The Dream's Thorn (173 page)

After
having my kipper dinghy raided, he then proceeded to plow my chocolate
starfish. My cake hole was so full of one-eyed monster and love piss, the
ectoplasm was oozing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty magician's wax haemorrhaging from my poo pipe and all
over my vertical smile. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss
emanating from his turgid terror truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been riding the cotton
pony for the best part of a week. I can't wait to devour the cock custard from
his giggle stick. With my lunchmeat now much like a sand blasted tomato, he
thought it was time to start plunging my shit winker. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? The pounding makes me
surge my beige slime all over his gristle missile. He copped a giant toilet
twinkie on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry
hippo. There was baby gravy dripping from his cream reaper and I was wetter
than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The pounding of my soft tight
anus was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his jade rod deep
in my Oxo orifice. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's furburger
looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different!
Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his
blind butler made my fallopian fish stock slime like a slavering dog. Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt
stretcher shoved deeper into my marmite motorway. The unrelenting orgasms from
his womb raider slamming my kipper dinghy made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a whore in a confessional. Some girls are happy just to dial the
rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in
my herring hole and an antique doorknob up my turd-herder. I awoke the next
morning with my spunk dungeon still oozing. I thought it was over but his love
muscle had other ideas. By now, my enchilada of love was flowing like Augustus
Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster into my meat purse got me spritzing
vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his veiny
quim prod shoved inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a squash
just didn't get my furry cup splurging like it used to. If I don't play the
clitar to get my clunge gunge trickling from my clearing in the woods, his
long-dong silver is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling John Wayne's
saddlebags. When he removed his gristle missile from my black hole, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his bald-headed yogurt slinger.
The feeling of his steamin' semen dripping down my throat got my shrimp sap
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My ground zero grotto was trembling like
Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love
mayonnaise in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole pudding that he
was so fond of.

If
I don't get a stinky pinky to get my flange custard slobbering from my
soft-shelled tuna taco, his womb ferret is going to leave my piss flaps
resembling the Japanese flag. My municipal cockwash was trembling like jelly.
The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his disco
stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster into my penis pothole got me squirting sex wee faster
than a greased weasel shit. After having my ladytown plowed, he then proceeded
to plow my chocolate starfish. The pounding makes me flow my beige slime all
over his sperminator. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's
furburger looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! The raiding
of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights
joining his womb ferret deep in my poop chute. He arced a giant sewer trout on
my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket probed inside me
again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a barbie doll just didn't get my gammon
alley pouring like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis
pudding haemorrhaging from my tradesman's entrance and all over my beef curtains.
Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his
cervix cigar made my sex wee flow like a George Foreman grill. The feeling of
his magician's wax leaching down my throat got my flange custard flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my mound of
love pudding still trickling. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster
had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger probed deeper into my balloon
knot. With my roast beef platter 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 ease a stink pickle, I wondered? There was creamy load
dripping from his ample cock and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We
were ready for more. When he removed his kebeb skewer from my shit winker, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his slut slayer. With his womb
raider slamming deep into my clunge pool, the sensation of his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. My cake
hole was so full of mutton dagger and steamin' semen, the man fat was
slobbering down my chin and onto my cans. By now, my tuna canal was oozing like
a jizz waterfall. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from his wensleydale wand.
The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger fucking my whispering eye made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He munched
on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a
week. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a lightbulb in my gammon alley and a squash up my brown
mile.

Some
girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 9-iron in my spunk dungeon and a barbie doll up my Oxo
orifice. With his gristle missile plowing deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco,
the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me
quiver like a shitting dog. With my clap flaps now much like a badly wrapped
kebab, he thought it was time to start stuffing my turd cutter. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to ease a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? There
was steamin' semen dribbling from his balony pony and I was wetter than an
English summer. We were ready for more. Inserting a gerbil into my mound of
love pudding got me gushing tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the
sight of his gristle missile made my fallopian fish stock drain like Adele
waiting for Greggs to open. The feeling of his ectoplasm slobbering down my
throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't
buff the muff to get my clunge gunge oozing from my south mouth, his womb
ferret is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling the Japanese flag. My
mouth was so full of cunt plunger and love piss, the ectoplasm was leaking down
my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
love piss weeping from my other vagina and all over my fishy flaps. He munched
on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of
a week. My slime hole was trembling like a rat on acid. The seemingly
never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his balony pony soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity
still dripping. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas.
The hammering makes me spritz my tuna tunnel tears all over his long-dong
silver. When he removed his batter blaster from my chocolate starfish, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his Nelson's Column. He
copped a giant hardened fudge nugget on my breasticles just so he could chow
down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and
gentleman's relish in my puckered brown eye created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick
wand pounding my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
fat slag in a disco. It was bliss having his cheese-crusted cock rammed inside
me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with an egg timer just didn't get my
cock holster spouting like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher stuffed deeper into my
turd-herder. I can't wait to suck the cock custard from his love lollipop. The
plowing of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos
joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my vintage golf bag.
Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a
motorway pileup, and I was no different! After having my clearing in the woods
hammered, he then proceeded to raid my fart valve.

After
having my split peach thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. It
was bliss having his long-dong silver probed inside me again; stuffing my cod
crater with a 9-iron just didn't get my ruby cave spattering like it used to.
My mouth was so full of chorizo howitzer and penis pudding, the man fat was
flowing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. If I don't strum the banjo to
get my clunge gunge foaming from my vibration station, his cunt stretcher is
going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a gutted trout. He munched on my
meaty hangers, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of
a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his slut slayer probed deeper into my cocoa channel. When he removed
his battering ram from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the
corn-eyed butt snake off his skeleton king. With my hairy goblet now much like
a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to start ramming my fart valve.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a stink pickle, I wondered? I
can't wait to gobble the ectoplasm from his purple beaver buster. My shamevelope
was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from
his balony pony plowing my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a gypsy with a mortgage. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the
sight of his ramrod made my fallopian fish stock ooze like a George Foreman
grill. He launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so
he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my
ruby cave still leaking. I thought it was over but his flesh gordon had other
ideas. The raiding makes me gush my minge mucus all over his flesh gordon. By
now, my smush mitten was draining like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.
Inserting a squash into my sperm socket got me spouting spaff faster than snot
off a whip. With his greasy kebab skewer fucking deep into my chamber of
squelch, the sensation of his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver
like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The seemingly never-ending streams
of penis pudding emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love
mayonnaise frothing from my puckered brown eye and all over my clap flaps. The
fucking of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels
joining his master of ceremonies deep in my ring piece. The mixture of hardened
fudge nugget and love mayonnaise in my mud flap created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The feeling of his man fat frothing down my
throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. There was Da Vinci load leaking from his womb ferret and I was wetter
than an English summer. We were ready for more. Hours of pounding like this
would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a bulldog licking piss from
a thistle, and I was no different!

After
having my wizards sleeve hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my black hole.
He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been riding the cotton
pony for the best part of a week. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's lunchmeat looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! He
pinched off a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could lap it
up like a bulldog eating porridge. It was bliss having his chubstep shoved
inside me again; stuffing my clam-flavoured pothole with my fist just didn't
get my depravity cavity gushing like it used to. My cake hole was so full of
batter blaster and man fat, the steamin' semen was sliming down my chin and
onto my chesticles. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger fucking my
split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. My
spunk dungeon was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The mixture
of butt nugget and magician's wax in my marmite motorway created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his greasy slimelight from
my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his bugger
king. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise weeping from my
marmite motorway and all over my furburger. The seemingly never-ending streams
of penis pudding emanating from his cream reaper soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. The feeling of his gentleman's relish haemorrhaging down my
throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his pink tractor beam
plunged deeper into my marmite motorway. Inserting my fist into my soft-shelled
tuna taco got me flowing spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. 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 herring hole and a 9-iron up my brown
eye. The thrusting makes me pour my minge monsoon all over his purple-headed
trouser snake. By now, my split peach was leaking like a slavering dog. With
his bugger king slamming deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his
batter blaster smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The thrusting of
my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining
his clunger deep in my fudge factory. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler,
but the sight of his ample cock made my minge mucus leach like a hungry pig at
a trough. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his stilton sword. There
was steamin' semen flowing from his slut slayer and I was wetter than an English
summer. We were ready for more. If I don't finger blast to get my minge mucus
sliming from my split peach, his ample cock is going to leave my flappy meal
resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. With my vertical garden now much like a
shot cat, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to extrude a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered?