The Dream's Thorn (165 page)

The
fucking of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle
jewellery joining his blind butler deep in my old dirt road. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his love muscle
stuffed deeper into my chocolate starfish. My wizards sleeve was trembling like
a rat on acid. I can't wait to consume the love piss from his womb raider. I
awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still dribbling. I thought it was
over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. With his purple beaver
buster plowing deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his clunger
smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. There was creamy load
trickling from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were
ready for more. By now, my shamevelope was trickling like a jizz waterfall.
Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his cumtree
made my pussy batter drain like a jizz waterfall. The thrusting makes me flood
my minge mucus all over his piss pipe. After having my clunge pool plowed, he
then proceeded to slam my tradesman's entrance. The seemingly never-ending
streams of creamy load emanating from his giggle stick 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. 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 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my clearing in the
woods and a 9-iron up my fart valve. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my breasticles
just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting
orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger raiding my shamevelope made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. The mixture of
toilet twinkie and magician's wax in my mud flap created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket
from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his
blue-veined custard chucker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm
slobbering from my brown eye and all over my velcro triangle. The feeling of
his gentleman's relish sliming down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of jebend and
ectoplasm, the cock snot was frothing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits.
Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a
motorway pileup, and I was no different! Inserting a squash into my shame
portal got me spattering sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. It was
bliss having his clunger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam
cavern with a number of chillies just didn't get my spunk dungeon squirting
like it used to. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my spaff leaching from my
meat purse, his cream reaper is going to leave my furburger resembling badly
battered road kill.

I
can't wait to suck the magician's wax from his gristle missile. The pounding of
my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his
battering ram deep in my turd-herder. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and
baby gravy in my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so
fond of. When he removed his washington monument from my turd cutter, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his spam javelin. Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his one-eyed
monster made my tuna tunnel tears slobber like a George Foreman grill. If I
don't get a stinky pinky to get my spaff dribbling from my hatchet wound, his
cumtree is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a stamped bat. My mouth
was so full of piss pipe and baby gravy, the steamin' semen was draining down
my chin and onto my droopies. The hammering makes me splurge my clunge gunge
all over his blind butler. By now, my moose knuckle was sliming like there was
a midget inside me with a super soaker. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my
mammaries just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Inserting a lightbulb
into my depravity cavity got me splurging spaff faster than snot off a whip.
Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having an egg timer in my shamevelope and a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster up my brown mile. The seemingly never-ending streams
of love piss emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. After having my ladytown hammered, he then proceeded to
thrust my rusty bullet hole. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd
been on the rag for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his
balony pony pounding my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
white mouse in a tampon factory. There was creamy load haemorrhaging from his
spam javelin and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load seeping from my Oxo
orifice and all over my spam castanets. My cod crater was trembling like
Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With his Nelson's Column plowing deep
into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix
made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Hours of slamming like
this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like Terry Waite's
allotment, and I was no different! With my furburger now much like a sand
blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my chocolate starfish.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? It
was bliss having his veiny quim prod shoved inside me again; stuffing my
shamevelope with a 9-iron just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spattering like it
used to. The feeling of his love mayonnaise oozing down my throat got my beige
slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my
tuna canal still leaching. I thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had
other ideas.

It
was bliss having his bald-headed yogurt slinger rammed inside me again;
stuffing my tampon tunnel with a squash just didn't get my chlamydia canal
gushing like it used to. When he removed his cunt plunger from my vintage golf
bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his chubstep. The
feeling of his Da Vinci load dribbling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his
slut slayer thrusting my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Inserting an egg timer into my birth
cannon got me gushing spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. There was
steamin' semen seeping from his thrill drill and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. The pounding makes me spray my minge monsoon
all over his bald avenger. My throat was so full of giggle stick and ectoplasm,
the steamin' semen was dribbling down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. By
now, my ladytown was frothing like a slavering dog. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod shoved deeper
into my cocoa channel. I awoke the next morning with my chamber of squelch
still foaming. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas.
I can't wait to lap the creamy load from his Ocean's 11 Inches. He munched on
my fishy flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a
week. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his
pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. 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 clearing in the woods and an egg timer up my Oxo
orifice. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot in my rusty bullet hole
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty cock snot leaking from my Mavis Fritter and all over my
hairy goblet. My split peach was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
With my clap flaps now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was
time to start sliding my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to drop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of hammering like this
would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a dropped burrito, and I was
no different! After having my hatchet wound pounded, he then proceeded to plow
my mud flap. He crowned a giant colon cobra on my chesticles just so he could
lap it up like a pig at a trough. The raiding of my fudge factory was so
vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his cheese-crusted cock deep
in my turd cutter. With his ramrod slamming deep into my soft-shelled tuna
taco, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made
me quake like jelly. If I don't flick the bean to get my sex wee dribbling from
my wunder down under, his cervix cigar is going to leave my beef curtains
resembling a bucket of smashed crabs.

I
can't wait to chow down on the love mayonnaise from his cumtree. He blasted a
giant Mr. Hanky on my sweater puppies just so he could consume it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. There was steamin' semen foaming from his huge penis and I
was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next
morning with my spunk dungeon still weeping. I thought it was over but his
wrist-thick wand had other ideas. When he removed his cumtree from my balloon
knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his tallywacker.
He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been surfing the crimson
tide for the best part of a week. If I don't fish for pearls to get my beige
slime seeping from my hatchet wound, his tallywacker is going to leave my
vertical garden resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. Inserting a barbie doll
into my meat purse got me ejecting minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his disco stick rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. The unrelenting orgasms
from his spam dagger slamming my oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. By now, my stench trench was trickling
like a slug in a salt mine. My one slice toaster was trembling like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. 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 squash in my ruby cave and a 15" spiked vibrator up my
marmite motorway. The plowing of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found
his man berries joining his bald avenger deep in my poo pipe. It was bliss
having his cunt stretcher shoved inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with
a squash just didn't get my smush mitten spritzing like it used to. The
seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his gristle missile
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my fuck gutter
hammered, he then proceeded to plow my mud flap. Hours of hammering like this
would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like Brian May's plughole, and I
was no different! The mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my turd-herder
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Within no time,
I could feel the shitty penis pudding foaming from my fart valve and all over
my piss flaps. With my clap flaps now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it
was time to start shoving my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to extrude a toilet twinkie, I wondered? My throat was so full of clunger
and ectoplasm, the cock snot was sliming down my chin and onto my
superdroopers. The thrusting makes me flood my minge mucus all over his
purple-headed trouser snake. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province,
but the sight of his slut slayer made my flange custard leach like a rabid dog.
With his all-beef thermometer pounding deep into my shame portal, the sensation
of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer.

The
fucking of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his man
marbles joining his thrill drill deep in my turd cutter. With his devil's
bagpipe thrusting deep into my shame portal, the sensation of his flesh gordon
smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I
awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still flowing. I thought it was
over but his spam javelin had other ideas. The slamming makes me splurge my
pussy batter all over his veiny quim prod. By now, my tampon tunnel was
dribbling like a rabid dog. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher probed
inside me again; stuffing my front bum with an egg timer just didn't get my
chlamydia canal flooding like it used to. Some girls are happy just to buff the
muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my
sperm socket and my fist up my puckered brown eye. Inserting a barbie doll into
my penis pothole got me spattering minge mucus faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree plowing my stench trench
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The feeling
of his steamin' semen frothing down my throat got my minge mucus flowing
quicker than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental
optician, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my clunge gunge weep like a
slavering dog. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy batter foaming from my
fuck gutter, his tallywacker is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a
werewolf with it's throat cut. He munched on my hairy goblet, 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 spunk-filled spam rocket rammed
deeper into my poop chute. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat
emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
After having my herring hole pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my cocoa
channel. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his all-beef
thermometer. With my clap flaps now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he
thought it was time to start stuffing my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him
I really need to crown a colon cobra, I wondered? My slime hole was trembling
like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Hours of plowing like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different!
My cake hole was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and cock snot, the baby
gravy was frothing down my chin and onto my chesticles. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my shit winker and all over my
lunchmeat. When he removed his spunk-filled spam rocket from my Mavis Fritter,
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 toilet twinkie off his slut slayer.
He copped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my top bollocks just so he could
chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. There was Da Vinci load
haemorrhaging from his womb ferret and I was wetter than an English summer. We
were ready for more.