The Dream's Thorn (228 page)

Hours
of thrusting like this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a
twisted slipper, and I was no different! If I don't tune the tuna to get my
shrimp sap haemorrhaging from my ladytown, his brie baton is going to leave my
vertical smile resembling the south end of a badger going north. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty penis pudding dripping from my fart valve and all
over my purple cabbage. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though
I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his
throbbing quim dagger probed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage
wallet with a number of chillies just didn't get my depravity cavity surging
like it used to. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his purple-headed
trouser snake. My cake hole was so full of master of ceremonies and man fat,
the Da Vinci load was frothing down my chin and onto my chesticles. Inserting a
number of chillies into my Quimcy, M.E. got me spattering shrimp sap faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his love lollipop plowing deep into
my herring hole, the sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me
quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my cum dumpster
hammered, he then proceeded to raid my black hole. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king shoved
deeper into my shit winker. There was man fat foaming from his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for
more. The feeling of his love piss oozing down my throat got my flange custard
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just
to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
gerbil in my salmon slit and a barbie doll up my shit winker. My tampon tunnel
was trembling like a rat on acid. The mixture of sewer trout and baby gravy in
my vintage golf bag created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond
of. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of
his disco stick made my sex wee drip like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.
When he removed his piss pipe from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble
the corn-eyed butt snake off his womb ferret. The hammering of my brown eye was
so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his disco stick deep in
my rusty sherif's badge. The fucking makes me squirt my minge mucus all over
his ample cock. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating
from his battering ram soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman slamming my clam-flavoured
pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World.
By now, my vibrator crater was oozing like a slug in a salt mine. He launched a
giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on
it up like a pig at a trough. With my velcro triangle now much like an over
inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start stuffing my chocolate
starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a footlong fudge
bullet, I wondered?

Hours
of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like an
over inflated dinghy, and I was no different! The mixture of stink pickle and
magician's wax in my fudge factory created the delicious sphincter sauce that
he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish
frothing from my old dirt road and all over my piss flaps. The feeling of his
creamy load haemorrhaging down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of piss pipe and man
fat, the love mayonnaise was leaching down my chin and onto my top bollocks.
Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my frilling pink golf
bag got me spraying tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. The
unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer hammering my moose knuckle made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. After having my gashtray
raided, he then proceeded to raid my other vagina. I can't wait to gobble the
gentleman's relish from his one-eyed monster. He munched on my clap flaps, even
though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. There was penis pudding
dribbling from his bugger king and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We
were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating
from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
thrusting of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders
joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my soft tight anus. My shamevelope
was trembling like a rat on acid. When he removed his meaty member 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 suck the sewer trout off his purple beaver
buster. It was bliss having his greasy slimelight probed inside me again;
stuffing my cod cave with an antique doorknob just didn't get my smush mitten
flooding like it used to. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster in my gammon alley and an egg timer up my old dirt
road. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the
sight of his batter blaster made my clunge gunge foam like a jizz waterfall.
The slamming makes me spit my pussy batter all over his wensleydale wand.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his timed slimer rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. If I don't stimulate
the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my flange custard seeping from
my fuck gutter, his wrist-thick wand is going to leave my fishy flaps
resembling a stamped bat. With his one-eyed milkman plowing deep into my
bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made
me quake like a rat on acid. He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on my chesticles
just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. By now, my
wunder down under was oozing like a leaky tap. With my clap flaps now much like
a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start sliding my mud
flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered?

There
was penis pudding seeping from his meaty member and I was wetter than an
English summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity
still dribbling. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas.
He pitched a giant colon cobra on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it
up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his cervix cigar hammering deep into my
gammon alley, the sensation of his veiny quim prod smashing my cervix made me
quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I can't wait to chow down on the Da
Vinci load from his muffbuster. If I don't strum the banjo to get my tuna
tunnel tears frothing from my slime hole, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going
to leave my beef curtains resembling the south end of a badger going north.
After having my furry cup fucked, he then proceeded to pound my ring piece.
Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his
turgid terror truncheon made my shrimp sap foam like Adele waiting for Greggs
to open. With my clap flaps now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it
was time to start plunging my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to launch a sewer trout, I wondered? He munched on my clap flaps,
even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty baby gravy dribbling from my chocolate starfish and all
over my vertical garden. The thrusting of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he
soon found his salty protein grapes joining his ramrod deep in my rusty bullet
hole. When he removed his stilton spear from my black hole, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait
to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off his veiny quim prod. Hours of plowing
like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like Terry Waite's
allotment, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his huge penis shoved deeper into my
chocolate starfish. It was bliss having his throbbing quim dagger plunged
inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a number of chillies
just didn't get my cod canyon splurging like it used to. The unrelenting
orgasms from his cervix cigar plowing my furry cup made me come so hard, I
began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The mixture of corn-eyed butt
snake and penis pudding in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm
that he was so fond of. The thrusting makes me flow my vertical moisture all
over his stilton spear. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy
emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My
mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and man fat, the Da Vinci load was
flowing down my chin and onto my mammaries. 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 chlamydia canal and a barbie doll up my soft
tight anus. By now, my kipper dinghy was weeping like Wayne Rooney's dick in an
OAP home. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my fuck
trench got me ejecting tuna tunnel tears faster than snot off a whip. My
gashtray was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax oozing from my fart valve and
all over my purple cabbage. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's
spam castanets looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different!
Inserting an egg timer into my stench trench got me flooding flange custard
faster than a greased weasel shit. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd
had the painters in for the best part of a week. The slamming of my mud flap
was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his cream reaper deep
in my other vagina. My cod cave was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. The slamming makes me surge my fallopian fish stock all over his flesh
gordon. After having my depravity cavity plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my
rusty sherif's badge. With my beef curtains now much like a gutted trout, he
thought it was time to start ramming my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to curl a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? With his devil's bagpipe
slamming deep into my hot pocket, the sensation of his ample cock smashing my
cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. When he removed his
flesh gordon from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the
corn-eyed butt snake off his bugger king. I can't wait to devour the Da Vinci
load from his spam javelin. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster
slamming my vibrator crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph
Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The feeling of his penis pudding dribbling down my throat
got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There
was ectoplasm leaching from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an English
summer. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my depravity
cavity still seeping. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other
ideas. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but
I can't get off without having an egg timer in my hatchet wound and a lightbulb
up my poo pipe. My mouth was so full of brie baton and Da Vinci load, the love
mayonnaise was dribbling down my chin and onto my boobage. Now, I've taken more
poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his purple beaver buster made my
clunge gunge trickle like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was bliss having
his huge penis rammed inside me again; stuffing my furry cup with a squash just
didn't get my gashtray spritzing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending
streams of magician's wax emanating from his sperminator soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. By now, my fuck gutter was sliming like a leaky tap.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his washington monument rammed deeper into my poop chute. The mixture of
corn-eyed butt snake and ectoplasm in my ring piece created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my
minge monsoon seeping from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his devil's bagpipe is
going to leave my spam castanets resembling a horse's collar.

By
now, my salmon slit was seeping like a leaky tap. With my vertical garden now
much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start ramming my puckered
brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a butt nugget, I
wondered? Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but
I can't get off without having an egg timer in my cum dumpster and a number of
chillies up my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his love muscle rammed deeper into my marmite motorway.
There was creamy load weeping from his washington monument and I was wetter
than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. When he removed his chorizo
howitzer from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink
pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet
twinkie off his Nelson's Column. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love
piss flowing from my vintage golf bag and all over my spam castanets. My cake
hole was so full of master of ceremonies and cock snot, the creamy load was
flowing down my chin and onto my tatas. 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. After having my one slice toaster hammered, he then proceeded
to thrust my puckered brown eye. Hours of hammering like this would leave any
girl's panty hamster looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no
different! The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from
his sperminator soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting
orgasms from his stilton spear pounding my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a whore in a confessional. It was bliss having his meaty
member probed inside me again; stuffing my cod cave with a gerbil just didn't
get my Quimcy, M.E. flowing like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my
shame portal still weeping. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon
had other ideas. The feeling of his cock custard weeping down my throat got my spaff
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to chow down
on the love mayonnaise from his spam javelin. With his muffbuster pounding deep
into my slime hole, the sensation of his huge penis smashing my cervix made me
quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Now, I've seen more foreskins
than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his sperminator made my
shrimp sap weep like a broken fridge freezer. The raiding of my brown mile was
so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his ramrod deep in my
black hole. The slamming makes me spritz my tuna tunnel tears all over his
mutton dagger. My cod canyon was trembling like jelly. He munched on my beef
curtains, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. If I
don't audition the finger puppets to get my minge monsoon trickling from my cod
crater, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my vertical garden
resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. Inserting a number of
chillies into my shame portal got me spritzing spaff faster than snot off a
whip.