The Dream's Thorn (38 page)

After
having my wunder down under hammered, he then proceeded to plow my vintage golf
bag. The thrusting makes me spray my flange custard all over his master of
ceremonies. I awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still weeping. I
thought it was over but his huge penis had other ideas. With his wrist-thick
wand pounding deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his skin
flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He
munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had the painters in for
the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of timed slimer and Da Vinci
load, the cock snot was dripping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The
unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear hammering my kipper dinghy made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The feeling
of his ectoplasm foaming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. The plowing of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon
found his chin pounders joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my mud flap.
If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my tuna tunnel tears sliming from my mound
of love pudding, his jade rod is going to leave my furburger resembling John
Wayne's saddlebags. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my top bollocks just so
he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to consume the
gentleman's relish from his mutton dagger. When he removed his skeleton king
from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake
off his cream reaper. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load
emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my vintage golf bag created
the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My hatchet wound was
trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my ground zero grotto
was sliming like a rabid dog. 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 front bum and
my fist up my vintage golf bag. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different!
Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his ramrod made my
flange custard haemorrhage like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy
Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my tampon
tunnel got me surging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies plunged inside me again;
stuffing my vibration station with an egg timer just didn't get my calamari
cockring surging like it used to. There was baby gravy leaking from his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship.
We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his womb ferret rammed deeper into my brown eye. With my
flappy meal now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it
was time to start stuffing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered?

The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my mud flap created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish
from his turgid terror truncheon. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though
I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. If I don't finger blast
to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my gaping clam cavern, his pink
tractor beam is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a rabid baboon's
arse. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam castanets
looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different! Inserting a number
of chillies into my penis pothole got me gushing minge monsoon faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling of his cock snot oozing down my
throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With
my furburger now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start
shoving my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a Mr.
Hanky, I wondered? The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon
found his two amigos joining his kebeb skewer deep in my brown mile. It was
bliss having his sperminator shoved inside me again; stuffing my chamber of
squelch with an antique doorknob just didn't get my kipper dinghy splurging
like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding sliming
from my rusty bullet hole and all over my vertical garden. Now, I've been shot
over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his purple-headed trouser snake
made my minge mucus leak like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara
Falls. After having my wizards sleeve raided, he then proceeded to hammer my
vintage golf bag. With his jebend fucking deep into my slime hole, the sensation
of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a
Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member slamming my
spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a
fish shop. My mouth was so full of bald-headed yogurt slinger and Da Vinci
load, the penis pudding was sliming down my chin and onto my tatas. Some girls
are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my slime
hole and my fist up my turd cutter. The pounding makes me surge my shrimp sap
all over his huge penis. When he removed his devil's bagpipe from my brown eye,
he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the toilet twinkie off his bugger king. By now, my
spunk dungeon was sliming like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara
Falls. My gaping clam cavern 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 love muscle plunged deeper into my black hole. There was
steamin' semen dripping from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my penis
pothole still leaching. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other
ideas. He copped a giant sewer trout on my twin peaks just so he could chow
down on it up like a pig at a trough.

The
raiding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles
joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my fart valve. He crowned a giant
Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. If I don't finger blast to get my spaff trickling from my
soft-shelled tuna taco, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my clap flaps
resembling a manatee in yoga pants. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave
still oozing. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. My
kipper dinghy was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The
unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis plowing my fuck trench made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The slamming
makes me spritz my pussy batter all over his jebend. There was ectoplasm
dribbling from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than an English summer.
We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my kipper dinghy and a
lightbulb up my tradesman's entrance. He munched on my furburger, even though
I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. I can't wait to
lap the love mayonnaise from his washington monument. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret plunged
deeper into my marmite motorway. The feeling of his Da Vinci load oozing down
my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Inserting a
barbie doll into my furry cup got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than
snot off a whip. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and man fat in my Oxo
orifice created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon fucking deep into my ladytown, the sensation
of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. My
mouth was so full of clunger and man fat, the penis pudding was slobbering down
my chin and onto my droopies. After having my frilling pink golf bag pounded,
he then proceeded to slam my shit winker. When he removed his jebend from my
other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his master
of ceremonies. By now, my cum dumpster was draining like Augustus Gloop's mouth
at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. It was bliss having his thrill
drill slid inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with an antique doorknob
just didn't get my sperm socket ejecting like it used to. With my vertical
garden now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start
stuffing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
pitch a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Now, I've seen more japseyes than an
oriental optician, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my clunge gunge weep
like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load seeping from my cocoa
channel and all over my meaty hangers. Hours of raiding like this would leave
any girl's roast beef platter looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was
no different!

He
munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part
of a week. By now, my salmon slit was draining like a hungry pig at a trough.
If I don't finger blast to get my minge monsoon haemorrhaging from my ruby
cave, his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus is going to leave my spam
castanets resembling a stuntman's knee. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
penis pudding draining from my puckered brown eye and all over my open-faced
ham sandwich. My throat was so full of Nelson's Column and ectoplasm, the
gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my superdroopers. Hours
of hammering like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a
dropped burrito, and I was no different! The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake
and ectoplasm in my other vagina created the delicious rectal stew that he was
so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his piss pipe raiding my meat purse
made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. With my
vertical garden now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time
to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
blast a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? With his spam javelin raiding deep into my
wizards sleeve, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my
cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. I awoke the next morning with my
ladytown still seeping. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other
ideas. The feeling of his man fat haemorrhaging down my throat got my vertical
moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my
oyster ditch pounded, he then proceeded to raid my mud flap. There was
ectoplasm trickling from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than a well
diggers arse. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his thrill drill
shoved inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a gerbil just didn't
get my oyster ditch surging like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams
of love piss emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. The thrusting of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser
conkors joining his chubstep deep in my ring piece. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus slid deeper into my chocolate starfish. When he removed
his cream reaper from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the
footlong fudge bullet off his one-eyed monster. I can't wait to devour the man
fat from his one-eyed milkman. He crowned a giant hardened fudge nugget on my
superdroopers just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The
thrusting makes me splurge my flange custard all over his pink tractor beam.
Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a squash in my clunge pool and a lightbulb up my poop chute.
Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his bugger
king made my minge monsoon drip like a broken fridge freezer. My slime hole was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty man fat dripping from my poop chute and all
over my beef curtains. If I don't flick the bean to get my spaff leaching from
my cod canyon, his mutton dagger is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a
werewolf with it's throat cut. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had
Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My ground zero grotto was
trembling like a shitting dog. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental
optician, but the sight of his clunger made my beige slime froth like a broken
coffee maker. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's beef curtains
looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! After having my
kipper dinghy plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my tradesman's entrance. Some
girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a barbie doll in my ladytown and an antique doorknob up my brown
eye. The fucking of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his chin
pounders joining his stilton spear deep in my puckered brown eye. It was bliss
having his spunk-filled spam rocket stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cod
cave with an egg timer just didn't get my shame portal surging like it used to.
Inserting a barbie doll into my shame portal got me spritzing vertical moisture
faster than snot off a whip. There was penis pudding sliming from his
tallywacker and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his timed slimer
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my wizards sleeve was
haemorrhaging like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's
chocolate river. With his cunt plunger slamming deep into my meat purse, the
sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on
acid. He rolled a giant colon cobra on my mammaries just so he could suck it up
like a pig at a trough. The thrusting makes me pour my minge monsoon all over
his wrist-thick wand. My mouth was so full of blind butler and magician's wax,
the cock custard was oozing down my chin and onto my tatas. With my roast beef
platter now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start
sliding my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a
butt nugget, I wondered? The feeling of his love mayonnaise slobbering down my
throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to lap
the love piss from his wrist-thick wand. The mixture of colon cobra and
ectoplasm in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectal stew that he was
so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his chorizo howitzer pounding my sperm
socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. When
he removed his meaty member from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his greasy slimelight. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton spear
probed deeper into my poo pipe.