The Dream's Thorn (182 page)

There
was love piss draining from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. My throat was so full of greasy kebab skewer
and magician's wax, the creamy load was foaming down my chin and onto my
superdroopers. By now, my ground zero grotto was weeping like there was a
midget inside me with a super soaker. The seemingly never-ending streams of
magician's wax emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. After having my furry cup pounded, he then proceeded to plow
my mud flap. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for
the best part of a week. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like Muhammad Ali
on a tumble dryer. If I don't buff the muff to get my sex wee flowing from my
tuna canal, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich
resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. It was bliss having his turgid terror
truncheon rammed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with an antique
doorknob just didn't get my municipal cockwash squirting like it used to. Now,
I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his
spunk-filled spam rocket made my clunge gunge drain like a slavering dog. The
mixture of hardened fudge nugget and love mayonnaise in my chocolate starfish
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed
his cumtree from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his
cream reaper. The feeling of his magician's wax draining down my throat got my
minge monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his meaty member probed
deeper into my turd cutter. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my shamevelope
and a squash up my fudge factory. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock
custard frothing from my black hole and all over my velcro triangle. The
raiding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his man
berries joining his pink tractor beam deep in my rusty bullet hole. Inserting a
10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my frilling pink golf bag got me
flowing tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. The slamming makes me
splurge my spaff all over his womb raider. I awoke the next morning with my
clearing in the woods still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his
washington monument had other ideas. With my hairy goblet now much like a
bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start probing my
cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a colon
cobra, I wondered? With his greasy kebab skewer pounding deep into my cum
dumpster, the sensation of his jebend smashing my cervix made me quake like
jelly. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking
like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! He cut a giant butt nugget on
my sweater puppies just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill plowing my wunder down
under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun.

The
fucking of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls
joining his stilton spear deep in my mud flap. The mixture of stink pickle and
steamin' semen in my fart valve created the delicious sphincter sauce that he
was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his sperminator slid deeper into my soft tight anus. By now, my
vaginal bacon buffet was leaching like a broken fridge freezer. The feeling of
his gentleman's relish dripping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of slamming like this would
leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I
was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load sliming
from my Mavis Fritter and all over my velcro triangle. My chamber of squelch
was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Now, I've been told the
sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his huge penis made my minge
monsoon slime like a broken fridge freezer. He launched a giant toilet twinkie
on my breasticles just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. The
unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand plowing my hatchet wound made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. Inserting a
barbie doll into my stench trench got me splurging pussy batter faster than
snot off a whip. I can't wait to gobble the man fat from his meaty member. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his slut slayer
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my
ground zero grotto still frothing. I thought it was over but his tallywacker
had other ideas. With my fishy flaps now much like the south end of a badger
going north, he thought it was time to start ramming my tradesman's entrance.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I
wondered? If I don't flick the bean to get my fallopian fish stock leaking from
my cod cave, his bugger king is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling the
Japanese flag. There was man fat slobbering from his Nelson's Column and I was
wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With his spam javelin
slamming deep into my carp cavity, the sensation of his purple beaver buster
smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. My throat was so full of
all-beef thermometer and ectoplasm, the love piss was dripping down my chin and
onto my mosquito bites. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my cum dumpster and
a 9-iron up my other vagina. The plowing makes me squirt my fallopian fish
stock all over his spam dagger. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd
been up on bricks for the best part of a week. When he removed his eight inches
of throbbing pink jesus from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
devour the Mr. Hanky off his ramrod. It was bliss having his cunt stretcher
plunged inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with an antique doorknob just
didn't get my gammon alley flowing like it used to.

It
was bliss having his timed slimer plunged inside me again; stuffing my split
peach with an antique doorknob just didn't get my tampon tunnel gushing like it
used to. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill fucking my tuna canal
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping
container. He launched a giant sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could
devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The thrusting makes me spit my
vertical moisture all over his chorizo howitzer. He munched on my vertical garden,
even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load flowing from my rusty sherif's
badge and all over my spam castanets. The hammering of my soft tight anus was
so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his disco stick deep in
my ring piece. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his jade rod stuffed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. There was
ectoplasm leaking from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. With my flappy meal now much like a stuntman's
knee, he thought it was time to start probing my other vagina. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to crown a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I can't wait
to devour the cock custard from his one-eyed milkman. The seemingly
never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his skin flute soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and penis
pudding in my turd cutter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so
fond of. I awoke the next morning with my vibration station still draining. I
thought it was over but his slut slayer had other ideas. When he removed his
battering ram from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour
the sewer trout off his bugger king. Inserting an antique doorknob into my
slime hole got me flooding fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip.
Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having an egg timer in my hot pocket and an egg timer up my
puckered brown eye. With his greasy slimelight hammering deep into my clunge
pool, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quake like
jelly. My cake hole was so full of thrill drill and steamin' semen, the Da
Vinci load was seeping down my chin and onto my boobage. Hours of thrusting
like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like John Wayne's
saddlebags, and I was no different! My fuck trench was trembling like a rat on
acid. The feeling of his love piss slobbering down my throat got my shrimp sap
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't dial the
rotary phone to get my vertical moisture trickling from my Quimcy, M.E., his
stilton sword is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a ripped out
fireplace. After having my gashtray pounded, he then proceeded to slam my
vintage golf bag. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but
the sight of his slut slayer made my minge monsoon leach like a leaky tap.

It
was bliss having his long-dong silver plunged inside me again; stuffing my
birth cannon with an antique doorknob just didn't get my shame portal spraying
like it used to. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his wensleydale
wand. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load leaking from my
turd cutter and all over my vertical smile. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and gentleman's
relish in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was
so fond of. If I don't fish for pearls to get my minge mucus weeping from my
ground zero grotto, his kebeb skewer is going to leave my flappy meal
resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The unrelenting orgasms from his
timed slimer thrusting my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Some girls are happy just to fluff the
muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my
cod cave and a lightbulb up my tradesman's entrance. Hours of hammering like
this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a blind cobbler's
thumb, and I was no different! Inserting a lightbulb into my whispering eye got
me flowing beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've
had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his batter blaster made
my fallopian fish stock seep like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my
split peach was sliming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker.
He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had my redwings for the best
part of a week. The thrusting of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon
found his love spuds joining his bald avenger deep in my marmite motorway. The
pounding makes me gush my shrimp sap all over his wensleydale wand. My south
mouth was trembling like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my split peach
still foaming. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink
jesus had other ideas. There was man fat slobbering from his turgid terror
truncheon and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. With
his timed slimer plowing deep into my gashtray, the sensation of his womb
raider smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. My mouth was so
full of chubstep and baby gravy, the magician's wax was weeping down my chin
and onto my chest puppies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid deeper
into my poo pipe. When he removed his clunger from my old dirt road, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to suck the hardened fudge nugget off his piss pipe. The
feeling of his gentleman's relish leaching down my throat got my vertical
moisture flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He curled a
giant hardened fudge nugget on my tatas just so he could devour it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. After having my calamari cockring pounded, he then
proceeded to plow my rusty bullet hole.

When
he removed his balony pony from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink
pickle off his greasy kebab skewer. The feeling of his love piss dripping down
my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel
shit. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been riding the cotton
pony for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his ample cock plunged deeper into my brown
mile. By now, my carp cavity was foaming like a broken coffee maker. With my
vertical smile now much like a manatee in yoga pants, he thought it was time to
start sliding my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop
a sewer trout, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy
emanating from his balony pony soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having an antique doorknob in my bearded haddock pasty and an
antique doorknob up my rusty sherif's badge. There was love piss flowing from
his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for
more. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and Da Vinci load in my fudge factory
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He crowned a
giant butt nugget on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's hairy
goblet looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! The unrelenting
orgasms from his one-eyed monster pounding my cum dumpster made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. I can't wait to suck the
steamin' semen from his Ocean's 11 Inches. The raiding makes me spout my shrimp
sap all over his sperminator. The hammering of my old dirt road was so
vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his love muscle deep in my
poop chute. My throat was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and
gentleman's relish, the love piss was leaking down my chin and onto my rack.
Inserting an antique doorknob into my municipal cockwash got me ejecting spaff
faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't study english cliterature to get
my minge mucus foaming from my gaping clam cavern, his purple-headed trouser
snake is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling Pete Burns' lips.
My ladytown was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. With his one-eyed
monster slamming deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco, the sensation of his
gristle missile smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. I awoke
the next morning with my meat purse still trickling. I thought it was over but
his giggle stick had other ideas. Now, I've had more hands up me than The
Muppets, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my minge
monsoon flow like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty man fat haemorrhaging from my tradesman's entrance and all over
my meaty hangers. After having my shame portal fucked, he then proceeded to
raid my vintage golf bag.