The Dream's Thorn (218 page)

When
he removed his devil's bagpipe from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his bald avenger. He arced a giant
sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load haemorrhaging
from my soft tight anus and all over my fishy flaps. My mouth was so full of
gristle missile and man fat, the ectoplasm was draining down my chin and onto
my fiery biscuits. My shamevelope was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. The plowing makes me splurge my vertical moisture all over his ramrod. I
can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his cunt plunger. There was
ectoplasm haemorrhaging from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter
than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. With his huge penis
hammering deep into my quim, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my
cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The feeling of his
steamin' semen flowing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Inserting a number of chillies into my
vibration station got me spouting clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king thrusting my cod
cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish
shop. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the painters in for
the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my one slice
toaster and a 15" spiked vibrator up my mud flap. I awoke the next morning
with my cock holster still slobbering. I thought it was over but his meaty
member had other ideas. By now, my penis pothole was dribbling like a broken
fridge freezer. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's furburger
looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! If I don't flick the
bean to get my flange custard oozing from my ground zero grotto, his
tallywacker is going to leave my panty hamster resembling John Wayne's
saddlebags. It was bliss having his purple beaver buster stuffed inside me
again; stuffing my ladytown with my fist just didn't get my ground zero grotto
spraying like it used to. The pounding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he
soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his pink tractor beam deep in my
turd-herder. With my meaty hangers now much like a gutted trout, he thought it
was time to start stuffing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to extrude a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more
helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his vein cane made my spaff froth like
someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The mixture of Mr. Hanky
and Da Vinci load in my puckered brown eye created the delicious sphincter
sauce that he was so fond of. After having my calamari cockring raided, he then
proceeded to pound my other vagina. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree rammed deeper into my old dirt
road.

Hours
of slamming like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a
werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! He arced a giant sewer
trout on my twin peaks just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a gerbil in my vaginal bacon buffet and an antique
doorknob up my rusty bullet hole. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will
accept my spit, but the sight of his giggle stick made my beige slime slime
like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of butt nugget and
magician's wax in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectoplasm that
he was so fond of. With my panty hamster now much like badly battered road
kill, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered? Within no time, I
could feel the shitty baby gravy haemorrhaging from my mud flap and all over my
clap flaps. If I don't study english cliterature to get my flange custard
weeping from my wizards sleeve, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my meaty
hangers resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. After having my Quimcy, M.E.
thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my brown mile. I awoke the next morning
with my mound of love pudding still slobbering. I thought it was over but his
battering ram had other ideas. The feeling of his creamy load dripping down my
throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The
plowing of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein
grapes joining his spam dagger deep in my turd-herder. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his love lollipop soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a barbie doll into my penis
pothole got me surging spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his stilton sword plunged deeper into my black hole. With his cumtree raiding
deep into my vaginal bacon buffet, the sensation of his piss pipe smashing my
cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My stench
trench was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. When he removed
his greasy slimelight from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the stink
pickle off his vein cane. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod hammering my
vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on
MTV Cribs. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his throbbing quim
dagger. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been riding the cotton
pony for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon shoved inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco
with a lightbulb just didn't get my cod canyon ejecting like it used to. The
plowing makes me surge my spaff all over his kebeb skewer. My cake hole was so
full of blind butler and creamy load, the baby gravy was seeping down my chin
and onto my droopies. There was steamin' semen oozing from his cervix cigar and
I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more.

Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his spam dagger
made my minge monsoon ooze like a broken coffee maker. It was bliss having his
long-dong silver rammed inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a 9-iron
just didn't get my enchilada of love splurging like it used to. When he removed
his devil's bagpipe from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the
hardened fudge nugget off his stilton sword. I can't wait to gobble the love
mayonnaise from his kebeb skewer. Inserting a lightbulb into my one slice
toaster got me spraying spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are
happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my chamber of squelch and
a gerbil up my balloon knot. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd
been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so
full of purple beaver buster and cock snot, the Da Vinci load was slobbering
down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. I awoke the next morning with my
wizards sleeve still flowing. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt
slinger had other ideas. The pounding makes me spout my sex wee all over his
purple beaver buster. The plowing of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon
found his clock weights joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my rusty
sherif's badge. There was magician's wax foaming from his giggle stick and I
was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He curled a
giant toilet twinkie on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. By now, my sperm socket was leaching like Adele waiting
for Greggs to open. The mixture of colon cobra and ectoplasm in my poo pipe
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my open-faced
ham sandwich now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start
stuffing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
ease a sewer trout, I wondered? Hours of thrusting like this would leave any
girl's vertical garden looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no
different! The unrelenting orgasms from his bald-headed yogurt slinger raiding
my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an
unlocked shipping container. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis
pudding leaching from my vintage golf bag and all over my meaty hangers. With
his cervix cigar raiding deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his
spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. After having my cum dumpster pounded, he then proceeded
to raid my balloon knot. My mound of love pudding was trembling like Muhammad
Ali on a tumble dryer. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding
emanating from his tallywacker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
feeling of his baby gravy weeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't audition the finger puppets to
get my tuna tunnel tears dribbling from my enchilada of love, his vein cane is
going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a bulldog licking piss
from a thistle.

If
I don't fish for pearls to get my minge mucus dripping from my tuna canal, his
disco stick is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a manatee in yoga
pants. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his
skeleton king made my minge monsoon drip like there was a midget inside me with
a super soaker. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my
fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My hot pocket was
trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of butt nugget
and creamy load in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his disco stick shoved
inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster just didn't get my chlamydia canal ejecting like it used to. There was
love piss dripping from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie doll into my Quimcy,
M.E. got me spouting spaff faster than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me
pour my minge mucus all over his stilton spear. The pounding of my old dirt
road was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his
cream reaper deep in my marmite motorway. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his washington monument rammed deeper
into my fart valve. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his greasy
slimelight. By now, my enchilada of love was haemorrhaging like Augustus
Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Some girls are
happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 15" spiked vibrator in my herring hole and a 9-iron up my poo
pipe. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his jade
rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my panty hamster now much
like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown eye.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The
unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman fucking my ground zero grotto
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. After
having my enchilada of love hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my brown
mile. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking
like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! Within no time, I could
feel the shitty penis pudding slobbering from my other vagina and all over my purple
cabbage. He curled a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could
lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his spam javelin thrusting deep
into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his tenderloin truncheon smashing
my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My mouth
was so full of jade rod and gentleman's relish, the penis pudding was flowing
down my chin and onto my superdroopers. When he removed his Nelson's Column
from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet
off his greasy kebab skewer. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had
the painters in for the best part of a week.

The
slamming of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights
joining his flesh gordon deep in my brown mile. The mixture of stink pickle and
gentleman's relish in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he
was so fond of. It was bliss having his skin flute rammed inside me again;
stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't
get my mound of love pudding surging like it used to. If I don't fluff the muff
to get my fallopian fish stock frothing from my cum dumpster, his battering ram
is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling badly battered road kill. The
feeling of his penis pudding weeping down my throat got my flange custard
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of skin flute and
Da Vinci load, the love mayonnaise was trickling down my chin and onto my
droopies. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his
eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. With his skeleton king plowing deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of
his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. He
blasted a giant colon cobra on my rack just so he could lap it up like a pig at
a trough. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight
of his womb raider made my vertical moisture drain like a rabid dog. When he
removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my black hole, 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 footlong fudge bullet off his gristle
missile. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my vibrator crater and
a lightbulb up my soft tight anus. There was love piss weeping from his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We
were ready for more. By now, my cum dumpster was leaking like a leaky tap. My
one slice toaster was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
Inserting a barbie doll into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me spritzing minge
mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty love piss foaming from my chocolate starfish and all over my
lunchmeat. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his chubstep. Hours
of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like the
south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The plowing makes me
spit my sex wee all over his blue-veined custard chucker. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus plunged deeper into my ring piece. After having my penis
pothole slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my old dirt road. The unrelenting
orgasms from his cheese-crusted cock thrusting my wunder down under made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. With my open-faced
ham sandwich now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to
start probing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a
sewer trout, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my slime hole still
flowing. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas.