The Dream's Thorn (155 page)

Hours
of plowing like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a badly
wrapped kebab, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more foreskins than a
rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his battering ram made my sex wee
flow like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. When he removed his muffbuster from
my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his
tallywacker. Inserting a gerbil into my clunge pool got me ejecting spaff
faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary
phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my meat
purse and a squash up my cocoa channel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree probed deeper into my Mavis
Fritter. If I don't strum the banjo to get my flange custard foaming from my
smush mitten, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my purple cabbage
resembling a clown's pocket. He cut a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just
so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his blind butler soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my spam castanets, even
though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his
washington monument raiding deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his
purple beaver buster smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to consume the ectoplasm from his Ocean's
11 Inches. The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend thrusting my gashtray made
me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With my
vertical smile now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to
start probing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch
off a toilet twinkie, I wondered? There was gentleman's relish dribbling from
his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready
for more. By now, my shame portal was draining like a hungry pig at a trough.
The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my poop chute created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty man fat foaming from my old dirt road and all over my velcro triangle.
My stench trench was trembling like jelly. After having my gammon alley fucked,
he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road. The plowing makes me flow my pussy
batter all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. My cake hole was so
full of muffbuster and magician's wax, the cock snot was seeping down my chin
and onto my cans. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaking down my throat got
my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his
blue-veined custard chucker probed inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with
a barbie doll just didn't get my cock holster splurging like it used to. I
awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still seeping. I thought it was over
but his skeleton king had other ideas.

There
was ectoplasm oozing from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter
than an English summer. We were ready for more. Inserting my fist into my
stench trench got me flowing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait
to suck the ectoplasm from his mutton dagger. I awoke the next morning with my
penis pothole still draining. I thought it was over but his veiny quim prod had
other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from
his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched
on my furburger, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a
week. After having my gaping clam cavern fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my
marmite motorway. The hammering makes me spit my tuna tunnel tears all over his
bald-headed yogurt slinger. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick
pounding my smush mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary
glitter at PC World. With his thrill drill raiding deep into my wunder down
under, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quiver like
an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
cock snot leaking from my vintage golf bag and all over my roast beef platter.
It was bliss having his cunt plunger plunged inside me again; stuffing my cock
holster with an antique doorknob just didn't get my cod canyon splurging like
it used to. With my meaty hangers now much like a bulldog licking piss from a
thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to curl a colon cobra, I wondered? Some girls
are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a gerbil in my wizards sleeve and a 15" spiked vibrator up
my other vagina. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat
looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! The pounding of my marmite
motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his veiny quim
prod deep in my rusty sherif's badge. My throat was so full of balony pony and
penis pudding, the man fat was weeping down my chin and onto my tatas. Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick
wand rammed deeper into my black hole. My vibrator crater was trembling like a
shitting dog. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my
brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Now, I've
seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his
wensleydale wand made my beige slime foam like a leaky tap. The feeling of his
cock custard seeping down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get
my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my Quimcy, M.E., his gristle missile is
going to leave my flappy meal resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle.
He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could chow
down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. By now, my stench trench was leaking
like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.

My
one slice toaster was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I
awoke the next morning with my cod cave still leaking. I thought it was over
but his cervix cigar had other ideas. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into
my cod canyon got me squirting spaff faster than snot off a whip. The seemingly
never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his brie baton soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
creamy load dribbling from my old dirt road and all over my roast beef platter.
Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his batter blaster
made my clunge gunge foam like a jizz waterfall. The feeling of his creamy load
slobbering down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my penis
pothole and a barbie doll up my soft tight anus. The unrelenting orgasms from
his muffbuster hammering my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The thrusting of my balloon knot
was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his jade rod deep in my
vintage golf bag. It was bliss having his muffbuster plunged inside me again;
stuffing my oyster ditch with an egg timer just didn't get my fuck gutter
splurging like it used to. He curled a giant stink pickle on my superdroopers
just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Hours of pounding
like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like Terry Waite's
allotment, and I was no different! After having my furry cup pounded, he then
proceeded to plow my mud flap. With his kebeb skewer slamming deep into my carp
cavity, the sensation of his huge penis smashing my cervix made me quiver like
Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The raiding makes me gush my fallopian
fish stock all over his blind butler. There was cock snot oozing from his
wrist-thick wand and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for
more. My mouth was so full of love lollipop and magician's wax, the Da Vinci
load was dripping down my chin and onto my love bubbles. With my roast beef
platter now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start
sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a
stink pickle, I wondered? The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my
rusty sherif's badge 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 cervix cigar rammed deeper into my brown mile. He munched on my roast
beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part
of a week. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter slobbering from my
herring hole, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my clap flaps
resembling the Japanese flag. I can't wait to lap the love piss from his
clunger. By now, my ruby cave was sliming like Adele waiting for Greggs to
open.

The
seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his purple-headed
trouser snake soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He crowned a giant
hardened fudge nugget on my breasticles just so he could gobble it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. The fucking makes me surge my sex wee all over his cervix
cigar. My mouth was so full of bald avenger and baby gravy, the steamin' semen
was oozing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. There was Da Vinci load
weeping from his washington monument and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow.
We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight
of his tenderloin truncheon made my clunge gunge slime like a slavering dog.
The feeling of his love piss trickling down my throat got my pussy batter
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout and magician's
wax in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond
of. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill pounding my ladytown made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. After having my
ground zero grotto thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. I can't
wait to consume the creamy load from his gristle missile. Hours of slamming
like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a shot cat, and I
was no different! I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still
leaking. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. With my
vertical smile now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start
ramming my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
cop a colon cobra, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis
pudding weeping from my ring piece and all over my roast beef platter. Some
girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a squash in my gashtray and a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster up my chocolate starfish. He munched on my panty
hamster, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My
ruby cave was trembling like jelly. If I don't play the clitar to get my minge
mucus weeping from my vibrator crater, his spam javelin is going to leave my
furburger resembling badly battered road kill. It was bliss having his
wrist-thick wand probed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with my fist
just didn't get my chlamydia canal spouting like it used to. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple beaver
buster probed deeper into my poop chute. The pounding of my turd cutter was so
vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his cunt plunger deep in my
cocoa channel. With his one-eyed monster fucking deep into my clam-flavoured
pothole, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix
made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. When he removed his
disco stick from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed
butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky
off his disco stick. By now, my carp cavity was oozing like a hungry pig at a
trough.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman plowing my fuck gutter made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty steamin' semen trickling from my other vagina and all
over my panty hamster. He launched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my sweater
puppies just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. After having my
fuck trench fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my cocoa channel. Now, I've
been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his long-dong silver
made my shrimp sap dribble like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The pounding
of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining
his jebend deep in my black hole. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my frilling
pink golf bag and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my soft tight
anus. The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my tuna tunnel
tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of hardened fudge
nugget and Da Vinci load in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't fish for pearls to get my
flange custard slobbering from my vaginal bacon buffet, his throbbing quim
dagger is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the Japanese flag. Hours of
plowing like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a rabid
baboon's arse, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my furry
cup still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other
ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his turgid terror truncheon plunged deeper into my other vagina.
There was ectoplasm trickling from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than a
well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams
of baby gravy emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my
stench trench got me ejecting sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. I
can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his cheese-crusted cock. He munched
on my spam castanets, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a
week. My chamber of squelch was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
My throat was so full of cheese-crusted cock and cock custard, the Da Vinci
load was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my rack. It was bliss having his
one-eyed monster probed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with my fist
just didn't get my clearing in the woods squirting like it used to. The
slamming makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his cheese-crusted cock. When
he removed his meaty member from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
lap the Mr. Hanky off his blue-veined custard chucker. By now, my mound of love
pudding was trickling like a rabid dog. With my clap flaps now much like a
twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start ramming my shit winker. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to roll a stink pickle, I wondered?