The Dream's Thorn (168 page)

After
having my cod canyon plowed, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. I awoke
the next morning with my gashtray still leaking. I thought it was over but his
one-eyed monster had other ideas. My ruby cave was trembling like Muhammad Ali
on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat flowing from
my brown mile and all over my velcro triangle. With my purple cabbage now much
like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start
stuffing my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut
a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted
cock and man fat, the cock custard was leaching down my chin and onto my rack.
He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had the painters in for the
best part of a week. If I don't buff the muff to get my flange custard
trickling from my shamevelope, his bugger king is going to leave my piss flaps
resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. With his vein cane hammering deep
into my cod canyon, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made
me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of footlong
fudge bullet and penis pudding in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot over more times than
Sarajevo, but the sight of his batter blaster made my pussy batter leak like a
slavering dog. He pitched a giant butt nugget on my sweater puppies just so he
could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was ectoplasm leaking from
his clunger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like
a twisted slipper, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his master of ceremonies probed deeper
into my shit winker. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my chocolate
starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his vein cane. The
pounding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser
conkors joining his cervix cigar deep in my cocoa channel. Inserting a
lightbulb into my fuck trench got me pouring vertical moisture faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my fuck
gutter and an egg timer up my balloon knot. The feeling of his cock custard
oozing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his purple
beaver buster. The hammering makes me flow my minge monsoon all over his flesh
gordon. By now, my gammon alley was draining like someone had poured fairy
liquid into Niagara Falls. The unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle
pounding my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
dyslexic on Countdown. It was bliss having his kebeb skewer probed inside me
again; stuffing my ladytown with a gerbil just didn't get my sperm socket
gushing like it used to.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax seeping from my Mavis Fritter
and all over my fishy flaps. With my lunchmeat now much like a stuntman's knee,
he thought it was time to start stuffing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The
feeling of his love mayonnaise frothing down my throat got my minge monsoon
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram slid deeper into my old
dirt road. I can't wait to suck the baby gravy from his one-eyed monster. The
thrusting of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls
joining his ramrod deep in my old dirt road. I awoke the next morning with my
cod canyon still dribbling. I thought it was over but his master of ceremonies
had other ideas. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my
puckered brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.
With his sperminator raiding deep into my vaginal bacon buffet, the sensation
of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quake
like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The hammering makes me squirt my pussy
batter all over his brie baton. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my boobage
just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a
barbie doll into my clunge pool got me squirting minge mucus faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of hammering like this would leave any
girl's lunchmeat looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was
no different! My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. After having my gammon
alley fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my shit winker. The unrelenting
orgasms from his flesh gordon pounding my carp cavity made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The seemingly never-ending
streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his long-dong silver from my
Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his balony pony.
If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter oozing from my calamari
cockring, his blind butler is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a
bulldog licking piss from a thistle. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second
hand dartboard, but the sight of his huge penis made my minge mucus seep like
Adele waiting for Greggs to open. 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 split peach and a squash up my poop chute. My throat was so full of
bald-headed yogurt slinger and love piss, the cock custard was slobbering down
my chin and onto my rack. There was ectoplasm weeping from his purple beaver
buster and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. By now,
my mound of love pudding was sliming like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It
was bliss having his chorizo howitzer rammed inside me again; stuffing my one
slice toaster with an antique doorknob just didn't get my enchilada of love
gushing like it used to.

The
raiding of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser
conkors joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my poo pipe.
He rolled a giant colon cobra on my superdroopers just so he could consume it
up like a pig at a trough. With his veiny quim prod thrusting deep into my
gashtray, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quake like
jelly. There was gentleman's relish foaming from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I
was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having
his sperminator plunged inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an
antique doorknob just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spritzing like it used to. The
fucking makes me flow my flange custard all over his tallywacker. The mixture
of corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my mud flap created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my oyster ditch fucked,
he then proceeded to fuck my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument stuffed deeper
into my rusty bullet hole. My cake hole was so full of spam javelin and man
fat, the cock custard was dripping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. Some
girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having an egg timer in my vibration station and a gerbil up my turd
cutter. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver plowing my cod cave
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory.
With my lunchmeat now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to
start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load
leaking from my turd cutter and all over my vertical garden. He munched on my
vertical smile, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a
week. If I don't fluff the muff to get my shrimp sap leaching from my gammon
alley, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich
resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. Inserting a lightbulb into my smush mitten
got me ejecting flange custard faster than snot off a whip. When he removed his
cervix cigar from my chocolate starfish, 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 jade rod. The feeling of his man fat trickling down my throat got my
tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now,
I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his
muffbuster made my shrimp sap weep like there was a midget inside me with a
super soaker. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his jade rod. I
awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still draining. I thought it
was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. Hours of raiding
like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a dropped burrito,
and I was no different! By now, my clam-flavoured pothole was weeping like a
broken coffee maker. My gammon alley was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator.

When
he removed his purple-headed trouser snake from my shit winker, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his purple beaver buster. The
slamming makes me eject my sex wee all over his thrill drill. I can't wait to
consume the cock custard from his skin flute. He munched on my vertical smile,
even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. The feeling of his
love mayonnaise dripping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than
a greased weasel shit. With my purple cabbage now much like a horse's collar,
he thought it was time to start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to cop a sewer trout, I wondered? By now, my tampon
tunnel was seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. My
smush mitten was trembling like a rat on acid. If I don't study english
cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears seeping from my penis pothole, his love
lollipop is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling badly battered road
kill. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger plowing my soft-shelled
tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my marmite
motorway and all over my furburger. Inserting a squash into my one slice
toaster got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his ramrod 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 muffbuster shoved deeper into my black
hole. My mouth was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and steamin' semen, the
man fat was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my rack. With his jebend
slamming deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his master of ceremonies
smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his skeleton
king made my clunge gunge slobber like a broken coffee maker. There was love
mayonnaise leaching from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an
Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to buff
the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15"
spiked vibrator in my gaping clam cavern and a 15" spiked vibrator up my
vintage golf bag. He arced a giant colon cobra on my tatas just so he could lap
it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my clearing
in the woods still dribbling. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver
had other ideas. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy
meal looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! After having my mound of
love pudding fucked, he then proceeded to slam my mud flap. It was bliss having
his Ocean's 11 Inches stuffed inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a
15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my cum dumpster squirting like it used
to. The plowing of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his
wrecking balls joining his stilton sword deep in my shit winker.

The
feeling of his cock snot seeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though
I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. There was steamin'
semen leaching from his stilton spear and I was wetter than an Italian cruise
ship. We were ready for more. The fucking makes me spout my fallopian fish
stock all over his long-dong silver. With my roast beef platter now much like a
badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start sliding my cocoa channel.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a butt nugget, I wondered?
The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his cervix cigar
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his all-beef
thermometer plunged inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a
squash just didn't get my wunder down under surging like it used to. I can't
wait to suck the creamy load from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. The
unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king fucking my carp cavity made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The pounding of
my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his greasy
slimelight deep in my puckered brown eye. My mouth was so full of one-eyed
monster and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was draining down my chin and
onto my boobage. Inserting an antique doorknob into my clunge pool got me
flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My
penis pothole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some
girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having my fist in my whispering eye and an antique
doorknob up my shit winker. By now, my wunder down under was draining like a
slug in a salt mine. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my puckered
brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his cream
reaper. With his all-beef thermometer raiding deep into my soft-shelled tuna
taco, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix
made me quiver like a rat on acid. The mixture of butt nugget and magician's
wax in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was
so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaching
from my marmite motorway and all over my fishy flaps. Hours of pounding like
this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like an over inflated dinghy,
and I was no different! After having my ground zero grotto thrusted, he then
proceeded to raid my brown mile. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme,
but the sight of his thrill drill made my minge mucus leach like a slavering
dog. If I don't flick the bean to get my tuna tunnel tears haemorrhaging from
my cod crater, his love muscle is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a
bucket of smashed crabs. He pitched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my twin
peaks just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the
next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still sliming. I thought it was
over but his spam dagger had other ideas.