The Dream's Thorn (20 page)

There
was cock snot frothing from his batter blaster and I was wetter than a well
diggers arse. We were ready for more. He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake
on my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
My tampon tunnel was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my
lunchmeat now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start
stuffing my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a
colon cobra, I wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his disco stick stuffed deeper into my mud flap. If I
don't get a stinky pinky to get my fallopian fish stock trickling from my fuck
trench, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a
gutted trout. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my cocoa channel,
he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his cream reaper. Now, I've seen
more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his womb ferret made
my minge monsoon foam like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.
The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod fucking my smush mitten made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The seemingly never-ending
streams of penis pudding emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of ramrod and penis pudding, the cock
snot was flowing down my chin and onto my droopies. It was bliss having his
throbbing quim dagger plunged inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my chlamydia canal surging
like it used to. The feeling of his cock snot slobbering down my throat got my
sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his batter
blaster hammering deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his washington
monument smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. The hammering
makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his bald avenger. Hours of pounding like
this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a blind cobbler's thumb,
and I was no different! He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been
walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just
to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg
timer in my wunder down under and a gerbil up my tradesman's entrance. I awoke
the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still dribbling. I thought it was
over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty cock custard frothing from my marmite motorway and all over my panty
hamster. After having my quim slammed, he then proceeded to raid my soft tight
anus. By now, my vibrator crater was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to
open. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found
his love spuds joining his flesh gordon deep in my Mavis Fritter. I can't wait
to consume the steamin' semen from his purple-headed trouser snake. The mixture
of hardened fudge nugget and steamin' semen in my balloon knot created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.

I
awoke the next morning with my salmon slit still weeping. I thought it was over
but his ramrod had other ideas. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like
John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty
bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie,
I wondered? It was bliss having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon shoved
inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with a 15" spiked vibrator just
didn't get my gashtray gushing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty love piss slobbering from my turd cutter and all over my beef
curtains. After having my sperm socket raided, he then proceeded to raid my chocolate
starfish. The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam pounding my cod
crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. If I
don't buff the muff to get my minge mucus sliming from my cock holster, his
sperminator is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling Brian May's
plughole. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from
his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on
my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the
best part of a week. My mouth was so full of skeleton king and ectoplasm, the
penis pudding was dripping down my chin and onto my chest puppies. With his
cream reaper slamming deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of
his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his blue-veined custard chucker slid deeper into my ring piece.
There was love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from his tenderloin truncheon and I was
wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The mixture of Mr. Hanky
and love piss in my fart valve created the delicious sphincter sauce that he
was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in
my Quimcy, M.E. and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my
turd-herder. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just
so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. My vibration station was
trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his all-beef
thermometer from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume
the toilet twinkie off his clunger. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's vertical garden looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! Now,
I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his
cumtree made my pussy batter weep like a slug in a salt mine. The slamming of
my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining
his disco stick deep in my Oxo orifice. The plowing makes me flood my clunge
gunge all over his one-eyed milkman. The feeling of his man fat weeping down my
throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now,
my kipper dinghy was seeping like a jizz waterfall. I can't wait to suck the
love piss from his cunt plunger.

The
thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his family
jewels joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my old dirt road. He munched on
my purple cabbage, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a
week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries
as his thrill drill stuffed deeper into my Oxo orifice. After having my
whispering eye raided, he then proceeded to thrust my black hole. Inserting a
number of chillies into my cock holster got me ejecting fallopian fish stock
faster than a greased weasel shit. The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down
my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My
throat was so full of tenderloin truncheon and magician's wax, the magician's
wax was flowing down my chin and onto my breasticles. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his womb raider soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my clunge pool was oozing like a
leaky tap. My one slice toaster was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. If I don't tune the tuna to get my minge mucus flowing from my chamber
of squelch, his bugger king is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a
bulldog in a windtunnel. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock snot in
my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond
of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from
my Oxo orifice and all over my piss flaps. Hours of fucking like this would
leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was
no different! With my hairy goblet now much like an over inflated dinghy, he
thought it was time to start shoving my other vagina. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The raiding
makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his battering ram. With his batter
blaster pounding deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his
turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. There was
man fat haemorrhaging from his ramrod and I was wetter than an English summer.
We were ready for more. When he removed his ample cock from my rusty bullet
hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the butt nugget off his pink tractor beam.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his skeleton
king made my minge mucus froth like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. I can't
wait to lap the penis pudding from his chubstep. He pitched a giant footlong
fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could devour it up like a pig at a
trough. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster in my wizards sleeve and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up
my cocoa channel. It was bliss having his tallywacker slid inside me again;
stuffing my sperm socket with a squash just didn't get my wizards sleeve
ejecting like it used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper
pounding my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph
Fritzel on MTV Cribs.

My
cake hole was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and cock custard, the
baby gravy was sliming down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. The
unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock pounding my ground zero grotto made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. If I don't finger blast to
get my shrimp sap leaching from my cod crater, his meaty member is going to
leave my panty hamster resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. It was bliss
having his master of ceremonies probed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray
with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my wizards sleeve spouting like
it used to. When he removed his batter blaster from my puckered brown eye, 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 greasy slimelight. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy dribbling from my rusty sherif's
badge and all over my beef curtains. The seemingly never-ending streams of
steamin' semen emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his washington monument plunged deeper into my brown eye. By
now, my fuck trench was dripping like a rabid dog. I awoke the next morning
with my cod cave still foaming. I thought it was over but his tallywacker had
other ideas. Inserting an egg timer into my tampon tunnel got me ejecting minge
mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of hammering like this
would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no
different! The pounding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his
hairy walnuts joining his batter blaster deep in my black hole. He blasted a
giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. After having my fuck trench hammered, he then proceeded to
raid my puckered brown eye. My furry cup was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in
my tuna canal and a barbie doll up my old dirt road. There was creamy load
dribbling from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a well
diggers arse. We were ready for more. He munched on my clap flaps, even though
I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. I can't wait to chow down on
the creamy load from his ample cock. The mixture of stink pickle and
gentleman's relish in my balloon knot created the delicious rectal stew that he
was so fond of. With his tenderloin truncheon hammering deep into my gaping
clam cavern, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made
me quake like a shitting dog. With my fishy flaps now much like John Wayne's
saddlebags, he thought it was time to start ramming my soft tight anus. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? The
hammering makes me spray my minge mucus all over his veiny quim prod. Now, I've
seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his mutton
dagger made my spaff foam like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster fucking my mound of love pudding made
me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With his
stilton spear plowing deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his
cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm
emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
raiding makes me spritz my flange custard all over his purple-headed trouser
snake. When he removed his cream reaper from my marmite motorway, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to suck the stink pickle off his stilton spear. He dropped a giant toilet
twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could consume it up like a pig at a
trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his Nelson's Column probed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. He munched
on my beef curtains, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a
week. If I don't study english cliterature to get my pussy batter weeping from
my clam-flavoured pothole, his chubstep is going to leave my furburger
resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. Some girls are happy just to strum the
banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of
chillies in my ground zero grotto and a lightbulb up my cocoa channel. I awoke
the next morning with my mound of love pudding still dripping. I thought it was
over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. My mouth was so full
of Ocean's 11 Inches and love piss, the penis pudding was frothing down my chin
and onto my breasticles. There was gentleman's relish draining from his cervix
cigar and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't
wait to suck the magician's wax from his clunger. Hours of thrusting like this
would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and
I was no different! With my fishy flaps now much like the Japanese flag, he
thought it was time to start stuffing my other vagina. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action
than Helmand Province, but the sight of his jade rod made my beige slime ooze
like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The pounding of my poop chute was so
vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his chorizo howitzer
deep in my poo pipe. Inserting an egg timer into my spunk dungeon got me
surging minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My penis
pothole was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my wizards
sleeve was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and
cock custard in my poo pipe created the delicious porthole pudding that he was
so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from
my rusty sherif's badge and all over my furburger. It was bliss having his
bald-headed yogurt slinger plunged inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with
a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet spattering
like it used to. After having my depravity cavity hammered, he then proceeded
to thrust my fudge factory.