The Dream's Thorn (30 page)

I
can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his meaty member. The seemingly
never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his batter blaster soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
penis pudding flowing from my poo pipe and all over my purple cabbage. Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his cunt plunger
made my sex wee slime like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.
My cum dumpster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The
mixture of butt nugget and penis pudding in my other vagina created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a lightbulb into
my cod cave got me gushing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. The feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my beige
slime flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his veiny quim prod
slid deeper into my marmite motorway. With my piss flaps now much like a
stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start sliding my vintage golf bag.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I
wondered? The thrusting of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his
family jewels joining his gristle missile deep in my black hole. By now, my
ruby cave was trickling like a George Foreman grill. Some girls are happy just
to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg
timer in my chamber of squelch and an antique doorknob up my fudge factory.
When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my soft tight anus, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his ramrod. With his womb
raider plowing deep into my tuna canal, the sensation of his balony pony
smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He
munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part
of a week. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's spam castanets
looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! I awoke the
next morning with my Quimcy, M.E. still weeping. I thought it was over but his
long-dong silver had other ideas. He dropped a giant hardened fudge nugget on
my rack just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My cake hole
was so full of cumtree and penis pudding, the penis pudding was haemorrhaging
down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. It was bliss having his purple beaver
buster rammed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with my
fist just didn't get my mound of love pudding spattering like it used to. If I
don't finger blast to get my beige slime weeping from my calamari cockring, his
mutton dagger is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a badly wrapped kebab.
The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer pounding my tampon tunnel made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. There was cock
snot seeping from his jade rod and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We
were ready for more. The pounding makes me squirt my vertical moisture all over
his womb raider.

I
awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still oozing. I thought it was over
but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer stuffed deeper into
my puckered brown eye. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician,
but the sight of his gristle missile made my beige slime flow like Adele
waiting for Greggs to open. He curled a giant footlong fudge bullet on my
chesticles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The
seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his master
of ceremonies soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The plowing of my
rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his
jade rod deep in my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie
baton thrusting my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo
during a prison riot. The raiding makes me pour my shrimp sap all over his
long-dong silver. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been riding
the cotton pony for the best part of a week. There was love piss trickling from
his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for
more. By now, my gaping clam cavern was weeping like a slug in a salt mine. The
mixture of hardened fudge nugget and penis pudding in my vintage golf bag
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty creamy load leaking from my brown mile and all over my spam
castanets. I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his greasy slimelight.
Inserting an egg timer into my ground zero grotto got me flowing vertical
moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my wizards
sleeve pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my brown mile. My mouth was so full
of one-eyed milkman and steamin' semen, the steamin' semen was dribbling down
my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky
pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my
clearing in the woods and my fist up my mud flap. Hours of raiding like this
would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a blind cobbler's thumb, and
I was no different! With his jade rod slamming deep into my tampon tunnel, the
sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered
slab of chopped liver. With my vertical garden now much like a bulldog in a
windtunnel, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to cop a butt nugget, I wondered? It was bliss
having his balony pony stuffed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love
with my fist just didn't get my wunder down under spattering like it used to.
My south mouth was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I
don't fluff the muff to get my clunge gunge flowing from my wunder down under,
his throbbing quim dagger is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a
twisted slipper. The feeling of his cock custard draining down my throat got my
pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

The
pounding makes me squirt my beige slime all over his bugger king. The feeling
of his ectoplasm dribbling down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing
quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was dribbling
like a George Foreman grill. My fuck trench was trembling like a tasered slab
of chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his ample cock probed deeper into my poo pipe. With my fishy
flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to
start plunging my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? He munched on my hairy goblet, even
though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. Hours of raiding
like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like the Japanese flag, and
I was no different! Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but
the sight of his cream reaper made my spaff froth like a broken coffee maker.
It was bliss having his slut slayer probed inside me again; stuffing my vaginal
bacon buffet with a number of chillies just didn't get my quim squirting like
it used to. I can't wait to gobble the steamin' semen from his veiny quim prod.
Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having an antique doorknob in my penis pothole and a 9-iron up
my rusty sherif's badge. Inserting an antique doorknob into my furry cup got me
squirting minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning
with my birth cannon still weeping. I thought it was over but his
cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut
slayer slamming my quim made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget
nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and magician's wax in my rusty
bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My
throat was so full of thrill drill and penis pudding, the love mayonnaise was
flowing down my chin and onto my mammaries. With his stilton sword raiding deep
into my cod canyon, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my cervix made
me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. There was cock snot oozing
from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready
for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot haemorrhaging from
my fart valve and all over my panty hamster. The thrusting of my soft tight
anus was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his muffbuster deep
in my fart valve. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating
from his Ocean's 11 Inches soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I
don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my beige slime
slobbering from my hatchet wound, his balony pony is going to leave my hairy
goblet resembling a ripped out fireplace. After having my fuck gutter pounded,
he then proceeded to raid my old dirt road. When he removed his muffbuster 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 suck the hardened fudge nugget
off his one-eyed milkman.

I
awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still flowing. I thought it was
over but his battering ram had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty ectoplasm leaching from my ring piece and all over my purple cabbage. My
stench trench was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his blind butler soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise
cannon from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge
bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle
off his balony pony. If I don't fluff the muff to get my flange custard foaming
from my cod canyon, his thrill drill is going to leave my vertical smile
resembling Brian May's plughole. He munched on my spam castanets, even though
I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his
timed slimer rammed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a
number of chillies just didn't get my vibration station spattering like it used
to. The feeling of his man fat weeping down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a 15" spiked
vibrator into my frilling pink golf bag got me spraying minge monsoon faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and
man fat in my cocoa channel created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was
so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his womb ferret plunged deeper into my fudge factory. He pitched a
giant footlong fudge bullet on my twin peaks just so he could suck it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. There was baby gravy seeping from his cunt plunger and
I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now, I've been shot
over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his clunger made my vertical
moisture weep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With his
pink tractor beam hammering deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his
bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. Some girls
are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having an antique doorknob in my frilling pink golf bag and a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster up my brown eye. I can't wait to chow down on
the cock custard from his cunt plunger. My cake hole was so full of Ocean's 11
Inches and ectoplasm, the Da Vinci load was dripping down my chin and onto my
chesticles. The unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman thrusting my
stench trench made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC
World. The slamming of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his chin
pounders joining his clunger deep in my balloon knot. After having my furry cup
slammed, he then proceeded to thrust my old dirt road. With my piss flaps now
much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start sliding my
Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a hardened
fudge nugget, I wondered? The slamming makes me spout my shrimp sap all over
his tallywacker. By now, my herring hole was sliming like a George Foreman
grill.

Hours
of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a darts
team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on
my sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time,
I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaking from my mud flap and all over my
velcro triangle. Inserting a number of chillies into my front bum got me
squirting shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to devour the
gentleman's relish from his stilton sword. After having my chamber of squelch
raided, he then proceeded to slam my mud flap. The feeling of his man fat
foaming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries
as his love lollipop stuffed deeper into my turd cutter. The mixture of colon
cobra and cock snot in my fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that
he was so fond of. With his sperminator plowing deep into my one slice toaster,
the sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like
Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The fucking of my turd-herder was so
vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his bald-headed yogurt
slinger deep in my soft tight anus. With my vertical smile now much like a shot
cat, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown eye. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to roll a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My herring
hole was trembling like jelly. There was love mayonnaise dribbling from his
all-beef thermometer and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready
for more. My throat was so full of purple beaver buster and cock custard, the
creamy load was weeping down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Now, I've seen
more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his battering ram made my flange
custard slime like a broken coffee maker. By now, my sperm socket was trickling
like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Some
girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my mound of love
pudding and a gerbil up my poo pipe. The pounding makes me surge my shrimp sap
all over his chorizo howitzer. It was bliss having his batter blaster stuffed
inside me again; stuffing my slime hole with a barbie doll just didn't get my
shamevelope spritzing like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my hot
pocket still dripping. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other
ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column slamming my spunk
dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin
shoot. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter haemorrhaging from my
vibrator crater, his ample cock is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the
south end of a badger going north. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich,
even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.