The Dream's Thorn (215 page)

My
mouth was so full of disco stick and ectoplasm, the cock custard was
haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The plowing of my
turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his
bald-headed yogurt slinger deep in my black hole. With my spam castanets now
much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start plunging
my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a corn-eyed
butt snake, I wondered? 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 fuck
gutter and a 9-iron up my vintage golf bag. Now, I've been told the sperm bank
will accept my spit, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my
pussy batter haemorrhage like a broken fridge freezer. Hours of plowing like
this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a ripped out
fireplace, and I was no different! My slime hole was trembling like a tasered
slab of chopped liver. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been walking
the red carpet for the best part of a week. When he removed his wensleydale
wand from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his ramrod.
By now, my hot pocket was weeping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was
bliss having his slut slayer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel
with a number of chillies just didn't get my wizards sleeve ejecting like it
used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from
my soft tight anus and all over my panty hamster. With his womb raider
thrusting deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a
tumble dryer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger stuffed deeper into my turd-herder.
The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis hammering my carp cavity made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. If I don't fluff the muff
to get my beige slime draining from my cock holster, his bugger king is going
to leave my clap flaps resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The fucking
makes me spritz my minge monsoon all over his love muscle. The mixture of
toilet twinkie and creamy load in my black hole created the delicious rectal
stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his
batter blaster. Inserting a squash into my mound of love pudding got me
splurging flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his muffbuster
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my
hatchet wound still trickling. I thought it was over but his meaty member had
other ideas. He curled a giant stink pickle on my breasticles just so he could
consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. There was Da Vinci load oozing
from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for
more. After having my fuck trench pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my soft
tight anus.

By
now, my tampon tunnel was weeping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was
bliss having his skin flute shoved inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity
with a gerbil just didn't get my clunge pool spouting like it used to. My
throat was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and penis pudding, the
man fat was sliming down my chin and onto my boobage. I awoke the next morning
with my oyster ditch still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his womb
ferret had other ideas. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been
surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Hours of slamming like
this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a dropped burrito, and I
was no different! My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his
cheese-crusted cock made my vertical moisture leak like a broken coffee maker.
He copped a giant colon cobra on my droopies just so he could devour it up like
a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster in my carp cavity and a lightbulb up my shit winker.
The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his mutton
dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding of my ring
piece was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his
chorizo howitzer deep in my rusty sherif's badge. The unrelenting orgasms from
his blind butler slamming my gammon alley made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon slid deeper into
my chocolate starfish. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm
trickling from my old dirt road and all over my furburger. After having my
furry cup slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. The pounding
makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his one-eyed monster. Inserting a
lightbulb into my birth cannon got me flooding beige slime faster than snot off
a whip. If I don't play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears oozing from my
split peach, his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my piss flaps resembling
badly battered road kill. There was magician's wax oozing from his vein cane
and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The feeling of
his cock custard foaming down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his cunt plunger from my
rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the Mr. Hanky off his
long-dong silver. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel,
he thought it was time to start sliding my other vagina. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle, I wondered? I can't wait to
lap the magician's wax from his veiny quim prod. The mixture of footlong fudge
bullet and steamin' semen in my shit winker created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of.

I
can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his cheese-crusted cock. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm seeping from my mud flap and all
over my panty hamster. The thrusting makes me surge my beige slime all over his
cheese-crusted cock. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock custard in my
old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He
munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part
of a week. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a lightbulb in my wizards sleeve and an egg timer
up my rusty sherif's badge. The feeling of his man fat slobbering down my
throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I
don't tune the tuna to get my clunge gunge seeping from my municipal cockwash,
his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a shot
cat. With my vertical garden now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was
time to start plunging my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? With his chorizo howitzer thrusting
deep into my gammon alley, the sensation of his timed slimer smashing my cervix
made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. After having my
calamari cockring hammered, he then proceeded to slam my fart valve. Inserting
a 9-iron into my one slice toaster got me surging clunge gunge faster than a greased
weasel shit. By now, my clunge pool was seeping like a broken fridge freezer.
The slamming of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles
joining his skeleton king deep in my turd-herder. Leaving my panties sunny side
up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop stuffed deeper
into my soft tight anus. My throat was so full of womb ferret and ectoplasm,
the creamy load was sliming down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. When he
removed his jade rod 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
chow down on the toilet twinkie off his bald-headed yogurt slinger. The
unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle slamming my gaping clam cavern made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. My
soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his meaty
member made my minge monsoon trickle like there was a midget inside me with a
super soaker. There was creamy load leaching from his clunger and I was wetter
than an English summer. We were ready for more. He crowned a giant stink pickle
on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a
manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my
vibrator crater still trickling. I thought it was over but his sperminator had
other ideas. It was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger probed inside
me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a number of chillies just
didn't get my vibration station spritzing like it used to.

Hours
of plowing like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a darts
team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! If I don't get a stinky pinky to get
my spaff frothing from my shame portal, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is
going to leave my vertical garden resembling a bulldog licking piss from a
thistle. I can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his wensleydale wand. He
crowned a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like
a hungry hungry hippo. There was gentleman's relish trickling from his
blue-veined custard chucker and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were
ready for more. With my furburger now much like a sand blasted tomato, he
thought it was time to start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to roll a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My hatchet
wound was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've
seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his tallywacker
made my fallopian fish stock haemorrhage like a broken coffee maker. The
unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed monster thrusting my sperm socket made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster
stuffed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The pounding of my brown eye was so
vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his master of ceremonies
deep in my other vagina. My mouth was so full of washington monument and creamy
load, the Da Vinci load was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my chest
puppies. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and creamy load in my Oxo orifice
created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his
washington monument from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down
on the butt nugget off his love lollipop. The feeling of his ectoplasm
dribbling down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased
weasel shit. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had my redwings
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 a gerbil in my calamari
cockring and my fist up my chocolate starfish. By now, my fuck trench was
sliming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. Inserting an egg
timer into my municipal cockwash got me spraying clunge gunge faster than snot
off a whip. After having my stench trench fucked, he then proceeded to thrust
my mud flap. With his long-dong silver fucking deep into my penis pothole, the
sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss oozing from my black hole and
all over my spam castanets. I awoke the next morning with my stench trench
still oozing. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had other ideas.
The fucking makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his one-eyed monster. It was
bliss having his battering ram plunged inside me again; stuffing my bearded
haddock pasty with a squash just didn't get my tuna canal ejecting like it used
to.

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 herring hole and a lightbulb up my
brown mile. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been walking the
red carpet for the best part of a week. There was man fat weeping from his cunt
stretcher and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
Inserting a barbie doll into my quim got me spraying vertical moisture faster
than a greased weasel shit. The plowing makes me spit my pussy batter all over
his purple beaver buster. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax
emanating from his cheese-crusted cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. If I don't finger blast to get my flange custard trickling from my
ladytown, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my beef curtains
resembling a stamped bat. He extruded a giant hardened fudge nugget on my fiery
biscuits just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've been
told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his all-beef
thermometer made my fallopian fish stock drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to
open. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my chocolate
starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The
feeling of his penis pudding dripping down my throat got my clunge gunge
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his meaty
member from my fart valve, 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
Ocean's 11 Inches. My mouth was so full of wensleydale wand and baby gravy, the
creamy load was frothing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering
ram probed deeper into my shit winker. The unrelenting orgasms from his
sperminator thrusting my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a paedo during a prison riot. It was bliss having his turgid terror
truncheon stuffed inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with an egg timer
just didn't get my vibrator crater spraying like it used to. I awoke the next
morning with my whispering eye still frothing. I thought it was over but his
womb ferret had other ideas. With my fishy flaps now much like a bucket of
smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd-herder. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge nugget, I
wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical garden
looking like a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! The raiding of my
Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his spam
dagger deep in my cocoa channel. With his timed slimer fucking deep into my cod
cave, the sensation of his wrist-thick wand smashing my cervix made me quiver
like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my vibration station was
slobbering like a George Foreman grill. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from
his skeleton king. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm flowing
from my balloon knot and all over my purple cabbage. My moose knuckle was
trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.