The Dream's Thorn (230 page)

There
was love mayonnaise trickling from his gristle missile and I was wetter than a well
diggers arse. We were ready for more. Hours of fucking like this would leave
any girl's meaty hangers looking like the south end of a badger going north,
and I was no different! The hammering makes me surge my minge mucus all over
his cumtree. When he removed his stilton sword from my fart valve, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to suck the corn-eyed butt snake off his Ocean's 11 Inches. The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and steamin' semen in my Mavis Fritter created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The unrelenting orgasms from
his vein cane slamming my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a dyslexic on Countdown. By now, my gaping clam cavern was seeping like a
slug in a salt mine. With his meaty member slamming deep into my chlamydia
canal, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix made me
quake like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss
dripping from my fart valve and all over my roast beef platter. After having my
carp cavity raided, he then proceeded to plow my shit winker. The feeling of
his love piss slobbering down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing
quicker than snot off a whip. My throat was so full of purple-headed trouser
snake and magician's wax, the love mayonnaise was flowing down my chin and onto
my fiery biscuits. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating
from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't fluff
the muff to get my beige slime sliming from my ground zero grotto, his womb
ferret is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a ripped out fireplace. My
herring hole was trembling like a shitting dog. It was bliss having his
wrist-thick wand rammed inside me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a
number of chillies just didn't get my mound of love pudding squirting like it
used to. Inserting an antique doorknob into my chlamydia canal got me flooding
tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've been
told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his stilton spear
made my pussy batter trickle like a leaky tap. With my velcro triangle now much
like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start sliding my black hole.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a butt nugget, I wondered? He
arced a giant sewer trout on my mammaries just so he could consume it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. The fucking of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon
found his scroto baggins joining his womb ferret deep in my ring piece. I can't
wait to devour the baby gravy from his jebend. 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 herring hole and a 15" spiked vibrator
up my soft tight anus. I awoke the next morning with my quim still leaking. I
thought it was over but his tallywacker had other ideas. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree shoved
deeper into my turd-herder.

Inserting
an egg timer into my front bum got me pouring flange custard faster than a
greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals
through phalangetic motion when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my hatchet wound and a
9-iron up my fart valve. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his batter blaster shoved deeper into my chocolate
starfish. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my rusty
bullet hole created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The
feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my vertical moisture
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He dropped a giant toilet twinkie on my
boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. If I
don't fluff the muff to get my spaff trickling from my birth cannon, his bald
avenger is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a clown's pocket. Now,
I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand made
my vertical moisture drain like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy
Wonka's chocolate river. By now, my hatchet wound was haemorrhaging like a
leaky tap. The slamming makes me surge my beige slime all over his
cheese-crusted cock. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise
leaking from my tradesman's entrance and all over my meaty hangers. The
unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker fucking my
soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with
a mortgage. It was bliss having his cream reaper rammed inside me again;
stuffing my fuck trench with a squash just didn't get my hatchet wound ejecting
like it used to. There was magician's wax draining from his bald-headed yogurt
slinger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. When
he removed his cumtree from my other vagina, 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 blind butler. The raiding of my turd-herder
was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his purple-headed trouser
snake deep in my poop chute. My cake hole was so full of disco stick and baby
gravy, the cock custard was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my top
bollocks. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking
like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! I can't wait to gobble the
cock snot from his bald-headed yogurt slinger. I awoke the next morning with my
gaping clam cavern still oozing. I thought it was over but his pink tractor
beam had other ideas. With his purple beaver buster plowing deep into my wunder
down under, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix
made me quiver like a rat on acid. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like a tasered
slab of chopped liver. With my fishy flaps now much like a shot cat, he thought
it was time to start sliding my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him
I really need to launch a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? After having my clearing in
the woods thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. He munched on
my spam castanets, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a
week.

By
now, my hatchet wound was sliming like a broken fridge freezer. Some girls are
happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my oyster ditch and
an egg timer up my brown eye. My cake hole was so full of love lollipop and
steamin' semen, the gentleman's relish was seeping down my chin and onto my
droopies. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight
of his wrist-thick wand made my clunge gunge ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in
an OAP home. It was bliss having his skeleton king probed inside me again;
stuffing my municipal cockwash with a lightbulb just didn't get my chamber of
squelch ejecting like it used to. After having my penis pothole slammed, he
then proceeded to pound my Mavis Fritter. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake
and magician's wax in my turd-herder created the delicious rectal stew that he
was so fond of. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a bulldog licking
piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my soft tight
anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? My cod canyon was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert. The pounding makes me spit my vertical moisture all over his all-beef
thermometer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss seeping from my
turd-herder and all over my vertical garden. The seemingly never-ending streams
of magician's wax emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. There was cock custard foaming from his cheese-crusted cock
and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. When he
removed his spam javelin from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong
fudge bullet off his pink tractor beam. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci
load from his veiny quim prod. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my
throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He munched
on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best
part of a week. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found
his family jewels joining his all-beef thermometer deep in my cocoa channel.
With his ramrod hammering deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his veiny
quim prod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Inserting a
15" spiked vibrator into my cock holster got me ejecting flange custard
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of slamming like this would
leave any girl's furburger 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 spunk-filled spam rocket rammed deeper into my fart valve. The
unrelenting orgasms from his veiny quim prod pounding my furry cup made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. He cut a giant
toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my clunge pool still sliming. I
thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other
ideas.

With
his one-eyed milkman pounding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of his
love lollipop smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The slamming makes
me spit my shrimp sap all over his tallywacker. Now, I've been shot over more
times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made
my spaff ooze like a leaky tap. By now, my furry cup was frothing like Adele
waiting for Greggs to open. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his purple-headed trouser snake stuffed deeper into
my poo pipe. My cake hole was so full of gristle missile and creamy load, the
baby gravy was sliming down my chin and onto my boobage. The pounding of my
rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his
one-eyed monster deep in my old dirt road. Some girls are happy just to tune
the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster in my slime hole and a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster up my cocoa channel. The seemingly never-ending
streams of cock snot emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. With my furburger now much like Pete Burns' lips, he
thought it was time to start sliding my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to drop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Hours of slamming
like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a darts team's
goalkeeper, and I was no different! He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich,
even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. If I don't dial
the rotary phone to get my tuna tunnel tears flowing from my carp cavity, his
blind butler is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a rabid baboon's
arse. The mixture of butt nugget and gentleman's relish in my poop chute
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a
barbie doll into my carp cavity got me spattering tuna tunnel tears faster than
snot off a whip. The feeling of his magician's wax frothing down my throat got
my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. I awoke the next
morning with my salmon slit still draining. I thought it was over but his
spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. He crowned a giant stink pickle on my
boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I
can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his all-beef thermometer. The
unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod plowing my spunk dungeon made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. It was bliss having his
blue-veined custard chucker slid inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel
with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my carp cavity
spritzing like it used to. When he removed his brie baton from my mud flap, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the footlong fudge bullet off his thrill drill. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax trickling from my chocolate
starfish and all over my flappy meal. After having my carp cavity raided, he
then proceeded to pound my brown eye. There was love mayonnaise foaming from
his stilton sword and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for
more.

By
now, my furry cup was haemorrhaging like a slavering dog. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus rammed deeper into my brown mile. It was bliss having his
skeleton king stuffed inside me again; stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with
a number of chillies just didn't get my shame portal spritzing like it used to.
With my piss flaps now much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start
stuffing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude
a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The seemingly never-ending streams of
gentleman's relish emanating from his bald avenger soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. My split peach was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his brie
baton. When he removed his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon from my other
vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his jebend. If I don't
buff the muff to get my flange custard dribbling from my cum dumpster, his slut
slayer is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling Brian May's plughole.
The pounding of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his love
spuds joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my vintage golf bag. With his piss
pipe hammering deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his washington
monument smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The unrelenting orgasms
from his bald-headed yogurt slinger thrusting my hot pocket made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. After having my cod
crater hammered, he then proceeded to raid my rusty bullet hole. Some girls are
happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having an egg timer in my hatchet wound and an antique doorknob up my rusty
bullet hole. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat sliming from my
turd cutter and all over my vertical smile. He eased out a giant butt nugget on
my tatas just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting my
fist into my whispering eye got me splurging spaff faster than snot off a whip.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like
a clown's pocket, and I was no different! The mixture of footlong fudge bullet
and ectoplasm in my fart valve created the delicious sphincter sauce that he
was so fond of. My mouth was so full of greasy slimelight and Da Vinci load,
the magician's wax was draining down my chin and onto my cans. Now, I've seen
more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his skeleton
king made my shrimp sap slime like a slug in a salt mine. I awoke the next
morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still trickling. I thought it was
over but his vein cane had other ideas. The hammering makes me squirt my sex
wee all over his Ocean's 11 Inches. There was gentleman's relish flowing from
his pink tractor beam and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready
for more. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo
visiting for the best part of a week.