The Dream's Thorn (222 page)

It
was bliss having his throbbing quim dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my
sperm socket with an antique doorknob just didn't get my ruby cave spraying
like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still
leaking. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had
other ideas. The raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his
trouser conkors joining his master of ceremonies deep in my black hole. 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 cod cave and a 9-iron up my brown eye. There was
cock custard oozing from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. By now, my gammon alley was frothing like there
was a midget inside me with a super soaker. With his skin flute plowing deep
into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix
made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. When he removed his jebend
from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake
off his blue-veined custard chucker. My enchilada of love was trembling like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and
steamin' semen in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding
that he was so fond of. He pitched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my boobage
just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my
birth cannon hammered, he then proceeded to thrust my balloon knot. The
seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his Ocean's 11
Inches soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to consume the
gentleman's relish from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty steamin' semen dripping from my vintage golf bag and all
over my hairy goblet. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the
sight of his pink tractor beam made my sex wee drain like a hungry pig at a
trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his batter blaster rammed deeper into my puckered brown eye. The
unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon slamming my stench trench
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My
cake hole was so full of purple beaver buster and cock custard, the man fat was
sliming down my chin and onto my breasticles. If I don't strum the banjo to get
my fallopian fish stock dribbling from my ladytown, his love lollipop is going
to leave my velcro triangle resembling the south end of a badger going north.
With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was
time to start stuffing my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to pinch off a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Hours of hammering like
this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a twisted slipper, and I
was no different! He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had my redwings
for the best part of a week. The pounding makes me surge my minge monsoon all
over his slut slayer. The feeling of his magician's wax sliming down my throat
got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip.

When
he removed his skeleton king from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the
footlong fudge bullet off his throbbing quim dagger. By now, my fuck gutter was
oozing like a broken fridge freezer. There was Da Vinci load leaching from his
muffbuster and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more.
Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a squash in my birth cannon and an egg timer up my poo
pipe. My mouth was so full of disco stick and penis pudding, the cock snot was
sliming down my chin and onto my mammaries. With his giggle stick raiding deep
into my sperm socket, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made
me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With my flappy meal now much
like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start probing my soft tight
anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I
wondered? It was bliss having his womb raider probed inside me again; stuffing
my ruby cave with an egg timer just didn't get my tuna canal gushing like it
used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from
his womb ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my
fishy flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a
week. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my fallopian fish stock
haemorrhaging from my chamber of squelch, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going
to leave my purple cabbage resembling a ripped out fireplace. The mixture of
stink pickle and creamy load in my poop chute created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of. I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his
ramrod. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's panty hamster
looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! The raiding makes me
spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his skin flute. I awoke the next
morning with my meat purse still flowing. I thought it was over but his
sperminator had other ideas. The feeling of his creamy load flowing down my
throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his long-dong silver rammed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. After having my spunk
dungeon plowed, he then proceeded to raid my black hole. My wizards sleeve was
trembling like a shitting dog. He extruded a giant butt nugget on my top
bollocks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The
hammering of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds
joining his one-eyed monster deep in my marmite motorway. Now, I've seen more
foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his sperminator
made my shrimp sap ooze like a hungry pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms
from his meaty member pounding my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty gentleman's relish trickling from my marmite motorway and all over my lunchmeat.

The
pounding of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts
joining his jebend deep in my puckered brown eye. Some girls are happy just to
finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15"
spiked vibrator in my tuna canal and a barbie doll up my rusty sherif's badge.
I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still seeping. I thought
it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. By now, my cock holster was
draining like a jizz waterfall. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger
plowing my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
blind lesbian in a fish shop. With my panty hamster now much like a gutted
trout, he thought it was time to start plunging my cocoa channel. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to curl a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The
seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his balony pony
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He cut a giant butt nugget on my
chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
Inserting my fist into my calamari cockring got me squirting clunge gunge
faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love
piss frothing from my brown mile and all over my fishy flaps. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod
slid deeper into my Mavis Fritter. It was bliss having his disco stick rammed
inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a gerbil just didn't get my
split peach spattering like it used to. The thrusting makes me flow my beige
slime all over his love muscle. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from
my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his blind
butler. My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. If I don't buff the muff to get
my pussy batter leaching from my municipal cockwash, his pink tractor beam is
going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. He
munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of
a week. After having my whispering eye pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my
marmite motorway. I can't wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his womb
raider. With his giggle stick fucking deep into my quim, the sensation of his
purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J.
Fox licking a car battery. The feeling of his creamy load frothing down my
throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
My cake hole was so full of muffbuster and creamy load, the love piss was
foaming down my chin and onto my tatas. The mixture of butt nugget and
gentleman's relish in my vintage golf bag created the delicious sphincter sauce
that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight
of his all-beef thermometer made my clunge gunge dribble like a broken coffee
maker. There was cock snot oozing from his skin flute and I was wetter than an
English summer. We were ready for more.

Now,
I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his
washington monument made my fallopian fish stock weep like a George Foreman
grill. The pounding makes me splurge my spaff all over his ample cock. Some
girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having my fist in my gammon alley and a number of chillies up
my rusty sherif's badge. After having my spunk dungeon fucked, he then
proceeded to pound my brown eye. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my
hot pocket got me ejecting fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still dribbling. I
thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. The mixture of toilet
twinkie and creamy load in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. The feeling of his Da Vinci load oozing down my
throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.
The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis hammering my bearded haddock pasty
made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. With his
flesh gordon slamming deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his
thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. It was bliss having his slut slayer slid inside me again; stuffing my
soft-shelled tuna taco with a gerbil just didn't get my chamber of squelch
spattering like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon probed deeper
into my fudge factory. With my roast beef platter now much like a gutted trout,
he thought it was time to start ramming my cocoa channel. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? When he removed his
blind butler from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened
fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky
off his wrist-thick wand. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his
cumtree. The thrusting of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his
kids on a swing joining his piss pipe deep in my soft tight anus. He munched on
my panty hamster, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a
week. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my clunge gunge frothing from my
chamber of squelch, his giggle stick is going to leave my flappy meal
resembling Terry Waite's allotment. My vibrator crater was trembling like a rat
on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat oozing from my ring
piece and all over my fishy flaps. My cake hole was so full of washington
monument and love mayonnaise, the gentleman's relish was haemorrhaging down my
chin and onto my chesticles. There was Da Vinci load trickling from his meaty
member and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. He
extruded a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my love bubbles just so he could suck
it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The seemingly never-ending streams of
baby gravy emanating from his cream reaper soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical
garden looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no
different!

I
can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his cunt stretcher. My depravity
cavity was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he
removed his long-dong silver from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
gobble the toilet twinkie off his vein cane. If I don't stimulate the genitals
through phalangetic motion to get my pussy batter sliming from my slime hole,
his timed slimer is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bucket of smashed
crabs. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's spam castanets
looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Within
no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dribbling from my soft tight
anus and all over my hairy goblet. With his brie baton hammering deep into my
meat purse, the sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix
made me quiver like a rat on acid. With my panty hamster now much like badly
battered road kill, he thought it was time to start shoving my chocolate
starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a sewer trout, I
wondered? After having my carp cavity plowed, he then proceeded to raid my
turd-herder. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had my
redwings for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket slid deeper
into my brown eye. The feeling of his creamy load seeping down my throat got my
tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my fuck
gutter was draining like a leaky tap. The seemingly never-ending streams of
creamy load emanating from his purple-headed trouser snake soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. Inserting my fist into my oyster ditch got me
spritzing fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. There was
baby gravy dribbling from his greasy slimelight and I was wetter than an
Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The mixture of toilet twinkie and
love mayonnaise in my poop chute created the delicious rectoplasm that he was
so fond of. It was bliss having his cunt plunger plunged inside me again;
stuffing my vaginal bacon buffet with my fist just didn't get my chlamydia
canal pouring like it used to. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental
optician, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my fallopian fish stock slime
like a rabid dog. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still seeping.
I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. My mouth was so full
of bald avenger and creamy load, the penis pudding was haemorrhaging down my
chin and onto my droopies. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my herring
hole and my fist up my turd-herder. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton
spear hammering my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
dyslexic on Countdown. The slamming of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon
found his chin pounders joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my soft tight
anus. He pinched off a giant butt nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could
chow down on it up like a pig at a trough.