The Dream's Thorn (90 page)

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
sperminator slid deeper into my shit winker. If I don't stimulate the genitals
through phalangetic motion to get my pussy batter draining from my sperm socket,
his spam dagger is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a
horse's collar. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon thrusting my cock
holster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison
riot. My cake hole was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and penis pudding, the cock
custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my boobage. The thrusting of my
brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his vein
cane deep in my Oxo orifice. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd
been up on bricks for the best part of a week. By now, my shame portal was
dripping like a hungry pig at a trough. It was bliss having his timed slimer
stuffed inside me again; stuffing my front bum with a 15" spiked vibrator
just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole squirting like it used to. I awoke
the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still slobbering. I thought it
was over but his cunt plunger had other ideas. Hours of slamming like this
would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no
different! Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of
his cunt stretcher made my beige slime ooze like a slug in a salt mine. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his ramrod soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to suck the penis pudding
from his skeleton king. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in
my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He
arced a giant Mr. Hanky on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a
pig at a trough. My meat purse was trembling like a rat on acid. The feeling of
his ectoplasm dripping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than
a greased weasel shit. With my clap flaps now much like Terry Waite's
allotment, he thought it was time to start ramming my black hole. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to pitch a butt nugget, I wondered? Some girls
are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having an antique doorknob in my calamari cockring and a lightbulb up my
puckered brown eye. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard
leaching from my ring piece and all over my vertical smile. There was cock snot
dribbling from his huge penis and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We
were ready for more. The fucking makes me splurge my vertical moisture all over
his wensleydale wand. With his spam javelin pounding deep into my south mouth,
the sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat
on acid. After having my vibration station slammed, he then proceeded to raid
my balloon knot. When he removed his balony pony from my marmite motorway, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his bald-headed
yogurt slinger.

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
cumtree plunged deeper into my brown mile. The unrelenting orgasms from his
stilton sword fucking my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The fucking makes me spit my
fallopian fish stock all over his skin flute. My clam-flavoured pothole was
trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Hours of raiding like this would
leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was
no different! He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks
for the best part of a week. He crowned a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my
fiery biscuits just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The
seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his pink tractor
beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with
my ladytown still flowing. I thought it was over but his jebend had other
ideas. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of
his vein cane made my pussy batter slime like a jizz waterfall. Inserting a
number of chillies into my wizards sleeve got me ejecting tuna tunnel tears
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his bald avenger
from my black hole, 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
throbbing quim dagger. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my
ruby cave and a 9-iron up my puckered brown eye. If I don't buff the muff to
get my sex wee frothing from my cod canyon, his mutton dagger is going to leave
my furburger resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. My mouth was so full of bald
avenger and cock snot, the steamin' semen was leaking down my chin and onto my
droopies. With my hairy goblet now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he
thought it was time to start sliding my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to cut a stink pickle, I wondered? There was baby gravy
leaking from his spam dagger and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We
were ready for more. It was bliss having his clunger slid inside me again;
stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a number of chillies just didn't get my
cum dumpster ejecting like it used to. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen
from his chorizo howitzer. The feeling of his gentleman's relish dripping down
my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With
his timed slimer plowing deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his jade
rod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. By now, my furry cup
was draining like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin'
semen leaking from my Mavis Fritter and all over my vertical smile. The
slamming of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders
joining his skin flute deep in my tradesman's entrance. After having my cock
holster pounded, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown eye.

Hours
of hammering like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a
rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his slut slayer probed deeper into
my rusty sherif's badge. The plowing of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous,
he soon found his trouser conkors joining his blind butler deep in my fart
valve. My herring hole was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
By now, my cod cave was leaking like a broken coffee maker. When he removed his
jade rod from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his
spam javelin. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but
I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my vaginal bacon buffet and a
15" spiked vibrator up my turd cutter. Inserting an antique doorknob into
my cod crater got me spritzing fallopian fish stock faster than a greased
weasel shit. He crowned a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could suck
it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock snot
in my old dirt road created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.
After having my vibrator crater raided, he then proceeded to plow my poop
chute. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his
love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The fucking makes me
flow my minge mucus all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. If I
don't finger blast to get my pussy batter flowing from my furry cup, his
Nelson's Column is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling an over inflated
dinghy. With my velcro triangle now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was
time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He munched on my purple cabbage, even though
I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With his skeleton
king fucking deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his greasy kebab
skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his blind
butler made my flange custard flow like a leaky tap. It was bliss having his
ramrod rammed inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a gerbil just
didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet spritzing like it used to. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dripping from my balloon knot and all
over my roast beef platter. The feeling of his gentleman's relish leaking down
my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his washington monument fucking my
chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in
a fish shop. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still weeping. I
thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas. I can't wait to
chow down on the baby gravy from his timed slimer. There was steamin' semen
haemorrhaging from his bugger king and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We
were ready for more.

Inserting
a lightbulb into my kipper dinghy got me spritzing minge mucus faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci
load emanating from his blind butler soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. By now, my slime hole was draining like a George Foreman grill. Now,
I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his veiny
quim prod made my minge monsoon dribble like a George Foreman grill. After
having my cod cave fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my marmite motorway. The
plowing of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries
joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my fudge factory. If I don't dial the
rotary phone to get my spaff flowing from my tampon tunnel, his chubstep is
going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a horse's collar. He munched on my
spam castanets, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a
week. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a motorway pileup, he
thought it was time to start sliding my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? He cut a giant butt
nugget on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dribbling from my chocolate
starfish and all over my vertical garden. The thrusting makes me spritz my
minge mucus all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. My cake hole was so full of clunger
and man fat, the cock snot was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits.
I can't wait to consume the baby gravy from his spam javelin. My one slice
toaster was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he
removed his thrill drill from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
suck the toilet twinkie off his greasy kebab skewer. The mixture of corn-eyed
butt snake and man fat in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my south mouth and
an egg timer up my puckered brown eye. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh
gordon plowing my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind
lesbian in a fish shop. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's piss
flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no
different! There was man fat slobbering from his spam dagger and I was wetter
than an English summer. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his gristle
missile probed inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a barbie doll
just didn't get my wunder down under splurging like it used to. The feeling of
his steamin' semen trickling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker
than a greased weasel shit. With his slut slayer slamming deep into my cock holster,
the sensation of his devil's bagpipe smashing my cervix made me quiver like a
rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his blue-veined custard chucker plunged deeper into my fudge
factory.

By
now, my wunder down under was dribbling like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his chorizo
howitzer made my tuna tunnel tears dribble like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the
sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I can't wait to gobble the baby gravy
from his clunger. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab skewer
thrusting my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat
slag in a disco. The hammering of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he
soon found his man marbles joining his sperminator deep in my poop chute. Some
girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my gashtray and
a 15" spiked vibrator up my Oxo orifice. My mouth was so full of
cheese-crusted cock and love piss, the cock custard was dripping down my chin
and onto my sweater puppies. The slamming makes me spout my shrimp sap all over
his one-eyed milkman. My chamber of squelch was trembling like Muhammad Ali on
a tumble dryer. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he could chow down
on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting an egg timer into my gammon
alley got me gushing clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next
morning with my fuck gutter still dribbling. I thought it was over but his
long-dong silver had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of
gentleman's relish emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd had my
redwings for the best part of a week. When he removed his washington monument
from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his
cervix cigar. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my
sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wrist-thick wand
stuffed deeper into my mud flap. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's furburger looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different!
The mixture of colon cobra and man fat in my balloon knot created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty baby gravy leaching from my turd cutter and all over my velcro triangle.
With his timed slimer plowing deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation
of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. It was
bliss having his muffbuster shoved inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity
with a squash just didn't get my clunge pool pouring like it used to. There was
baby gravy dripping from his ramrod and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow.
We were ready for more. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my sex wee
dripping from my mound of love pudding, his all-beef thermometer is going to
leave my furburger resembling a motorway pileup. With my vertical smile now
much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start ramming my black hole. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I
wondered?