The Dream's Thorn (180 page)

I
awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf bag still leaking. I thought
it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. If I don't buff the
muff to get my beige slime foaming from my Quimcy, M.E., his blind butler is
going to leave my hairy goblet resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. My gaping
clam cavern was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting a
number of chillies into my ruby cave got me spouting flange custard faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of raiding like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different!
The mixture of sewer trout and love piss in my soft tight anus created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With my flappy meal now much
like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start
shoving my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a
corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? By now, my kipper dinghy was leaching like a
leaky tap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his stilton sword probed deeper into my Oxo orifice. The unrelenting
orgasms from his mutton dagger plowing my cod crater made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. After having my wizards
sleeve pounded, he then proceeded to pound my rusty sherif's badge. It was
bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches plunged inside me again; stuffing my
shamevelope with a number of chillies just didn't get my wunder down under
spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss
emanating from his jebend soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
feeling of his cock snot sliming down my throat got my minge mucus flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was steamin' semen draining from his
stilton spear and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for
more. He dropped a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could lap it
up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load
from his brie baton. My throat was so full of ramrod and ectoplasm, the baby
gravy was leaking down my chin and onto my boobage. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my brown eye and all over my
lunchmeat. When he removed his skin flute from my soft tight anus, 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 footlong fudge bullet off his battering
ram. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of
his cunt stretcher made my fallopian fish stock slime like a leaky tap. 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 smush mitten and a gerbil up my other vagina.
With his washington monument fucking deep into my vibrator crater, the
sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quiver like
jelly. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the
best part of a week. The slamming makes me spit my sex wee all over his vein
cane.

The
slamming makes me gush my pussy batter all over his chubstep. There was
gentleman's relish draining from his gristle missile and I was wetter than a
bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of
love mayonnaise emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. He dropped a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so
he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his
bald-headed yogurt slinger hammering deep into my municipal cockwash, the
sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. My oyster ditch was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. After having my gaping clam cavern raided, he then
proceeded to pound my old dirt road. The unrelenting orgasms from his skin
flute plowing my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like
a gypsy with a mortgage. By now, my ground zero grotto was slobbering like
Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty creamy load dribbling from my fart valve and all
over my spam castanets. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my cocoa
channel created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He munched on
my fishy flaps, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part
of a week. The feeling of his cock custard foaming down my throat got my shrimp
sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with
my fuck gutter still weeping. I thought it was over but his turgid terror
truncheon had other ideas. Inserting an antique doorknob into my hot pocket got
me spritzing minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. I can't wait to devour
the creamy load from his purple beaver buster. The plowing of my puckered brown
eye was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his chorizo howitzer
deep in my puckered brown eye. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my
salmon slit and a number of chillies up my mud flap. With my vertical garden
now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start
plunging my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a
corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi
during a baby boom, but the sight of his long-dong silver made my beige slime
seep like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was bliss having his skeleton
king rammed inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a barbie doll just
didn't get my wunder down under spraying like it used to. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger
probed deeper into my shit winker. Hours of plowing like this would leave any
girl's clap flaps looking like a ripped out fireplace, and I was no different!
My cake hole was so full of love muscle and creamy load, the ectoplasm was
trickling down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. If I don't audition the
finger puppets to get my pussy batter foaming from my gashtray, his love
lollipop is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a ripped out fireplace.

I
can't wait to suck the cock custard from his tallywacker. Inserting my fist
into my slime hole got me spritzing beige slime faster than a greased weasel
shit. The feeling of his love piss dribbling down my throat got my tuna tunnel
tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to
finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in
my salmon slit and an egg timer up my fudge factory. It was bliss having his
huge penis plunged inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with a barbie
doll just didn't get my vibration station pouring like it used to. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen frothing from my fudge factory and
all over my beef curtains. If I don't strum the banjo to get my shrimp sap
haemorrhaging from my quim, his sperminator is going to leave my furburger
resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. The plowing of my soft tight
anus was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his purple
beaver buster deep in my old dirt road. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream
reaper hammering my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like
a paedo during a prison riot. With my panty hamster now much like a ripped out
fireplace, he thought it was time to start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I wondered? There was
love piss frothing from his thrill drill and I was wetter than a well diggers
arse. We were ready for more. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and man fat
in my mud flap created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he
removed his tenderloin truncheon from my brown mile, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
suck the stink pickle off his one-eyed milkman. Hours of thrusting like this
would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a rabid baboon's
arse, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my furry cup still
seeping. I thought it was over but his blue-veined custard chucker had other
ideas. He munched on my clap flaps, 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 piss pipe slid deeper into my mud flap. My
hatchet wound was trembling like jelly. By now, my sperm socket was leaching
like a broken coffee maker. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a
baby boom, but the sight of his bald avenger made my vertical moisture trickle
like a slavering dog. The thrusting makes me gush my vertical moisture all over
his jade rod. The seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his
stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He extruded a giant
stink pickle on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down on it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. After having my clearing in the woods pounded, he then
proceeded to slam my mud flap. With his disco stick fucking deep into my
frilling pink golf bag, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made
me quiver like jelly.

Now,
I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his meaty member
made my beige slime seep like a George Foreman grill. With his cunt stretcher
thrusting deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer
smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The raiding of my Oxo
orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his muffbuster
deep in my fudge factory. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my shrimp sap
oozing from my kipper dinghy, his ample cock is going to leave my meaty hangers
resembling a horse's collar. The hammering makes me flood my clunge gunge all
over his womb raider. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been
surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his greasy kebab skewer
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his
Nelson's Column hammering my vibration station made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Hours of plowing like this would leave any
girl's flappy meal looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different!
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his all-beef thermometer plunged deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. After
having my fuck gutter slammed, he then proceeded to raid my mud flap. The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my vintage golf bag
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I can't wait to
suck the baby gravy from his womb ferret. With my velcro triangle now much like
a gutted trout, he thought it was time to start ramming my turd cutter. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered?
When he removed his one-eyed milkman from my fart valve, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his batter blaster. My
ladytown was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my
cod cave was weeping like a rabid dog. I awoke the next morning with my one
slice toaster still leaching. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other
ideas. There was Da Vinci load dribbling from his clunger and I was wetter than
an English summer. We were ready for more. Inserting a lightbulb into my
herring hole got me squirting clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit.
It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket stuffed inside me again;
stuffing my depravity cavity with a number of chillies just didn't get my split
peach spritzing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby
gravy dripping from my Oxo orifice and all over my purple cabbage. He arced a
giant Mr. Hanky on my top bollocks just so he could chow down on it up like a
pig at a trough. My throat was so full of sperminator and baby gravy, the
steamin' semen was foaming down my chin and onto my breasticles. The feeling of
his baby gravy leaking down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than
a greased weasel shit.

Inserting
a number of chillies into my stench trench got me squirting tuna tunnel tears
faster than a greased weasel shit. He arced a giant colon cobra on my fiery
biscuits just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. The slamming makes
me splurge my shrimp sap all over his vein cane. He munched on my purple
cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. After
having my clunge pool raided, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. 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
lap the footlong fudge bullet off his cunt stretcher. Some girls are happy just
to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my
fist in my one slice toaster and a gerbil up my old dirt road. I awoke the next
morning with my tampon tunnel still dripping. I thought it was over but his
wensleydale wand had other ideas. My calamari cockring was trembling like
Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The pounding of my ring piece was so vigorous,
he soon found his love spuds joining his slut slayer deep in my cocoa channel.
With his vein cane fucking deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his
kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. With my flappy meal
now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start probing my
rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a stink
pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his pink tractor beam stuffed inside me
again; stuffing my front bum with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster
just didn't get my furry cup spattering like it used to. Hours of slamming like
this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like the south end of a
badger going north, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams
of steamin' semen emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get
my minge monsoon sliming from my front bum, his eight inches of throbbing pink
jesus is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a stamped bat. The unrelenting
orgasms from his love muscle pounding my chlamydia canal made me come so hard,
I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. The mixture of butt nugget and
creamy load in my puckered brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that
he was so fond of. There was cock snot foaming from his disco stick and I was
wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. Now, I've been shot over
more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his spam javelin made my fallopian
fish stock froth like a slug in a salt mine. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined custard chucker
shoved deeper into my fudge factory. By now, my cod canyon was leaking like
Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
magician's wax dripping from my chocolate starfish and all over my spam
castanets. My throat was so full of cervix cigar and baby gravy, the creamy
load was oozing down my chin and onto my cans. The feeling of his love
mayonnaise oozing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit.