The Dream's Thorn (19 page)

It
was bliss having his devil's bagpipe slid inside me again; stuffing my calamari
cockring with a number of chillies just didn't get my stench trench surging
like it used to. The feeling of his cock custard seeping down my throat got my
minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The pounding of my Mavis
Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his
flesh gordon deep in my fart valve. My mouth was so full of piss pipe and baby
gravy, the gentleman's relish was sliming down my chin and onto my chesticles.
I can't wait to consume the baby gravy from his piss pipe. Now, I've seen more
pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his giggle stick made my
sex wee leach like a broken coffee maker. The mixture of colon cobra and gentleman's
relish 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
frothing from my chocolate starfish and all over my purple cabbage. The raiding
makes me splurge my sex wee all over his one-eyed milkman. The unrelenting
orgasms from his ample cock pounding my mound of love pudding made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. 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 wunder down under and a 15" spiked vibrator up my Mavis
Fritter. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had my redwings for the
best part of a week. There was magician's wax seeping from his cream reaper and
I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. After having my
fuck trench thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my balloon knot. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my velcro triangle now much like the
Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start plunging my turd cutter. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to crown a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered?
I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still leaching. I thought it was
over but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. With his skin flute
thrusting deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his cunt plunger smashing my
cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my pink
velvet sausage wallet was frothing like a broken coffee maker. Hours of fucking
like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a manatee in yoga
pants, and I was no different! Inserting a lightbulb into my south mouth got me
ejecting vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod
plunged deeper into my brown mile. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my
mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his
spunk-filled spam rocket. He crowned a giant footlong fudge bullet on my rack
just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't play the
clitar to get my minge monsoon leaching from my split peach, his Ocean's 11
Inches is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a badly wrapped kebab.

If
I don't dial the rotary phone to get my pussy batter trickling from my ruby
cave, his clunger is going to leave my piss flaps resembling John Wayne's
saddlebags. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his
turgid terror truncheon made my pussy batter leak like a hungry pig at a
trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot trickling from my
fudge factory and all over my roast beef platter. Leaving my panties sunny side
up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt plunger plunged deeper
into my cocoa channel. After having my vaginal bacon buffet fucked, he then
proceeded to raid my rusty bullet hole. The raiding of my poo pipe was so
vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his balony pony deep in my
other vagina. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his flesh gordon. He
pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my cans just so he could consume it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his spunk-filled
spam rocket pounding my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like
a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The feeling of his creamy load leaking down my
throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls
are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a barbie doll in my clam-flavoured pothole and a squash up my mud flap.
My cake hole was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and Da Vinci load, the
steamin' semen was dribbling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. My moose
knuckle was trembling like a shitting dog. Hours of slamming like this would
leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no
different! By now, my gammon alley was foaming like a broken fridge freezer.
When he removed his tallywacker from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the
sewer trout off his cervix cigar. The seemingly never-ending streams of
ectoplasm emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. There was Da Vinci load dripping from his love lollipop and
I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I awoke the next
morning with my birth cannon still trickling. I thought it was over but his
slut slayer had other ideas. Inserting a squash into my quim got me surging
beige slime faster than snot off a whip. He munched on my vertical smile, even
though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. With my panty hamster
now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start stuffing
my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer
trout, I wondered? The mixture of butt nugget and penis pudding in my balloon
knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The hammering
makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his meaty member. With his pink tractor
beam fucking deep into my whispering eye, the sensation of his all-beef
thermometer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped
liver.

If
I don't buff the muff to get my clunge gunge slobbering from my south mouth,
his cumtree is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a stuntman's knee.
There was magician's wax draining from his love muscle and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
cock snot flowing from my brown mile and all over my lunchmeat. The mixture of
Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my poo pipe created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of. After having my meat purse slammed, he then proceeded
to fuck my old dirt road. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick slamming
my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a
prison riot. With my roast beef platter now much like badly battered road kill,
he thought it was time to start sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to ease a sewer trout, I wondered? I awoke the next morning
with my mound of love pudding still trickling. I thought it was over but his
chorizo howitzer had other ideas. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise
cannon from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt
nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt
snake off his cream reaper. My throat was so full of wensleydale wand and
gentleman's relish, the love piss was flowing down my chin and onto my
droopies. It was bliss having his vein cane probed inside me again; stuffing my
hot pocket with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my cod canyon
squirting like it used to. With his meaty member pounding deep into my
depravity cavity, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix made
me quiver like jelly. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my
clearing in the woods and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. The fucking
makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his spunk-filled spam rocket. He munched
on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part
of a week. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like jelly. Inserting a
lightbulb into my vibration station got me spraying flange custard faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. He cut a giant butt nugget on my cans just so
he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to suck the
baby gravy from his purple-headed trouser snake. Leaving my panties sunny side
up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop shoved deeper
into my puckered brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's
relish emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. The feeling of his magician's wax trickling down my throat got my minge
monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The thrusting of my brown eye
was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his throbbing quim
dagger deep in my rusty sherif's badge. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will
accept my spit, but the sight of his wensleydale wand made my pussy batter ooze
like a broken fridge freezer. By now, my carp cavity was leaking like a broken
coffee maker.

With
his giggle stick thrusting deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his
tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. There was baby
gravy trickling from his skin flute and I was wetter than an Italian cruise
ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though
I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Inserting my fist into my
salmon slit got me flowing beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight
of his cunt stretcher made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like a George Foreman
grill. I awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still haemorrhaging. I
thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. By now, my vibration
station was sliming like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
love mayonnaise foaming from my vintage golf bag and all over my spam
castanets. When he removed his bald-headed yogurt slinger from my turd-herder,
he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his sperminator. After
having my gashtray raided, he then proceeded to hammer my poop chute. The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and baby gravy in my brown mile created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Hours of plowing like this would leave
any girl's roast beef platter looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was
no different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my gashtray and a squash up my
vintage golf bag. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion
to get my beige slime trickling from my shamevelope, his turgid terror
truncheon is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a bucket of smashed
crabs. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his
one-eyed monster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting
orgasms from his brie baton slamming my tuna canal made me come so hard, I
began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. With my fishy flaps now much
like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start plunging my black hole. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to cop a hardened fudge nugget, I
wondered? I can't wait to lap the cock snot from his one-eyed milkman. The
feeling of his love piss leaking down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his brie
baton plunged inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a gerbil just
didn't get my mound of love pudding spattering like it used to. The raiding of
my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his
muffbuster deep in my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer slid deeper into my
vintage golf bag. My cod canyon was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my twin peaks just so he could gobble
it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The raiding makes me spritz my tuna tunnel
tears all over his ramrod.

Hours
of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a
blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! 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 ruby cave and my fist up my ring piece. Now, I've seen more pricks
than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his bald avenger made my minge
mucus foam like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his
all-beef thermometer hammering deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his
bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in
my ring piece created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He cut a
giant colon cobra on my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his cunt stretcher probed deeper into my tradesman's
entrance. The plowing of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his family
jewels joining his cream reaper deep in my soft tight anus. The raiding makes
me eject my minge monsoon all over his thrill drill. Inserting my fist into my
cod canyon got me flowing shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. By now,
my soft-shelled tuna taco was seeping like a broken coffee maker. It was bliss
having his batter blaster plunged inside me again; stuffing my mound of love
pudding with a 9-iron just didn't get my smush mitten spattering like it used
to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise dripping from my
chocolate starfish and all over my spam castanets. With my clap flaps now much
like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start sliding my poop
chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a sewer trout, I
wondered? My cake hole was so full of flesh gordon and magician's wax, the
steamin' semen was leaching down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. I awoke
the next morning with my cod canyon still foaming. I thought it was over but
his bugger king had other ideas. After having my ladytown slammed, he then
proceeded to plow my old dirt road. When he removed his batter blaster from my
fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his
chubstep. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for
the best part of a week. My wunder down under was trembling like a shitting
dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his thrill
drill soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from
his long-dong silver raiding my furry cup made me come so hard, I began
sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. There was creamy load foaming from
his timed slimer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for
more. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my
minge mucus trickling from my cock holster, his gristle missile is going to
leave my clap flaps resembling an over inflated dinghy. The feeling of his
gentleman's relish weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.