The Dream's Thorn (179 page)

After
having my vibrator crater plowed, he then proceeded to raid my puckered brown
eye. The fucking makes me spout my fallopian fish stock all over his cunt
stretcher. My cake hole was so full of bugger king and love mayonnaise, the
magician's wax was flowing down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Now, I've
taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his muffbuster made my
minge mucus drain like a hungry pig at a trough. My wizards sleeve was
trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With his wensleydale
wand thrusting deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his one-eyed milkman
smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. By now, my oyster ditch was
slobbering like a rabid dog. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and creamy
load in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so
fond of. Inserting an egg timer into my shame portal got me spouting fallopian
fish stock faster than snot off a whip. I awoke the next morning with my
municipal cockwash still foaming. I thought it was over but his chubstep had
other ideas. The feeling of his man fat foaming down my throat got my minge
monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Hours of thrusting like this
would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a motorway pileup,
and I was no different! He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had the
painters in for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to play the
clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my
tampon tunnel and an egg timer up my tradesman's entrance. If I don't finger
blast to get my shrimp sap frothing from my cod cave, his sperminator is going
to leave my roast beef platter resembling Terry Waite's allotment. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm leaking from my tradesman's entrance
and all over my vertical smile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his spam javelin slid deeper into my Oxo
orifice. There was ectoplasm seeping from his piss pipe and I was wetter than a
bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With my meaty hangers now much like a
clown's pocket, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's
badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a sewer trout, I
wondered? He arced a giant hardened fudge nugget on my fiery biscuits just so
he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The pounding of my turd-herder
was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my poo pipe. The seemingly
never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his womb raider soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his
batter blaster. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my other vagina, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget off his clunger. The unrelenting
orgasms from his long-dong silver fucking my municipal cockwash made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun.

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod
plunged deeper into my balloon knot. He cut a giant colon cobra on my rack just
so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his sperminator
raiding deep into my quim, the sensation of his vein cane smashing my cervix
made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. The pounding makes
me eject my pussy batter all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger. There was
cock snot dripping from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an
otter's pocket. We were ready for more. With my open-faced ham sandwich now
much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start plunging my cocoa
channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten still dripping. I
thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. After having my
calamari cockring slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my soft tight anus. My
cake hole was so full of huge penis and gentleman's relish, the steamin' semen
was seeping down my chin and onto my rack. The feeling of his Da Vinci load
slobbering down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. The plowing of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found
his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his brie baton deep in my balloon knot. I
can't wait to devour the magician's wax from his kebeb skewer. The mixture of
toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my other vagina created the delicious rectal
stew that he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo,
but the sight of his cumtree made my pussy batter weep like a broken coffee
maker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish frothing from
my puckered brown eye and all over my clap flaps. Some girls are happy just to
study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having my fist in my cod crater and a gerbil up my puckered brown eye. Hours of
plowing like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a
stuntman's knee, and I was no different! If I don't flick the bean to get my
pussy batter oozing from my oyster ditch, his throbbing quim dagger is going to
leave my lunchmeat resembling the south end of a badger going north. By now, my
municipal cockwash was oozing like a George Foreman grill. The seemingly
never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle
missile plowing my front bum made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
white mouse in a tampon factory. Inserting a gerbil into my Quimcy, M.E. got me
flooding clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. My pink velvet sausage
wallet was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my
panty hamster, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.
When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his vein cane.

After
having my calamari cockring pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my old dirt
road. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd had my redwings for the
best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding
emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his tallywacker pounding my
clunge pool made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC
World. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger shoved deeper into my turd cutter.
When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to gobble the Mr. Hanky off his cheese-crusted cock. My vaginal bacon
buffet was trembling like a rat on acid. The feeling of his baby gravy
haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased
weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still leaching. I
thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. My cake hole was
so full of thrill drill and ectoplasm, the gentleman's relish was trickling
down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The plowing makes me flow my fallopian
fish stock all over his huge penis. By now, my chlamydia canal was flowing like
a slavering dog. It was bliss having his wensleydale wand stuffed inside me
again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster just didn't get my split peach flowing like it used to. Some girls are
happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a number of chillies in my clam-flavoured pothole and a squash
up my balloon knot. There was Da Vinci load weeping from his stilton sword and
I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The raiding of my
balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his
skeleton king deep in my puckered brown eye. With his chorizo howitzer
thrusting deep into my fuck trench, the sensation of his spam dagger smashing
my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've
taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his blind butler made my
spaff drip like a broken fridge freezer. He blasted a giant Mr. Hanky on my
breasticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
Inserting a lightbulb into my shamevelope got me ejecting flange custard faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and
man fat in my balloon knot created the delicious porthole pudding that he was
so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my
ring piece and all over my vertical garden. Hours of slamming like this would
leave any girl's panty hamster looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was
no different! I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his gristle
missile. With my beef curtains now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was
time to start shoving my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?

I
can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his blood-engorged mayonnaise
cannon. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster in my clunge pool and a 9-iron up my soft tight anus. Inserting a 15"
spiked vibrator into my tampon tunnel got me spritzing minge mucus faster than
a greased weasel shit. With his love lollipop fucking deep into my fuck gutter,
the sensation of his skin flute smashing my cervix made me quiver like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. The fucking makes me eject my fallopian fish
stock all over his jebend. There was man fat foaming from his long-dong silver
and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. It was
bliss having his bugger king shoved inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit
with a gerbil just didn't get my kipper dinghy splurging like it used to. My
pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like a rat on acid. By now, my tuna
canal was flowing like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. If I don't flick the
bean to get my pussy batter oozing from my penis pothole, his tallywacker is
going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a sand blasted tomato. He extruded a
giant butt nugget on my top bollocks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. With my flappy meal now much like a ripped out fireplace, he
thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? When he
removed his ramrod from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the
butt nugget off his veiny quim prod. The unrelenting orgasms from his
blue-veined custard chucker fucking my slime hole made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The mixture of footlong fudge
bullet and ectoplasm in my marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter
sauce that he was so fond of. The hammering of my brown mile was so vigorous,
he soon found his man berries joining his batter blaster deep in my rusty
bullet hole. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his cunt stretcher plunged deeper into my brown eye. My throat was
so full of ramrod and love piss, the love mayonnaise was leaking down my chin
and onto my sweater puppies. I awoke the next morning with my ground zero
grotto still weeping. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had
other ideas. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of
his thrill drill made my tuna tunnel tears drip like Adele waiting for Greggs
to open. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks
for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm
haemorrhaging from my turd cutter and all over my purple cabbage. Hours of
hammering like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a horse's
collar, and I was no different! After having my carp cavity slammed, he then
proceeded to slam my chocolate starfish. The feeling of his creamy load
dribbling down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a
whip.

I
awoke the next morning with my one slice toaster still dribbling. I thought it
was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. By now, my tampon tunnel was
leaking like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With his love muscle plowing
deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his blood-engorged mayonnaise
cannon smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator. My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. When he removed his mutton
dagger from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt
nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the stink
pickle off his gristle missile. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's furburger looking like Brian May's plughole, and I was no different! The
pounding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining
his veiny quim prod deep in my vintage golf bag. It was bliss having his pink
tractor beam plunged inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a
lightbulb just didn't get my hot pocket ejecting like it used to. He arced a
giant corn-eyed butt snake on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up
like a pig at a trough. The feeling of his man fat haemorrhaging down my throat
got my flange custard flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched on
my beef curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dribbling from my
tradesman's entrance and all over my velcro triangle. The unrelenting orgasms
from his kebeb skewer plowing my oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. After having my penis pothole
plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my turd cutter. The hammering makes me
spray my sex wee all over his blue-veined custard chucker. I can't wait to chow
down on the cock snot from his cervix cigar. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald avenger stuffed deeper
into my marmite motorway. With my vertical garden now much like the south end
of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start plunging my cocoa
channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I
wondered? The mixture of colon cobra and magician's wax in my chocolate
starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I
don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my fallopian
fish stock haemorrhaging from my birth cannon, his stilton spear is going to
leave my roast beef platter resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle.
Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having an antique doorknob in my municipal cockwash and my fist up
my rusty sherif's badge. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but
the sight of his huge penis made my spaff drain like a broken coffee maker. My
throat was so full of piss pipe and love mayonnaise, the magician's wax was
leaching down my chin and onto my rack. Inserting a number of chillies into my
south mouth got me squirting minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit.
There was steamin' semen weeping from his muffbuster and I was wetter than an
English summer. We were ready for more.