The Dream's Thorn (47 page)

I
can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his batter blaster. It was bliss
having his tenderloin truncheon rammed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada
of love with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my fuck trench
splurging like it used to. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd
been on the rag for the best part of a week. The hammering makes me splurge my
spaff all over his love muscle. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his giggle stick probed deeper into my turd
cutter. By now, my tampon tunnel was sliming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP
home. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his
giggle stick soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was ectoplasm foaming
from his brie baton and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for
more. After having my wunder down under fucked, he then proceeded to raid my
black hole. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love mayonnaise in my poop
chute created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He curled a
giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chest puppies just so he could lap it up like
a hungry hungry hippo. I awoke the next morning with my herring hole still
weeping. I thought it was over but his womb raider had other ideas. Hours of
hammering like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a blind
cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! My cock holster was trembling like
Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. With his tallywacker slamming deep into
my one slice toaster, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix
made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. If I don't strum the
banjo to get my flange custard foaming from my spunk dungeon, his balony pony
is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. When he
removed his pink tractor beam from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
devour the colon cobra off his Ocean's 11 Inches. The raiding of my brown eye
was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his veiny quim prod
deep in my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand
dartboard, but the sight of his cumtree made my sex wee slobber like a leaky
tap. My mouth was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and love piss, the
cock snot was leaking down my chin and onto my mammaries. Inserting a number of
chillies into my moose knuckle got me splurging fallopian fish stock faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy
kebab skewer pounding my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Some girls are happy just to strum the
banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of
chillies in my furry cup and a gerbil up my poop chute. The feeling of his
steamin' semen sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my flappy meal now much like that
bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty
bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a sewer trout, I
wondered?

The
fucking makes me spit my clunge gunge all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger.
There was ectoplasm dribbling from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than
an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his spunk-filled spam rocket stuffed deeper
into my marmite motorway. My cake hole was so full of sperminator and creamy
load, the baby gravy was sliming down my chin and onto my twin peaks. I awoke
the next morning with my sperm socket still sliming. I thought it was over but
his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his skeleton king soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his muffbuster from my turd
cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his skeleton king. My
smush mitten was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now,
I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his greasy
slimelight made my sex wee haemorrhage like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.
The mixture of toilet twinkie and cock custard in my soft tight anus created
the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his spam
javelin probed inside me again; stuffing my bearded haddock pasty with a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my vibrator crater
spouting like it used to. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's
meaty hangers looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! Within no
time, I could feel the shitty creamy load seeping from my puckered brown eye
and all over my flappy meal. If I don't flick the bean to get my spaff
dribbling from my ladytown, his piss pipe is going to leave my meaty hangers
resembling a badly wrapped kebab. After having my birth cannon plowed, he then
proceeded to slam my balloon knot. He munched on my vertical garden, even
though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The plowing of my
vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his
tenderloin truncheon deep in my balloon knot. By now, my gaping clam cavern was
foaming like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The unrelenting
orgasms from his balony pony pounding my hot pocket made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a whore in a confessional. He eased out a giant colon cobra
on my boobage just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
With his thrill drill raiding deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of
his spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on
acid. Inserting a lightbulb into my vibration station got me pouring spaff
faster than snot off a whip. The feeling of his baby gravy haemorrhaging down
my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls
are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a 9-iron in my slime hole and an antique doorknob up my fart
valve. With my furburger now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it
was time to start shoving my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to cop a sewer trout, I wondered?

By
now, my fuck trench was foaming like a rabid dog. It was bliss having his
wensleydale wand plunged inside me again; stuffing my cod crater with my fist
just didn't get my gaping clam cavern splurging like it used to. The feeling of
his cock custard foaming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his throbbing quim dagger thrusting
deep into my clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his pink tractor beam
smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The mixture of butt
nugget and creamy load in my black hole created the delicious sphincter sauce
that he was so fond of. There was magician's wax dripping from his bald avenger
and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty cock snot oozing from my other vagina and all
over my vertical smile. With my vertical smile now much like a stamped bat, he
thought it was time to start sliding my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him
I really need to cut a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to
dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an
antique doorknob in my front bum and my fist up my shit winker. He copped a
giant sewer trout on my cans just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham
sandwich looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different!
The pounding makes me spout my minge mucus all over his all-beef thermometer. I
can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his washington monument. I
awoke the next morning with my stench trench still draining. I thought it was
over but his ramrod had other ideas. When he removed his vein cane from my
tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the hardened fudge nugget off
his Nelson's Column. My cod cave was trembling like jelly. The seemingly
never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his greasy slimelight soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a gerbil into my meat purse
got me spraying spaff faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen more japseyes
than an oriental optician, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my fallopian
fish stock seep like a rabid dog. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing
quim dagger pounding my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. He munched on my vertical garden,
even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. After having
my cod crater fucked, he then proceeded to slam my black hole. My cake hole was
so full of eight inches of throbbing pink jesus and Da Vinci load, the penis
pudding was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my tatas. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his Nelson's Column
shoved deeper into my ring piece. If I don't fluff the muff to get my fallopian
fish stock dripping from my moose knuckle, his slut slayer is going to leave my
lunchmeat resembling Brian May's plughole.

The
mixture of colon cobra and man fat in my turd-herder created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my chlamydia canal raided, he
then proceeded to raid my balloon knot. Hours of raiding like this would leave
any girl's spam castanets looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no
different! The feeling of his magician's wax dribbling down my throat got my
tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't
wait to consume the ectoplasm from his meaty member. My mouth was so full of
balony pony and baby gravy, the Da Vinci load was foaming down my chin and onto
my love bubbles. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise
slobbering from my vintage golf bag and all over my hairy goblet. When he removed
his jade rod from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume
the sewer trout off his blue-veined custard chucker. It was bliss having his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon slid inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet
sausage wallet with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my cod crater
spattering like it used to. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but
the sight of his disco stick made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like Wayne
Rooney's dick in an OAP home. I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole
still dribbling. I thought it was over but his pink tractor beam had other
ideas. 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 wizards sleeve and an antique doorknob up my Oxo orifice. If I don't study
english cliterature to get my shrimp sap foaming from my depravity cavity, his
spam dagger is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a stuntman's knee. By
now, my stench trench was haemorrhaging like a jizz waterfall. My soft-shelled
tuna taco was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. With my
clap flaps now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start
probing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a
butt nugget, I wondered? The pounding makes me surge my tuna tunnel tears all
over his long-dong silver. There was love mayonnaise slobbering from his love
lollipop and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more.
He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had the painters in for the best
part of a week. He copped a giant Mr. Hanky on my twin peaks just so he could
suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting an antique doorknob into my
stench trench got me pouring beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his muffbuster soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his meaty
member hammering my slime hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
dyslexic on Countdown. With his love muscle plowing deep into my pink velvet
sausage wallet, the sensation of his ample cock smashing my cervix made me
quake like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his skin flute slid deeper into my poop chute.

With
his jade rod thrusting deep into my enchilada of love, the sensation of his
sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble
dryer. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight
of his turgid terror truncheon made my vertical moisture flow like someone had
poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He munched on my vertical garden, even
though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. He curled a giant
colon cobra on my top bollocks just so he could consume it up like a pig at a
trough. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton raiding my tampon tunnel
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My
soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like
a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! With my furburger now much like
a shot cat, he thought it was time to start shoving my brown mile. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered?
Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish sliming from my
puckered brown eye and all over my roast beef platter. After having my gaping
clam cavern fucked, he then proceeded to fuck my turd cutter. My cake hole was
so full of washington monument and magician's wax, the steamin' semen was
frothing down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Some girls are happy just to
strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number
of chillies in my tuna canal and a gerbil up my cocoa channel. If I don't
finger blast to get my minge mucus dripping from my tampon tunnel, his jade rod
is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling Brian May's plughole. I can't wait to
suck the love piss from his cunt plunger. By now, my penis pothole was
slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and man fat in
my Mavis Fritter created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
The pounding makes me surge my clunge gunge all over his pink tractor beam.
There was cock custard foaming from his clunger and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. It was bliss having his blind butler
slid inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a number of chillies
just didn't get my Quimcy, M.E. spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending
streams of cock custard emanating from his bugger king soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. Inserting a number of chillies into my gaping clam cavern
got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke
the next morning with my oyster ditch still weeping. I thought it was over but
his skin flute had other ideas. When he removed his bald-headed yogurt slinger
from my marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his
washington monument. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his stilton sword plunged deeper into my mud flap. The
thrusting of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories
joining his thrill drill deep in my puckered brown eye.