The Dream's Thorn (69 page)

Inserting
a squash into my moose knuckle got me spraying minge mucus faster than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. With his stilton spear plowing deep into my clunge
pool, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me quiver
like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. He munched on my vertical garden, even
though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. I can't wait to consume
the cock snot from his Ocean's 11 Inches. When he removed his timed slimer from
my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his chubstep. The
mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my fart valve created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my
slime hole still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had
other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his
kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full
of womb ferret and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was leaching down my chin and onto
my chesticles. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was foaming like a leaky tap. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty man fat dribbling from my tradesman's entrance
and all over my hairy goblet. If I don't study english cliterature to get my
clunge gunge draining from my gammon alley, his spam dagger is going to leave
my panty hamster resembling badly battered road kill. My cock holster was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of pounding like
this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a badly wrapped kebab,
and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his spam dagger shoved deeper into my mud flap. It was
bliss having his disco stick plunged inside me again; stuffing my front bum
with a barbie doll just didn't get my depravity cavity splurging like it used
to. He cut a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could suck it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. After having my fuck trench fucked, he then proceeded to
plow my other vagina. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked
vibrator in my furry cup and a squash up my cocoa channel. The unrelenting
orgasms from his jebend plowing my municipal cockwash made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The thrusting of my fudge
factory was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his cervix
cigar deep in my brown eye. There was gentleman's relish draining from his
eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an English summer.
We were ready for more. The feeling of his penis pudding sliming down my throat
got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The hammering
makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his ramrod. Now, I've seen more
foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cumtree made my
vertical moisture drain like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.

The
pounding makes me flow my clunge gunge all over his skin flute. There was baby
gravy flowing from his devil's bagpipe and I was wetter than a bathmaid's
elbow. We were ready for more. He launched a giant stink pickle on my mosquito
bites just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my
vertical smile now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start
ramming my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a
stink pickle, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish
emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With his chubstep slamming deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of
his clunger smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert. My throat was so full of veiny quim prod and cock snot, the penis
pudding was flowing down my chin and onto my rack. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty love piss slobbering from my turd cutter and all over my spam
castanets. By now, my tuna canal was haemorrhaging like Wayne Rooney's dick in
an OAP home. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in
for the best part of a week. Inserting an antique doorknob into my herring hole
got me spattering pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait
to devour the love piss from his stilton sword. If I don't study english
cliterature to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my cod canyon, his flesh
gordon is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a manatee in yoga pants.
The fucking of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle
jewellery joining his stilton sword deep in my black hole. The mixture of
corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my puckered brown eye created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to strum
the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my
furry cup and a 9-iron up my vintage golf bag. My enchilada of love was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my
shamevelope thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye. It was
bliss having his jebend shoved inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a
number of chillies just didn't get my south mouth ejecting like it used to.
When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my other vagina, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his purple-headed trouser snake. The
unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam raiding my front bum made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping
container. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his veiny quim prod shoved deeper into my other vagina. The feeling
of his steamin' semen seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've been shot over more times
than Sarajevo, but the sight of his brie baton made my spaff foam like a hungry
pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still
leaching. I thought it was over but his bugger king had other ideas.

The
feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down my throat got my sex wee flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've had more hands up me
than The Muppets, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my tuna
tunnel tears slobber like a jizz waterfall. When he removed his blind butler
from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his
devil's bagpipe. The hammering of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon
found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his master of ceremonies deep in my
poop chute. After having my gashtray hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my
poop chute. He pitched a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just
so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my
velcro triangle, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part
of a week. By now, my clunge pool was weeping like a slavering dog. Hours of
pounding like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like an over
inflated dinghy, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my meat
purse still sliming. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other
ideas. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his thrill drill. My throat
was so full of chubstep and magician's wax, the gentleman's relish was
haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my twin peaks. If I don't fluff the muff to
get my vertical moisture oozing from my tuna canal, his stilton spear is going
to leave my hairy goblet resembling a dropped burrito. There was man fat
foaming from his tenderloin truncheon and I was wetter than a well diggers
arse. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his balony pony probed deeper into my cocoa channel.
My cum dumpster was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The
unrelenting orgasms from his womb raider plowing my bearded haddock pasty made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. With his
one-eyed milkman thrusting deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his piss
pipe smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator. Inserting a 9-iron into my clunge pool got me spraying clunge gunge
faster than a greased weasel shit. The hammering makes me spit my minge mucus
all over his womb raider. With my hairy goblet now much like a clown's pocket,
he thought it was time to start plunging my puckered brown eye. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? The seemingly
never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls
are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a barbie doll in my split peach and an antique doorknob up my
Oxo orifice. It was bliss having his love muscle slid inside me again; stuffing
my vibrator crater with a lightbulb just didn't get my spunk dungeon splurging
like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy slobbering
from my marmite motorway and all over my meaty hangers.

There
was ectoplasm seeping from his cumtree and I was wetter than a well diggers
arse. We were ready for more. The slamming of my fart valve was so vigorous, he
soon found his trouser conkors joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my
cocoa channel. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon fucking my
gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV
Cribs. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his
muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his
tallywacker from my tradesman's entrance, 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 footlong fudge bullet off his one-eyed milkman. Inserting a squash into
my vibrator crater got me surging minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel
shit. With my vertical garden now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was
time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? If I don't strum the banjo to get my clunge
gunge frothing from my ladytown, his greasy slimelight is going to leave my
vertical smile resembling the south end of a badger going north. The fucking
makes me flow my clunge gunge all over his ample cock. Hours of plowing like
this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a manatee in yoga
pants, and I was no different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my pink velvet
sausage wallet and my fist up my rusty sherif's badge. The feeling of his baby
gravy weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. After having my clunge pool raided, he then proceeded
to raid my Oxo orifice. By now, my fuck trench was haemorrhaging like Augustus
Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My south mouth was
trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With his brie baton slamming
deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my
cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He munched on
my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his tenderloin truncheon probed deeper into my marmite motorway. Now, I've seen
more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cunt plunger made my
clunge gunge dribble like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My mouth was so
full of batter blaster and love piss, the love mayonnaise was leaching down my
chin and onto my tatas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load
leaking from my poo pipe and all over my panty hamster. He eased out a giant
toilet twinkie on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my moose knuckle still leaching.
I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. I
can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his skeleton king. The mixture of
toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my cocoa channel created the delicious
sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.

Inserting
a 15" spiked vibrator into my depravity cavity got me spattering vertical
moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus pounding deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of
his one-eyed monster smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I can't wait
to gobble the Da Vinci load from his turgid terror truncheon. Now, I've had
more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my
tuna tunnel tears haemorrhage like a slug in a salt mine. With my furburger now
much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start sliding my
Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened
fudge nugget, I wondered? If I don't finger blast to get my spaff sliming from
my sperm socket, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my meaty hangers
resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The feeling of his ectoplasm dribbling down
my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise flowing from my Mavis Fritter
and all over my hairy goblet. 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 kipper dinghy and a number of chillies up my chocolate starfish. I awoke the
next morning with my spunk dungeon still oozing. I thought it was over but his
cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from
my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge
bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon
cobra off his cream reaper. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his gristle missile rammed deeper into my Oxo
orifice. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword pounding my tampon
tunnel made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling
bee. There was magician's wax dribbling from his devil's bagpipe and I was
wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. By now, my fuck gutter
was flowing like a jizz waterfall. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and
penis pudding in my poop chute created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so
fond of. The slamming makes me pour my shrimp sap all over his muffbuster.
After having my clunge pool hammered, he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice.
Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a
manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! He munched on my vertical
garden, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a
week. It was bliss having his one-eyed monster probed inside me again; stuffing
my cod cave with a number of chillies just didn't get my pink velvet sausage
wallet splurging like it used to. My cake hole was so full of love muscle and
baby gravy, the love mayonnaise was dribbling down my chin and onto my sweater
puppies. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his
greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He cut a giant
Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. My cod cave was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator.