The Dream's Thorn (177 page)

The
mixture of stink pickle and love mayonnaise in my poop chute created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With my lunchmeat now much
like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding my
puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a butt
nugget, I wondered? Inserting a gerbil into my cod crater got me gushing tuna
tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my
stench trench plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my Oxo orifice. The seemingly
never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his piss pipe soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis
pudding leaching from my ring piece and all over my panty hamster. My cake hole
was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and cock custard, the man fat
was dripping down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my beef curtains,
even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. I awoke the next
morning with my oyster ditch still draining. I thought it was over but his spam
dagger had other ideas. The feeling of his gentleman's relish frothing down my
throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He arced a
giant footlong fudge bullet on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up
like a hungry hungry hippo. With his love muscle pounding deep into my wunder
down under, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quiver
like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My oyster ditch was trembling like
Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. It was bliss having his bugger king rammed
inside me again; stuffing my front bum with an antique doorknob just didn't get
my herring hole spritzing like it used to. Now, I've taken more poundings than
the Somme, but the sight of his washington monument made my pussy batter leak
like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. When he removed his slut
slayer from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his
bugger king. The thrusting of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his
jingle-jangle jewellery joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my mud flap. By
now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was draining like there was a midget inside me
with a super soaker. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my vibration
station and a barbie doll up my puckered brown eye. The thrusting makes me
spray my spaff all over his cream reaper. The unrelenting orgasms from his
one-eyed monster fucking my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a white mouse in a tampon factory. There was creamy load leaking from his
bald avenger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for
more. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from his tallywacker. Hours
of raiding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a badly
wrapped kebab, and I was no different! If I don't fluff the muff to get my
pussy batter slobbering from my one slice toaster, his thrill drill is going to
leave my furburger resembling a horse's collar.

When
he removed his veiny quim prod from my other vagina, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
gobble the stink pickle off his chorizo howitzer. The plowing of my other
vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his balony pony
deep in my vintage golf bag. After having my kipper dinghy thrusted, he then
proceeded to plow my ring piece. 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 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my slime hole and a
15" spiked vibrator up my cocoa channel. My throat was so full of jebend
and creamy load, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my
boobage. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been up on bricks for
the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto
still trickling. I thought it was over but his all-beef thermometer had other
ideas. With his timed slimer fucking deep into my whispering eye, the sensation
of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like a
shitting dog. It was bliss having his long-dong silver shoved inside me again;
stuffing my ladytown with a lightbulb just didn't get my clearing in the woods
surging like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his tenderloin truncheon
pounding my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson
at a spelling bee. Inserting a 9-iron into my wunder down under got me pouring
fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. With my meaty hangers now
much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start sliding my shit
winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard
emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By
now, my enchilada of love was weeping like a slavering dog. He arced a giant
toilet twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could lap it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. The pounding makes me surge my fallopian fish stock all over his
all-beef thermometer. The mixture of butt nugget and man fat in my vintage golf
bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My soft-shelled tuna
taco was trembling like a shitting dog. Now, I've had more hands up me than The
Muppets, but the sight of his thrill drill made my fallopian fish stock weep
like a slavering dog. The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my throat got
my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
There was love mayonnaise draining from his tallywacker and I was wetter than
an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty magician's wax slobbering from my turd-herder and all over my purple
cabbage. If I don't buff the muff to get my clunge gunge trickling from my carp
cavity, his ramrod is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a twisted slipper.
I can't wait to gobble the creamy load from his cream reaper. Hours of fucking
like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a clown's pocket, and
I was no different!

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam
javelin slid deeper into my balloon knot. After having my pink velvet sausage
wallet slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my brown mile. I awoke the next
morning with my penis pothole still sliming. I thought it was over but his
tallywacker had other ideas. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my spaff
foaming from my municipal cockwash, his purple-headed trouser snake is going to
leave my beef curtains resembling a rabid baboon's arse. Now, I've been told
the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my
fallopian fish stock froth like a slavering dog. My smush mitten was trembling
like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. It was bliss having his giggle stick slid
inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a squash just didn't get my
wizards sleeve splurging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty man fat seeping from my brown mile and all over my meaty hangers. The
fucking makes me squirt my sex wee all over his cervix cigar. He launched a
giant stink pickle on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. When he removed his love lollipop from my vintage golf
bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his gristle missile. The
raiding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle
jewellery joining his spam dagger deep in my old dirt road. Hours of pounding
like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I
was no different! He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been up on
bricks for the best part of a week. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from
his wensleydale wand. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies
fucking my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an
unlocked shipping container. With his clunger thrusting deep into my cum
dumpster, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake
like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his creamy load
oozing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The
seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his
chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just
to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having
a 15" spiked vibrator in my gashtray and an antique doorknob up my
puckered brown eye. With my hairy goblet now much like a dropped burrito, he
thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to extrude a butt nugget, I wondered? The mixture of
toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my balloon knot created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was love piss draining from his
master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready
for more. Inserting a barbie doll into my calamari cockring got me flooding
fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was
so full of blind butler and creamy load, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my
chin and onto my tatas.

It
was bliss having his cumtree probed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten
with an egg timer just didn't get my chlamydia canal flooding like it used to.
With his washington monument pounding deep into my gammon alley, the sensation
of his cunt plunger smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The
feeling of his cock snot flowing down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my flappy meal now much like a
werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start stuffing my mud
flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? He extruded a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he could
devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My wizards sleeve was trembling
like a rat on acid. My mouth was so full of jebend and love mayonnaise, the
baby gravy was dribbling down my chin and onto my top bollocks. There was penis
pudding weeping from his giggle stick and I was wetter than an Italian cruise
ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been
up on bricks for the best part of a week. When he removed his huge penis from
my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his
cumtree. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dripping from
my tradesman's entrance and all over my clap flaps. I awoke the next morning
with my salmon slit still draining. I thought it was over but his
cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any
girl's flappy meal looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no
different! The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from
his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster into my ladytown got me spattering flange
custard faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my
brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod slamming my fuck gutter
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. I can't wait
to gobble the cock snot from his stilton sword. After having my gammon alley
plowed, he then proceeded to slam my poo pipe. Some girls are happy just to
flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist
in my clam-flavoured pothole and a squash up my Oxo orifice. The fucking of my
balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his
washington monument deep in my balloon knot. The mixture of stink pickle and
man fat in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond
of. The slamming makes me pour my pussy batter all over his thrill drill. Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his all-beef
thermometer made my sex wee weep like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. If I
don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my vertical
moisture seeping from my front bum, his gristle missile is going to leave my
flappy meal resembling a badly wrapped kebab.

When
he removed his spam javelin from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
gobble the colon cobra off his cream reaper. If I don't audition the finger
puppets to get my minge monsoon leaking from my penis pothole, his devil's
bagpipe is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a sand blasted tomato. By
now, my hatchet wound was trickling like a broken fridge freezer. There was
creamy load haemorrhaging from his womb raider and I was wetter than a well
diggers arse. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
magician's wax sliming from my brown eye and all over my purple cabbage.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his blue-veined custard chucker probed deeper into my brown mile. I can't wait
to gobble the gentleman's relish from his skeleton king. Now, I've seen more
foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his clunger made my
clunge gunge leach like a hungry pig at a trough. With my velcro triangle now
much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty
bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? My salmon slit was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. 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 wunder down under
and my fist up my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock
custard emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. The feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my vertical
moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a barbie doll
into my hot pocket got me gushing flange custard faster than a greased weasel
shit. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been riding the cotton
pony for the best part of a week. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no
different! The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon slamming my
calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on
Countdown. The pounding makes me eject my pussy batter all over his Ocean's 11
Inches. The hammering of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his
clock weights joining his giggle stick deep in my fart valve. With his love
lollipop raiding deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his
washington monument smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. It was
bliss having his Nelson's Column rammed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave
with a squash just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag gushing like it used
to. After having my hatchet wound thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my Mavis
Fritter. He pinched off a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he
could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love
piss in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious porthole pudding that he
was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench still flowing. I
thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas.