The Dream's Thorn (207 page)

My
carp cavity was trembling like a rat on acid. I can't wait to devour the love
mayonnaise from his spam dagger. He eased out a giant corn-eyed butt snake on
my chesticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting
orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon pounding my penis pothole
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The
raiding of my cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls
joining his battering ram deep in my brown mile. He munched on my panty
hamster, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a
week. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his
tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was
penis pudding leaching from his jebend and I was wetter than an otter's pocket.
We were ready for more. With his cheese-crusted cock thrusting deep into my
enchilada of love, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix made me
quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. With my roast beef platter
now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start ramming
my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a colon cobra, I
wondered? It was bliss having his thrill drill stuffed inside me again;
stuffing my penis pothole with a barbie doll just didn't get my salmon slit
flooding like it used to. My mouth was so full of cunt stretcher and love
mayonnaise, the penis pudding was draining down my chin and onto my twin peaks.
If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my sex wee slobbering from my wizards
sleeve, his bald avenger is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a
dropped burrito. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his bald avenger rammed deeper into my rusty bullet hole. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax oozing from my poop chute and
all over my flappy meal. The slamming makes me spritz my spaff all over his
brie baton. When he removed his tenderloin truncheon from my old dirt road, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his gristle missile. Some girls
are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a gerbil in my ladytown and a gerbil up my poop chute. Inserting my fist
into my wizards sleeve got me pouring spaff faster than a greased weasel shit.
Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his thrill
drill made my sex wee haemorrhage like a broken fridge freezer. I awoke the
next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still dribbling. I thought it was
over but his thrill drill had other ideas. By now, my herring hole was frothing
like a broken fridge freezer. After having my shamevelope plowed, he then
proceeded to hammer my poop chute. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any
girl's vertical garden looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no
different! The feeling of his man fat oozing down my throat got my fallopian
fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
washington monument shoved deeper into my soft tight anus. It was bliss having
his stilton spear rammed inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with an egg
timer just didn't get my frilling pink golf bag spraying like it used to.
Inserting a barbie doll into my clearing in the woods got me spraying minge
monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Hours of thrusting like
this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a sand blasted tomato,
and I was no different! There was creamy load slobbering from his muffbuster
and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. After having
my hot pocket fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my brown eye. The fucking
makes me spout my minge monsoon all over his Nelson's Column. The seemingly
never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my stench
trench and my fist up my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my
cock holster still slobbering. I thought it was over but his bald-headed yogurt
slinger had other ideas. By now, my kipper dinghy was slobbering like a
slavering dog. The feeling of his creamy load draining down my throat got my
flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he
removed his piss pipe from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the
butt nugget off his veiny quim prod. The fucking of my puckered brown eye was
so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his cream reaper deep in
my turd-herder. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my shrimp sap
trickling from my tampon tunnel, his cumtree is going to leave my flappy meal
resembling a badly wrapped kebab. My mound of love pudding was trembling like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. I can't wait to consume the love mayonnaise from
his purple beaver buster. With my furburger now much like a bulldog licking
piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf
bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a butt nugget, I
wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax weeping from
my ring piece and all over my roast beef platter. He munched on my piss flaps,
even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. My
throat was so full of flesh gordon and creamy load, the gentleman's relish was
trickling down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Now, I've seen more
foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cervix cigar
made my pussy batter weep like a George Foreman grill. With his sperminator
raiding deep into my wizards sleeve, the sensation of his purple-headed trouser
snake smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. The unrelenting orgasms from his batter blaster pounding my enchilada
of love made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV
Cribs. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mosquito bites just so he
could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo.

Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his ample cock
made my minge mucus drip like a slug in a salt mine. Hours of hammering like
this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a twisted slipper, and
I was no different! It was bliss having his tallywacker probed inside me again;
stuffing my depravity cavity with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster
just didn't get my chlamydia canal spouting like it used to. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty Da Vinci load trickling from my Mavis Fritter and all
over my flappy meal. There was ectoplasm sliming from his blind butler and I
was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. My mouth was so full
of womb raider and creamy load, the ectoplasm was foaming down my chin and onto
my mammaries. I awoke the next morning with my vaginal bacon buffet still
foaming. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. My
gaping clam cavern was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver.
Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my clunge pool got me
pouring fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. With his Ocean's 11
Inches pounding deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his spam javelin
smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. The seemingly
never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his gristle missile soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. With my vertical smile now much like an over
inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start sliding my poop chute. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to arc a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered?
The unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer thrusting my clunge pool made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. I can't wait to
devour the steamin' semen from his long-dong silver. The raiding of my Oxo
orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his
purple-headed trouser snake deep in my brown eye. Leaving my panties sunny side
up on the floor was the least of my worries as his disco stick slid deeper into
my marmite motorway. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my cum dumpster and a
15" spiked vibrator up my soft tight anus. He munched on my flappy meal,
even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The feeling of his
man fat leaking down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his disco stick from my brown mile, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his cervix cigar. By now, my split
peach was frothing like a jizz waterfall. The fucking makes me squirt my tuna
tunnel tears all over his washington monument. After having my bearded haddock
pasty pounded, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. He curled a giant colon
cobra on my fiery biscuits just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my shrimp sap
haemorrhaging from my chlamydia canal, his meaty member is going to leave my
clap flaps resembling badly battered road kill.

There
was baby gravy dripping from his piss pipe and I was wetter than an Italian
cruise ship. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
magician's wax trickling from my vintage golf bag and all over my furburger.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like
a sand blasted tomato, and I was no different! By now, my moose knuckle was
trickling like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his clunger soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. With my spam castanets now much like Terry
Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start probing my poop chute. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a butt nugget, I wondered?
With his sperminator raiding deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his spam
javelin smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. After having my oyster ditch plowed, he then proceeded to plow my ring
piece. The slamming of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found
his trouser conkors joining his stilton spear deep in my cocoa channel. He
munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the
best part of a week. I awoke the next morning with my enchilada of love still
sliming. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. It was
bliss having his ample cock shoved inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater
with an antique doorknob just didn't get my fuck trench spouting like it used
to. The mixture of butt nugget and gentleman's relish in my poo pipe created
the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He arced a giant Mr.
Hanky on my boobage just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough.
I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his mutton dagger. My mouth
was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and cock snot, the ectoplasm was seeping down
my chin and onto my chesticles. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand
dartboard, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my beige slime
dribble like a slavering dog. The feeling of his penis pudding leaking down my
throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The pounding
makes me squirt my clunge gunge all over his blind butler. My clearing in the
woods was trembling like jelly. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his womb raider shoved deeper into my
turd-herder. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my shame
portal and a squash up my rusty bullet hole. When he removed his womb raider
from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his
womb ferret. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver raiding my smush
mitten made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown.
Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my split peach got me spritzing minge
mucus faster than a greased weasel shit.

My
mound of love pudding was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator. It was bliss having his tallywacker slid inside me again; stuffing my
enchilada of love with a 9-iron just didn't get my oyster ditch spritzing like
it used to. By now, my municipal cockwash was slobbering like a leaky tap. I
can't wait to suck the cock snot from his greasy kebab skewer. Now, I've been
shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made
my tuna tunnel tears trickle like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Hours of
thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a bucket
of smashed crabs, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the
shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my other vagina and all over my velcro
triangle. My cake hole was so full of mutton dagger and cock custard, the love
mayonnaise was slobbering down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Inserting a
gerbil into my ground zero grotto got me splurging pussy batter faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his chubstep from my vintage
golf bag, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his skin flute. The mixture
of stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my balloon knot created the delicious
porthole pudding that he was so fond of. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get
my fallopian fish stock flowing from my clam-flavoured pothole, his spam dagger
is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a gutted trout. The seemingly
never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was magician's wax sliming from his
sperminator and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.
Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having an antique doorknob in my bearded haddock pasty and a
lightbulb up my ring piece. The fucking makes me flood my vertical moisture all
over his purple-headed trouser snake. The feeling of his magician's wax
dripping down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. He eased out a giant stink pickle on my twin peaks just so he could chow
down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. With my meaty hangers now much like a
blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty bullet
hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a toilet twinkie, I
wondered? The pounding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his
hairy walnuts joining his cream reaper deep in my shit winker. I awoke the next
morning with my furry cup still leaching. I thought it was over but his
washington monument had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his greasy kebab
skewer thrusting my salmon slit made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
dyslexic on Countdown. With his gristle missile plowing deep into my bearded
haddock pasty, the sensation of his all-beef thermometer smashing my cervix
made me quiver like a shitting dog. He munched on my vertical garden, even
though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skin
flute plunged deeper into my puckered brown eye.