The Dream's Thorn (185 page)

The
mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my poop chute created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The fucking makes me splurge
my clunge gunge all over his disco stick. Some girls are happy just to fluff
the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my
clunge pool and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. Inserting a barbie doll into
my cock holster got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer
made my spaff ooze like a jizz waterfall. He pinched off a giant footlong fudge
bullet on my twin peaks just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough.
The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight fucking my sperm socket made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The
seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his meaty member soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his greasy slimelight thrusting
deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix
made me quake like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash
still foaming. I thought it was over but his mutton dagger had other ideas.
There was cock custard slobbering from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a
bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of
wrist-thick wand and love mayonnaise, the ectoplasm was slobbering down my chin
and onto my top bollocks. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard
weeping from my Oxo orifice and all over my hairy goblet. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon probed deeper into my poop chute. It was bliss having his
thrill drill probed inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my gammon alley splurging like
it used to. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my vertical moisture
trickling from my meat purse, his cervix cigar is going to leave my purple
cabbage resembling a horse's collar. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling
like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my vertical smile now much like the
south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start plunging my
marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a sewer
trout, I wondered? He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had Aunt Flo
visiting for the best part of a week. The pounding of my turd-herder was so
vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his thrill drill deep in my
soft tight anus. By now, my tampon tunnel was flowing like a jizz waterfall.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a
gutted trout, and I was no different! I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from
his batter blaster. When he removed his sperminator from my ring piece, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his purple beaver buster. The
feeling of his cock snot draining down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker
than snot off a whip.

Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his throbbing quim
dagger made my spaff leach 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 9-iron in my clam-flavoured pothole and a
squash up my puckered brown eye. The plowing of my puckered brown eye was so
vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his cunt plunger deep
in my old dirt road. He cut a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he
could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my piss flaps now much like a
werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start plunging my
marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened
fudge nugget, I wondered? I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his
disco stick. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage
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 rammed deeper into my poop chute. The raiding makes me flood my clunge
gunge all over his vein cane. After having my mound of love pudding raided, he
then proceeded to thrust my black hole. By now, my pink velvet sausage wallet
was dribbling like a jizz waterfall. He munched on my meaty hangers, even
though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My herring
hole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from my Oxo orifice and all
over my velcro triangle. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring
still dripping. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my puckered brown eye created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't finger blast to
get my pussy batter weeping from my oyster ditch, his greasy kebab skewer is
going to leave my flappy meal resembling a horse's collar. The seemingly
never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of jebend and cock snot, the
gentleman's relish was draining down my chin and onto my tatas. The unrelenting
orgasms from his sperminator raiding my fuck trench made me come so hard, I
began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With his brie baton plowing
deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix
made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. It was bliss having
his brie baton slid inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a 9-iron just
didn't get my stench trench squirting like it used to. When he removed his
ramrod from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off
his spam dagger. Inserting a number of chillies into my mound of love pudding
got me spattering flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my fallopian fish
stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

He
crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so he could suck it up
like a pig at a trough. With my velcro triangle now much like a darts team's
goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Some girls are
happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having my fist in my calamari cockring and an egg timer up my chocolate
starfish. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his giggle
stick made my minge mucus haemorrhage like a jizz waterfall. Hours of hammering
like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like Brian May's
plughole, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton
spear raiding my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like
a white mouse in a tampon factory. After having my vaginal bacon buffet
thrusted, he then proceeded to fuck my cocoa channel. When he removed his
jebend from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt
nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra
off his blue-veined custard chucker. It was bliss having his gristle missile
probed inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster just didn't get my carp cavity flooding like it used
to. With his cream reaper hammering deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of
his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. My
vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator. The feeling of his penis pudding haemorrhaging down my throat got my
spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout
and ectoplasm in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he
was so fond of. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my pussy batter flowing
from my frilling pink golf bag, his brie baton is going to leave my furburger
resembling Brian May's plughole. Inserting a squash into my cum dumpster got me
spraying minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty love piss flowing from my brown mile and all over my furburger.
I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still trickling. I thought it was over
but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of
penis pudding emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of pink tractor beam and Da Vinci load,
the cock custard was draining down my chin and onto my boobage. By now, my cod
canyon was dribbling like a leaky tap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his throbbing quim dagger shoved deeper
into my cocoa channel. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been
surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The raiding makes me
spray my spaff all over his ramrod. The pounding of my poo pipe was so
vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his long-dong silver deep
in my turd cutter. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his
devil's bagpipe.

The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his bald-headed
yogurt slinger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of plowing
like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a horse's collar, and
I was no different! After having my quim pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my
shit winker. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still dribbling. I
thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. With his cheese-crusted
cock thrusting deep into my ground zero grotto, the sensation of his cumtree
smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. If I don't stimulate the
genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime draining from my
bearded haddock pasty, his cumtree is going to leave my piss flaps resembling
Brian May's plughole. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in
my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he
removed his one-eyed milkman from my rusty bullet hole, 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 bald-headed yogurt slinger. I
can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his thrill drill. The feeling of
his penis pudding frothing down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker
than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his brie baton stuffed inside me
again; stuffing my hatchet wound with a gerbil just didn't get my ground zero
grotto spraying like it used to. There was love piss flowing from his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We
were ready for more. By now, my wunder down under was sliming like a slug in a
salt mine. Inserting a 9-iron into my wunder down under got me splurging tuna
tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty ectoplasm leaking from my fart valve and all over my spam castanets.
The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick raiding my ruby cave made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. 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 sperm socket and a 9-iron up my fudge factory. He crowned a giant
footlong fudge bullet on my droopies just so he could suck it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. The hammering of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon
found his scroto baggins joining his chubstep deep in my ring piece. My mouth
was so full of bald-headed yogurt slinger and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm
was slobbering down my chin and onto my chesticles. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer plunged
deeper into my turd-herder. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the
sight of his skeleton king made my beige slime foam like a George Foreman
grill. With my meaty hangers now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought
it was time to start shoving my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to curl a butt nugget, I wondered? The thrusting makes me spray my
minge monsoon all over his giggle stick. My slime hole was trembling like
jelly.

Inserting
a squash into my carp cavity got me pouring minge monsoon faster than a greased
weasel shit. My sperm socket was trembling like a shitting dog. With his
battering ram fucking deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his
skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The pounding
of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes
joining his one-eyed monster deep in my fart valve. After having my split peach
hammered, he then proceeded to raid my fudge factory. Now, I've seen more
helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his devil's bagpipe made my beige slime
dribble like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. My cake hole
was so full of kebeb skewer and cock custard, the ectoplasm was haemorrhaging
down my chin and onto my rack. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my carp cavity
and a 9-iron up my old dirt road. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was sliming
like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The feeling of his cock custard
dribbling down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though
I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With my meaty hangers now much
like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start sliding my poo
pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I
wondered? There was baby gravy seeping from his love lollipop and I was wetter
than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty baby gravy sliming from my poo pipe and all over my meaty hangers.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his pink tractor beam probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. I can't wait to
devour the steamin' semen from his bugger king. The seemingly never-ending
streams of steamin' semen emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. He cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my love
bubbles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. It was
bliss having his meaty member rammed inside me again; stuffing my wizards
sleeve with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my shamevelope flooding
like it used to. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger
looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! The mixture of
stink pickle and gentleman's relish in my chocolate starfish created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The slamming makes me flow my
shrimp sap all over his stilton sword. The unrelenting orgasms from his
bald-headed yogurt slinger hammering my clearing in the woods made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. If I don't audition the finger
puppets to get my fallopian fish stock slobbering from my ladytown, his blind
butler is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a sand blasted tomato. I
awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still weeping. I thought it was over
but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas.