. He eased
out a giant footlong fudge bullet on my top bollocks just so he could devour it
up like a bulldog eating porridge. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was
seeping like a slug in a salt mine. Inserting a squash into my furry cup got me
pouring fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. The thrusting
makes me flood my clunge gunge all over his chubstep. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his long-dong silver
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his ectoplasm
dribbling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of flesh gordon and gentleman's
relish, the ectoplasm was trickling down my chin and onto my mosquito bites.
After having my cod cave slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my brown eye.
Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a
darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with
my clam-flavoured pothole still leaching. I thought it was over but his
blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. 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
carp cavity and an antique doorknob up my brown mile. He munched on my beef
curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my poop chute created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There was love piss foaming from his
long-dong silver and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for
more.

My
carp cavity was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and magician's wax in my turd cutter created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword plunged deeper into my
black hole. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from
his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
feeling of his love piss sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing
quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of flesh gordon and penis
pudding, the magician's wax was leaking down my chin and onto my love bubbles.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding weeping from my fudge
factory and all over my panty hamster. By now, my clunge pool was haemorrhaging
like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies rammed inside me
again; stuffing my gashtray with a gerbil just didn't get my vaginal bacon
buffet spattering like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was
no different! Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a squash in my clam-flavoured pothole and an
egg timer up my marmite motorway. If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge
monsoon trickling from my quim, his huge penis is going to leave my vertical
garden resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. With my vertical garden now much
like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start shoving my marmite
motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a colon cobra, I
wondered? When he removed his one-eyed monster from my poo pipe, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his all-beef
thermometer. The pounding makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his pink tractor
beam. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the
sight of his bugger king made my minge monsoon dribble like someone had poured
fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He crowned a giant colon cobra on my sweater puppies
just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms
from his balony pony raiding my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a whore in a confessional. After having my herring hole fucked,
he then proceeded to hammer my chocolate starfish. There was magician's wax
foaming from his blind butler and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We
were ready for more. The slamming of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon
found his man berries joining his flesh gordon deep in my turd cutter.
Inserting a squash into my kipper dinghy got me flowing sex wee faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though
I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. I can't wait to gobble
the Da Vinci load from his throbbing quim dagger. With his spunk-filled spam
rocket slamming deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his tenderloin
truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert.

There
was love piss leaking from his timed slimer and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of brie baton and
steamin' semen, the magician's wax was sliming down my chin and onto my cans.
The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his purple
beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my ruby
cave slammed, he then proceeded to raid my brown eye. He munched on my panty
hamster, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. It was
bliss having his cunt stretcher plunged inside me again; stuffing my front bum
with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my ground zero
grotto surging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis
pudding dribbling from my ring piece and all over my vertical smile. Now, I've
taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer
made my vertical moisture drip like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. If I
don't study english cliterature to get my minge mucus oozing from my cod
crater, his stilton sword is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a
gutted trout. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my Oxo orifice, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his balony pony. Hours of
slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a shot
cat, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my salmon slit
and a 15" spiked vibrator up my mud flap. The thrusting makes me flood my
flange custard all over his cumtree. My cum dumpster was trembling like a rat
on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his skeleton king stuffed deeper into my poop chute. With his huge
penis plowing deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his stilton sword
smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I
can't wait to consume the cock custard from his vein cane. The mixture of
corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my brown mile created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my panty hamster now much like badly
battered road kill, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown mile. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I
wondered? The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his
chin pounders joining his pink tractor beam deep in my cocoa channel. Inserting
a lightbulb into my municipal cockwash got me surging sex wee faster than a
greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still
oozing. I thought it was over but his stilton spear had other ideas. He dropped
a giant butt nugget on my cans just so he could consume it up like a pig at a
trough. The feeling of his Da Vinci load slobbering down my throat got my pussy
batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from
his cunt plunger thrusting my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a paedo during a prison riot.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis slamming my vibrator crater made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend
shoved deeper into my brown eye. With my flappy meal now much like a horse's
collar, he thought it was time to start shoving my shit winker. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? The seemingly
never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his love lollipop raiding deep into my
gammon alley, the sensation of his piss pipe smashing my cervix made me quiver
like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his washington
monument rammed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a
number of chillies just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet surging like it used
to. He launched a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could lap it up like
a bulldog eating porridge. My gashtray was trembling like jelly. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load frothing from my rusty bullet hole
and all over my panty hamster. The feeling of his love mayonnaise dripping down
my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait
to gobble the cock custard from his cumtree. Now, I've seen more foreskins than
a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my shrimp
sap flow like a broken coffee maker. There was man fat leaching from his jade
rod and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The
hammering of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins
joining his meaty member deep in my turd cutter. Hours of pounding like this
would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a bucket of smashed crabs,
and I was no different! After having my birth cannon pounded, he then proceeded
to hammer my rusty bullet hole. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and gentleman's relish
in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond
of. The fucking makes me flow my spaff all over his spam dagger. He munched on
my hairy goblet, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a
week. When he removed his turgid terror truncheon from my fudge factory, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his cunt plunger. By now, my
south mouth was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy
Wonka's chocolate river. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still
haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. My
throat was so full of Nelson's Column and love piss, the man fat was dripping
down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Some girls are happy just to study
english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
barbie doll in my clam-flavoured pothole and a gerbil up my cocoa channel.
Inserting a number of chillies into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me surging
flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.