The Dream's Thorn (186 page)

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen sliming from my marmite
motorway and all over my lunchmeat. He cut a giant hardened fudge nugget on my
love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The
unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock raiding my enchilada of love
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my fudge factory created
the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Hours of hammering like
this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a horse's collar, and I
was no different! My furry cup was trembling like jelly. With my open-faced ham
sandwich now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start
plunging my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
launch a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to
audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a lightbulb in my vaginal bacon buffet and a number of chillies up my
brown mile. There was baby gravy draining from his chorizo howitzer and I was
wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He munched on my
lunchmeat, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.
Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my south mouth got me
flooding vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. My mouth was so full of
flesh gordon and love mayonnaise, the man fat was draining down my chin and
onto my top bollocks. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his cheese-crusted cock slid deeper into my brown mile.
The feeling of his love mayonnaise leaching down my throat got my shrimp sap
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to suck the love piss
from his greasy kebab skewer. I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the
woods still sliming. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other
ideas. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his
ample cock made my shrimp sap seep like someone had poured fairy liquid into
Niagara Falls. By now, my salmon slit was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. It
was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my
carp cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my
pink velvet sausage wallet spattering like it used to. After having my clunge
pool pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my poo pipe. The slamming makes me
splurge my minge monsoon all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. With his balony
pony slamming deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his kebeb skewer
smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The seemingly never-ending
streams of baby gravy emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. The plowing of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon
found his family jewels joining his skin flute deep in my Oxo orifice. If I
don't dial the rotary phone to get my sex wee frothing from my gammon alley,
his skeleton king is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a twisted
slipper.

He
copped a giant Mr. Hanky on my tatas just so he could chow down on it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to chow down on the gentleman's relish from
his one-eyed milkman. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still
frothing. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. Hours
of raiding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like Terry
Waite's allotment, and I was no different! By now, my pink velvet sausage
wallet was oozing like a broken coffee maker. He munched on my panty hamster,
even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Some girls are
happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a squash in my cock holster and a 9-iron up my puckered brown eye. The
hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders
joining his cumtree deep in my black hole. The feeling of his cock custard
trickling down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased
weasel shit. After having my penis pothole raided, he then proceeded to hammer
my tradesman's entrance. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my poo
pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his greasy slimelight
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My furry cup was trembling like a
rat on acid. Inserting an antique doorknob into my herring hole got me spraying
clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty magician's wax dribbling from my poop chute and all over my open-faced
ham sandwich. My throat was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and penis
pudding, the ectoplasm was weeping down my chin and onto my tatas. Now, I've
seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his sperminator made my
fallopian fish stock drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The raiding
makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his slut slayer. The unrelenting
orgasms from his jebend hammering my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began
sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. It was bliss having his disco stick
slid inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a barbie doll
just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag splurging like it used to. If I don't
stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my pussy batter leaching
from my tuna canal, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my spam
castanets resembling a gutted trout. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket rammed deeper
into my brown mile. With his clunger plowing deep into my kipper dinghy, the
sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made me quake like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. With my roast beef platter now much like a
clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf bag.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a hardened fudge nugget,
I wondered? When he removed his disco stick from my brown mile, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to devour the footlong fudge bullet off his love muscle.

My
salmon slit was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his flesh gordon
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical garden,
even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My throat was so
full of cheese-crusted cock and ectoplasm, the cock snot was leaking down my
chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my birth
cannon and a squash up my old dirt road. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake
and man fat in my poo pipe created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so
fond of. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid
inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 9-iron just didn't get my frilling
pink golf bag pouring like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his one-eyed monster probed deeper into my
fudge factory. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still
foaming. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other
ideas. He blasted a giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could
gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his chorizo howitzer raiding
deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his greasy slimelight
smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he
removed his muffbuster from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed
butt snake off his wrist-thick wand. The pounding of my marmite motorway was so
vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his one-eyed milkman deep in
my chocolate starfish. Inserting a squash into my birth cannon got me surging
sex wee faster than snot off a whip. Hours of plowing like this would leave any
girl's meaty hangers looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no
different! I can't wait to lap the baby gravy from his love muscle. If I don't
flick the bean to get my sex wee leaching from my salmon slit, his veiny quim
prod is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Pete Burns' lips. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy seeping from my turd-herder and all
over my furburger. After having my vibration station thrusted, he then
proceeded to hammer my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb
ferret slamming my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The slamming makes me spritz my sex
wee all over his spam dagger. With my fishy flaps now much like an over
inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start probing my marmite motorway.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? By
now, my quim was frothing like a George Foreman grill. Now, I've seen more
pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made
my minge monsoon foam like a George Foreman grill. The feeling of his steamin'
semen haemorrhaging down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker
than a greased weasel shit.

He
munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my redwings for the best
part of a week. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's purple
cabbage looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! With my clap
flaps now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start plunging
my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a colon
cobra, I wondered? When he removed his love lollipop from my other vagina, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his muffbuster. Now, I've seen more
foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his all-beef
thermometer made my beige slime ooze like there was a midget inside me with a
super soaker. The plowing makes me squirt my sex wee all over his mutton
dagger. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat slobbering from my
puckered brown eye and all over my clap flaps. The unrelenting orgasms from his
skeleton king fucking my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating
like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. I can't wait to lap the baby gravy from his
bugger king. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my smush mitten got me
surging minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't get a
stinky pinky to get my beige slime foaming from my whispering eye, his balony
pony is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling Terry Waite's
allotment. It was bliss having his cheese-crusted cock plunged inside me again;
stuffing my cod canyon with a lightbulb just didn't get my herring hole
ejecting like it used to. My hatchet wound was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding
still trickling. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other
ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his
one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The pounding of
my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery
joining his womb ferret deep in my soft tight anus. After having my frilling
pink golf bag plowed, he then proceeded to pound my soft tight anus. By now, my
gashtray was trickling 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 an egg timer in my moose knuckle and a lightbulb up my
poop chute. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and magician's wax in my ring
piece created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. There was penis
pudding frothing from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his disco stick slid deeper into my fudge factory.
He rolled a giant toilet twinkie on my cans just so he could lap it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his steamin' semen dribbling down my throat
got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his Ocean's
11 Inches hammering deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of
his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator.

It
was bliss having his cunt stretcher shoved inside me again; stuffing my clunge
pool with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my bearded
haddock pasty spraying like it used to. By now, my wizards sleeve was weeping
like a slavering dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster
hammering my clam-flavoured pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like
a pregnant nun. With his veiny quim prod hammering deep into my mound of love
pudding, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver
like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. 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 froth like a rabid dog. The plowing of my turd cutter was so
vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his flesh gordon deep in my
poo pipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish slobbering
from my Oxo orifice and all over my roast beef platter. The mixture of hardened
fudge nugget and love piss in my fart valve created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. He extruded a giant footlong fudge bullet on my
love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The
feeling of his creamy load dripping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his bugger king shoved deeper into my
marmite motorway. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch still
seeping. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. My
mouth was so full of cumtree and gentleman's relish, the Da Vinci load was
oozing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. He munched on my panty hamster,
even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The
seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his battering
ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My meat purse was trembling
like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. With my panty hamster now much like
that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start shoving my
other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a corn-eyed
butt snake, I wondered? If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my tuna tunnel
tears haemorrhaging from my spunk dungeon, his meaty member is going to leave
my panty hamster resembling a stuntman's knee. There was magician's wax
haemorrhaging from his clunger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We
were ready for more. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's piss
flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! Some girls are
happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a squash in my herring hole and a squash up my fudge factory. I can't
wait to gobble the love piss from his ample cock. The hammering makes me spout
my minge mucus all over his one-eyed monster. When he removed his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my puckered brown eye, 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 womb raider. Inserting a 15" spiked
vibrator into my cod cave got me gushing clunge gunge faster than greased shit
off a shiny shovel.