The Dream's Thorn (176 page)

My
mouth was so full of bald-headed yogurt slinger and gentleman's relish, the
steamin' semen was sliming down my chin and onto my chest puppies. I awoke the
next morning with my moose knuckle still trickling. I thought it was over but
his brie baton had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his tenderloin truncheon probed deeper into my
balloon knot. The fucking makes me flow my flange custard all over his disco
stick. It was bliss having his giggle stick rammed inside me again; stuffing my
cod crater with an egg timer just didn't get my hot pocket flowing like it used
to. There was steamin' semen dripping from his vein cane and I was wetter than
a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was
seeping like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate
river. With my spam castanets now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought
it was time to start sliding my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to curl a butt nugget, I wondered? The mixture of stink pickle and love
mayonnaise in my poo pipe created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so
fond of. After having my clearing in the woods fucked, he then proceeded to
fuck my Oxo orifice. The plowing of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon
found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his greasy slimelight deep in my
Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load frothing
from my rusty bullet hole and all over my purple cabbage. With his piss pipe
pounding deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer
smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.
Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his ramrod
made my sex wee ooze like a broken coffee maker. Some girls are happy just to
study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having an antique doorknob in my ladytown and an egg timer up my mud flap. My
ground zero grotto was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He
munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best
part of a week. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his tallywacker.
Inserting a barbie doll into my tuna canal got me spraying beige slime faster
than a greased weasel shit. If I don't fluff the muff to get my minge mucus
dribbling from my slime hole, his slut slayer is going to leave my hairy goblet
resembling Pete Burns' lips. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's
meaty hangers looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! When he
removed his cunt stretcher from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the
footlong fudge bullet off his devil's bagpipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his
cunt plunger raiding my chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. The feeling of his
gentleman's relish dribbling down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock
custard emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio.

Hours
of thrusting like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like Brian
May's plughole, and I was no different! The plowing of my turd-herder was so
vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his clunger deep in my old
dirt road. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my Oxo orifice
created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot
over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his vein cane made my vertical
moisture seep like a broken fridge freezer. There was creamy load seeping from
his vein cane and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a lightbulb in my split peach and a squash up my old dirt
road. Within no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding haemorrhaging from
my cocoa channel and all over my vertical garden. With his pink tractor beam
plowing deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his disco stick smashing my
cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting
orgasms from his turgid terror truncheon pounding my one slice toaster made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. If I don't get a
stinky pinky to get my clunge gunge flowing from my tampon tunnel, his womb
raider is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling a rabid baboon's arse.
Inserting a barbie doll into my oyster ditch got me pouring minge monsoon
faster than a greased weasel shit. He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on
my superdroopers just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. When he
removed his giggle stick from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
devour the sewer trout off his wrist-thick wand. The fucking makes me surge my
clunge gunge all over his womb ferret. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop plunged deeper into my
other vagina. My throat was so full of flesh gordon and gentleman's relish, the
creamy load was trickling down my chin and onto my top bollocks. It was bliss
having his tallywacker stuffed inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash
with a gerbil just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet flowing like it
used to. By now, my carp cavity was haemorrhaging like Wayne Rooney's dick in
an OAP home. I can't wait to lap the gentleman's relish from his veiny quim
prod. With my spam castanets now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was
time to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to drop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? He munched on my velcro triangle,
even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The feeling
of his cock snot oozing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. My cod crater was trembling like Muhammad
Ali on a tumble dryer. I awoke the next morning with my gashtray still leaking.
I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other ideas. After having
my oyster ditch plowed, he then proceeded to raid my marmite motorway.

The
thrusting of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser
conkors joining his purple beaver buster deep in my vintage golf bag. I awoke
the next morning with my gammon alley still leaking. I thought it was over but
his skeleton king had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby
gravy flowing from my cocoa channel and all over my flappy meal. I can't wait
to lap the penis pudding from his womb ferret. When he removed his batter
blaster from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened
fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed
butt snake off his womb raider. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock
custard emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. After having my shamevelope pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my
rusty sherif's badge. With my lunchmeat now much like that bathroom door in The
Shining, he thought it was time to start probing my other vagina. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to launch a colon cobra, I wondered? The mixture
of toilet twinkie and gentleman's relish in my Oxo orifice created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his
cheese-crusted cock stuffed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a
15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my chamber of squelch splurging like
it used to. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of
his battering ram made my shrimp sap slime like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the
sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The plowing makes me splurge my shrimp
sap all over his womb raider. With his thrill drill plowing deep into my penis
pothole, the sensation of his flesh gordon smashing my cervix made me quake
like a shitting dog. There was gentleman's relish seeping from his spam javelin
and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod
rammed deeper into my chocolate starfish. He munched on my spam castanets, even
though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. 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 soft-shelled tuna taco and a lightbulb up my poop
chute. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking
like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no different! The
unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam plowing my smush mitten made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. By now, my
enchilada of love was weeping like a slug in a salt mine. Inserting a lightbulb
into my clam-flavoured pothole got me ejecting flange custard faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. My clam-flavoured pothole was trembling like
Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy
batter haemorrhaging from my front bum, his mutton dagger is going to leave my
open-faced ham sandwich resembling a twisted slipper. My mouth was so full of
wensleydale wand and love piss, the love mayonnaise was dribbling down my chin
and onto my love bubbles. The feeling of his baby gravy leaching down my throat
got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.

My
mouth was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and gentleman's relish, the
magician's wax was draining down my chin and onto my chesticles. The mixture of
footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my fudge factory created the delicious
sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to get a
stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in
my front bum and my fist up my mud flap. By now, my calamari cockring was
trickling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton
dagger rammed deeper into my turd cutter. He munched on my open-faced ham
sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The
feeling of his steamin' semen leaking down my throat got my vertical moisture
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his
pink tractor beam plunged inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a
15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clunge pool splurging like it used
to. My enchilada of love was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator. Inserting an egg timer into my one slice toaster got me spritzing sex
wee faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending
streams of cock snot emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. The fucking makes me spray my vertical moisture all over his
ample cock. The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick pounding my quim made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. When he
removed his blue-veined custard chucker 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 consume the footlong fudge bullet off his piss pipe. The
plowing of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a
swing joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my ring piece. He
extruded a giant stink pickle on my superdroopers just so he could suck it up
like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto
still flowing. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe had other ideas.
Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking
like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! Now, I've seen more
action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his jebend made my vertical
moisture drain like a hungry pig at a trough. With my furburger now much like a
ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start ramming my ring piece. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to launch a toilet twinkie, I wondered?
With his skin flute fucking deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his
stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. If I don't
buff the muff to get my pussy batter sliming from my cod canyon, his flesh
gordon is going to leave my piss flaps resembling the south end of a badger
going north. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load oozing from
my turd cutter and all over my furburger. After having my cod cave plowed, he
then proceeded to slam my other vagina. I can't wait to lap the love piss from
his love muscle.

By
now, my sperm socket was dripping like a leaky tap. The mixture of stink pickle
and creamy load in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce
that he was so fond of. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's
meaty hangers looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! With his
wrist-thick wand pounding deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation of
his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid.
With my spam castanets now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it
was time to start probing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to extrude a stink pickle, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms from his
batter blaster slamming my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I
began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Now, I've seen more foreskins
than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his bugger king made my tuna
tunnel tears foam like a slavering dog. The plowing makes me surge my vertical
moisture all over his greasy slimelight. The seemingly never-ending streams of
steamin' semen emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of cumtree and creamy load, the love
piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my cans. If I don't play the clitar to
get my fallopian fish stock oozing from my herring hole, his tenderloin
truncheon is going to leave my beef curtains resembling the Japanese flag. Some
girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my slime hole and an egg
timer up my puckered brown eye. It was bliss having his spam javelin probed
inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with my fist just didn't get my
spunk dungeon flooding like it used to. My wizards sleeve was trembling like
jelly. When he removed his long-dong silver from my black hole, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his stilton sword. There
was creamy load trickling from his jebend and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my gammon alley
still frothing. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas.
The slamming of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries
joining his gristle missile deep in my rusty sherif's badge. I can't wait to
devour the love mayonnaise from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus.
Inserting a barbie doll into my whispering eye got me flowing shrimp sap faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my spam castanets, even
though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty cock snot leaking from my puckered brown eye and all over my
velcro triangle. After having my wunder down under thrusted, he then proceeded
to thrust my turd-herder. The feeling of his penis pudding slobbering 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 womb ferret
probed deeper into my puckered brown eye.