The Dream's Thorn (156 page)

He
munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part
of a week. I awoke the next morning with my oyster ditch still sliming. I
thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. If I don't dial the
rotary phone to get my beige slime slobbering from my meat purse, his clunger
is going to leave my spam castanets resembling the south end of a badger going
north. The slamming of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy
walnuts joining his vein cane deep in my brown mile. The mixture of hardened
fudge nugget and baby gravy in my turd cutter created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my
balloon knot, 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 jebend. Inserting
a barbie doll into my fuck gutter got me flowing sex wee faster than snot off a
whip. My gashtray was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now,
I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his cunt
stretcher made my sex wee weep like a hungry pig at a trough. Hours of
thrusting like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like Terry
Waite's allotment, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword stuffed deeper into
my ring piece. The unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe pounding my
ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel
on MTV Cribs. My cake hole was so full of bald avenger and cock snot, the love
piss was dripping down my chin and onto my twin peaks. With his blind butler
hammering deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his gristle missile
smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.
There was gentleman's relish dripping from his mutton dagger and I was wetter
than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. I can't wait to devour the
love piss from his huge penis. By now, my wizards sleeve was slobbering like a
broken coffee maker. The slamming makes me squirt my spaff all over his kebeb
skewer. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my gammon alley and a 9-iron
up my brown eye. The feeling of his magician's wax flowing down my throat got
my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his batter blaster soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love
mayonnaise leaching from my soft tight anus and all over my panty hamster. He
eased out a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. After having my oyster ditch plowed, he then proceeded to
raid my chocolate starfish. It was bliss having his ramrod rammed inside me
again; stuffing my south mouth with a 9-iron just didn't get my herring hole
spattering like it used to.

If
I don't audition the finger puppets to get my clunge gunge trickling from my
tuna canal, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling
a bucket of smashed crabs. When he removed his tallywacker from my rusty bullet
hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off
his blue-veined custard chucker. With his timed slimer fucking deep into my
bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix
made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. After having my
soft-shelled tuna taco hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my balloon knot.
Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his bald
avenger made my beige slime drain like a George Foreman grill. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his muffbuster soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. My kipper dinghy was trembling like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my kipper dinghy was trickling like
Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. It was bliss having his spam javelin rammed
inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a lightbulb just didn't
get my wizards sleeve gushing like it used to. Hours of plowing like this would
leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no different!
Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having an antique doorknob in my tuna canal and a number of
chillies up my fart valve. There was magician's wax dripping from his
purple-headed trouser snake and I was wetter than an English summer. We were
ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still foaming. I
thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. My throat was so full
of tallywacker and love piss, the Da Vinci load was leaching down my chin and
onto my mosquito bites. With my fishy flaps now much like a horse's collar, he
thought it was time to start probing my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The plowing makes me spray my
beige slime all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. Inserting a
number of chillies into my Quimcy, M.E. got me spouting spaff 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 sperminator shoved deeper into my shit
winker. The feeling of his love mayonnaise haemorrhaging down my throat got my
vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The slamming of my
tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his
kebeb skewer deep in my Mavis Fritter. He crowned a giant sewer trout on my
droopies just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty ectoplasm haemorrhaging from my ring piece and all over
my lunchmeat. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member pounding my moose
knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage.
The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my brown mile created
the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to chow down on
the love piss from his spam dagger.

I
awoke the next morning with my slime hole still haemorrhaging. I thought it was
over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. After having my
vaginal bacon buffet pounded, he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus.
Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having my fist in my gashtray and a 9-iron up my fudge factory.
The feeling of his creamy load draining down my throat got my clunge gunge
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my tampon tunnel was
dribbling like a jizz waterfall. With my roast beef platter now much like a
bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start shoving my
Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I
wondered? It was bliss having his slut slayer stuffed inside me again; stuffing
my vibration station with a lightbulb just didn't get my hatchet wound ejecting
like it used to. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my fudge
factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My front bum
was trembling like jelly. The pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he
soon found his kids on a swing joining his clunger deep in my vintage golf bag.
He copped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could
consume it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my piss flaps, even though
I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. If I don't play the clitar
to get my beige slime haemorrhaging from my ground zero grotto, his stilton
sword is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel.
With his skeleton king plowing deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his pink
tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaching from
my Mavis Fritter and all over my velcro triangle. The seemingly never-ending
streams of baby gravy emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. There was man fat leaching from his blind butler and I was
wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now, I've been shot over
more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my spaff
haemorrhage 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 balony
pony shoved deeper into my marmite motorway. My throat was so full of one-eyed
milkman and ectoplasm, the man fat was foaming down my chin and onto my love
bubbles. Inserting an egg timer into my depravity cavity got me spouting shrimp
sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink
tractor beam thrusting my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like
a whore in a confessional. The fucking makes me spritz my shrimp sap all over
his tallywacker. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger
looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! I can't wait to
lap the man fat from his skin flute.

There
was love piss sliming from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's
elbow. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his womb ferret probed
inside me again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with an egg timer just didn't get my
cod crater spouting like it used to. I can't wait to chow down on the love
mayonnaise from his skeleton king. Hours of slamming like this would leave any
girl's clap flaps looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! With
my vertical smile now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time
to start ramming my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
ease a stink pickle, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis
pudding leaking from my cocoa channel and all over my vertical smile. The
pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle
jewellery joining his jade rod deep in my rusty bullet hole. My cod cave was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my sperm
socket pounded, he then proceeded to plow my Mavis Fritter. If I don't dial the
rotary phone to get my clunge gunge sliming from my meat purse, his stilton
sword is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling the south end of a
badger going north. Inserting an egg timer into my bearded haddock pasty got me
spouting shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are
happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a squash in my spunk dungeon and a 15" spiked vibrator up my vintage
golf bag. The mixture of sewer trout and ectoplasm in my tradesman's entrance
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his one-eyed
monster plowing deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his turgid terror
truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator. The slamming makes me gush my minge monsoon all over his muffbuster.
I awoke the next morning with my meat purse still haemorrhaging. I thought it
was over but his skin flute had other ideas. Now, I've seen more helmets than
Hitler, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my spaff seep like a
broken coffee maker. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating
from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam
rocket rammed deeper into my brown eye. He dropped a giant corn-eyed butt snake
on my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My
mouth was so full of ample cock and gentleman's relish, the baby gravy was
flowing down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my open-faced ham
sandwich, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a
week. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod plowing my vibrator crater made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The
feeling of his love mayonnaise oozing down my throat got my sex wee flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my moose knuckle was
dribbling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.

With
his one-eyed milkman raiding deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his
spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon
stuffed deeper into my fudge factory. My cake hole was so full of thrill drill
and gentleman's relish, the penis pudding was sliming down my chin and onto my
superdroopers. The slamming makes me squirt my tuna tunnel tears all over his
kebeb skewer. By now, my hatchet wound was leaking like there was a midget
inside me with a super soaker. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's
wax emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my cocoa channel created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my vertical garden,
even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen
more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his brie baton made my shrimp sap
leach like a rabid dog. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his
bugger king. I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still weeping. I
thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas. Some girls are happy
just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
lightbulb in my tampon tunnel and my fist up my old dirt road. After having my
cod crater raided, he then proceeded to fuck my puckered brown eye. It was
bliss having his stilton sword rammed inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal
with my fist just didn't get my gashtray pouring like it used to. When he
removed his sperminator from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck
the corn-eyed butt snake off his piss pipe. My ladytown was trembling like a
shitting dog. The feeling of his man fat seeping down my throat got my clunge
gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The hammering of my
old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his
wrist-thick wand deep in my tradesman's entrance. Hours of pounding like this
would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I
was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaking
from my other vagina and all over my spam castanets. The unrelenting orgasms
from his cervix cigar hammering my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I
began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With my clap flaps now much
like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start shoving my vintage
golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a butt nugget, I
wondered? There was love piss seeping from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I
was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. He crowned a giant
Mr. Hanky on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry
hippo. Inserting a 9-iron into my clam-flavoured pothole got me gushing spaff
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.