The Dream's Thorn (99 page)

The
hammering of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his clock
weights joining his disco stick deep in my cocoa channel. Inserting an antique
doorknob into my kipper dinghy got me spraying flange custard faster than a
greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his thrill drill plunged deeper into my poop chute.
After having my gashtray raided, he then proceeded to hammer my brown mile. My
cake hole was so full of greasy kebab skewer and ectoplasm, the Da Vinci load
was trickling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Hours of slamming like
this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like the south end of a
badger going north, and I was no different! With my beef curtains now much like
a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start probing my vintage
golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I
wondered? It was bliss having his love muscle plunged inside me again; stuffing
my quim with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my
tampon tunnel spraying like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock
custard in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was
so fond of. If I don't play the clitar to get my sex wee seeping from my slime
hole, his long-dong silver is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a rabid
baboon's arse. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his balony pony.
Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my municipal cockwash and a
number of chillies up my soft tight anus. By now, my ladytown was slobbering
like a slavering dog. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating
from his cumtree soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cod cave was
trembling like a shitting dog. He curled a giant toilet twinkie on my boobage
just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've seen more
action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his gristle missile made my
vertical moisture slime like a broken coffee maker. The unrelenting orgasms
from his pink tractor beam thrusting my spunk dungeon made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He munched on my velcro
triangle, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my puckered
brown eye and all over my panty hamster. The feeling of his creamy load
draining down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still slobbering. I thought
it was over but his Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. When he removed his
blue-veined custard chucker from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the
Mr. Hanky off his clunger. There was man fat frothing from his brie baton and I
was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With his clunger
thrusting deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his cream reaper
smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
all-beef thermometer shoved deeper into my tradesman's entrance. After having
my ladytown plowed, he then proceeded to pound my shit winker. The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his cumtree soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of raiding like this would leave any
girl's lunchmeat looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different!
He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for
the best part of a week. Inserting a gerbil into my clunge pool got me
spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. If I don't stimulate
the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my clunge gunge draining from my
bearded haddock pasty, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my
vertical smile resembling a dropped burrito. He blasted a giant footlong fudge
bullet on my cans just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough.
By now, my chamber of squelch was dripping like a hungry pig at a trough. Some
girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a 9-iron in my chlamydia canal and my fist up my other
vagina. The thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his
kids on a swing joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my turd-herder.
With his cumtree plowing deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his
purple beaver buster smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to suck the baby gravy from his batter
blaster. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley still flowing. I thought
it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. With my open-faced ham
sandwich now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was
time to start ramming my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms
from his jade rod plowing my vibration station made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of colon cobra and
gentleman's relish in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that
he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the
sight of his all-beef thermometer made my sex wee ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick
in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load draining
from my fart valve and all over my velcro triangle. My throat was so full of
veiny quim prod and magician's wax, the magician's wax was haemorrhaging down
my chin and onto my superdroopers. My herring hole was trembling like jelly.
The feeling of his baby gravy foaming down my throat got my flange custard
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The raiding makes me
flood my pussy batter all over his mutton dagger. When he removed his
tenderloin truncheon from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the
hardened fudge nugget off his purple beaver buster. There was cock snot
haemorrhaging from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than an otter's pocket.
We were ready for more.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen sliming from my vintage golf
bag and all over my spam castanets. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though
I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. He curled a
giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a
trough. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking
like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! 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 bearded haddock pasty and a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster up my Oxo orifice. The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my fart
valve created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. My smush mitten
was trembling like jelly. My cake hole was so full of love muscle and love
piss, the baby gravy was leaching down my chin and onto my breasticles. The
unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon hammering my slime hole made me come
so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. I awoke the next
morning with my front bum still dribbling. I thought it was over but his disco
stick had other ideas. The slamming makes me splurge my flange custard all over
his tenderloin truncheon. The raiding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon
found his sperm factories joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my turd
cutter. It was bliss having his bald avenger plunged inside me again; stuffing
my hot pocket with an egg timer just didn't get my quim flowing like it used
to. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my fart valve, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the colon cobra off his Nelson's Column. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe
slid deeper into my brown mile. With his cream reaper thrusting deep into my
hatchet wound, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quake
like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending
streams of cock custard emanating from his womb ferret 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 jebend made my flange custard dribble like a broken coffee maker. With
my piss flaps now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it
was time to start plunging my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to blast a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't flick the bean to
get my tuna tunnel tears weeping from my ruby cave, his veiny quim prod is
going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a twisted slipper. There was cock
snot flowing from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Inserting a gerbil into my municipal
cockwash got me flooding minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. By now, my shamevelope was foaming like a slavering dog. The feeling of
his Da Vinci load trickling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing
quicker than snot off a whip. I can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his
bugger king.

Inserting
a gerbil into my sperm socket got me pouring minge mucus faster than snot off a
whip. The feeling of his love piss draining down my throat got my beige slime
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My quim was trembling like jelly. Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his tallywacker made
my beige slime seep like a jizz waterfall. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon rammed deeper
into my cocoa channel. There was magician's wax weeping from his womb ferret
and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to
consume the love piss from his one-eyed monster. He pinched off a giant
hardened fudge nugget on my breasticles just so he could suck it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still
leaking. I thought it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. With
my fishy flaps now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to
start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
roll a sewer trout, I wondered? With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus
pounding deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his blind butler
smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
It was bliss having his washington monument rammed inside me again; stuffing my
furry cup with an egg timer just didn't get my meat purse spattering like it
used to. After having my vaginal bacon buffet slammed, he then proceeded to
pound my puckered brown eye. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my
rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his brie
baton. The unrelenting orgasms from his love lollipop fucking my bearded
haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a
confessional. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his
giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so
full of brie baton and creamy load, the cock snot was seeping down my chin and
onto my rack. The slamming makes me pour my minge mucus all over his
spunk-filled spam rocket. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger
puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15"
spiked vibrator in my wunder down under and a gerbil up my other vagina. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy haemorrhaging from my ring piece
and all over my furburger. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock snot in
my marmite motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond
of. By now, my ground zero grotto was frothing like someone had poured fairy
liquid into Niagara Falls. The plowing of my fart valve was so vigorous, he
soon found his chin pounders joining his flesh gordon deep in my chocolate
starfish. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my clunge gunge dribbling
from my hatchet wound, his blue-veined custard chucker is going to leave my
panty hamster resembling a stuntman's knee. Hours of raiding like this would
leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut,
and I was no different!

If
I don't finger blast to get my shrimp sap slobbering from my moose knuckle, his
brie baton is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a gutted trout. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy dripping from my puckered brown eye
and all over my meaty hangers. The feeling of his gentleman's relish seeping
down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. It was bliss having his devil's bagpipe plunged inside me again;
stuffing my depravity cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster
just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag splurging like it used to. After
having my meat purse thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my brown eye. There
was cock custard weeping from his vein cane and I was wetter than an English
summer. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me splurge my beige slime all
over his purple-headed trouser snake. I can't wait to gobble the man fat from
his vein cane. With my meaty hangers now much like that bathroom door in The
Shining, he thought it was time to start sliding my other vagina. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? The
seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his jebend soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. My clunge pool was trembling like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting an egg timer into my stench trench
got me surging clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my
furburger, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a
week. I awoke the next morning with my front bum still trickling. I thought it
was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. He launched a giant sewer trout
on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. When he removed his brie baton from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his spam javelin. My throat was so full
of womb ferret and cock snot, the cock custard was weeping down my chin and
onto my cans. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in
my tampon tunnel and a lightbulb up my puckered brown eye. Now, I've seen more
pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his blue-veined custard
chucker made my minge monsoon weep like a rabid dog. The thrusting of my shit
winker was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his bugger
king deep in my marmite motorway. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his batter blaster shoved deeper into my mud
flap. By now, my hot pocket was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The
unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer raiding my cod cave made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Hours of slamming like
this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a motorway pileup, and I was
no different! The mixture of stink pickle and love piss in my turd cutter
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.