The Dream's Thorn (158 page)

By
now, my herring hole was slobbering like a leaky tap. Some girls are happy just
to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie
doll in my vibrator crater and a gerbil up my poop chute. The feeling of his
ectoplasm draining down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my calamari cockring fucked, he
then proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. The hammering of my balloon knot
was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his womb raider deep in
my rusty sherif's badge. If I don't tune the tuna to get my flange custard
oozing from my cum dumpster, his balony pony is going to leave my spam
castanets resembling a manatee in yoga pants. There was ectoplasm foaming from
his meaty member and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for
more. It was bliss having his ample cock stuffed inside me again; stuffing my
gaping clam cavern with a barbie doll just didn't get my vibrator crater
surging like it used to. The plowing makes me gush my fallopian fish stock all
over his blue-veined custard chucker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear shoved deeper into my
soft tight anus. When he removed his battering ram from my fart valve, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his chorizo howitzer. Now, I've seen more
pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his clunger made my
vertical moisture haemorrhage like a broken fridge freezer. Hours of pounding
like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a rabid baboon's
arse, and I was no different! The mixture of butt nugget and magician's wax in
my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of.
Inserting a lightbulb into my gammon alley got me flooding pussy batter faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his bald avenger plowing deep into
my municipal cockwash, the sensation of his womb ferret smashing my cervix made
me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty ectoplasm oozing from my Mavis Fritter and all over my spam castanets. I
awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still dribbling. I thought it
was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms
from his cream reaper raiding my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. My cod cave was
trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending
streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his batter blaster soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his chorizo
howitzer. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mammaries just so he
could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. He munched on my fishy flaps,
even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My cake hole was
so full of disco stick and gentleman's relish, the love piss was flowing down
my chin and onto my love bubbles.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot weeping from my balloon knot and all
over my roast beef platter. My mouth was so full of chorizo howitzer and man
fat, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my droopies. The
slamming of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto
baggins joining his womb ferret deep in my marmite motorway. With my hairy
goblet now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was
time to start ramming my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? There was creamy load sliming from
his balony pony and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for
more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his all-beef
thermometer made my fallopian fish stock weep like a rabid dog. Some girls are
happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a number of chillies in my chamber of squelch and my fist up my turd
cutter. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his ramrod probed deeper into my soft tight anus. When he removed
his kebeb skewer from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet
twinkie off his greasy kebab skewer. The mixture of colon cobra and baby gravy
in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so
fond of. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been up on bricks for
the best part of a week. If I don't fluff the muff to get my vertical moisture
foaming from my vaginal bacon buffet, his giggle stick is going to leave my
velcro triangle resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The unrelenting orgasms from
his jade rod pounding my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a pregnant nun. With his clunger hammering deep into my pink velvet
sausage wallet, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix
made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I can't wait to gobble the
love mayonnaise from his greasy kebab skewer. I awoke the next morning with my
carp cavity still seeping. I thought it was over but his jebend had other
ideas. It was bliss having his battering ram stuffed inside me again; stuffing
my smush mitten with my fist just didn't get my one slice toaster squirting
like it used to. After having my shame portal thrusted, he then proceeded to
thrust my turd-herder. The slamming makes me eject my vertical moisture all
over his cervix cigar. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he
could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My one slice toaster was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting my fist into
my herring hole got me squirting shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit.
Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich
looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! By now, my
vibration station was haemorrhaging like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara
Falls. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his
Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

The
plowing of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his salty
protein grapes joining his pink tractor beam deep in my fart valve. With his
stilton spear plowing deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his
veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of
chopped liver. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster slamming my
enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a
confessional. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from
his brie baton soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his
cunt plunger from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed
butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon
cobra off his throbbing quim dagger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon stuffed deeper into my
other vagina. Inserting a squash into my municipal cockwash got me spraying
spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to strum the
banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster in my ground zero grotto and a 9-iron up my cocoa
channel. My hatchet wound was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He
dropped a giant sewer trout on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it up
like a hungry hungry hippo. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been
riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With my velcro triangle now
much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start ramming my
mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a sewer trout, I
wondered? I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still flowing. I
thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. I can't wait to lap
the penis pudding from his battering ram. The feeling of his love mayonnaise
sliming down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking
like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! It was bliss having his
sperminator slid inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a
gerbil just didn't get my cod crater pouring like it used to. If I don't buff
the muff to get my vertical moisture sliming from my soft-shelled tuna taco,
his love muscle is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a twisted
slipper. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis pudding in my Oxo
orifice created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My throat was
so full of devil's bagpipe and Da Vinci load, the ectoplasm was sliming down my
chin and onto my boobage. The fucking makes me eject my vertical moisture all
over his purple beaver buster. There was man fat dripping from his stilton
sword and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more.
After having my calamari cockring pounded, he then proceeded to raid my mud
flap. By now, my gaping clam cavern was dripping like a rabid dog. Now, I've
had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his brie baton made my
fallopian fish stock foam like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy
Wonka's chocolate river.

By
now, my spunk dungeon was flowing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of
Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I can't wait to gobble the love mayonnaise from
his purple-headed trouser snake. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter
leaching from my fuck trench, his skeleton king is going to leave my purple
cabbage resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The seemingly never-ending
streams of magician's wax emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his stilton spear from my old
dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his spam dagger.
Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his tenderloin
truncheon made my sex wee drain like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. There
was steamin' semen flowing from his battering ram and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his timed
slimer plowing my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph
Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The pounding makes me eject my sex wee all over his
cervix cigar. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy load in my fudge factory
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Hours of fucking
like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like the
Japanese flag, and I was no different! With my beef curtains now much like that
bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start probing my
marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed
butt snake, I wondered? The fucking of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he
soon found his salty protein grapes joining his ample cock deep in my brown
eye. He launched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my love bubbles just so he
could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his spunk-filled spam
rocket raiding deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his stilton spear
smashing my cervix made me quiver 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 tallywacker shoved deeper into my poop chute. He munched on my lunchmeat,
even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. It
was bliss having his bald avenger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my frilling
pink golf bag with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my
hot pocket spouting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to fluff the
muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of
chillies in my ruby cave and an antique doorknob up my rusty sherif's badge.
The feeling of his cock custard frothing down my throat got my clunge gunge
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my turd-herder and all over
my vertical smile. My furry cup was trembling like a shitting dog. I awoke the
next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still flowing. I thought it was
over but his thrill drill had other ideas. After having my vibrator crater
plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. Inserting an egg timer
into my vibration station got me spritzing beige slime faster than snot off a
whip.

I
can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his cervix cigar. The feeling of
his gentleman's relish trickling down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing
quicker than snot off a whip. After having my slime hole plowed, he then
proceeded to raid my old dirt road. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler,
but the sight of his pink tractor beam made my flange custard flow like a
hungry pig at a trough. By now, my mound of love pudding was oozing like a
leaky tap. There was magician's wax draining from his bugger king and I was
wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. With his tenderloin
truncheon plowing deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his skin flute
smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The
plowing makes me flood my fallopian fish stock all over his piss pipe. With my
hairy goblet now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start
probing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a
colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches plunged
inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a barbie doll just didn't get my
soft-shelled tuna taco ejecting like it used to. He dropped a giant toilet
twinkie on my cans just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. If I
don't dial the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my clunge
pool, his vein cane is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a werewolf with
it's throat cut. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his stilton sword probed deeper into my vintage golf bag.
Inserting my fist into my quim got me spattering beige slime faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of jebend and ectoplasm,
the cock custard was oozing down my chin and onto my cans. He munched on my
beef curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week.
When he removed his mutton dagger from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait
to chow down on the hardened fudge nugget off his throbbing quim dagger. The
fucking of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining
his skeleton king deep in 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 a number of
chillies in my frilling pink golf bag and a gerbil up my fudge factory. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his jebend soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My fuck trench was trembling like an
epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown
still oozing. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas.
Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a
stuntman's knee, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the
shitty magician's wax sliming from my brown eye and all over my fishy flaps.
The unrelenting orgasms from his cunt plunger hammering my chlamydia canal made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun.