The Dream's Thorn (93 page)

The
unrelenting orgasms from his chorizo howitzer plowing my cod canyon made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my black hole created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He arced a giant stink pickle on my twin
peaks just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My cake hole
was so full of jade rod and Da Vinci load, the penis pudding was leaking down
my chin and onto my superdroopers. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby
gravy draining from my fudge factory and all over my clap flaps. By now, my
chlamydia canal was leaking like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. The raiding makes me spritz my pussy batter all over his bald avenger.
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
lap the hardened fudge nugget off his washington monument. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon stuffed deeper into my shit winker. With my open-faced ham
sandwich now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start
sliding my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude
a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? Inserting an egg timer into my clunge pool
got me squirting spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. With his Nelson's
Column slamming deep into my ruby cave, the sensation of his skeleton king
smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. It
was bliss having his womb raider stuffed inside me again; stuffing my vibration
station with my fist just didn't get my enchilada of love splurging like it
used to. My municipal cockwash was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert. After having my tampon tunnel plowed, he then proceeded to slam my
turd cutter. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight
of his cervix cigar made my minge mucus slobber like a jizz waterfall. The
feeling of his penis pudding draining down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. The slamming of my turd cutter was so
vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his bald avenger deep in my
brown mile. 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 chlamydia
canal and an egg timer up my shit winker. The seemingly never-ending streams of
steamin' semen emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't flick the bean to get my
fallopian fish stock frothing from my ruby cave, his greasy slimelight is going
to leave my beef curtains resembling a sand blasted tomato. There was Da Vinci
load trickling from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than an otter's
pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my spam castanets, even though
I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. I awoke the next
morning with my tuna canal still flowing. I thought it was over but his mutton
dagger had other ideas. I can't wait to chow down on the cock custard from his
throbbing quim dagger.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his greasy slimelight thrusting my one slice toaster
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. My throat
was so full of stilton spear and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was draining down my
chin and onto my love bubbles. There was love piss frothing from his balony
pony and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The
feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my hatchet wound was frothing like
someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. After having my front bum
raided, he then proceeded to raid my soft tight anus. Now, I've had more hands
up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made
my spaff drip like a broken fridge freezer. With his disco stick plowing deep
into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my
cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. It was bliss having his brie baton
slid inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a lightbulb just didn't get
my oyster ditch pouring like it used to. The mixture of colon cobra and man fat
in my cocoa channel created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond
of. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich
looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was no different! He copped a giant
corn-eyed butt snake on my cans just so he could consume it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches slid deeper into my fudge factory. When he
removed his love lollipop from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait
to suck the butt nugget off his blue-veined custard chucker. Inserting a
lightbulb into my cock holster got me spraying vertical moisture faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. With my furburger now much like a clown's
pocket, he thought it was time to start plunging my poo pipe. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to cop a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? If I don't
buff the muff to get my fallopian fish stock haemorrhaging from my ground zero
grotto, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my clap flaps resembling
a bucket of smashed crabs. The slamming of my other vagina was so vigorous, he
soon found his clock weights joining his battering ram deep in my marmite
motorway. My split peach was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. I awoke the next morning with my front bum still slobbering. I thought
it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
cock snot weeping from my black hole and all over my fishy flaps. He munched on
my velcro triangle, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best
part of a week. The fucking makes me pour my minge mucus all over his mutton
dagger. I can't wait to gobble the man fat from his wrist-thick wand.

Some
girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a barbie doll in my fuck gutter and a gerbil up my soft tight
anus. The plowing of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his two
amigos joining his clunger deep in my chocolate starfish. The fucking makes me
spout my pussy batter all over his meaty member. After having my carp cavity
thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown eye. Inserting a
lightbulb into my stench trench got me spouting beige slime faster than a
greased weasel shit. With his chubstep slamming deep into my gashtray, the
sensation of his meaty member smashing my cervix made me quake like an
epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my one slice toaster was sliming
like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He curled a giant
hardened fudge nugget on my twin peaks just so he could devour it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches stuffed deeper into my shit
winker. When he removed his muffbuster from my brown mile, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his muffbuster. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his disco stick soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my vertical smile, even
though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. My cake hole was so
full of wensleydale wand and cock snot, the magician's wax was foaming down my
chin and onto my breasticles. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's
fishy flaps looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no
different! The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and penis pudding in my ring
piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The
feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. My moose knuckle was trembling like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled
tuna taco still dribbling. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon had other ideas. It was bliss having his blind butler stuffed
inside me again; stuffing my tuna canal with a 9-iron just didn't get my spunk
dungeon spattering like it used to. If I don't flick the bean to get my
vertical moisture frothing from my ground zero grotto, his tenderloin truncheon
is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a sand blasted tomato. With my
clap flaps now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it
was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to pitch a stink pickle, I wondered? Now, I've been told the sperm bank
will accept my spit, but the sight of his skeleton king made my beige slime
froth like a rabid dog. There was cock custard dribbling from his jade rod and
I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to
chow down on the love mayonnaise from his purple beaver buster. Within no time,
I could feel the shitty cock snot dripping from my ring piece and all over my
open-faced ham sandwich.

When
he removed his turgid terror truncheon from my mud flap, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait
to chow down on the butt nugget off his cream reaper. The mixture of corn-eyed
butt snake and Da Vinci load in my old dirt road created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. After having my mound of love pudding thrusted,
he then proceeded to raid my brown eye. Inserting a 9-iron into my
clam-flavoured pothole got me squirting spaff faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard frothing
from my ring piece and all over my flappy meal. The unrelenting orgasms from
his thrill drill pounding my cum dumpster made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a pregnant nun. He blasted a giant butt nugget on my droopies
just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin shoved
deeper into my cocoa channel. I can't wait to devour the cock custard from his
cunt stretcher. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had my
redwings for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second
hand dartboard, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my tuna tunnel
tears froth like a broken coffee maker. The seemingly never-ending streams of
baby gravy emanating from his thrill drill soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. The feeling of his steamin' semen weeping down my throat got
my clunge gunge flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke
the next morning with my slime hole still dribbling. I thought it was over but
his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other ideas. With his tenderloin
truncheon fucking deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his
mutton dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. If I don't fish for pearls to get my clunge gunge draining from my
shamevelope, his washington monument is going to leave my vertical smile
resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Hours of thrusting like this would leave
any girl's beef curtains looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no
different! My cod crater was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. It
was bliss having his womb raider probed inside me again; stuffing my cod canyon
with my fist just didn't get my pink velvet sausage wallet pouring like it used
to. There was ectoplasm oozing from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than
a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The hammering of my soft tight anus
was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his greasy kebab skewer
deep in my poop chute. My throat was so full of throbbing quim dagger and penis
pudding, the gentleman's relish was leaching down my chin and onto my
chesticles. The raiding makes me flow my pussy batter all over his blind
butler. With my vertical smile now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought
it was time to start ramming my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to drop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? By now, my whispering
eye was foaming like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his washington monument thrusting my birth cannon made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. My cock
holster was trembling like a rat on acid. The mixture of butt nugget and man
fat in my balloon knot created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so
fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish flowing
from my mud flap and all over my hairy goblet. He munched on my vertical smile,
even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Inserting my
fist into my penis pothole got me squirting pussy batter faster than snot off a
whip. He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he could devour it up like
a pig at a trough. By now, my birth cannon was frothing like a hungry pig at a
trough. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking
like a stamped bat, and I was no different! If I don't fluff the muff to get my
vertical moisture weeping from my hatchet wound, his mutton dagger is going to
leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling Pete Burns' lips. Some girls are
happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a squash in my penis pothole and a number of chillies up my
vintage golf bag. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise
emanating from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still
draining. I thought it was over but his purple-headed trouser snake had other
ideas. I can't wait to lap the cock custard from his purple-headed trouser
snake. It was bliss having his chubstep shoved inside me again; stuffing my
gaping clam cavern with an antique doorknob just didn't get my hot pocket
ejecting like it used to. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my
throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With my
fishy flaps now much like a motorway pileup, he thought it was time to start
sliding my poop chute. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a butt
nugget, I wondered? The slamming makes me surge my tuna tunnel tears all over
his long-dong silver. After having my smush mitten raided, he then proceeded to
raid my cocoa channel. When he removed his piss pipe from my turd cutter, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his love muscle. The pounding of my
Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam
dagger deep in my vintage golf bag. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second
hand dartboard, but the sight of his love muscle made my shrimp sap froth like
a rabid dog. With his cunt plunger pounding deep into my kipper dinghy, the
sensation of his purple-headed trouser snake smashing my cervix made me quake
like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer stuffed
deeper into my balloon knot. My throat was so full of timed slimer and love
piss, the baby gravy was slobbering down my chin and onto my sweater puppies.