The Dream's Thorn (63 page)

He
munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd had the painters in for the best
part of a week. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his
one-eyed monster made my tuna tunnel tears drain like Adele waiting for Greggs
to open. My sperm socket was trembling like a shitting dog. The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his Ocean's 11 Inches soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
magician's wax seeping from my cocoa channel and all over my purple cabbage.
Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a number of chillies in my ruby cave and an egg timer up my
puckered brown eye. After having my chlamydia canal pounded, he then proceeded
to slam my other vagina. The unrelenting orgasms from his chorizo howitzer
fucking my oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy
with a mortgage. The fucking makes me squirt my spaff all over his cheese-crusted
cock. When he removed his all-beef thermometer from my old dirt road, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his veiny quim prod. The
raiding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls
joining his huge penis deep in my other vagina. Inserting a number of chillies
into my oyster ditch got me surging clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam
castanets looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no
different! The mixture of colon cobra and magician's wax in my black hole
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. If I don't fluff
the muff to get my flange custard haemorrhaging from my spunk dungeon, his
giggle stick is going to leave my panty hamster resembling the south end of a
badger going north. He curled a giant stink pickle on my mammaries just so he
could lap it up like a pig at a trough. It was bliss having his cream reaper
probed inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with a number of
chillies just didn't get my spunk dungeon spraying like it used to. My cake
hole was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and man fat, the cock snot was
leaching down my chin and onto my mammaries. I can't wait to consume the
steamin' semen from his gristle missile. The feeling of his magician's wax
seeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
With my hairy goblet now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was
time to start shoving my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to pinch off a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my
fuck gutter still oozing. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had
other ideas. There was love piss oozing from his slut slayer and I was wetter
than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. By now, my cod crater was
oozing like a broken fridge freezer. With his devil's bagpipe thrusting deep
into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made
me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver.

If
I don't strum the banjo to get my flange custard leaching from my oyster ditch,
his Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a dropped
burrito. The thrusting makes me eject my sex wee all over his pink tractor
beam. My shamevelope was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
The hammering of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser
conkors joining his jade rod deep in my ring piece. Some girls are happy just
to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
gerbil in my quim and a 15" spiked vibrator up my ring piece. It was bliss
having his washington monument stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam
cavern with an egg timer just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty pouring like
it used to. The feeling of his steamin' semen frothing down my throat got my
clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Inserting a
gerbil into my moose knuckle got me squirting pussy batter faster than a
greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still
leaking. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. When he
removed his womb raider from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the
stink pickle off his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. My throat was so
full of stilton spear and love mayonnaise, the baby gravy was flowing down my
chin and onto my chesticles. With his piss pipe raiding deep into my cock
holster, the sensation of his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me
quiver like jelly. I can't wait to gobble the baby gravy from his mutton
dagger. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my chocolate starfish
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The seemingly
never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his spam dagger 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 pink tractor beam plunged deeper into
my cocoa channel. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's spam
castanets looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! He
launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chesticles just so he could suck it
up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his skeleton king
raiding my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
whore in a confessional. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand
dartboard, but the sight of his giggle stick made my spaff froth like a George
Foreman grill. After having my cod cave pounded, he then proceeded to pound my
brown eye. With my flappy meal now much like a clown's pocket, he thought it
was time to start stuffing my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? There was Da Vinci load
foaming from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We
were ready for more. By now, my chlamydia canal was oozing like a leaky tap.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish leaching from my
brown mile and all over my panty hamster.

I
awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still oozing. I thought it was over
but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would
leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I
was no different! My mouth was so full of cunt stretcher and love piss, the Da
Vinci load was sliming down my chin and onto my superdroopers. When he removed
his bald-headed yogurt slinger from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on
the sewer trout off his cumtree. The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise
in my poop chute created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
With his womb raider pounding deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his
love muscle smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. With my purple cabbage now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was
time to start plunging my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab
skewer plowing my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy
with a mortgage. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in
my depravity cavity and my fist up my Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty creamy load oozing from my black hole and all over my spam
castanets. The hammering of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his
wrecking balls joining his kebeb skewer deep in my mud flap. It was bliss
having his cervix cigar plunged inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with
a lightbulb just didn't get my fuck trench gushing like it used to. He munched
on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best
part of a week. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight
of his purple-headed trouser snake made my vertical moisture dribble like a
hungry pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon shoved deeper into my fudge
factory. My split peach was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By
now, my chlamydia canal was oozing like a slug in a salt mine. Inserting a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster into my clearing in the woods got me
splurging fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The
feeling of his magician's wax oozing down my throat got my flange custard
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. After having my hatchet wound hammered,
he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. If I don't strum the banjo to get
my tuna tunnel tears seeping from my hot pocket, his skeleton king is going to leave
my fishy flaps resembling a shot cat. The seemingly never-ending streams of
love mayonnaise emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. He arced a giant butt nugget on my mammaries just so he
could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to devour the
creamy load from his purple-headed trouser snake. There was creamy load
trickling from his batter blaster and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We
were ready for more.

Hours
of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a bulldog
licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! There was penis pudding
dripping from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We
were ready for more. The feeling of his man fat flowing down my throat got my
minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dripping from my chocolate starfish
and all over my purple cabbage. With my purple cabbage now much like Terry
Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start sliding my mud flap. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge nugget, I
wondered? Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight
of his gristle missile made my fallopian fish stock ooze like a hungry pig at a
trough. My throat was so full of chorizo howitzer and gentleman's relish, the
Da Vinci load was weeping down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. He launched
a giant Mr. Hanky on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. It was bliss having his balony pony rammed inside me again;
stuffing my cock holster with a lightbulb just didn't get my quim gushing like
it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his
huge penis soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 9-iron into
my gammon alley got me gushing tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his brie baton stuffed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. When he removed his
turgid terror truncheon from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait
to devour the sewer trout off his Nelson's Column. My ground zero grotto was
trembling like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket
still flowing. I thought it was over but his disco stick had other ideas. I
can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his cunt stretcher. The pounding of
my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his flesh
gordon deep in my fart valve. After having my calamari cockring hammered, he
then proceeded to raid my poo pipe. With his kebeb skewer thrusting deep into
my gammon alley, the sensation of his love muscle smashing my cervix made me
quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Some girls are happy just to dial
the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
squash in my chlamydia canal and a squash up my cocoa channel. If I don't
audition the finger puppets to get my clunge gunge leaching from my tampon
tunnel, his cunt plunger is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a horse's
collar. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony
for the best part of a week. By now, my meat purse was slobbering like a jizz
waterfall. The pounding makes me pour my minge monsoon all over his clunger.
The unrelenting orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon thrusting my cod cave
made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee.

The
feeling of his magician's wax foaming down my throat got my spaff flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. My wunder down under was trembling like a
rat on acid. By now, my slime hole was haemorrhaging like Augustus Gloop's
mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The thrusting makes me
spout my minge mucus all over his giggle stick. It was bliss having his ramrod
plunged inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a gerbil just didn't get
my split peach spouting like it used to. With his spunk-filled spam rocket
hammering deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my
cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My cake hole
was so full of giggle stick and steamin' semen, the baby gravy was oozing down
my chin and onto my cans. I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his
skeleton king. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his ample cock stuffed deeper into my fudge factory. The mixture
of butt nugget and ectoplasm in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger
fucking my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun
at a penguin shoot. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my municipal
cockwash got me spouting sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. With my
open-faced ham sandwich now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to
start stuffing my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl
a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? There was man fat leaching from his
skeleton king and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for
more. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the
crimson tide for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of
love piss emanating from his wrist-thick wand soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime dripping
from my cum dumpster, his cervix cigar is going to leave my hairy goblet
resembling a hippo's yawn. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the
sight of his womb ferret made my spaff slime like a leaky tap. After having my
enchilada of love thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my cocoa channel. Some
girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a lightbulb in my shame portal and a 9-iron up my puckered brown
eye. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his two
amigos joining his tallywacker deep in my poop chute. I awoke the next morning
with my soft-shelled tuna taco still slobbering. I thought it was over but his
master of ceremonies had other ideas. He rolled a giant sewer trout on my
mammaries just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty magician's wax trickling from my shit winker and all over
my meaty hangers. When he removed his bugger king from my marmite motorway, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his meaty member.