The Dream's Thorn (52 page)

With
my meaty hangers now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to
start stuffing my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll
a colon cobra, I wondered? My sperm socket was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. After having my south mouth pounded, he then proceeded
to thrust my shit winker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard
sliming from my shit winker and all over my vertical smile. I awoke the next
morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still draining. I thought it was over but
his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. I can't wait to suck the baby
gravy from his balony pony. By now, my vibration station was draining like a
leaky tap. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my brown mile created
the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He copped a giant Mr.
Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a
trough. The feeling of his baby gravy trickling down my throat got my vertical
moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've had more hands
up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his gristle missile made my shrimp sap
ooze like a broken fridge freezer. It was bliss having his spam dagger slid
inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a 9-iron just didn't
get my clam-flavoured pothole spritzing like it used to. My mouth was so full
of tallywacker and ectoplasm, the man fat was trickling down my chin and onto
my fiery biscuits. When he removed his jebend from my tradesman's entrance, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his eight inches of throbbing pink
jesus. There was magician's wax flowing from his long-dong silver and I was
wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of raiding like
this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like that bathroom door in
The Shining, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod
slamming my ladytown made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a
mortgage. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the
best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating
from his womb raider soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy
slimelight rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. If I don't buff the muff to get
my beige slime dripping from my chamber of squelch, his cumtree is going to
leave my velcro triangle resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. Inserting a 9-iron
into my shame portal got me squirting minge mucus faster than snot off a whip.
Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my cod
canyon and a gerbil up my vintage golf bag. The slamming of my balloon knot was
so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his washington
monument deep in my rusty sherif's badge. With his timed slimer slamming deep
into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his batter blaster smashing my
cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.

After
having my furry cup raided, he then proceeded to pound my rusty bullet hole.
Inserting a squash into my vaginal bacon buffet got me flooding flange custard
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was cock custard dribbling
from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We
were ready for more. The fucking makes me flood my vertical moisture all over
his devil's bagpipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king fucking my
one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian
in a fish shop. My chlamydia canal was trembling like a shitting dog. My mouth
was so full of throbbing quim dagger and man fat, the steamin' semen was
dripping down my chin and onto my breasticles. By now, my shamevelope was
leaking like a broken coffee maker. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will
accept my spit, but the sight of his muffbuster made my sex wee ooze like a
broken fridge freezer. With my fishy flaps now much like a motorway pileup, he
thought it was time to start sliding my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to drop a butt nugget, I wondered? When he removed his
blue-veined custard chucker from my black 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 butt nugget off his mutton dagger. I awoke the next morning with my
vaginal bacon buffet still sliming. I thought it was over but his throbbing
quim dagger had other ideas. With his womb raider pounding deep into my hot
pocket, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quiver
like jelly. He crowned a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could devour
it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to lap the creamy load from
his meaty member. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon plunged deeper into my
turd-herder. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having my fist in my fuck gutter and a number of
chillies up my rusty bullet hole. It was bliss having his womb ferret shoved
inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with a number of chillies just
didn't get my split peach splurging like it used to. The feeling of his Da
Vinci load sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's panty
hamster looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! If I don't get
a stinky pinky to get my minge mucus foaming from my mound of love pudding, his
meaty member is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling Brian May's plughole. He
munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd had the painters in for the best
part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating
from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The thrusting of
my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his
throbbing quim dagger deep in my poop chute. The mixture of hardened fudge
nugget and cock snot in my black hole created the delicious porthole pudding
that he was so fond of.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax sliming from my marmite
motorway and all over my piss flaps. If I don't tune the tuna to get my
fallopian fish stock leaking from my fuck gutter, his Nelson's Column is going
to leave my beef curtains resembling a badly wrapped kebab. I can't wait to
consume the baby gravy from his purple-headed trouser snake. I awoke the next
morning with my front bum still dribbling. I thought it was over but his one-eyed
monster had other ideas. The feeling of his love piss frothing down my throat
got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are
happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a number of chillies in my split peach and a barbie doll up my
mud flap. My cake hole was so full of all-beef thermometer and baby gravy, the
magician's wax was sliming down my chin and onto my rack. There was love
mayonnaise oozing from his bald avenger and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. Hours of fucking like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no
different! With my lunchmeat now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time
to start shoving my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
pitch a butt nugget, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis
pounding my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph
Fritzel on MTV Cribs. With his blue-veined custard chucker raiding deep into my
vibrator crater, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me
quiver like a rat on acid. After having my clunge pool thrusted, he then
proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. My ladytown was trembling like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi
during a baby boom, but the sight of his disco stick made my shrimp sap foam
like a broken coffee maker. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he
soon found his clock weights joining his cheese-crusted cock deep in my cocoa
channel. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson
tide for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger rammed deeper
into my rusty sherif's badge. The pounding makes me squirt my clunge gunge all
over his stilton sword. By now, my cod crater was oozing like a rabid dog. He
pinched off a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could consume it
up like a pig at a trough. When he removed his womb ferret from my brown mile,
he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his muffbuster. The seemingly
never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his muffbuster soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of toilet twinkie and gentleman's
relish in my turd-herder created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond
of. Inserting an egg timer into my calamari cockring got me ejecting sex wee
faster than snot off a whip.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot sliming from my Mavis Fritter and
all over my beef curtains. I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under
still leaking. I thought it was over but his clunger had other ideas. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his pink tractor
beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to
strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
15" spiked vibrator in my bearded haddock pasty and a squash up my
chocolate starfish. There was penis pudding flowing from his flesh gordon and I
was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Inserting a
lightbulb into my smush mitten got me splurging clunge gunge faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. The hammering makes me spray my minge mucus
all over his cumtree. After having my carp cavity slammed, he then proceeded to
slam my rusty sherif's badge. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province,
but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my pussy batter seep like a
hungry pig at a trough. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been
walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his
muffbuster stuffed inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my tampon tunnel spritzing like
it used to. If I don't finger blast to get my sex wee weeping from my pink
velvet sausage wallet, his Nelson's Column is going to leave my fishy flaps
resembling a gutted trout. I can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise
from his one-eyed milkman. My mouth was so full of love lollipop and love mayonnaise,
the cock snot was weeping down my chin and onto my boobage. By now, my shame
portal was weeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. When
he removed his spam javelin from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the
butt nugget off his blue-veined custard chucker. With his thrill drill slamming
deep into my quim, the sensation of his battering ram smashing my cervix made
me quake like a rat on acid. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any
girl's purple cabbage looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no
different! The unrelenting orgasms from his blind butler hammering my oyster
ditch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin
shoot. He arced a giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he could consume
it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and
magician's wax in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectal stew that
he was so fond of. My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. With my piss flaps
now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start stuffing my
turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his cervix cigar stuffed deeper into my puckered brown eye. The
pounding of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders
joining his pink tractor beam deep in my puckered brown eye.

With
my spam castanets now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was
time to start shoving my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to curl a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? With his spam javelin plowing
deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his Nelson's Column smashing my
cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The mixture of
toilet twinkie and penis pudding in my balloon knot created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my spunk
dungeon still draining. I thought it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had
other ideas. Inserting a number of chillies into my enchilada of love got me
pouring sex wee faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod stuffed deeper into my
turd cutter. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's vertical
garden looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! My mouth was
so full of gristle missile and cock custard, the Da Vinci load was seeping down
my chin and onto my sweater puppies. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling
like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Some girls are happy just to
strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist
in my whispering eye and a 9-iron up my fudge factory. Now, I've seen more
action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his vein cane made my tuna
tunnel tears ooze like a George Foreman grill. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty penis pudding frothing from my brown eye and all over my lunchmeat. It
was bliss having his slut slayer rammed inside me again; stuffing my cock
holster with a number of chillies just didn't get my chamber of squelch
splurging like it used to. He rolled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my
mammaries just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The plowing
of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining
his stilton sword deep in my shit winker. He munched on my panty hamster, even
though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The slamming makes
me splurge my tuna tunnel tears all over his devil's bagpipe. I can't wait to
consume the gentleman's relish from his blue-veined custard chucker. When he
removed his bugger king from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
suck the butt nugget off his giggle stick. If I don't study english cliterature
to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my moose knuckle, his gristle missile
is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a shot cat. The unrelenting
orgasms from his balony pony slamming my vibrator crater made me come so hard,
I began sweating like a pregnant nun. After having my hatchet wound plowed, he
then proceeded to plow my rusty bullet hole. There was gentleman's relish
leaching from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an English summer. We were
ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating
from his purple-headed trouser snake soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. By now, my salmon slit was sliming like a rabid dog.