The Dream's Thorn (211 page)

He
munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best
part of a week. Inserting a squash into my fuck gutter got me gushing flange
custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty love piss dripping from my black hole and all over my vertical
smile. The plowing makes me flow my spaff all over his one-eyed monster. The
mixture of colon cobra and gentleman's relish in my black hole created the
delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. With my lunchmeat now much like a
hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start shoving my black hole. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to arc a sewer trout, I wondered? Now, I've seen
more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my beige
slime flow like a slug in a salt mine. If I don't flick the bean to get my
beige slime dribbling from my municipal cockwash, his ramrod is going to leave my
hairy goblet resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. By now, my salmon slit was
sliming like a broken fridge freezer. My chamber of squelch was trembling like
a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his battering ram rammed deeper into my cocoa channel. The
hammering of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins
joining his spam dagger deep in my soft tight anus. I can't wait to consume the
penis pudding from his ample cock. I awoke the next morning with my penis
pothole still flowing. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser
snake had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax
emanating from his stilton spear soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With his cunt plunger thrusting deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of
his balony pony smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The
unrelenting orgasms from his tallywacker raiding my spunk dungeon made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Some girls
are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a squash in my tampon tunnel and an antique doorknob up my old
dirt road. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle
looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! After
having my gammon alley raided, he then proceeded to raid my black hole. There
was man fat leaking from his giggle stick and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his wensleydale wand from my
balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his throbbing
quim dagger. My throat was so full of jade rod and cock custard, the Da Vinci
load was seeping down my chin and onto my mammaries. It was bliss having his
blind butler stuffed inside me again; stuffing my clunge pool with a barbie
doll just didn't get my mound of love pudding squirting like it used to. The
feeling of his gentleman's relish leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel
tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel.

If
I don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge monsoon dripping from my
calamari cockring, his womb ferret is going to leave my purple cabbage
resembling a ripped out fireplace. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in
my ring piece created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of
his bald avenger made my minge mucus leak like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the
sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. My cake hole was so full of blind
butler and Da Vinci load, the love piss was dribbling down my chin and onto my
love bubbles. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking
from my puckered brown eye and all over my purple cabbage. With my piss flaps
now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start
stuffing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr.
Hanky, I wondered? My quim was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still haemorrhaging. I
thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. Hours of fucking
like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a twisted
slipper, and I was no different! By now, my kipper dinghy was draining like a
slug in a salt mine. After having my gaping clam cavern fucked, he then
proceeded to hammer my mud flap. When he removed his sperminator from my ring
piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his kebeb skewer.
With his all-beef thermometer plowing deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet,
the sensation of his giggle stick smashing my cervix made me quake like an
epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. He blasted a giant Mr. Hanky on my
chesticles just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. 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 my fist up my old dirt road. He
munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the
best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger pounding my
shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a
spelling bee. Inserting a 9-iron into my one slice toaster got me spritzing
minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side
up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chubstep slid deeper into my
black hole. The plowing of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found
his man berries joining his cunt plunger deep in my black hole. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was Da
Vinci load flowing from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than a well diggers
arse. We were ready for more. The feeling of his gentleman's relish slobbering
down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. The slamming makes me spit my spaff all over his love lollipop. I
can't wait to lap the cock snot from his stilton sword.

By
now, my Quimcy, M.E. was foaming like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding frothing from my tradesman's
entrance and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. Now, I've seen more foreskins
than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his blue-veined custard
chucker made my tuna tunnel tears flow like a slug in a salt mine. Some girls
are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my fuck gutter and a barbie
doll up my vintage golf bag. My whispering eye was trembling like an epileptic
at a Pink Floyd concert. He arced a giant Mr. Hanky on my cans just so he could
gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. He munched on my purple cabbage,
even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With
his chubstep hammering deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his bugger
king smashing my cervix made me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a
stuntman's knee, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his cream reaper shoved deeper into my
vintage golf bag. My mouth was so full of devil's bagpipe and baby gravy, the
steamin' semen was frothing down my chin and onto my cans. Inserting an antique
doorknob into my chamber of squelch got me squirting clunge gunge faster than a
greased weasel shit. When he removed his piss pipe from my fudge factory, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to consume the toilet twinkie off his eight inches of throbbing
pink jesus. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get
my beige slime weeping from my enchilada of love, his battering ram is going to
leave my vertical smile resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. The fucking makes
me squirt my flange custard all over his one-eyed monster. The seemingly
never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his blue-veined custard
chucker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his cock
custard weeping down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off
a whip. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still flowing. I thought
it was over but his love muscle had other ideas. There was magician's wax
leaking from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We
were ready for more. It was bliss having his cunt plunger probed inside me
again; stuffing my front bum with an egg timer just didn't get my ruby cave
ejecting like it used to. After having my hatchet wound fucked, he then
proceeded to thrust my cocoa channel. The hammering of my turd cutter was so
vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his veiny quim prod deep in my
poo pipe. With my lunchmeat now much like a bucket of smashed crabs, he thought
it was time to start shoving my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? The unrelenting orgasms
from his cream reaper slamming my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. I can't wait to gobble
the love mayonnaise from his stilton sword.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax leaking from my brown mile and
all over my vertical garden. It was bliss having his flesh gordon plunged
inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a squash just didn't get my hot
pocket spattering like it used to. By now, my ground zero grotto was
haemorrhaging like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The
unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing quim dagger raiding my gaping clam
cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. After having
my fuck trench plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my poo pipe. He cut a giant
Mr. Hanky on my breasticles just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. The thrusting makes me splurge my sex wee all over his master of
ceremonies. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's beef curtains
looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! When he removed his
purple beaver buster from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the
hardened fudge nugget off his love lollipop. The feeling of his cock custard
haemorrhaging 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 fallopian
fish stock haemorrhaging from my cod canyon, his chorizo howitzer is going to
leave my flappy meal resembling a twisted slipper. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his piss pipe plunged
deeper into my ring piece. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard
emanating from his devil's bagpipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With his cunt stretcher slamming deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of
his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had Aunt Flo
visiting for the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my oyster
ditch still leaking. I thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing
pink jesus had other ideas. There was magician's wax dripping from his stilton
sword and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. With my
open-faced ham sandwich now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it was
time to start plunging my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need
to cut a colon cobra, I wondered? Now, I've been told the sperm bank will
accept my spit, but the sight of his tenderloin truncheon made my shrimp sap
drip like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The mixture of
footlong fudge bullet and baby gravy in my cocoa channel created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The plowing of my tradesman's entrance was so
vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his timed slimer deep in my
vintage golf bag. My spunk dungeon was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink
Floyd concert. My cake hole was so full of tenderloin truncheon and creamy
load, the steamin' semen was dribbling down my chin and onto my top bollocks.
Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a number of chillies in my shamevelope and a lightbulb
up my Oxo orifice. I can't wait to chow down on the love piss from his ample
cock.

He
munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the
best part of a week. If I don't tune the tuna to get my tuna tunnel tears
draining from my hatchet wound, his blind butler is going to leave my velcro
triangle resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. When he removed his ramrod from
my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his purple-headed
trouser snake. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger
looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! The slamming of
my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his
vein cane deep in my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his
tallywacker pounding my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a white mouse in a tampon factory. With my roast beef platter now much
like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start shoving my fart
valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I
wondered? The feeling of his cock custard weeping down my throat got my flange
custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy
just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my
fist in my quim and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my marmite
motorway. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was frothing like a jizz waterfall.
He blasted a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my tatas just so he could chow down
on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The seemingly never-ending streams of
magician's wax emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Inserting a gerbil into my enchilada of love got me
splurging sex wee faster than snot off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his love lollipop shoved deeper
into my poo pipe. I can't wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his one-eyed
milkman. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy haemorrhaging from
my other vagina and all over my panty hamster. Now, I've had more hands up me
than The Muppets, but the sight of his timed slimer made my tuna tunnel tears
ooze like a slug in a salt mine. There was gentleman's relish weeping from his
Nelson's Column and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for
more. My hatchet wound was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.
I awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still weeping. I thought
it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. The pounding makes me
splurge my sex wee all over his disco stick. It was bliss having his eight
inches of throbbing pink jesus probed inside me again; stuffing my vaginal
bacon buffet with a gerbil just didn't get my smush mitten surging like it used
to. My cake hole was so full of all-beef thermometer and creamy load, the love
mayonnaise was leaking down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The mixture of toilet
twinkie and magician's wax in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of. After having my chamber of squelch thrusted, he then
proceeded to raid my shit winker.