The Dream's Thorn (195 page)

The
feeling of his gentleman's relish foaming down my throat got my minge monsoon
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a squash into my herring
hole got me gushing fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. The
raiding makes me gush my flange custard all over his womb raider. By now, my
salmon slit was dribbling like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Some girls
are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my quim and a squash up my
soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm oozing from
my rusty sherif's badge and all over my beef curtains. I can't wait to lap the
gentleman's relish from his piss pipe. When he removed his bugger king from my
turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his greasy
slimelight. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could
suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my
municipal cockwash still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. My throat was so full of skin
flute and cock snot, the creamy load was oozing down my chin and onto my chest
puppies. After having my penis pothole slammed, he then proceeded to plow my
fart valve. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his
piss pipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've been shot over
more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his skeleton king made my spaff
leach like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Hours of raiding
like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a manatee in yoga
pants, and I was no different! My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like
Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin
flute hammering my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike
Tyson at a spelling bee. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my black
hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. If I don't fluff
the muff to get my beige slime sliming from my cod crater, his blind butler is
going to leave my piss flaps resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. There was
steamin' semen haemorrhaging from his love muscle and I was wetter than a
bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The fucking of my chocolate starfish
was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his timed
slimer deep in my fudge factory. It was bliss having his stilton spear rammed
inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a squash just didn't get my cock
holster flooding like it used to. With his meaty member raiding deep into my
spunk dungeon, the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me
quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger rammed deeper into
my cocoa channel. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt
Flo visiting for the best part of a week.

The
seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his pink tractor
beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was cock snot dripping
from his spam javelin and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready
for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his disco stick plunged deeper into my brown mile. He arced a giant
colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. My split peach was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still
leaking. I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas. The
hammering of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle
jewellery joining his ramrod deep in my Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty cock snot flowing from my turd cutter and all over my
furburger. By now, my shamevelope was trickling like a jizz waterfall. My mouth
was so full of flesh gordon and baby gravy, the magician's wax was flowing down
my chin and onto my chest puppies. The feeling of his cock snot draining down
my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I
don't finger blast to get my tuna tunnel tears foaming from my salmon slit, his
flesh gordon is going to leave my spam castanets resembling Brian May's
plughole. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his spam dagger.
With my piss flaps now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time
to start plunging my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
pinch off a colon cobra, I wondered? It was bliss having his purple-headed
trouser snake shoved inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with my fist just
didn't get my municipal cockwash ejecting like it used to. He munched on my
purple cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a
week. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a gerbil in my front bum and a lightbulb up my
ring piece. After having my cod canyon raided, he then proceeded to slam my
poop chute. When he removed his thrill drill from my poo pipe, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his greasy kebab skewer. Now,
I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his love
muscle made my fallopian fish stock slime like there was a midget inside me
with a super soaker. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and ectoplasm in my
black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With
his ample cock slamming deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his
tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. The hammering makes me spout my spaff all over his love lollipop. The
unrelenting orgasms from his all-beef thermometer thrusting my hot pocket made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory.
Inserting a 9-iron into my ground zero grotto got me spraying flange custard
faster than a greased weasel shit.

With
his jebend plowing deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his
spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab
of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise
emanating from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to consume the
creamy load from his cumtree. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my
tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his disco
stick. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still flowing. I thought
it was over but his spam dagger had other ideas. The plowing makes me splurge
my fallopian fish stock all over his wrist-thick wand. My cake hole was so full
of tallywacker and ectoplasm, the creamy load was slobbering down my chin and
onto my tatas. By now, my stench trench was seeping like a leaky tap. The
pounding of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights
joining his Ocean's 11 Inches deep in my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've seen
more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his sperminator made
my flange custard flow like a rabid dog. If I don't audition the finger puppets
to get my beige slime dripping from my gammon alley, his meaty member is going
to leave my lunchmeat resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. There was
Da Vinci load weeping from his ample cock and I was wetter than an Italian
cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my vertical smile, even
though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Hours of plowing like
this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I
was no different! After having my tuna canal plowed, he then proceeded to slam
my marmite motorway. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding
draining from my turd-herder and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. 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 fuck trench and an egg timer up my brown mile.
The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and Da Vinci load in my marmite motorway
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He copped a giant
toilet twinkie on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough.
The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer plowing my quim made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. My wizards sleeve was
trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my clap flaps now much like
a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start sliding my shit winker. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to cut a sewer trout, I wondered? It was
bliss having his kebeb skewer shoved inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with
a number of chillies just didn't get my ground zero grotto spattering like it
used to. Inserting an egg timer into my gammon alley got me flowing minge
monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

The
plowing makes me spit my fallopian fish stock all over his love lollipop. Now,
I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his
balony pony made my beige slime drain like a hungry pig at a trough. I awoke
the next morning with my salmon slit still leaking. I thought it was over but
his wensleydale wand had other ideas. The feeling of his man fat foaming down
my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member slamming my cum
dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin
shoot. With his spam dagger pounding deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of
his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter
looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! My mouth was so full of
tallywacker and magician's wax, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and
onto my superdroopers. Inserting a lightbulb into my municipal cockwash got me
spouting shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having
my vibration station pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my turd-herder. I can't
wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his greasy slimelight. He pinched off a
giant hardened fudge nugget on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen
dripping from my turd cutter and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my meat
purse was leaking like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his cervix cigar shoved deeper into my vintage golf bag. Some girls are happy
just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having
a 15" spiked vibrator in my hatchet wound and a 15" spiked vibrator up
my mud flap. The thrusting of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his
two amigos joining his cervix cigar deep in my rusty bullet hole. My south
mouth was trembling like a rat on acid. There was penis pudding trickling from
his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready
for more. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my Mavis Fritter
created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. If I don't audition
the finger puppets to get my beige slime frothing from my municipal cockwash,
his veiny quim prod is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a badly wrapped
kebab. When he removed his turgid terror truncheon from my brown eye, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to lap the colon cobra off his muffbuster. It was bliss having his bugger
king probed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a number of
chillies just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet squirting like it used to. The
seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his one-eyed monster
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my panty hamster now much
like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start sliding my
chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a butt
nugget, I wondered?

If
I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my sex wee
trickling from my quim, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my roast
beef platter resembling badly battered road kill. The feeling of his Da Vinci
load leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. There was Da Vinci load dribbling from his purple beaver
buster and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more.
With his balony pony hammering deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his spam
javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
The plowing of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles
joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my rusty sherif's badge.
Inserting a barbie doll into my front bum got me gushing sex wee faster than
snot off a whip. My mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and love piss, the
man fat was draining down my chin and onto my breasticles. The seemingly
never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
steamin' semen flowing from my rusty bullet hole and all over my open-faced ham
sandwich. By now, my gaping clam cavern was flowing like a broken coffee maker.
I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his mutton dagger. He launched a
giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could suck it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. When he removed his sperminator from my poop chute, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his cumtree. The unrelenting
orgasms from his one-eyed milkman raiding my bearded haddock pasty made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container.
Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a
bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! After having my vibrator
crater hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my Mavis Fritter. He munched on my
piss flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a
week. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my furry cup and my fist
up my Mavis Fritter. My cod cave was trembling like jelly. Now, I've seen more
japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his skeleton king made my
fallopian fish stock froth like a broken coffee maker. The mixture of stink
pickle and love piss in my turd-herder created the delicious sphincter sauce
that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his throbbing quim dagger stuffed deeper into my rusty
sherif's badge. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches shoved inside me
again; stuffing my cod crater with a number of chillies just didn't get my
vibration station splurging like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my slime
hole still draining. I thought it was over but his womb raider had other ideas.
With my beef curtains now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was
time to start plunging my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered?