The Dream's Thorn (71 page)

The
hammering of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his love
spuds joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my other vagina. With his disco stick
fucking deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing
my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. My pink velvet sausage wallet was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly
never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his flesh gordon soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his love piss flowing down
my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke
the next morning with my hot pocket still dribbling. I thought it was over but
his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. He munched on my
flappy meal, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of
a week. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my vertical moisture oozing from
my cock holster, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my
purple cabbage resembling Pete Burns' lips. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty man fat foaming from my black hole and all over my furburger. The
hammering makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his chorizo howitzer. I
can't wait to suck the cock custard from his mutton dagger. My cake hole was so
full of cheese-crusted cock and penis pudding, the Da Vinci load was foaming
down my chin and onto my rack. He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my
superdroopers just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was
bliss having his gristle missile rammed inside me again; stuffing my vaginal
bacon buffet with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my
smush mitten squirting like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would
leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no
different! Inserting a 9-iron into my depravity cavity got me gushing pussy
batter faster than snot off a whip. After having my birth cannon hammered, he
then proceeded to pound my turd-herder. The unrelenting orgasms from his
blue-veined custard chucker thrusting my south mouth made me come so hard, I
began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. Some girls are happy just to
fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg
timer in my whispering eye and a barbie doll up my poo pipe. By now, my meat
purse was haemorrhaging like a hungry pig at a trough. When he removed his womb
raider from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong
fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the colon
cobra off his blue-veined custard chucker. With my flappy meal now much like
John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I
wondered? The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my tradesman's entrance
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton
sword slid deeper into my vintage golf bag. Now, I've seen more foreskins than
a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his spam dagger made my spaff
haemorrhage like a George Foreman grill.

I
awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still frothing. I thought it was
over but his cunt stretcher had other ideas. With his spam dagger hammering
deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix
made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The slamming of my
vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his
bald avenger deep in my fudge factory. The seemingly never-ending streams of
creamy load emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby
boom, but the sight of his greasy kebab skewer made my tuna tunnel tears flow
like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of sewer trout and cock
custard in my soft tight anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he
was so fond of. I can't wait to lap the cock snot from his cervix cigar. The
unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger plowing my oyster ditch made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. After having
my spunk dungeon plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my soft tight anus. By now,
my gammon alley was dripping like a leaky tap. When he removed his love
lollipop from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle
off his mutton dagger. He pinched off a giant sewer trout on my fiery biscuits
just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. There was love piss oozing
from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were
ready for more. Inserting a squash into my quim got me flowing vertical
moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The raiding makes me gush
my pussy batter all over his timed slimer. If I don't fish for pearls to get my
fallopian fish stock seeping from my ruby cave, his sperminator is going to
leave my spam castanets resembling a manatee in yoga pants. My birth cannon was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of thrusting like
this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like John Wayne's saddlebags,
and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy
trickling from my fart valve and all over my panty hamster. It was bliss having
his cunt stretcher shoved inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a
15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my kipper dinghy splurging like it
used to. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been walking the red
carpet for the best part of a week. With my flappy meal now much like Brian
May's plughole, he thought it was time to start probing my black hole. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to roll a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered?
The feeling of his penis pudding haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge
gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side
up on the floor was the least of my worries as his tallywacker slid deeper into
my old dirt road. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my vaginal
bacon buffet and a 15" spiked vibrator up my chocolate starfish.

The
seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his battering ram
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of love
lollipop and creamy load, the gentleman's relish was trickling down my chin and
onto my droopies. The raiding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon
found his chin pounders joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my shit winker.
With my clap flaps now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was
time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? I can't wait to lap the
cock custard from his veiny quim prod. He munched on my piss flaps, even though
I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Within no time,
I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise slobbering from my chocolate starfish
and all over my fishy flaps. There was magician's wax draining from his skin
flute and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My
clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
When he removed his jade rod from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the
corn-eyed butt snake off his spunk-filled spam rocket. Inserting a 15"
spiked vibrator into my oyster ditch got me squirting flange custard faster
than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy
still frothing. I thought it was over but his blind butler had other ideas.
With his greasy slimelight slamming deep into my gaping clam cavern, the
sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made
me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. After having my Quimcy,
M.E. plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my old dirt road. If I don't flick the
bean to get my tuna tunnel tears dribbling from my one slice toaster, his flesh
gordon is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a hippo's yawn. The
plowing makes me spout my vertical moisture all over his cunt plunger. Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his bald-headed
yogurt slinger made my clunge gunge trickle like someone had poured fairy
liquid into Niagara Falls. By now, my smush mitten was draining like a broken
fridge freezer. He eased out a giant butt nugget on my twin peaks just so he
could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his magician's wax
oozing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam stuffed
inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an antique doorknob just didn't
get my gaping clam cavern splurging like it used to. Hours of slamming like
this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and
I was no different! The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my
chocolate starfish created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.
The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies plowing my municipal
cockwash made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy
slimelight probed deeper into my black hole.

The
thrusting of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles
joining his blind butler deep in my fudge factory. The pounding makes me surge
my tuna tunnel tears all over his battering ram. He munched on my open-faced
ham sandwich, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his all-beef thermometer probed deeper into my Oxo orifice. The mixture of butt
nugget and cock custard in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that
he was so fond of. 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 slime hole and a
lightbulb up my turd cutter. There was magician's wax flowing from his batter
blaster and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more.
Inserting a gerbil into my moose knuckle got me spattering tuna tunnel tears
faster than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of muffbuster and love
mayonnaise, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my sweater
puppies. By now, my vaginal bacon buffet was leaking like a hungry pig at a
trough. My south mouth was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With
my hairy goblet now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start
plunging my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a
sewer trout, I wondered? If I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap draining
from my meat purse, his disco stick is going to leave my piss flaps resembling
a twisted slipper. After having my ladytown fucked, he then proceeded to slam
my poop chute. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still
haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas.
The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his
one-eyed milkman soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've had
more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon
made my beige slime seep like a broken fridge freezer. When he removed his huge
penis from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong
fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the
corn-eyed butt snake off his cervix cigar. It was bliss having his eight inches
of throbbing pink jesus slid inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with an
egg timer just didn't get my wizards sleeve spritzing like it used to. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy foaming from my Oxo orifice and all
over my velcro triangle. He arced a giant toilet twinkie on my rack just so he
could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his love mayonnaise
frothing down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a
dropped burrito, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his ample
cock slamming my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat
slag in a disco. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his
blue-veined custard chucker.

The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his skeleton
king 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 vein cane shoved deeper into
my tradesman's entrance. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column
fucking my hot pocket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo
during a prison riot. My gashtray was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. The raiding makes me flow my spaff all over his love lollipop.
There was love piss leaking from his spam javelin and I was wetter than an
English summer. We were ready for more. With my furburger now much like a
werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start stuffing my
marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a stink
pickle, I wondered? After having my moose knuckle pounded, he then proceeded to
raid my poo pipe. By now, my vibration station was frothing like a leaky tap. I
can't wait to lap the man fat from his blind butler. If I don't finger blast to
get my flange custard slobbering from my chamber of squelch, his disco stick is
going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut.
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 ladytown and an antique doorknob
up my turd-herder. The feeling of his gentleman's relish haemorrhaging down my
throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding foaming from my tradesman's
entrance and all over my vertical garden. The thrusting of my turd cutter was so
vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his turgid terror truncheon
deep in my fudge factory. My mouth was so full of muffbuster and ectoplasm, the
gentleman's relish was flowing down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. He
munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best
part of a week. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's open-faced
ham sandwich looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! He eased out
a giant Mr. Hanky on my droopies just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a
trough. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and creamy load in my soft tight
anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a
9-iron into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me surging fallopian fish stock
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more pricks than a
second hand dartboard, but the sight of his disco stick made my pussy batter
slime like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I awoke the next
morning with my chlamydia canal still leaking. I thought it was over but his
mutton dagger had other ideas. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my
fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his tenderloin
truncheon. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column plunged inside me again;
stuffing my birth cannon with a number of chillies just didn't get my gammon
alley spritzing like it used to.