The Dream's Thorn (202 page)

With
his spam javelin pounding deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his
bugger king smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The plowing
of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining
his purple beaver buster deep in my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty creamy load oozing from my turd cutter and all over my fishy
flaps. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking
like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! My mouth was so full of
devil's bagpipe and penis pudding, the man fat was dribbling down my chin and
onto my mammaries. If I don't study english cliterature to get my flange
custard trickling from my tuna canal, his spam dagger is going to leave my
panty hamster resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The feeling of his cock
snot foaming down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my old dirt road
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my clap
flaps now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start
ramming my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a colon
cobra, I wondered? Inserting a barbie doll into my cock holster got me
spattering minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the
next morning with my cum dumpster still oozing. I thought it was over but his
wensleydale wand had other ideas. He launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on
my tatas just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. By now, my
vibrator crater was seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. There was Da Vinci load sliming from his cumtree and I was wetter than
an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My ground zero grotto was
trembling 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 battering ram shoved
deeper into my turd-herder. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even
though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his
wensleydale wand rammed inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with a
number of chillies just didn't get my split peach spraying like it used to.
Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his
timed slimer made my sex wee froth like a hungry pig at a trough. After having
my salmon slit pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my balloon knot. The
seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his
blue-veined custard chucker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
pounding makes me eject my clunge gunge all over his wrist-thick wand. I can't
wait to consume the penis pudding from his disco stick. When he removed his
blue-veined custard chucker from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the
footlong fudge bullet off his muffbuster. 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
ground zero grotto and a gerbil up my fart valve.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax haemorrhaging from my old dirt
road and all over my beef curtains. If I don't study english cliterature to get
my flange custard dribbling from my chlamydia canal, his womb ferret is going
to leave my clap flaps resembling the south end of a badger going north. He
munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of
a week. The thrusting makes me squirt my shrimp sap all over his batter
blaster. The mixture of butt nugget and steamin' semen in my fart valve 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 my fist in
my meat purse and an egg timer up my soft tight anus. After having my kipper
dinghy slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my turd-herder. I can't wait to lap
the cock snot from his tenderloin truncheon. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword rammed deeper
into my turd-herder. He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just
so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a barbie doll
into my salmon slit got me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased
weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating
from his cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was Da Vinci load trickling
from his sperminator and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready
for more. With his blind butler thrusting deep into my depravity cavity, the
sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like an
epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my cod cave was oozing like Adele
waiting for Greggs to open. With my flappy meal now much like Brian May's
plughole, he thought it was time to start probing my other vagina. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've been
told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his skin flute made
my spaff leach like a slug in a salt mine. My spunk dungeon was trembling like
Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of thrusting like this would
leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a ripped out fireplace,
and I was no different! The plowing of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon
found his family jewels joining his spam dagger deep in my old dirt road. The
unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword raiding my wizards sleeve made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. My throat was so
full of Nelson's Column and love piss, the man fat was leaching down my chin
and onto my top bollocks. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my old
dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened fudge nugget off his cervix
cigar. It was bliss having his stilton sword shoved inside me again; stuffing
my enchilada of love with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my
vibrator crater spattering like it used to.

I
awoke the next morning with my tampon tunnel still dribbling. I thought it was
over but his jebend had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of clunger and
gentleman's relish, the steamin' semen was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto
my chesticles. The plowing makes me spray my spaff all over his muffbuster.
Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking
like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from
his love lollipop fucking my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. With his timed slimer plowing
deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his spunk-filled spam rocket smashing
my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He
copped a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it
up like a pig at a trough. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his
long-dong silver. After having my gaping clam cavern thrusted, he then
proceeded to pound my fudge factory. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree probed deeper into my shit
winker. There was ectoplasm trickling from his spam dagger and I was wetter
than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With my purple cabbage now much
like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start stuffing my cocoa
channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I
wondered? When he removed his cream reaper from my soft tight anus, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the sewer trout off his mutton dagger. The seemingly
never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his slut slayer soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't buff the muff to get my tuna
tunnel tears leaking from my sperm socket, his bald avenger is going to leave
my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a stuntman's knee. He munched on my panty
hamster, even though I'd been up on bricks 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 number of chillies in my wunder down under and a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster up my poo pipe. It was bliss having his flesh
gordon shoved inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with a lightbulb just
didn't get my south mouth squirting like it used to. The feeling of his man fat
sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased
weasel shit. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my
puckered brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond
of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaching from my
marmite motorway and all over my meaty hangers. Now, I've seen more helmets
than Hitler, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my
fallopian fish stock leak like a leaky tap. By now, my one slice toaster was
leaching like a George Foreman grill. The raiding of my fart valve was so
vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his one-eyed milkman deep in
my ring piece. My hatchet wound was trembling like a shitting dog.

Now,
I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his wensleydale
wand made my tuna tunnel tears drain like a slavering dog. The hammering of my
balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his
cumtree deep in my puckered brown eye. Hours of thrusting like this would leave
any girl's clap flaps looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no
different! It was bliss having his vein cane rammed inside me again; stuffing
my municipal cockwash with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my
gashtray spouting like it used to. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen
from his ramrod. He dropped a giant stink pickle on my boobage just so he could
suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams
of steamin' semen emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo
visiting for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky
pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my
ground zero grotto and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. If I don't study
english cliterature to get my minge monsoon seeping from my municipal cockwash,
his kebeb skewer is going to leave my furburger resembling a bulldog in a
windtunnel. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still leaching. I
thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. There was cock snot
sliming from his giggle stick and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were
ready for more. The feeling of his cock snot slobbering down my throat got my
flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My mouth was so full of
ample cock and Da Vinci load, the ectoplasm was trickling down my chin and onto
my sweater puppies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus probed deeper into my
balloon knot. After having my depravity cavity raided, he then proceeded to
thrust my chocolate starfish. My vaginal bacon buffet was trembling like jelly.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaching from my other
vagina and all over my beef curtains. The fucking makes me gush my clunge gunge
all over his spam dagger. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and gentleman's
relish in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he
was so fond of. By now, my gashtray was oozing like a rabid dog. Inserting my
fist into my penis pothole got me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than snot
off a whip. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver slamming my
salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a
fish shop. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a manatee in yoga
pants, he thought it was time to start plunging my mud flap. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to roll a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? When he removed his
devil's bagpipe from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer
trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt
snake off his tallywacker.

Some
girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 9-iron in my tampon tunnel and a 15" spiked vibrator up
my turd cutter. It was bliss having his cunt plunger slid inside me again;
stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a lightbulb just didn't get my stench
trench flowing like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and baby gravy in my
other vagina 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 chorizo howitzer stuffed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. My cake hole
was so full of tallywacker and cock custard, the cock custard was weeping down
my chin and onto my boobage. When he removed his huge penis from my rusty
bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his bugger
king. I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his flesh gordon. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his washington
monument soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my gaping
clam cavern fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my balloon knot. If I don't
play the clitar to get my minge monsoon weeping from my mound of love pudding,
his washington monument is going to leave my furburger resembling a sand
blasted tomato. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been surfing
the crimson tide for the best part of a week. There was love piss slobbering
from his bald avenger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for
more. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of
his ample cock made my minge mucus drain like a slug in a salt mine. By now, my
quim was weeping like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
gentleman's relish flowing from my old dirt road and all over my open-faced ham
sandwich. With his chorizo howitzer thrusting deep into my penis pothole, the
sensation of his piss pipe smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. My
ground zero grotto was trembling like a rat on acid. The fucking makes me spout
my beige slime all over his batter blaster. The feeling of his man fat dripping
down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. He pinched off a giant footlong fudge bullet on my sweater puppies just
so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The unrelenting orgasms
from his batter blaster pounding my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so
hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. I awoke the next
morning with my gaping clam cavern still dripping. I thought it was over but
his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. Inserting a number of chillies into my
quim got me ejecting vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. With
my clap flaps now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to
start ramming my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
drop a stink pickle, I wondered? Hours of slamming like this would leave any
girl's flappy meal looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different!