The Dream's Thorn (192 page)

With
his cream reaper plowing deep into my depravity cavity, the sensation of his
one-eyed milkman smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking
a car battery. If I don't tune the tuna to get my pussy batter seeping from my
calamari cockring, his huge penis is going to leave my vertical smile
resembling Pete Burns' lips. The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile
pounding my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph
Fritzel on MTV Cribs. After having my gaping clam cavern plowed, he then
proceeded to raid my turd-herder. My one slice toaster was trembling like a
shitting dog. The hammering of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his
jingle-jangle jewellery joining his wensleydale wand deep in my fart valve. The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock snot in my mud flap created the delicious rectal
stew that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my spunk dungeon
and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my rusty bullet hole. The
seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his stilton sword soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Inserting a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster into my pink velvet sausage wallet got me ejecting
minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The fucking makes me
eject my beige slime all over his gristle missile. By now, my fuck trench was
slobbering like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. I can't wait
to devour the love piss from his jebend. My throat was so full of pink tractor
beam and cock custard, the penis pudding was draining down my chin and onto my
fiery biscuits. With my clap flaps now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it
was time to start stuffing my soft tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to cut a stink pickle, I wondered? It was bliss having his Nelson's
Column shoved inside me again; stuffing my tampon tunnel with a number of
chillies just didn't get my hatchet wound flowing like it used to. When he
removed his jade rod from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet
twinkie off his womb raider. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his womb ferret probed deeper into my rusty sherif's
badge. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the
best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my enchilada of love still
oozing. I thought it was over but his gristle missile had other ideas. Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his wrist-thick wand
made my spaff leak like a George Foreman grill. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty man fat seeping from my cocoa channel and all over my lunchmeat.
There was magician's wax sliming from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than
a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Hours of slamming like this would
leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I
was no different! The feeling of his Da Vinci load trickling down my throat got
my beige slime flowing quicker 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 9-iron in my gaping clam
cavern and my fist up my tradesman's entrance. I can't wait to chow down on the
steamin' semen from his ramrod. My birth cannon was trembling like Muhammad Ali
on a tumble dryer. The feeling of his baby gravy weeping down my throat got my
beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty baby gravy leaching from my puckered brown eye and all over my
flappy meal. Inserting an egg timer into my gashtray got me spouting spaff
faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his master of
ceremonies slamming my kipper dinghy made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. It was bliss having his greasy
slimelight slid inside me again; stuffing my penis pothole with a 15"
spiked vibrator just didn't get my moose knuckle spouting like it used to. With
his brie baton hammering deep into my quim, the sensation of his stilton spear
smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The
slamming makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his stilton spear. By
now, my chamber of squelch was oozing like a jizz waterfall. With my open-faced
ham sandwich now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start
stuffing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a
hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? After having my shame portal slammed, he
then proceeded to slam my other vagina. My cake hole was so full of Nelson's
Column and creamy load, the magician's wax was seeping down my chin and onto my
cans. He cut a giant Mr. Hanky on my fiery biscuits just so he could consume it
up like a pig at a trough. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's
vertical garden looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! He
munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of
a week. There was cock snot flowing from his tenderloin truncheon and I was
wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The slamming of my other
vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his
purple-headed trouser snake deep in my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've taken
more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his turgid terror truncheon
made my flange custard ooze like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy
Wonka's chocolate river. The mixture of toilet twinkie and steamin' semen in my
fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The
seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his stilton
sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning
with my vaginal bacon buffet still sliming. I thought it was over but his
wrist-thick wand had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his piss pipe stuffed deeper into my turd
cutter. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my turd-herder, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his gristle missile.

By
now, my cock holster was leaching like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. With
his all-beef thermometer pounding deep into my vaginal bacon buffet, the
sensation of his spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on
acid. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking
like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different! With my beef curtains now
much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start sliding my
turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a stink pickle, I
wondered? The hammering makes me spray my fallopian fish stock all over his
flesh gordon. The pounding of my soft tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found
his wrecking balls joining his throbbing quim dagger deep in my fart valve.
When he removed his chubstep from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
suck the toilet twinkie off his tenderloin truncheon. It was bliss having his
battering ram stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gashtray with a barbie doll
just didn't get my mound of love pudding splurging like it used to. My tampon
tunnel was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The mixture of
corn-eyed butt snake and magician's wax in my cocoa channel created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Some girls are happy just to study
english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster in my depravity cavity and an egg timer up
my brown mile. There was steamin' semen slobbering from his love muscle and I
was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Within no time,
I could feel the shitty creamy load trickling from my ring piece and all over
my furburger. My throat was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and man fat, the Da
Vinci load was slobbering down my chin and onto my chest puppies. Inserting a
9-iron into my gammon alley got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than snot
off a whip. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd had my redwings for
the best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my frilling pink golf
bag still foaming. I thought it was over but his kebeb skewer had other ideas.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his gristle missile stuffed deeper into my poop chute. The seemingly
never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his bugger king soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on
my droopies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't
wait to chow down on the cock custard from his skin flute. The unrelenting
orgasms from his kebeb skewer hammering my spunk dungeon made me come so hard,
I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. After having my clam-flavoured
pothole pounded, he then proceeded to pound my Oxo orifice. The feeling of his
magician's wax leaking down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler,
but the sight of his washington monument made my fallopian fish stock leak like
a George Foreman grill.

Inserting
a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my split peach got me spritzing
minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me eject my
flange custard all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger. I can't wait to gobble
the cock custard from his one-eyed milkman. I awoke the next morning with my
hatchet wound still leaking. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had
other ideas. There was ectoplasm sliming from his kebeb skewer and I was wetter
than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. When he removed his stilton
sword from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed
butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the
stink pickle off his timed slimer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love
mayonnaise slobbering from my turd cutter and all over my velcro triangle. The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and creamy load in my puckered brown eye
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. If I don't fluff the
muff to get my sex wee weeping from my sperm socket, his vein cane is going to
leave my lunchmeat resembling a sand blasted tomato. The unrelenting orgasms
from his slut slayer thrusting my cock holster made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. Hours of fucking like this
would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel,
and I was no different! After having my chlamydia canal fucked, he then
proceeded to raid my brown mile. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaching down
my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now,
I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his bugger king
made my pussy batter slobber like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. My slime
hole was trembling like jelly. By now, my kipper dinghy was trickling like a
hungry pig at a trough. It was bliss having his batter blaster probed inside me
again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a gerbil just didn't get my stench trench
spritzing like it used to. He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been
on the rag for the best part of a week. He arced a giant toilet twinkie on my
droopies just so he could consume 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
probed deeper into my ring piece. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy
load emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. With his wensleydale wand hammering deep into my mound of love pudding,
the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quiver like
jelly. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a 9-iron in my carp cavity and a 15" spiked
vibrator up my mud flap. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon
found his hairy walnuts joining his Nelson's Column deep in my old dirt road.
With my panty hamster now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it
was time to start shoving my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him
I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered?

The
unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger pounding my shame portal made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. It was bliss
having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus slid inside me again; stuffing
my hot pocket with a 9-iron just didn't get my clearing in the woods spraying
like it used to. By now, my slime hole was dribbling like there was a midget
inside me with a super soaker. The mixture of stink pickle and cock custard in
my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. There
was Da Vinci load leaking from his vein cane and I was wetter than a well
diggers arse. We were ready for more. When he removed his bald avenger from my
poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his
tallywacker. With his clunger pounding deep into my herring hole, the sensation
of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a
Pink Floyd concert. I can't wait to gobble the penis pudding from his giggle
stick. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been walking the red
carpet for the best part of a week. Hours of raiding like this would leave any
girl's piss flaps looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no
different! Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a gerbil in my gammon alley and a 9-iron up my marmite
motorway. The raiding makes me pour my sex wee all over his love muscle. The
feeling of his baby gravy weeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly
never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his washington monument soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my roast beef platter now much
like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start ramming my rusty sherif's
badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a colon cobra, I
wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish draining
from my soft tight anus and all over my piss flaps. Inserting an egg timer into
my oyster ditch got me spouting spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his washington
monument made my beige slime trickle like a broken fridge freezer. My throat
was so full of devil's bagpipe and magician's wax, the gentleman's relish was
leaking down my chin and onto my mammaries. After having my calamari cockring
raided, he then proceeded to fuck my puckered brown eye. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jebend shoved
deeper into my mud flap. He pitched a giant footlong fudge bullet on my
superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. If I
don't study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears trickling from my
Quimcy, M.E., his love lollipop is going to leave my vertical smile resembling
a badly wrapped kebab. The raiding of my other vagina was so vigorous, he soon
found his sperm factories joining his purple-headed trouser snake deep in my
poop chute. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still haemorrhaging.
I thought it was over but his sperminator had other ideas.