The Dream's Thorn (4 page)

The
unrelenting orgasms from his washington monument hammering my penis pothole
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. He munched
on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the
best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my gaping clam cavern still
frothing. I thought it was over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas. The
feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down my throat got my fallopian fish
stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my flappy meal
now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start probing
my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax
leaching from my turd-herder and all over my flappy meal. Now, I've taken more
poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his giggle stick made my minge mucus
flow like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I can't wait to lap
the magician's wax from his jebend. Inserting a squash into my gaping clam
cavern got me flowing minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone 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 fudge factory. 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 mud
flap. With his ample cock pounding deep into my stench trench, the sensation of
his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J.
Fox licking a car battery. When he removed his purple-headed trouser snake from
my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his huge
penis. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham
sandwich looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! The hammering
makes me squirt my beige slime all over his one-eyed milkman. There was
magician's wax flowing from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The pounding of my Mavis Fritter was so
vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his washington monument deep
in my chocolate starfish. If I don't play the clitar to get my fallopian fish
stock weeping from my vibration station, his veiny quim prod is going to leave
my hairy goblet resembling an over inflated dinghy. The mixture of sewer trout
and penis pudding in my black hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was
so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from
his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My calamari
cockring was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He launched a
giant sewer trout on my breasticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam rammed inside me
again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with a gerbil just didn't get my cum dumpster
spraying like it used to. After having my enchilada of love fucked, he then
proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. My throat was so full of balony pony
and man fat, the cock snot was dripping down my chin and onto my sweater
puppies.

When
he removed his giggle stick from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
consume the stink pickle off his stilton spear. After having my fuck gutter fucked,
he then proceeded to slam my poo pipe. Inserting a lightbulb into my quim got
me spouting minge mucus faster than snot off a whip. With his piss pipe
slamming deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock
smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. My throat was so full of
cumtree and baby gravy, the creamy load was trickling down my chin and onto my
twin peaks. The plowing makes me gush my minge monsoon all over his meaty
member. He blasted a giant toilet twinkie on my sweater puppies just so he
could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side
up on the floor was the least of my worries as his purple-headed trouser snake
probed deeper into my shit winker. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster in my chlamydia canal and an antique doorknob up my
Oxo orifice. The mixture of colon cobra and cock custard in my brown eye
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my flappy meal
now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start
sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a
footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock
custard leaking from my turd-herder and all over my panty hamster. He munched
on my piss flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a
week. By now, my gashtray was draining like a leaky tap. The unrelenting
orgasms from his pink tractor beam slamming my whispering eye made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. I can't wait to lap the
gentleman's relish from his spam dagger. Now, I've been told the sperm bank
will accept my spit, but the sight of his womb ferret made my minge monsoon
slime like a slavering dog. My shame portal was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my sex wee
dribbling from my calamari cockring, his thrill drill is going to leave my
vertical smile resembling a ripped out fireplace. The seemingly never-ending
streams of cock custard emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. There was penis pudding oozing from his chubstep
and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The feeling of
his ectoplasm slobbering down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker
than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet
still foaming. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other
ideas. It was bliss having his skin flute rammed inside me again; stuffing my
one slice toaster with a lightbulb just didn't get my hatchet wound flowing
like it used to. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's furburger
looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different!

Inserting
an antique doorknob into my chlamydia canal got me flowing flange custard
faster than snot off a whip. When he removed his long-dong silver from my turd
cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the hardened fudge nugget off his slut
slayer. With his cervix cigar thrusting deep into my clunge pool, the sensation
of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog.
If I don't tune the tuna to get my spaff frothing from my tuna canal, his
bugger king is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a blind cobbler's
thumb. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a number of chillies in my Quimcy, M.E. and a
15" spiked vibrator up my old dirt road. I can't wait to suck the cock
snot from his wrist-thick wand. There was penis pudding foaming from his greasy
kebab skewer and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his one-eyed monster stuffed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. After having my
hatchet wound fucked, he then proceeded to pound my mud flap. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty penis pudding dripping from my marmite motorway and all
over my vertical smile. By now, my carp cavity was draining like a George
Foreman grill. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and ectoplasm in my shit
winker created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The pounding
of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his
blue-veined custard chucker deep in my other vagina. The unrelenting orgasms
from his piss pipe raiding my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. He munched on my purple cabbage,
even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. He cut a giant
colon cobra on my rack just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry
hippo. The hammering makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his balony pony.
The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his cumtree
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've been told the sperm bank
will accept my spit, but the sight of his womb ferret made my minge monsoon
leak like a rabid dog. The feeling of his steamin' semen slobbering down my
throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke
the next morning with my sperm socket still trickling. I thought it was over
but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. My salmon slit was trembling like
an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Hours of hammering like this would leave
any girl's beef curtains looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I
was no different! With my purple cabbage now much like a dropped burrito, he
thought it was time to start stuffing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to cut a butt nugget, I wondered? My mouth was so full
of bald-headed yogurt slinger and creamy load, the man fat was leaking down my
chin and onto my cans.

The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my tradesman's entrance
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next
morning with my shame portal still seeping. I thought it was over but his
wrist-thick wand had other ideas. When he removed his stilton spear from my
soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his
ample cock. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his sperminator. If I
don't buff the muff to get my vertical moisture frothing from my municipal
cockwash, his bald-headed yogurt slinger is going to leave my furburger
resembling a horse's collar. By now, my tuna canal was dribbling like a broken
coffee maker. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick hammering my slime
hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. With my
velcro triangle now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to
start probing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
curl a sewer trout, I wondered? The plowing makes me spray my clunge gunge all
over his cunt plunger. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's
velcro triangle looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different!
The pounding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds
joining his cervix cigar deep in my brown mile. Some girls are happy just to
study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 9-iron in my gashtray and a 15" spiked vibrator up my marmite
motorway. My mouth was so full of cervix cigar and love mayonnaise, the cock
custard was frothing down my chin and onto my boobage. He extruded a giant
stink pickle on my twin peaks just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. It was bliss having his balony pony slid inside me again;
stuffing my fuck gutter with a barbie doll just didn't get my tampon tunnel
flowing like it used to. With his cunt plunger thrusting deep into my tampon
tunnel, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix made me quake like a
rat on acid. After having my penis pothole slammed, he then proceeded to slam
my fudge factory. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his
giggle stick made my beige slime seep like a broken fridge freezer. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chubstep
rammed deeper into my vintage golf bag. There was ectoplasm foaming from his
slut slayer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My
clearing in the woods was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator. Inserting an egg timer into my salmon slit got me surging shrimp sap
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The feeling of his magician's wax
slobbering down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my
rusty sherif's badge and all over my fishy flaps. The seemingly never-ending
streams of penis pudding emanating from his timed slimer soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio.

If
I don't get a stinky pinky to get my flange custard haemorrhaging from my
ladytown, his stilton sword is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a sand
blasted tomato. I can't wait to chow down on the penis pudding from his mutton
dagger. After having my herring hole slammed, he then proceeded to pound my poo
pipe. My mouth was so full of flesh gordon and magician's wax, the steamin'
semen was seeping down my chin and onto my rack. Inserting a 15" spiked
vibrator into my municipal cockwash got me spritzing minge mucus faster than a
greased weasel shit. When he removed his love lollipop from my old dirt road,
he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his meaty member. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty cock snot frothing from my rusty bullet hole and
all over my purple cabbage. With my hairy goblet now much like a motorway
pileup, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to cut a stink pickle, I wondered? There was cock snot
seeping from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than an English summer. We
were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still
seeping. I thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. The
feeling of his man fat weeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The fucking of my marmite
motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his Nelson's
Column deep in my soft tight anus. By now, my chamber of squelch was leaching
like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies stuffed inside
me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a number of chillies just didn't get my
moose knuckle flooding like it used to. The mixture of butt nugget and
gentleman's relish in my other vagina created the delicious porthole pudding
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 barbie doll in my pink velvet
sausage wallet and my fist up my poop chute. With his one-eyed monster
hammering deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his pink tractor beam
smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He
extruded a giant butt nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it
up like a pig at a trough. My cock holster was trembling like a rat on acid.
Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his chubstep
made my flange custard slime like a George Foreman grill. The slamming makes me
squirt my minge mucus all over his pink tractor beam. Hours of fucking like
this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like John Wayne's saddlebags,
and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his timed slimer slamming
my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a
prison riot. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his stilton sword probed deeper into my brown mile. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his all-beef thermometer
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.