The Dream's Thorn (201 page)

If
I don't fluff the muff to get my sex wee flowing from my ladytown, his
washington monument is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a shot cat. With
my clap flaps now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to
start plunging my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? He blasted a giant hardened fudge nugget on
my love bubbles just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his one-eyed monster slid deeper into my turd-herder. Inserting a lightbulb
into my salmon slit got me gushing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating
from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling
of his penis pudding leaking down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and
penis pudding in my shit winker created the delicious rectal stew that he was
so fond of. My cake hole was so full of vein cane and love piss, the
gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my chesticles. After
having my cod cave raided, he then proceeded to fuck my balloon knot. I awoke
the next morning with my ground zero grotto still flowing. I thought it was over
but his battering ram had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave
any girl's vertical garden looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no
different! Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but
I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my meat purse and a barbie doll
up my rusty bullet hole. It was bliss having his thrill drill plunged inside me
again; stuffing my meat purse with a number of chillies just didn't get my cum
dumpster flowing like it used to. With his meaty member plowing deep into my
mound of love pudding, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix
made me quake like jelly. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental
optician, but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my shrimp sap
haemorrhage like a slug in a salt mine. The thrusting of my marmite motorway
was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his stilton spear
deep in my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's
wax haemorrhaging from my poop chute and all over my velcro triangle. I can't
wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his timed slimer. My gashtray was
trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. When he removed his
clunger from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong
fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the
footlong fudge bullet off his kebeb skewer. The unrelenting orgasms from his
skin flute pounding my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like
a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. By now, my pink velvet sausage
wallet was frothing like a broken fridge freezer. There was magician's wax
leaching from his greasy slimelight and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We
were ready for more. The slamming makes me spout my tuna tunnel tears all over
his love muscle.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger hammering my enchilada
of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. It
was bliss having his turgid terror truncheon probed inside me again; stuffing
my hot pocket with an antique doorknob just didn't get my chamber of squelch
flowing like it used to. I can't wait to consume the baby gravy from his
one-eyed monster. The slamming of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he
soon found his love spuds joining his disco stick deep in my shit winker. The
mixture of toilet twinkie and cock snot in my ring piece created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me ejecting pussy batter faster than
snot off a whip. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but
the sight of his pink tractor beam made my beige slime ooze like a broken
fridge freezer. With my fishy flaps now much like a motorway pileup, he thought
it was time to start plunging my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to study
english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
squash in my smush mitten and a 9-iron up my brown mile. After having my carp
cavity fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. If I don't fluff the
muff to get my flange custard dripping from my chamber of squelch, his
bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a dropped
burrito. With his blind butler slamming deep into my cod canyon, the sensation
of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod
shoved deeper into my brown mile. My mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and
ectoplasm, the steamin' semen was draining down my chin and onto my
superdroopers. By now, my moose knuckle was haemorrhaging like someone had
poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The seemingly never-ending streams of
baby gravy emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise
foaming from my vintage golf bag and all over my panty hamster. My stench
trench was trembling like a rat on acid. Hours of plowing like this would leave
any girl's piss flaps looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no
different! When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my cocoa channel, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his tenderloin truncheon. The
feeling of his Da Vinci load haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. There was penis pudding weeping from his
eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an English summer.
We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still
flowing. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. He dropped a
giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. The plowing makes me spritz my tuna tunnel tears all
over his cunt stretcher.

When
he removed his cervix cigar 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
hardened fudge nugget off his gristle missile. After having my slime hole
slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my fart valve. The thrusting makes me
spout my fallopian fish stock all over his veiny quim prod. By now, my calamari
cockring was seeping like a rabid dog. 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 frilling pink golf bag and an antique doorknob up my chocolate
starfish. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his huge penis. He
dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mosquito bites just so he could
suck it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of raiding like this would leave any
girl's beef curtains looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different!
Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his
bugger king made my spaff drain like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. With his one-eyed milkman slamming deep into my cod cave, the sensation
of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. There
was love piss draining from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love
pudding still foaming. I thought it was over but his throbbing quim dagger had
other ideas. It was bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches stuffed inside me again;
stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with an egg timer just didn't get my ladytown
gushing like it used to. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster
into my stench trench got me pouring pussy batter faster than greased shit off
a shiny shovel. The mixture of stink pickle and baby gravy in my turd-herder
created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so
full of ramrod and baby gravy, the baby gravy was haemorrhaging down my chin
and onto my chest puppies. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile
hammering my cum dumpster 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 sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My quim was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The feeling of his
penis pudding draining down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than
snot off a whip. The pounding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon
found his trouser conkors joining his mutton dagger deep in my brown eye. If I
don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge mucus
draining from my vibrator crater, his tallywacker is going to leave my panty
hamster resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty steamin' semen slobbering from my shit winker and all over my
velcro triangle. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his piss pipe shoved deeper into my black hole. With my vertical
smile now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start
probing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc
a stink pickle, I wondered?

Inserting
a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my tuna canal got me spritzing
sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The pounding makes me flow
my flange custard all over his long-dong silver. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was
seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Hours of fucking
like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like Pete Burns' lips,
and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load
leaching from my puckered brown eye and all over my meaty hangers. My municipal
cockwash was trembling like a shitting dog. After having my gammon alley
pounded, he then proceeded to raid my shit winker. The unrelenting orgasms from
his stilton spear fucking my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like
a white mouse in a tampon factory. With my meaty hangers now much like the
south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start probing my
ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been
riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My throat was so full of
balony pony and steamin' semen, the love mayonnaise was flowing down my chin
and onto my tatas. The hammering of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he
soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his chubstep deep in my fudge
factory. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his vein cane. I awoke the
next morning with my meat purse still trickling. I thought it was over but his
ample cock had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat
emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If
I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime flowing from my salmon slit,
his gristle missile is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a bulldog
licking piss from a thistle. The feeling of his creamy load oozing down my
throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and love mayonnaise in my vintage golf bag
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. 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 spunk dungeon and a 9-iron up my mud flap. With his piss pipe
pounding deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his greasy
slimelight smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. There was Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from his slut slayer and I was
wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He pitched a giant
corn-eyed butt snake on my mammaries just so he could gobble it up like a pig
at a trough. When he removed his purple-headed trouser snake from my balloon
knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his
purple beaver buster. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but
the sight of his slut slayer made my tuna tunnel tears froth 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 Ocean's 11 Inches rammed deeper into
my balloon knot.

There
was cock custard oozing from his balony pony and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. After having my tuna canal pounded, he then
proceeded to slam my poop chute. He copped a giant toilet twinkie on my rack
just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Hours of
slamming like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like the south
end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending
streams of penis pudding emanating from his flesh gordon soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his
brie baton. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the
sight of his skeleton king made my tuna tunnel tears weep like a slug in a salt
mine. With his timed slimer hammering deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation
of his brie baton smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a
tumble dryer. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my
black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I
don't tune the tuna to get my minge monsoon leaking from my furry cup, his
greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a stamped bat.
My chamber of squelch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
Inserting a 9-iron into my spunk dungeon got me flowing tuna tunnel tears
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his tenderloin
truncheon rammed inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a 15"
spiked vibrator just didn't get my ruby cave pouring like it used to. By now, my
hatchet wound was haemorrhaging like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The
raiding makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his ample cock. The
feeling of his gentleman's relish dripping down my throat got my sex wee
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was
so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his spam dagger deep in my
fudge factory. My mouth was so full of sperminator and penis pudding, the love
piss was frothing down my chin and onto my tatas. 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 birth cannon and a lightbulb up my
marmite motorway. With my hairy goblet now much like an over inflated dinghy,
he thought it was time to start plunging my ring piece. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to blast a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? He munched on
my fishy flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a
week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load flowing from my old
dirt road and all over my fishy flaps. When he removed his washington monument
from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off
his brie baton. I awoke the next morning with my meat purse still
haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his bugger king stuffed deeper into my fudge factory.