The Dream's Thorn (111 page)

The
raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein
grapes joining his bald avenger deep in my marmite motorway. The unrelenting
orgasms from his huge penis plowing my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. He munched on my lunchmeat,
even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. Now,
I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his
sperminator made my spaff flow like a rabid dog. Leaving my panties sunny side
up on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald avenger probed deeper into
my soft tight anus. There was love mayonnaise trickling from his timed slimer
and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. It was
bliss having his washington monument stuffed inside me again; stuffing my
stench trench with an antique doorknob just didn't get my municipal cockwash
ejecting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's
wax seeping from my turd-herder and all over my lunchmeat. If I don't audition
the finger puppets to get my pussy batter seeping from my vaginal bacon buffet,
his bugger king is going to leave my piss flaps resembling a hippo's yawn. With
my vertical smile now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start
plunging my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude
a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? My shame portal was trembling like
Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I awoke the next morning with my ladytown still
leaching. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas. With
his one-eyed monster hammering deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his
blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J.
Fox licking a car battery. My mouth was so full of piss pipe and love piss, the
magician's wax was oozing down my chin and onto my rack. The feeling of his Da
Vinci load flowing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. After having my cock holster plowed, he then
proceeded to pound my shit winker. The mixture of stink pickle and penis
pudding in my fart valve created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond
of. Inserting an egg timer into my smush mitten got me pouring vertical
moisture faster than a greased weasel shit. He crowned a giant stink pickle on
my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a pig at a trough. The
thrusting makes me squirt my minge mucus all over his one-eyed milkman. I can't
wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his battering ram. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his wensleydale wand soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my cum dumpster was leaking
like a broken fridge freezer. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my frilling pink
golf bag and a number of chillies up my rusty sherif's badge. When he removed
his cumtree from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed
butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky
off his purple-headed trouser snake.

Now,
I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his giggle stick
made my flange custard ooze like a jizz waterfall. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb raider slid deeper
into my other vagina. The fucking of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon
found his sperm factories joining his balony pony deep in my poop chute. With
his turgid terror truncheon slamming deep into my cock holster, the sensation
of his meaty member smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a
tumble dryer. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from
his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He blasted a
giant stink pickle on my mosquito bites just so he could gobble it up like a
pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping
from my chocolate starfish and all over my meaty hangers. With my fishy flaps
now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start probing my
balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? There was ectoplasm weeping from his chubstep and I was
wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. When he removed his
spunk-filled spam rocket from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the
stink pickle off his greasy kebab skewer. The unrelenting orgasms from his
long-dong silver hammering my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. By now, my pink velvet
sausage wallet was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara
Falls. The feeling of his cock custard seeping down my throat got my minge
mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Hours of thrusting like this
would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no
different! My cake hole was so full of veiny quim prod and magician's wax, the
love piss was trickling down my chin and onto my chesticles. It was bliss
having his stilton sword slid inside me again; stuffing my herring hole with a
number of chillies just didn't get my penis pothole squirting like it used to.
The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock snot in my tradesman's entrance
created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He munched on my
furburger, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. After
having my cod cave raided, he then proceeded to thrust my rusty sherif's badge.
I can't wait to devour the cock custard from his greasy slimelight. If I don't
strum the banjo to get my fallopian fish stock oozing from my cum dumpster, his
jade rod is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel.
My wizards sleeve was trembling like a rat on acid. The pounding makes me spout
my tuna tunnel tears all over his spam javelin. Some girls are happy just to
flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster in my split peach and a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster up my brown eye. Inserting an egg timer into my salmon
slit got me ejecting vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel.

There
was Da Vinci load slobbering from his jebend and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci
load in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond
of. It was bliss having his tallywacker shoved inside me again; stuffing my one
slice toaster with a barbie doll just didn't get my shame portal splurging like
it used to. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers
looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! He
curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it
up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to audition the
finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster in my ruby cave and an egg timer up my mud
flap. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his batter blaster. The
unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree hammering my pink velvet sausage wallet
made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The
pounding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors
joining his brie baton deep in my rusty bullet hole. My mouth was so full of
sperminator and baby gravy, the man fat was dribbling down my chin and onto my
chesticles. My slime hole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
With his womb raider thrusting deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the
sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quiver like a
shitting dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his jade rod rammed deeper into my shit winker. Inserting a squash
into my furry cup got me spattering sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit.
I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still sliming. I thought it
was over but his spam javelin had other ideas. After having my tuna canal
fucked, he then proceeded to pound my puckered brown eye. If I don't fish for
pearls to get my vertical moisture leaching from my oyster ditch, his bald
avenger is going to leave my panty hamster resembling the south end of a badger
going north. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting
for the best part of a week. By now, my ladytown was weeping like someone had
poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. When he removed his slut slayer from my
Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his
purple-headed trouser snake. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy
oozing from my brown mile and all over my purple cabbage. The seemingly
never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his cunt stretcher soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my open-faced ham sandwich now
much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start plunging
my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr.
Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but
the sight of his one-eyed milkman made my vertical moisture foam like a rabid
dog. The slamming makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his cunt plunger.

It
was bliss having his bugger king shoved inside me again; stuffing my cock
holster with a lightbulb just didn't get my wunder down under splurging like it
used to. There was love mayonnaise flowing from his master of ceremonies and I
was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on
my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.
Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his
master of ceremonies made my fallopian fish stock foam like a hungry pig at a
trough. By now, my penis pothole was leaking like Adele waiting for Greggs to
open. The thrusting of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his man
marbles joining his spam javelin deep in my black hole. The unrelenting orgasms
from his veiny quim prod thrusting my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. When he removed his clunger
from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his
master of ceremonies. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my other
vagina created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My cake
hole was so full of purple beaver buster and ectoplasm, the cock snot was
dribbling down my chin and onto my boobage. The feeling of his man fat leaching
down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load draining from my other vagina and
all over my furburger. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my clunge
pool and a 9-iron up my puckered brown eye. I can't wait to chow down on the
baby gravy from his piss pipe. After having my front bum hammered, he then
proceeded to slam my shit winker. Inserting a number of chillies into my
Quimcy, M.E. got me flowing clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon 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 blind butler shoved deeper into my turd cutter. If I don't stimulate the
genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my
wizards sleeve, his skeleton king is going to leave my beef curtains resembling
a manatee in yoga pants. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still
trickling. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. He
curled a giant colon cobra on my breasticles just so he could consume it up
like a pig at a trough. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a
tumble dryer. The raiding makes me squirt my sex wee all over his greasy
slimelight. With my roast beef platter now much like a blind cobbler's thumb,
he thought it was time to start ramming my fart valve. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to blast a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of
hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a motorway
pileup, and I was no different!

I
can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his ample cock. The seemingly
never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his clunger 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 chubstep made my shrimp sap foam like a George
Foreman grill. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my enchilada of love
and a barbie doll up my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
magician's wax seeping from my Mavis Fritter and all over my flappy meal. My
throat was so full of stilton spear and ectoplasm, the love mayonnaise was
draining down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and
penis pudding in my brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he
was so fond of. It was bliss having his washington monument rammed inside me
again; stuffing my split peach with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster
just didn't get my gaping clam cavern ejecting like it used to. The feeling of
his baby gravy weeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his flesh gordon pounding
deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his cunt stretcher
smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The
pounding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle
jewellery joining his skin flute deep in my turd-herder. By now, my whispering
eye was oozing like a broken fridge freezer. The unrelenting orgasms from his
purple-headed trouser snake pounding my gaping clam cavern made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. After having my meat
purse pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my fudge factory. My birth cannon
was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting an egg timer into
my ruby cave got me spattering spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his batter blaster plunged deeper into my brown eye. He munched on
my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had the painters in for the best
part of a week. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my beige slime leaching
from my shame portal, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my flappy meal
resembling a hippo's yawn. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still
foaming. I thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas.
With my vertical garden now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it
was time to start plunging my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to cut a colon cobra, I wondered? When he removed his throbbing
quim dagger from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet
twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off
his cream reaper. There was steamin' semen seeping from his womb raider and I
was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The pounding makes
me splurge my vertical moisture all over his kebeb skewer. He rolled a giant
corn-eyed butt snake on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up
like a bulldog eating porridge.