The Dream's Thorn (28 page)

My
throat was so full of piss pipe and baby gravy, the ectoplasm was haemorrhaging
down my chin and onto my mammaries. He rolled a giant sewer trout on my
mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
When he removed his cervix cigar from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his master of ceremonies. If I don't
play the clitar to get my tuna tunnel tears trickling from my hot pocket, his
veiny quim prod is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a shot cat. With
my beef curtains now much like a horse's collar, he thought it was time to
start sliding my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut
a sewer trout, I wondered? I can't wait to chow down on the penis pudding from
his veiny quim prod. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding
sliming from my brown mile and all over my spam castanets. Inserting a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster into my mound of love pudding got me spattering
minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. The slamming of my rusty bullet
hole was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his
skeleton king deep in my Mavis Fritter. My mound of love pudding was trembling
like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a
rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his womb raider made my minge
monsoon froth like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. It was bliss having his
purple-headed trouser snake probed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster
with a lightbulb just didn't get my split peach spraying like it used to. Some
girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 9-iron in my south mouth and a 15" spiked vibrator up my
soft tight anus. With his greasy kebab skewer thrusting deep into my smush
mitten, the sensation of his meaty member smashing my cervix made me quake like
an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams of
gentleman's relish emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's
lunchmeat looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! The slamming makes
me squirt my clunge gunge all over his turgid terror truncheon. He munched on
my panty hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best
part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his tallywacker plowing my meat
purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee.
The mixture of butt nugget and cock snot in my Oxo orifice created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was love piss flowing
from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We
were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still
seeping. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. By now,
my shame portal was weeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara
Falls. The feeling of his Da Vinci load seeping down my throat got my minge
monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my clearing in
the woods raided, he then proceeded to plow my marmite motorway.

If
I don't play the clitar to get my shrimp sap sliming from my slime hole, his
throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a horse's
collar. With my meaty hangers now much like the south end of a badger going
north, he thought it was time to start probing my old dirt road. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered?
When he removed his gristle missile from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his ramrod. The unrelenting orgasms
from his tallywacker thrusting my oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a fat slag in a disco. There was cock custard draining from his
kebeb skewer and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more.
My throat was so full of ample cock and gentleman's relish, the love piss was
weeping down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The hammering of my Mavis
Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his piss pipe
deep in my balloon knot. By now, my ladytown was weeping like Augustus Gloop's
mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The feeling of his Da
Vinci load leaking down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than
a greased weasel shit. The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my
black hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The
hammering makes me pour my shrimp sap all over his throbbing quim dagger. Hours
of thrusting like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like Brian
May's plughole, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to fluff the
muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my
tuna canal and my fist up my mud flap. With his Nelson's Column hammering deep
into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix
made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. It was bliss having
his brie baton plunged inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon with a 15"
spiked vibrator just didn't get my gashtray flowing like it used to. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty cock custard seeping from my old dirt road and
all over my roast beef platter. Inserting a gerbil into my tuna canal got me
splurging pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the
next morning with my hot pocket still trickling. I thought it was over but his
one-eyed monster had other ideas. My depravity cavity was trembling like jelly.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his skin flute slid deeper into my poop chute. Now, I've seen more japseyes
than an oriental optician, but the sight of his piss pipe made my sex wee
slobber like a broken fridge freezer. He munched on my panty hamster, even
though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. He blasted a giant butt
nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough.
I can't wait to devour the cock custard from his blood-engorged mayonnaise
cannon. After having my clunge pool raided, he then proceeded to thrust my
rusty bullet hole.

The
feeling of his ectoplasm flowing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to finger blast
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my
spunk dungeon and a 9-iron up my poop chute. Inserting a lightbulb into my
calamari cockring got me splurging minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel
shit. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his
turgid terror truncheon made my sex wee dribble like a jizz waterfall. The
mixture of butt nugget and baby gravy in my soft tight anus created the
delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his cervix
cigar probed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 9-iron just didn't
get my frilling pink golf bag surging like it used to. I can't wait to lap the
steamin' semen from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. My sperm socket was
trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My cake hole was so full of
blue-veined custard chucker and creamy load, the creamy load was sliming down
my chin and onto my top bollocks. Hours of hammering like this would leave any
girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I
was no different! The fucking of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found
his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my rusty
sherif's badge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his master of ceremonies shoved deeper into my black hole. With
my spam castanets now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it was time to
start sliding my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
extrude a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? If I don't dial the rotary phone
to get my minge mucus trickling from my fuck trench, his cheese-crusted cock is
going to leave my panty hamster resembling a stuntman's knee. The seemingly
never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his womb raider soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my mound of love pudding was
haemorrhaging like a slug in a salt mine. The slamming makes me eject my beige
slime all over his womb ferret. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster
hammering my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy
with a mortgage. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had Aunt Flo
visiting for the best part of a week. After having my front bum slammed, he
then proceeded to hammer my Oxo orifice. When he removed his one-eyed milkman
from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his womb
raider. With his spam javelin plowing deep into my enchilada of love, the
sensation of his master of ceremonies smashing my cervix made me quiver like an
epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my split peach
still trickling. I thought it was over but his brie baton had other ideas.
There was gentleman's relish oozing from his eight inches of throbbing pink
jesus and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy flowing from my poo pipe and all
over my beef curtains.

My
mouth was so full of blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and love mayonnaise, the
gentleman's relish was weeping down my chin and onto my breasticles. It was
bliss having his long-dong silver rammed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia
canal with a barbie doll just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet spraying
like it used to. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but
the sight of his greasy slimelight made my minge monsoon froth like a broken
coffee maker. Inserting a squash into my clunge pool got me gushing minge mucus
faster than snot off a whip. The slamming of my brown mile was so vigorous, he
soon found his two amigos joining his balony pony deep in my turd-herder. If I
don't strum the banjo to get my pussy batter oozing from my wunder down under,
his skin flute is going to leave my vertical garden resembling the Japanese
flag. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson
tide for the best part of a week. With his devil's bagpipe pounding deep into
my hatchet wound, the sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made
me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The mixture of hardened
fudge nugget and love mayonnaise in my puckered brown eye created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his
battering ram fucking my cock holster made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a dyslexic on Countdown. With my flappy meal now much like a werewolf with
it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start probing my fudge factory. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to launch a footlong fudge bullet, I
wondered? I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still oozing. I
thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. By now,
my vibrator crater was flowing like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. The thrusting makes me spit my fallopian fish stock all over his brie
baton. He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my top bollocks just so he
could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my pink velvet
sausage wallet fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my rusty bullet hole. There
was penis pudding trickling from his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than
an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus from my rusty bullet 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 stink pickle off his veiny quim prod. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty steamin' semen leaching from my other vagina and all over my piss
flaps. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but
I can't get off without having my fist in my ladytown and a lightbulb up my
rusty sherif's badge. I can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his huge
penis. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his
purple-headed trouser snake soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours
of plowing like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a twisted
slipper, and I was no different! My calamari cockring was trembling like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his chorizo howitzer rammed deeper into my rusty
bullet hole.

With
his Nelson's Column thrusting deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his love
lollipop smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert. When he removed his meaty member from my turd-herder, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his batter blaster. Hours of
fucking like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a shot cat,
and I was no different! Inserting a barbie doll into my moose knuckle got me
spouting vertical moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss
having his love muscle probed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf
bag with a gerbil just didn't get my fuck trench flowing like it used to. My
municipal cockwash was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The
unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger hammering my stench trench made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Some girls
are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a squash in my oyster ditch and a barbie doll up my tradesman's
entrance. By now, my kipper dinghy was trickling like there was a midget inside
me with a super soaker. After having my enchilada of love plowed, he then
proceeded to hammer my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man
fat dribbling from my Oxo orifice and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. With
my piss flaps now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to
start shoving my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to pinch off a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of
love mayonnaise emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. I can't wait to gobble the magician's wax from his batter
blaster. My mouth was so full of chorizo howitzer and love mayonnaise, the Da
Vinci load was sliming down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The thrusting
makes me spout my beige slime all over his one-eyed monster. If I don't study
english cliterature to get my flange custard weeping from my chamber of
squelch, his thrill drill is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling
that bathroom door in The Shining. He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on
my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. There was love piss haemorrhaging from his spam dagger and I was
wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. I awoke the next
morning with my oyster ditch still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his
sperminator had other ideas. The mixture of toilet twinkie and penis pudding in
my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He
munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best
part of a week. The pounding of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon
found his man marbles joining his disco stick deep in my turd-herder. Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
chubstep slid deeper into my brown eye. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a
rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his timed slimer made my shrimp sap
dribble like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker.