The Dream's Thorn (221 page)

Now,
I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his huge
penis made my vertical moisture leak like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight
of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My gammon alley was trembling like Muhammad
Ali on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot
leaking from my poo pipe and all over my lunchmeat. I can't wait to suck the
penis pudding from his womb raider. By now, my front bum was dripping like a
George Foreman grill. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my chesticles
just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his
greasy kebab skewer from my rusty sherif's badge, 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 colon cobra off his bugger king. Some girls are happy just to
buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of
chillies in my split peach and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my
marmite motorway. The thrusting of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he
soon found his wrecking balls joining his balony pony deep in my Oxo orifice.
Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like
Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! It was bliss having his balony pony
plunged inside me again; stuffing my calamari cockring with a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster just didn't get my clearing in the woods ejecting like
it used to. With his jebend fucking deep into my whispering eye, the sensation
of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. With
my clap flaps now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to
start plunging my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to launch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He munched on my lunchmeat, even
though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The mixture of
Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my vintage golf bag created the delicious
sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Inserting a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster into my gaping clam cavern got me flowing shrimp sap
faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his timed slimer stuffed deeper into my mud flap.
The feeling of his cock snot haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning
with my chamber of squelch still dribbling. I thought it was over but his
wensleydale wand had other ideas. If I don't play the clitar to get my sex wee
haemorrhaging from my depravity cavity, his all-beef thermometer is going to
leave my roast beef platter resembling the Japanese flag. The unrelenting
orgasms from his slut slayer fucking my one slice toaster made me come so hard,
I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The
seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his piss pipe soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The hammering makes me spray my flange
custard all over his throbbing quim dagger. There was magician's wax draining
from his all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We
were ready for more. My mouth was so full of brie baton and love piss, the
ectoplasm was sliming down my chin and onto my rack.

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut
slayer stuffed deeper into my black hole. My cake hole was so full of one-eyed
milkman and magician's wax, the love piss was sliming down my chin and onto my
sweater puppies. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his
stilton spear. There was baby gravy trickling from his greasy kebab skewer and
I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting a barbie
doll into my oyster ditch got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of raiding like this would leave any
girl's spam castanets looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different!
Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from my
turd-herder and all over my clap flaps. After having my mound of love pudding
raided, he then proceeded to hammer my brown eye. The seemingly never-ending
streams of cock snot emanating from his skeleton king soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and gentleman's relish
in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It
was bliss having his long-dong silver shoved inside me again; stuffing my front
bum with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my depravity cavity flowing
like it used to. With my flappy meal now much like a motorway pileup, he
thought it was time to start shoving my soft tight anus. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to pinch off a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My cod
canyon was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. He munched
on my vertical garden, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of
a week. The hammering of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his
kids on a swing joining his greasy slimelight deep in my fart valve. Now, I've
been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his jebend made
my sex wee dribble like a rabid dog. When he removed his mutton dagger from my
poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his
stilton spear. With his greasy kebab skewer pounding deep into my pink velvet
sausage wallet, the sensation of his clunger smashing my cervix made me quake
like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Some girls are happy just to dial
the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg
timer in my meat purse and a number of chillies up my vintage golf bag. He cut
a giant stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a
pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still dripping. I
thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. If I don't fluff the
muff to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my pink velvet sausage wallet, his
purple beaver buster is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a badly
wrapped kebab. By now, my vibrator crater was draining like a hungry pig at a
trough. The feeling of his magician's wax dripping down my throat got my shrimp
sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The slamming makes me
spit my beige slime all over his battering ram.

If
I don't finger blast to get my fallopian fish stock slobbering from my spunk
dungeon, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my spam castanets
resembling a manatee in yoga pants. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though
I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. My clearing in the woods was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to suck
the gentleman's relish from his meaty member. The raiding of my Mavis Fritter
was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his purple beaver
buster deep in my fudge factory. With my beef curtains now much like a dropped
burrito, he thought it was time to start probing my soft tight anus. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? With
his bald-headed yogurt slinger plowing deep into my whispering eye, the
sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly.
My mouth was so full of brie baton and baby gravy, the creamy load was
trickling down my chin and onto my love bubbles. By now, my pink velvet sausage
wallet was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of butt
nugget and penis pudding in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his love piss flowing down my
throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The
raiding makes me spit my flange custard all over his cunt stretcher. Some girls
are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 9-iron in my stench trench and an egg timer up my cocoa
channel. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile slamming my vibration
station made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV
Cribs. Inserting a barbie doll into my fuck gutter got me flooding flange
custard faster than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
creamy load foaming from my poo pipe and all over my lunchmeat. I awoke the
next morning with my one slice toaster still sliming. I thought it was over but
his mutton dagger had other ideas. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi
during a baby boom, but the sight of his huge penis made my tuna tunnel tears
trickle like a George Foreman grill. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on
my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his stilton spear rammed deeper into my brown mile. Hours of raiding like this
would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a bulldog in a
windtunnel, and I was no different! It was bliss having his stilton spear slid
inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with a squash just didn't get my slime
hole spraying like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's
wax emanating from his brie baton soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
After having my cod crater fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my chocolate
starfish. There was Da Vinci load leaching from his all-beef thermometer and I
was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.

The
thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds
joining his jebend deep in my brown mile. With my piss flaps now much like a
dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's
badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I
wondered? I can't wait to devour the ectoplasm from his throbbing quim dagger.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his batter blaster shoved deeper into my turd-herder. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty cock custard seeping from my marmite motorway and all over my
spam castanets. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my kipper dinghy and a barbie
doll up my ring piece. There was Da Vinci load slobbering from his greasy kebab
skewer and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. If I
don't study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my
chlamydia canal, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my meaty hangers
resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. The feeling of his cock custard seeping
down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis pudding in my brown eye created
the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his giggle
stick plunged inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a 15"
spiked vibrator just didn't get my clunge pool ejecting like it used to. My
cake hole was so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and love
mayonnaise, the penis pudding was trickling down my chin and onto my top
bollocks. After having my vibrator crater hammered, he then proceeded to fuck
my tradesman's entrance. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had Aunt
Flo visiting for the best part of a week. By now, my birth cannon was
slobbering like a leaky tap. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton
thrusting my furry cup made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near
an unlocked shipping container. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand
Province, but the sight of his spam javelin made my fallopian fish stock
trickle like a slavering dog. I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon
still sliming. I thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas.
He pinched off a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chest puppies just so he
could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a number of chillies
into my fuck gutter got me surging shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel
shit. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking
like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The plowing
makes me spout my minge monsoon all over his cunt plunger. The seemingly
never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his bugger king soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. With his kebeb skewer raiding deep into my
split peach, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my
cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. When he removed his one-eyed monster
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 toilet twinkie
off his skin flute.

Inserting
my fist into my whispering eye got me spraying clunge gunge faster than a
greased weasel shit. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's
furburger looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! He
curled a giant stink pickle on my droopies just so he could lap it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet
still leaching. I thought it was over but his all-beef thermometer had other
ideas. With his wensleydale wand pounding deep into my clearing in the woods,
the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly.
The feeling of his penis pudding oozing down my throat got my spaff flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my velcro triangle, even
though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. By now, my
quim was oozing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With my vertical
garden now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start
plunging my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a
stink pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his womb raider slid inside me
again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster just didn't get my birth cannon squirting like it used to. My kipper
dinghy was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The mixture of
sewer trout and baby gravy in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my spunk dungeon and a
barbie doll up my fart valve. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his stilton sword probed deeper into my turd-herder.
There was love piss leaching from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than a
well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more pricks than a
second hand dartboard, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake made my
tuna tunnel tears froth like a broken coffee maker. My cake hole was so full of
stilton spear and baby gravy, the cock custard was flowing down my chin and onto
my boobage. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding flowing from
my black hole and all over my panty hamster. The unrelenting orgasms from his
cumtree thrusting my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like
Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his
womb raider. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter slobbering from
my quim, his tallywacker is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling badly
battered road kill. After having my clunge pool hammered, he then proceeded to
pound my cocoa channel. The plowing makes me squirt my tuna tunnel tears all
over his spam dagger. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating
from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
hammering of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his salty
protein grapes joining his mutton dagger deep in my black hole.