The Dream's Thorn (178 page)

There
was man fat weeping from his vein cane and I was wetter than an otter's pocket.
We were ready for more. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my gaping clam
cavern and a barbie doll up my other vagina. I can't wait to consume the cock
snot from his stilton sword. The plowing of my black hole was so vigorous, he
soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my
rusty sherif's badge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his jebend shoved deeper into my other vagina. It was
bliss having his timed slimer slid inside me again; stuffing my municipal
cockwash with an antique doorknob just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag
spouting like it used to. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my meat
purse got me spraying spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. With his clunger
slamming deep into my vibration station, the sensation of his disco stick
smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. The
mixture of hardened fudge nugget and man fat in my mud flap created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Hours of slamming like this would
leave any girl's panty hamster looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no
different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dribbling from my
mud flap and all over my clap flaps. My cake hole was so full of ramrod and
gentleman's relish, the cock snot was leaching down my chin and onto my
breasticles. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my
redwings for the best part of a week. By now, my chlamydia canal was leaking
like a jizz waterfall. After having my spunk dungeon slammed, he then proceeded
to hammer my balloon knot. My wizards sleeve was trembling like jelly. If I
don't fluff the muff to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my salmon slit,
his muffbuster is going to leave my beef curtains resembling Brian May's
plughole. With my vertical garden now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he
thought it was time to start probing my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to roll a colon cobra, I wondered? The feeling of his
steamin' semen sliming down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. The thrusting makes me spout my beige slime all over his
flesh gordon. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my vintage golf bag,
he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his ramrod. The unrelenting orgasms
from his one-eyed monster plowing my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Now, I've seen more helmets
than Hitler, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon made my flange
custard slime like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He curled
a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could gobble it up like a pig at
a trough. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his
greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

He
extruded a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. After having my frilling pink golf bag plowed, he then proceeded
to thrust my puckered brown eye. My mouth was so full of ramrod and cock
custard, the Da Vinci load was draining down my chin and onto my droopies. He
munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had the painters in for the
best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm
trickling from my other vagina and all over my spam castanets. The unrelenting
orgasms from his flesh gordon fucking my frilling pink golf bag made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The fucking makes
me flood my sex wee all over his pink tractor beam. I can't wait to suck the
love piss from his blue-veined custard chucker. Hours of pounding like this
would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and
I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his master of ceremonies rammed deeper into my poop chute. It
was bliss having his sperminator stuffed inside me again; stuffing my clunge
pool with an egg timer just didn't get my oyster ditch flooding like it used
to. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having my fist in my hot pocket and a number of chillies up my
turd cutter. I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still dripping. I
thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. With
his slut slayer pounding deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his
cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. There was man
fat haemorrhaging from his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his greasy slimelight from my
turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his purple beaver
buster. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down my throat got my spaff
flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my meaty hangers now much like
a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start sliding my poop chute.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a footlong fudge bullet, I
wondered? If I don't fluff the muff to get my clunge gunge foaming from my
front bum, his sperminator is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a
stamped bat. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of
his chorizo howitzer made my pussy batter leak like a broken coffee maker. The
mixture of colon cobra and love piss in my fudge factory created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. My gammon alley was trembling like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The seemingly never-ending streams of love
mayonnaise emanating from his battering ram soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Inserting an antique doorknob into my ground zero grotto got
me flowing pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my shame
portal was foaming like a hungry pig at a trough.

When
he removed his cumtree from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer
trout off his jade rod. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's
hairy goblet looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! Within no
time, I could feel the shitty cock custard weeping from my turd cutter and all
over my vertical garden. I can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his cunt
stretcher. My cake hole was so full of skeleton king and magician's wax, the
cock custard was dripping down my chin and onto my droopies. There was cock
snot draining from his bald-headed yogurt slinger and I was wetter than an
Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The feeling of his steamin' semen
frothing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. By now, my ladytown was dribbling like a leaky tap.
Inserting a barbie doll into my chamber of squelch got me spraying minge mucus
faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of colon cobra and man fat in my fudge
factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Some girls are
happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having my fist in my oyster ditch and a lightbulb up my turd-herder. The
plowing of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle
jewellery joining his womb ferret deep in my fart valve. He munched on my hairy
goblet, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. After
having my mound of love pudding pounded, he then proceeded to pound my
chocolate starfish. With his meaty member thrusting deep into my hatchet wound,
the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting
dog. The plowing makes me spritz my minge monsoon all over his master of
ceremonies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his spam javelin plunged deeper into my Mavis Fritter. Now, I've
been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his timed slimer made
my tuna tunnel tears ooze like a George Foreman grill. If I don't finger blast
to get my minge monsoon oozing from my clearing in the woods, his spam dagger
is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a bulldog licking piss from a
thistle. It was bliss having his sperminator slid inside me again; stuffing my
oyster ditch with a lightbulb just didn't get my smush mitten spraying like it
used to. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still slobbering. I thought
it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas. He eased out a giant stink
pickle on my chest puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of ceremonies pounding my
whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a
disco. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from
his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.

There
was love piss dribbling from his thrill drill and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his batter blaster stuffed deeper into my ring
piece. When he removed his one-eyed monster from my poop chute, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his love lollipop.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat dripping from my puckered brown
eye and all over my beef curtains. It was bliss having his tallywacker plunged
inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a number of chillies just
didn't get my fuck trench surging like it used to. The slamming of my vintage
golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his turgid
terror truncheon deep in my brown eye. I can't wait to suck the cock snot from
his bugger king. If I don't flick the bean to get my clunge gunge seeping from
my salmon slit, his disco stick is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a
horse's collar. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight
of his turgid terror truncheon made my tuna tunnel tears leak like Augustus Gloop's
mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Inserting a barbie doll
into my spunk dungeon got me surging vertical moisture faster than snot off a
whip. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a lightbulb in my meat purse and an egg timer up
my cocoa channel. By now, my tuna canal was weeping like a George Foreman
grill. With my flappy meal now much like a gutted trout, he thought it was time
to start plunging my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
blast a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? My throat was so full of timed slimer
and steamin' semen, the cock custard was leaching down my chin and onto my
superdroopers. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger hammering my cum
dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World.
My enchilada of love was trembling like a shitting dog. He munched on my spam
castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The
feeling of his ectoplasm slobbering down my throat got my fallopian fish stock
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With his stilton sword hammering deep
into my frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his skin flute smashing my
cervix made me quiver like jelly. Hours of raiding like this would leave any
girl's piss flaps looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no
different! The mixture of colon cobra and love mayonnaise in my soft tight anus
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He pitched a
giant hardened fudge nugget on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like
a bulldog eating porridge. The pounding makes me spit my sex wee all over his
ample cock. I awoke the next morning with my depravity cavity still seeping. I
thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his ramrod soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio.

He
munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a
week. The fucking makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his cunt
stretcher. By now, my kipper dinghy was sliming like a hungry pig at a trough.
The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his huge penis
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my herring hole
fucked, he then proceeded to pound my soft tight anus. Now, I've seen more
helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his veiny quim prod made my pussy batter
weep like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He launched a giant
corn-eyed butt snake on my rack just so he could devour it up like a pig at a
trough. If I don't finger blast to get my pussy batter frothing from my salmon
slit, his cunt stretcher is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a bulldog
in a windtunnel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss leaking from
my brown mile and all over my spam castanets. The fucking of my balloon knot
was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his cumtree deep in
my turd-herder. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his cunt stretcher.
My throat was so full of tallywacker and baby gravy, the penis pudding was
foaming down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Hours of plowing like this
would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like an over inflated dinghy, and
I was no different! Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my herring hole and a
squash up my fart valve. Inserting a barbie doll into my stench trench got me
flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next
morning with my penis pothole still dripping. I thought it was over but his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. The mixture of footlong fudge
bullet and Da Vinci load in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectoplasm
that he was so fond of. There was penis pudding leaching from his pink tractor
beam and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With his
long-dong silver plowing deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his Nelson's
Column smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. The feeling of his love
mayonnaise slobbering down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than
a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his ample cock shoved deeper into my fudge factory. With
my spam castanets now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start
probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
cut a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My split peach was trembling like an epileptic at
a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock thrusting my
sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a
prison riot. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my shit winker, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his ramrod.