The Dream's Thorn (40 page)

When
he removed his disco stick from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon
cobra off his stilton sword. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined
custard chucker pounding my fuck trench made me come so hard, I began sweating
like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his jebend rammed deeper into my rusty
bullet hole. With his ramrod hammering deep into my hatchet wound, the
sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on
acid. I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his battering ram. My smush
mitten was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've
taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cheese-crusted cock
made my fallopian fish stock leach like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his spam dagger
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of one-eyed
monster and gentleman's relish, the ectoplasm was frothing down my chin and
onto my breasticles. He crowned a giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he
could lap it up like a pig at a trough. After having my fuck trench pounded, he
then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. It was bliss having his
purple-headed trouser snake probed inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket
with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole
gushing like it used to. If I don't buff the muff to get my clunge gunge
flowing from my tuna canal, his blind butler is going to leave my clap flaps
resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty penis pudding slobbering from my black hole and all over my piss flaps.
The pounding of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his chin
pounders joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my mud flap. The mixture of
footlong fudge bullet and creamy load in my rusty sherif's badge created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my beef curtains now
much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start shoving my
puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a butt
nugget, I wondered? Inserting a gerbil into my depravity cavity got me pouring
pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of fucking like this
would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like badly battered road kill,
and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster in my hatchet wound and a barbie doll up my Mavis
Fritter. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been walking the red
carpet for the best part of a week. There was Da Vinci load dripping from his
cunt plunger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more.
The plowing makes me splurge my minge monsoon all over his meaty member. By now,
my chlamydia canal was foaming like a leaky tap. The feeling of his Da Vinci
load foaming down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit.

If
I don't tune the tuna to get my minge mucus flowing from my shame portal, his
love lollipop is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a bucket
of smashed crabs. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from
his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my
cum dumpster was slobbering like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy
Wonka's chocolate river. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my
whispering eye and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my other
vagina. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword plowing my cum dumpster
made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. There was
ectoplasm foaming from his stilton spear and I was wetter than a well diggers
arse. We were ready for more. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during
a baby boom, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my flange custard weep
like a broken coffee maker. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had
Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. My chlamydia canal was trembling
like jelly. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock snot in my rusty
bullet hole created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He copped
a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down
on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my velcro triangle now much like a
manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a stink pickle, I wondered?
When he removed his one-eyed monster from my poop chute, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
suck the footlong fudge bullet off his disco stick. I awoke the next morning
with my kipper dinghy still dripping. I thought it was over but his
spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. Inserting a gerbil into my south
mouth got me surging flange custard faster than snot off a whip. The plowing of
my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his
sperminator deep in my shit winker. The feeling of his Da Vinci load frothing
down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
My throat was so full of ramrod and baby gravy, the steamin' semen was draining
down my chin and onto my chesticles. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his huge penis probed deeper into my Mavis
Fritter. After having my kipper dinghy raided, he then proceeded to pound my
fart valve. The slamming makes me squirt my spaff all over his turgid terror
truncheon. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load flowing from
my mud flap and all over my roast beef platter. It was bliss having his
muffbuster rammed inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an antique
doorknob just didn't get my clearing in the woods pouring like it used to.
Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a
motorway pileup, and I was no different! With his clunger hammering deep into
my frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his brie baton smashing my cervix
made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from my mud flap
and all over my clap flaps. He curled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my cans
just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his
ample cock fucking deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his giggle stick
smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
There was steamin' semen leaching from his bugger king and I was wetter than an
otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his balony
pony hammering my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating like
Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. My cod crater was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my ring piece, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to gobble the colon cobra off his piss pipe. He munched on my beef
curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I awoke
the next morning with my depravity cavity still flowing. I thought it was over
but his all-beef thermometer had other ideas. Inserting a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster into my cod cave got me spraying clunge gunge faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of man
fat emanating from his slut slayer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
The slamming makes me pour my tuna tunnel tears all over his slut slayer. I
can't wait to suck the penis pudding from his master of ceremonies. The mixture
of footlong fudge bullet and creamy load in my soft tight anus created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The feeling of his love piss
seeping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased shit off
a shiny shovel. My mouth was so full of spam dagger and Da Vinci load, the
steamin' semen was slobbering down my chin and onto my droopies. With my meaty
hangers now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start
plunging my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a
butt nugget, I wondered? If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap sliming
from my smush mitten, his bugger king is going to leave my clap flaps
resembling the Japanese flag. After having my sperm socket thrusted, he then
proceeded to thrust my other vagina. The slamming of my Mavis Fritter was so
vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his turgid terror truncheon
deep in my chocolate starfish. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in
my chamber of squelch and a 9-iron up my old dirt road. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cervix cigar
shoved deeper into my fudge factory. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will
accept my spit, but the sight of his Ocean's 11 Inches made my sex wee leach
like a jizz waterfall. It was bliss having his cervix cigar probed inside me
again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a number of chillies just didn't get
my shame portal surging like it used to. Hours of fucking like this would leave
any girl's fishy flaps looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different!

It
was bliss having his giggle stick shoved inside me again; stuffing my tampon
tunnel with my fist just didn't get my mound of love pudding spraying like it
used to. With my roast beef platter now much like Brian May's plughole, he
thought it was time to start ramming my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The hammering of
my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his
wrist-thick wand deep in my ring piece. The seemingly never-ending streams of
Da Vinci load emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. The feeling of his Da Vinci load seeping down my throat got
my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've
seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his batter
blaster made my vertical moisture weep like a broken fridge freezer. Hours of
fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a rabid
baboon's arse, and I was no different! My throat was so full of vein cane and
creamy load, the man fat was dripping down my chin and onto my chest puppies.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his tallywacker rammed deeper into my fudge factory. He munched on my velcro
triangle, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week.
Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my salmon slit got me flowing
fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. The plowing makes me flood my
fallopian fish stock all over his blind butler. The unrelenting orgasms from
his disco stick hammering my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was
frothing like a slavering dog. He eased out a giant sewer trout on my
chesticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of
sewer trout and penis pudding in my black hole created the delicious rectal
stew that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my furry cup still
slobbering. I thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. After
having my quim raided, he then proceeded to plow my rusty bullet hole. I can't
wait to consume the steamin' semen from his throbbing quim dagger. If I don't
study english cliterature to get my spaff dripping from my fuck trench, his
balony pony is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a sand blasted tomato.
There was baby gravy dripping from his chorizo howitzer and I was wetter than
an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his cumtree from my
balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his cunt
stretcher. 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 ladytown and my fist up my
chocolate starfish. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm sliming
from my tradesman's entrance and all over my fishy flaps. With his wensleydale
wand hammering deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his chubstep
smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog.

The
feeling of his baby gravy leaching down my throat got my fallopian fish stock
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my vertical smile,
even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. With his
blue-veined custard chucker plowing deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of
his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of
chopped liver. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his disco stick. Hours
of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like Pete
Burns' lips, and I was no different! The thrusting of my turd cutter was so
vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his womb ferret deep in my
old dirt road. By now, my cod crater was dripping like Wayne Rooney's dick in
an OAP home. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from
his batter blaster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen
more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his cumtree made my
beige slime seep like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With
my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it
was time to start plunging my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to pitch a stink pickle, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to
fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron
in my enchilada of love and a squash up my turd cutter. I awoke the next
morning with my south mouth still flowing. I thought it was over but his ramrod
had other ideas. It was bliss having his cumtree plunged inside me again;
stuffing my meat purse with a 9-iron just didn't get my municipal cockwash
pouring like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat
sliming from my marmite motorway and all over my spam castanets. If I don't
fish for pearls to get my fallopian fish stock foaming from my penis pothole,
his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my hairy goblet
resembling a clown's pocket. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and love
mayonnaise in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that
he was so fond of. Inserting a barbie doll into my municipal cockwash got me
spattering minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he
removed his long-dong silver from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to suck the colon cobra off his slut slayer. After having my ground zero
grotto raided, he then proceeded to fuck my mud flap. He launched a giant Mr.
Hanky on my chesticles 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 flesh gordon shoved deeper into my old dirt road. My south mouth
was trembling like a shitting dog. My cake hole was so full of cunt stretcher
and love mayonnaise, the gentleman's relish was dribbling down my chin and onto
my chesticles. The plowing makes me spritz my flange custard all over his cream
reaper. There was steamin' semen frothing from his blind butler and I was
wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more.