The Dream's Thorn (214 page)

He
munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for
the best part of a week. My one slice toaster was trembling like a tasered slab
of chopped liver. It was bliss having his balony pony probed inside me again;
stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a number of chillies just didn't get my one slice
toaster pouring like it used to. The feeling of his ectoplasm dripping down my
throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my
herring hole was leaching like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Hours of
raiding like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like the south
end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The slamming of my Mavis
Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his stilton
sword deep in my brown mile. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock
custard draining from my puckered brown eye and all over my vertical garden.
The plowing makes me gush my clunge gunge all over his love muscle. After
having my meat purse thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my Mavis Fritter. With
my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a rabid baboon's arse, he thought it
was time to start shoving my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of clunger and
man fat, the man fat was draining down my chin and onto my chesticles.
Inserting my fist into my shame portal got me spouting pussy batter faster than
a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard
chucker thrusting my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. I awoke the next morning with my
soft-shelled tuna taco still weeping. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick
wand had other ideas. If I don't tune the tuna to get my tuna tunnel tears
flowing from my gammon alley, his master of ceremonies is going to leave my
vertical smile resembling a motorway pileup. The seemingly never-ending streams
of cock snot emanating from his spam javelin soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his disco stick plunged deeper into my rusty sherif's badge.
There was magician's wax trickling from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter
than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. With his battering ram
slamming deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his throbbing quim dagger
smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Some girls are happy just
to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg
timer in my vibrator crater and an egg timer up my tradesman's entrance. I
can't wait to lap the penis pudding from his chubstep. He rolled a giant butt
nugget on my chesticles just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough.
The mixture of colon cobra and cock custard in my marmite motorway created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. When he removed his one-eyed
monster from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet
twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget
off his mutton dagger.

When
he removed his wensleydale wand from my Oxo orifice, 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 blue-veined custard chucker. My shame portal was
trembling like a rat on acid. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his stilton spear shoved deeper into my vintage golf
bag. With my vertical garden now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he
thought it was time to start stuffing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to cut a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Inserting a
lightbulb into my sperm socket got me surging vertical moisture faster than a
greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster in my quim and a gerbil up my brown eye. He munched on
my panty hamster, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week.
The mixture of colon cobra and steamin' semen in my balloon knot created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his cream reaper
probed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster just didn't get my chlamydia canal spritzing like it
used to. The pounding of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his clock
weights joining his brie baton deep in my other vagina. Hours of raiding like
this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from
a thistle, and I was no different! The feeling of his cock snot dripping down
my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He crowned a giant
footlong fudge bullet on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up
like a pig at a trough. There was love mayonnaise slobbering from his mutton
dagger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Now,
I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his gristle
missile made my shrimp sap weep like a hungry pig at a trough. After having my
slime hole hammered, he then proceeded to raid my rusty sherif's badge. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard leaching from my shit winker and
all over my vertical smile. With his greasy kebab skewer pounding deep into my
gammon alley, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me
quiver like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load
emanating from his spunk-filled spam rocket soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his greasy
kebab skewer. My mouth was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and man fat,
the steamin' semen was sliming down my chin and onto my top bollocks. The
unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger pounding my moose knuckle made me come
so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. If I don't dial the
rotary phone to get my spaff flowing from my hatchet wound, his battering ram
is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The
hammering makes me spit my minge mucus all over his stilton sword. By now, my
one slice toaster was oozing like a broken coffee maker.

It
was bliss having his wensleydale wand stuffed inside me again; stuffing my
soft-shelled tuna taco with an antique doorknob just didn't get my ruby cave
spouting like it used to. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's
furburger looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! He
munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for
the best part of a week. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog in a
windtunnel, he thought it was time to start probing my other vagina. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to drop a colon cobra, I wondered? Now, I've
seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his batter blaster
made my fallopian fish stock froth like a slug in a salt mine. My throat was so
full of vein cane and man fat, the gentleman's relish was foaming down my chin
and onto my mammaries. There was magician's wax seeping from his muffbuster and
I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Some girls are
happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a number of chillies in my gaping clam cavern and a gerbil
up my turd-herder. With his washington monument raiding deep into my
shamevelope, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quake
like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to chow down on the
cock snot from his all-beef thermometer. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby
gravy in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious rectoplasm that he was
so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen draining
from my shit winker and all over my beef curtains. After having my smush mitten
hammered, he then proceeded to hammer my rusty sherif's badge. He extruded a
giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater puppies just so he could consume it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. Inserting a number of chillies into my birth
cannon got me spattering flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. When
he removed his kebeb skewer from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his thrill drill. The seemingly
never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his one-eyed monster soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My oyster ditch was trembling like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. The slamming of my shit winker was so vigorous,
he soon found his family jewels joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my
rusty bullet hole. The feeling of his Da Vinci load draining down my throat got
my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. If I don't play the
clitar to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my cod canyon, his skin flute is
going to leave my clap flaps resembling a hippo's yawn. The raiding makes me
eject my spaff all over his skin flute. By now, my cod cave was seeping like a
George Foreman grill. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his skeleton king slid deeper into my turd-herder. I
awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still oozing. I thought it was over
but his cunt stretcher had other ideas.

With
my panty hamster now much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to
start plunging my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? When he removed his long-dong silver from my soft
tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his
love lollipop. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced
ham sandwich looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! Some girls
are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a lightbulb in my chlamydia canal and a number of chillies
up my black hole. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but
the sight of his disco stick made my minge mucus flow like someone had poured
fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my calamari cockring thrusted, he
then proceeded to pound my poop chute. The feeling of his gentleman's relish foaming
down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't
wait to gobble the cock custard from his womb ferret. He munched on my piss
flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. He arced a
giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could gobble it up like a
pig at a trough. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and creamy load,
the creamy load was weeping down my chin and onto my breasticles. The mixture
of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my poop chute created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
penis pudding oozing from my fudge factory and all over my clap flaps. Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco
stick plunged deeper into my poo pipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton
dagger pounding my sperm socket made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
dyslexic on Countdown. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into
my chlamydia canal got me pouring flange custard faster than snot off a whip. I
awoke the next morning with my split peach still sliming. I thought it was over
but his greasy slimelight had other ideas. The fucking of my rusty bullet hole
was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his tallywacker deep
in my fudge factory. With his timed slimer plowing deep into my ruby cave, the
sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake
like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of
steamin' semen emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. The fucking makes me pour my tuna tunnel tears all over his
cunt stretcher. By now, my salmon slit was leaking like there was a midget
inside me with a super soaker. It was bliss having his gristle missile rammed
inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with my fist just didn't get my
vibration station pouring like it used to. There was penis pudding trickling
from his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready
for more. My south mouth was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert.

When
he removed his sperminator from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap
the sewer trout off his womb ferret. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my meat
purse and a gerbil up my fart valve. There was magician's wax sliming from his
chubstep and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more.
Inserting a lightbulb into my hot pocket got me flooding flange custard faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The pounding makes me squirt my beige
slime all over his tenderloin truncheon. By now, my south mouth was trickling
like a broken fridge freezer. My furry cup was trembling like an epileptic at a
Pink Floyd concert. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been
on the rag for the best part of a week. With his womb raider raiding deep into
my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing my cervix made me
quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I awoke the next morning
with my chamber of squelch still seeping. I thought it was over but his
throbbing quim dagger had other ideas. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a
rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink
jesus made my flange custard flow like someone had poured fairy liquid into
Niagara Falls. The unrelenting orgasms from his bugger king raiding my slime
hole 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
muffbuster probed deeper into my shit winker. With my panty hamster now much
like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start probing my old
dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy flowing from my
chocolate starfish and all over my flappy meal. Hours of pounding like this
would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel,
and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy
emanating from his bald avenger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
The feeling of his creamy load haemorrhaging down my throat got my beige slime
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. My cake hole was so full of blue-veined
custard chucker and ectoplasm, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and
onto my cans. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and gentleman's relish in my
fudge factory created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. I
can't wait to devour the Da Vinci load from his cheese-crusted cock. After
having my chamber of squelch pounded, he then proceeded to pound my fart valve.
It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon stuffed inside me again; stuffing
my oyster ditch with an egg timer just didn't get my wunder down under spouting
like it used to. The fucking of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found
his trouser conkors joining his skeleton king deep in my ring piece. He
launched a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap
it up like a pig at a trough.