The Dream's Thorn (205 page)

With
my beef curtains now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to
start ramming my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? It was bliss having his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my pink
velvet sausage wallet with a lightbulb just didn't get my meat purse spraying
like it used to. The fucking of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found
his hairy walnuts joining his disco stick deep in my rusty bullet hole. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot seeping from my balloon knot and all
over my vertical garden. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt
Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Hours of fucking like this would
leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I
was no different! The hammering makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his
cheese-crusted cock. The unrelenting orgasms from his giggle stick raiding my
frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun
at a penguin shoot. There was penis pudding foaming from his timed slimer and I
was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. By now, my quim
was flowing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After
having my furry cup slammed, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve. He cut a
giant toilet twinkie on my tatas just so he could consume it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his love muscle plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. I awoke the
next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still sliming. I thought it was
over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. Some girls are happy just to
finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in
my cod crater and a squash up my marmite motorway. The feeling of his
magician's wax dribbling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my
ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the footlong fudge bullet
off his thrill drill. I can't wait to lap the baby gravy from his batter
blaster. My cake hole was so full of huge penis and Da Vinci load, the cock
custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my breasticles. With his
long-dong silver slamming deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his skin
flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
If I don't tune the tuna to get my shrimp sap foaming from my ruby cave, his
battering ram is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a rabid baboon's
arse. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my marmite motorway created
the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Inserting a number of chillies
into my fuck trench got me flooding spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. My birth cannon was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his
devil's bagpipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

I
awoke the next morning with my cock holster still sliming. I thought it was
over but his thrill drill had other ideas. He munched on my flappy meal, even
though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. My hot pocket was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly
never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his master of ceremonies soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The slamming of my shit winker was so
vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his tenderloin truncheon
deep in my brown mile. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my tuna canal
and a number of chillies up my Mavis Fritter. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon probed
deeper into my brown eye. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my
droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. With my
open-faced ham sandwich now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he
thought it was time to start stuffing my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to launch a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't get
a stinky pinky to get my tuna tunnel tears frothing from my vibration station,
his one-eyed milkman is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a twisted
slipper. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight
of his kebeb skewer made my fallopian fish stock froth like Augustus Gloop's
mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty creamy load oozing from my Mavis Fritter and all over my
lunchmeat. My mouth was so full of skeleton king and love piss, the ectoplasm
was dribbling down my chin and onto my superdroopers. With his gristle missile
slamming deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his ample cock smashing
my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. After having my depravity cavity
thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve. When he removed his vein
cane from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed
butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra
off his bugger king. The slamming makes me flood my tuna tunnel tears all over
his mutton dagger. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his slut
slayer. It was bliss having his blue-veined custard chucker shoved inside me
again; stuffing my furry cup with a barbie doll just didn't get my south mouth
surging like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my balloon
knot created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. By now, my one
slice toaster was dripping like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. Inserting a number of chillies into my cod canyon got me spattering
beige slime faster than snot off a whip. There was penis pudding draining from
his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready
for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon fucking my shame portal
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Hours of
slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a hippo's
yawn, and I was no different!

The
feeling of his man fat leaking down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My throat was so full of womb raider and
man fat, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my fiery
biscuits. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham
sandwich looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! If I
don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime weeping from my clearing in the
woods, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a
stuntman's knee. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight
of his long-dong silver made my clunge gunge foam like a slavering dog. There
was cock snot weeping from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My slime hole was trembling like
Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to flick the
bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my
ladytown and a gerbil up my chocolate starfish. He blasted a giant colon cobra
on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry
hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his sperminator shoved deeper into my cocoa channel. When he removed
his ample cock from my fart valve, 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 batter blaster. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger
pounding my herring hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant
nun. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been walking the red
carpet for the best part of a week. After having my gammon alley slammed, he
then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. I awoke the next morning with my
Quimcy, M.E. still draining. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had
other ideas. I can't wait to suck the cock custard from his battering ram.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaching from my
soft tight anus and all over my meaty hangers. It was bliss having his
throbbing quim dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with an
egg timer just didn't get my municipal cockwash spattering like it used to. The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my rusty sherif's badge
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my vertical
smile now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was
time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting a number of chillies into my
smush mitten got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip.
The slamming makes me pour my pussy batter all over his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus. With his jebend fucking deep into my chamber of squelch,
the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on
acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his
cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding of my Mavis
Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his cream reaper
deep in my turd cutter.

It
was bliss having his long-dong silver plunged inside me again; stuffing my
chlamydia canal with my fist just didn't get my wizards sleeve surging like it
used to. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still leaking. I thought
it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. 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 puckered brown eye. He munched on my roast beef platter,
even though I'd been up on bricks 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 gerbil in my enchilada of love and my fist up my poo pipe.
Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a twisted
slipper, and I was no different! The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my
throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. When he removed
his cream reaper from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour
the butt nugget off his devil's bagpipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his
devil's bagpipe fucking my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The seemingly never-ending streams of
creamy load emanating from his huge penis soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. My stench trench was trembling like a shitting dog. With his spam dagger
thrusting deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his wrist-thick wand
smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. There
was penis pudding foaming from his spam javelin and I was wetter than an
English summer. We were ready for more. If I don't study english cliterature to
get my flange custard leaching from my cod crater, his Ocean's 11 Inches is
going to leave my clap flaps resembling badly battered road kill. With my spam
castanets now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was
time to start stuffing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? By now, my gaping clam cavern was
frothing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate
river. The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my shit winker created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to gobble the love
mayonnaise from his gristle missile. My mouth was so full of all-beef
thermometer and love piss, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and onto my
mosquito bites. The raiding makes me spout my pussy batter all over his Ocean's
11 Inches. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from
my puckered brown eye and all over my piss flaps. Inserting an antique doorknob
into my municipal cockwash got me pouring minge monsoon faster than snot off a
whip. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of
his kebeb skewer made my sex wee weep like a broken coffee maker. After having
my smush mitten pounded, he then proceeded to pound my cocoa channel. The
raiding of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining
his giggle stick deep in my mud flap.

He
munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had the painters in for the best
part of a week. The mixture of sewer trout and magician's wax in my mud flap
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. When he removed
his love lollipop from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet
twinkie off his skeleton king. With my roast beef platter now much like a sand
blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start probing my cocoa channel. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a hardened fudge nugget, I
wondered? Inserting a lightbulb into my chlamydia canal got me ejecting sex wee
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was cock snot dripping from
his timed slimer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready
for more. The pounding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his
man berries joining his womb raider deep in my turd cutter. I can't wait to
consume the ectoplasm from his thrill drill. Now, I've seen more foreskins than
a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink
jesus made my pussy batter haemorrhage like a slug in a salt mine. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen seeping from my marmite motorway
and all over my clap flaps. If I don't fluff the muff to get my tuna tunnel
tears leaching from my ladytown, his ramrod is going to leave my spam castanets
resembling a badly wrapped kebab. I awoke the next morning with my bearded
haddock pasty still weeping. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket
had other ideas. He extruded a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage just so
he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. After having my herring
hole thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my tradesman's entrance. The raiding
makes me spit my minge mucus all over his sperminator. The feeling of his penis
pudding sliming down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and
ectoplasm, the magician's wax was draining down my chin and onto my mammaries.
It was bliss having his pink tractor beam shoved inside me again; stuffing my
moose knuckle with a barbie doll just didn't get my salmon slit spritzing like
it used to. My ruby cave was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly
never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his stilton spear soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill
drill thrusting my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
paedo during a prison riot. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's
open-faced ham sandwich looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different!
By now, my herring hole was haemorrhaging like a George Foreman grill. Some
girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 9-iron in my meat purse and a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster up my shit winker. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his muffbuster shoved deeper into my black hole.