The Dream's Thorn (162 page)

When
he removed his piss pipe from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the
hardened fudge nugget off his greasy slimelight. There was steamin' semen
haemorrhaging from his ample cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We
were ready for more. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss
flaps looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! My sperm
socket was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He munched
on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a
week. If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon draining from my split
peach, his bald avenger is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling an over
inflated dinghy. The feeling of his gentleman's relish foaming down my throat
got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
My mouth was so full of master of ceremonies and love mayonnaise, the love
mayonnaise was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chesticles. The seemingly
never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his turgid terror
truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've been told the
sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing
pink jesus made my flange custard drip like a rabid dog. By now, my cod canyon
was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. I awoke the next morning with my
meat purse still sliming. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other
ideas. It was bliss having his greasy slimelight rammed inside me again; stuffing
my vibration station with an egg timer just didn't get my cum dumpster
splurging like it used to. With his wrist-thick wand raiding deep into my
clunge pool, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me
quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The plowing of my balloon
knot was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his piss pipe
deep in my fart valve. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his muffbuster probed deeper into my poo pipe. The
unrelenting orgasms from his wensleydale wand fucking my clunge pool made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. After having my cock
holster thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my poo pipe. The raiding makes me
spray my vertical moisture all over his cream reaper. Inserting a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster into my calamari cockring got me flooding
clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He pitched a giant
toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry
hippo. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a number of chillies in my stench trench and an
antique doorknob up my turd-herder. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da
Vinci load in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew that he was so
fond of. With my vertical smile now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it
was time to start sliding my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to curl a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel
the shitty cock custard dripping from my turd cutter and all over my clap
flaps.

My
throat was so full of brie baton and cock snot, the ectoplasm was seeping down
my chin and onto my breasticles. The plowing of my poop chute was so vigorous,
he soon found his man berries joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my
puckered brown eye. Inserting a lightbulb into my bearded haddock pasty got me
surging shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. The fucking makes me gush
my minge monsoon all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. With my
velcro triangle now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time
to start plunging my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to pinch off a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Within no time, I could
feel the shitty magician's wax weeping from my rusty sherif's badge and all
over my piss flaps. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating
from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like a shitting dog. By now, my tampon
tunnel was dripping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I can't wait to lap
the love piss from his disco stick. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler,
but the sight of his one-eyed milkman made my minge mucus leak like a hungry
pig at a trough. When he removed his ramrod from my poop chute, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his stilton spear. The unrelenting
orgasms from his long-dong silver raiding my cod canyon made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. I awoke the next morning with my spunk
dungeon still seeping. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other
ideas. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for
the best part of a week. If I don't tune the tuna to get my beige slime leaking
from my quim, his battering ram is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich
resembling a stuntman's knee. With his vein cane raiding deep into my kipper
dinghy, the sensation of his master of ceremonies smashing my cervix made me
quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod stuffed deeper into my turd
cutter. After having my cock holster plowed, he then proceeded to pound my ring
piece. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a barbie doll in my clam-flavoured pothole and an
antique doorknob up my tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his cock custard
leaching down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
It was bliss having his balony pony slid inside me again; stuffing my smush
mitten with an antique doorknob just didn't get my wunder down under spritzing
like it used to. There was creamy load seeping from his pink tractor beam and I
was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. He blasted a giant
footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a pig
at a trough. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's clap flaps
looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different!

There
was ectoplasm trickling from his brie baton and I was wetter than a bathmaid's
elbow. We were ready for more. With his jebend raiding deep into my cod cave,
the sensation of his master of ceremonies smashing my cervix made me quiver
like a shitting dog. The slamming of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon
found his kids on a swing joining his bald avenger deep in my brown mile.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his jebend slid deeper into my shit winker. The mixture of stink pickle and Da
Vinci load in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so
fond of. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking
like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! I can't wait to gobble
the cock snot from his thrill drill. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree
thrusting my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
midget nun at a penguin shoot. By now, my shame portal was slobbering like a
leaky tap. It was bliss having his batter blaster probed inside me again;
stuffing my wunder down under with a lightbulb just didn't get my hot pocket
squirting like it used to. With my piss flaps now much like Pete Burns' lips,
he thought it was time to start ramming my old dirt road. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to extrude a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? He
munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a
week. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still foaming. I
thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas. He curled a giant
corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could devour it up like a pig at
a trough. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get
my sex wee flowing from my clunge pool, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave
my lunchmeat resembling a horse's collar. When he removed his spam javelin from
my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his cream reaper. My
cake hole was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and man fat, the
baby gravy was frothing down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his thrill drill soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've been shot over more times than
Sarajevo, but the sight of his Nelson's Column made my minge mucus leach like
someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my bearded
haddock pasty thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my turd cutter. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty cock snot flowing from my marmite motorway and
all over my panty hamster. My enchilada of love was trembling like an epileptic
at a Pink Floyd concert. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaching down my
throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The
slamming makes me flood my beige slime all over his batter blaster. Some girls
are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my front bum and an antique
doorknob up my Oxo orifice.

My
mouth was so full of womb ferret and gentleman's relish, the penis pudding was
draining down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The unrelenting orgasms from his
eight inches of throbbing pink jesus raiding my kipper dinghy made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram slid
deeper into my mud flap. There was magician's wax leaking from his gristle
missile and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. It
was bliss having his wensleydale wand stuffed inside me again; stuffing my
bearded haddock pasty with a squash just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag
spattering like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin'
semen oozing from my other vagina and all over my hairy goblet. The seemingly
never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his thrill drill soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my pink velvet
sausage wallet still weeping. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman
had other ideas. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like the south end of
a badger going north, he thought it was time to start stuffing my fart valve.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a corn-eyed butt snake, I
wondered? Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical garden
looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! He
munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for
the best part of a week. Inserting my fist into my tuna canal got me splurging
pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to
stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my salmon slit and a
9-iron up my rusty sherif's badge. When he removed his cheese-crusted cock from
my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his
sperminator. I can't wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his jade rod. By
now, my cod canyon was leaking like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The
pounding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining
his balony pony deep in my turd cutter. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a
rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his timed slimer made my shrimp sap
trickle like a rabid dog. The mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my vintage
golf bag created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The
feeling of his Da Vinci load draining down my throat got my fallopian fish
stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The raiding makes me flood my minge
monsoon all over his battering ram. He extruded a giant footlong fudge bullet
on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My
hatchet wound was trembling like jelly. If I don't study english cliterature to
get my vertical moisture foaming from my herring hole, his veiny quim prod is
going to leave my flappy meal resembling a manatee in yoga pants. After having
my slime hole slammed, he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster thrusting my cod crater made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The plowing makes
me splurge my sex wee all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger. When he removed
his womb ferret from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget
off his batter blaster. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's hairy
goblet looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! By now, my
chlamydia canal was sliming like a rabid dog. After having my shame portal
plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. I awoke the next morning
with my split peach still dribbling. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11
Inches had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my cock holster
and a lightbulb up my shit winker. With my purple cabbage now much like the
south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start probing my
turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a hardened
fudge nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but
the sight of his clunger made my clunge gunge ooze like Adele waiting for
Greggs to open. The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaching down my throat got
my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He
munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best
part of a week. My mouth was so full of gristle missile and gentleman's relish,
the steamin' semen was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my tatas. The
raiding of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle
jewellery joining his tallywacker deep in my fart valve. He blasted a giant
stink pickle on my love bubbles just so he could devour it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my furry cup got me
flooding vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There
was penis pudding slobbering from his clunger and I was wetter than an Italian
cruise ship. We were ready for more. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and
magician's wax in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectoplasm that he
was so fond of. It was bliss having his balony pony stuffed inside me again;
stuffing my salmon slit with a gerbil just didn't get my gashtray spattering
like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise
emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm frothing from my shit winker
and all over my furburger. My mound of love pudding was trembling 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 cumtree probed deeper into my poop chute. If I
don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge monsoon leaching from my cod
cave, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a
horse's collar. With his slut slayer plowing deep into my furry cup, the
sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like
jelly.