The Dream's Thorn (213 page)

Inserting
an egg timer into my hatchet wound got me pouring spaff faster than snot off a
whip. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my vertical moisture
leaching from my Quimcy, M.E., his Nelson's Column is going to leave my spam
castanets resembling a dropped burrito. My wizards sleeve was trembling like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was dribbling like a
broken coffee maker. I awoke the next morning with my south mouth still
weeping. I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. There was cock
snot trickling from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than a spastic's chin.
We were ready for more. It was bliss having his mutton dagger rammed inside me
again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a 9-iron just didn't get my hatchet
wound spritzing like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of love
mayonnaise emanating from his blue-veined custard chucker soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of muffbuster and gentleman's
relish, the Da Vinci load was flowing down my chin and onto my top bollocks.
With his Nelson's Column raiding deep into my clearing in the woods, the sensation
of his tenderloin truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of hammering like this would leave any
girl's purple cabbage looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different!
The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and ectoplasm in my soft tight anus
created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He munched on my piss
flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a
week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy seeping from my
tradesman's entrance and all over my vertical garden. The unrelenting orgasms
from his flesh gordon hammering my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I
began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The plowing makes me spray my
shrimp sap all over his batter blaster. After having my birth cannon slammed,
he then proceeded to fuck my turd-herder. With my flappy meal now much like a
bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a footlong fudge bullet,
I wondered? I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his love lollipop.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his wrist-thick wand stuffed deeper into my balloon knot. Now, I've taken more
poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his love lollipop made my minge
monsoon drip like a slug in a salt mine. When he removed his greasy slimelight
from my mud flap, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake
staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his
stilton spear. The feeling of his Da Vinci load leaking down my throat got my
shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to
finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in
my salmon slit and a gerbil up my turd-herder. The fucking of my chocolate
starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his
batter blaster deep in my brown eye.

My
mouth was so full of womb raider and magician's wax, the magician's wax was
dripping down my chin and onto my droopies. The feeling of his cock snot
weeping down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. There was Da Vinci load leaking from his balony pony and I was wetter
than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending
streams of steamin' semen emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. The hammering of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he
soon found his clock weights joining his spam dagger deep in my cocoa channel.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his pink
tractor beam made my flange custard slime like Adele waiting for Greggs to
open. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still leaching. I thought
it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. It was bliss having his
ramrod slid inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy, M.E. with a 9-iron just didn't
get my wizards sleeve squirting like it used to. The mixture of stink pickle
and Da Vinci load in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce
that he was so fond of. When he removed his washington monument from my cocoa
channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the butt nugget off his love lollipop.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like Terry
Waite's allotment, and I was no different! He cut a giant colon cobra on my
chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
Inserting my fist into my clunge pool got me surging clunge gunge faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't tune the tuna to get my sex wee
foaming from my quim, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my hairy
goblet resembling a motorway pileup. The raiding makes me spritz my tuna tunnel
tears all over his skin flute. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog in a
windtunnel, he thought it was time to start probing my old dirt road. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered? My stench
trench was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod
slid deeper into my other vagina. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich,
even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. The
unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton fucking my quim made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. I can't wait to consume the
love piss from his sperminator. With his one-eyed monster pounding deep into my
penis pothole, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my
cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. After having my moose knuckle raided,
he then proceeded to pound my old dirt road. By now, my clam-flavoured pothole
was foaming like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Within no time, I could feel
the shitty man fat haemorrhaging from my marmite motorway and all over my panty
hamster.

With
his devil's bagpipe hammering deep into my hatchet wound, the sensation of his
throbbing quim dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a barbie doll into my meat purse got me
pouring minge mucus faster than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to suck the
gentleman's relish from his turgid terror truncheon. The hammering makes me
flood my shrimp sap all over his Nelson's Column. The unrelenting orgasms from his
pink tractor beam thrusting my one slice toaster made me come so hard, I began
sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. There was steamin' semen oozing
from his ample cock and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for
more. 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 one slice toaster and a barbie doll
up my mud flap. When he removed his giggle stick from my brown mile, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to chow down on the stink pickle off his jebend. He munched on my
fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his chubstep plunged deeper into my old dirt road. It was bliss having his
tallywacker stuffed inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with a 15"
spiked vibrator just didn't get my gashtray squirting like it used to. I awoke
the next morning with my slime hole still slobbering. I thought it was over but
his timed slimer had other ideas. If I don't finger blast to get my sex wee
dripping from my whispering eye, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my
lunchmeat resembling a stamped bat. My chamber of squelch was trembling like an
epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. With my fishy flaps now much like a twisted
slipper, he thought it was time to start probing my puckered brown eye. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered?
My cake hole was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and creamy load, the
creamy load was leaking down my chin and onto my top bollocks. By now, my moose
knuckle was leaking like a broken coffee maker. The mixture of hardened fudge
nugget and man fat in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of. The feeling of his magician's wax flowing down my
throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The
fucking of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining
his mutton dagger deep in my soft tight anus. Hours of thrusting like this
would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like a blind cobbler's thumb,
and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax
emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my droopies just so he could
chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've seen more japseyes than
an oriental optician, but the sight of his ample cock made my shrimp sap
dribble like a hungry pig at a trough. After having my herring hole plowed, he
then proceeded to hammer my poop chute.

By
now, my salmon slit was oozing like a hungry pig at a trough. My cock holster
was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Now, I've seen more
foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his bald-headed
yogurt slinger made my tuna tunnel tears drip like Wayne Rooney's dick in an
OAP home. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock hammering my Quimcy, M.E.
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. He
arced a giant stink pickle on my mosquito bites just so he could consume it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to audition the
finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron
in my mound of love pudding and an antique doorknob up my Oxo orifice. It was
bliss having his cunt stretcher probed inside me again; stuffing my one slice
toaster with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my
vibrator crater spraying like it used to. I can't wait to gobble the steamin'
semen from his skeleton king. He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd
had my redwings for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams
of cock custard emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. The raiding makes me surge my sex wee all over his jade
rod. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still
haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas.
Inserting a number of chillies into my bearded haddock pasty got me spattering
shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his kebeb skewer
thrusting deep into my split peach, the sensation of his pink tractor beam
smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
If I don't tune the tuna to get my vertical moisture dribbling from my whispering
eye, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a
gutted trout. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his womb ferret rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. When he
removed his wensleydale wand from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour
the sewer trout off his greasy kebab skewer. Hours of fucking like this would
leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a manatee in yoga pants, and I was
no different! My cake hole was so full of cervix cigar and cock snot, the man
fat was flowing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. With my roast beef
platter now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start
ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon
cobra, I wondered? The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my
chocolate starfish created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The
raiding of my turd-herder was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors
joining his mutton dagger deep in my old dirt road. After having my stench
trench thrusted, he then proceeded to pound my rusty bullet hole. The feeling
of his Da Vinci load trickling down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than
a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load
frothing from my ring piece and all over my vertical smile.

Now,
I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his batter
blaster made my vertical moisture trickle like a broken coffee maker. There was
magician's wax slobbering from his cheese-crusted cock and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
magician's wax dripping from my chocolate starfish and all over my meaty
hangers. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could
devour it up like a pig at a trough. After having my tampon tunnel slammed, he
then proceeded to plow my cocoa channel. I can't wait to devour the man fat
from his turgid terror truncheon. My mouth was so full of balony pony and
steamin' semen, the cock snot was dribbling down my chin and onto my mammaries.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his muffbuster probed deeper into my poop chute. The plowing makes me spritz my
spaff all over his womb raider. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster into my spunk dungeon got me pouring minge mucus faster than a greased
weasel shit. With his throbbing quim dagger pounding deep into my tampon
tunnel, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like
an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. If I don't flick the bean to get my minge
mucus sliming from my hot pocket, his devil's bagpipe is going to leave my
lunchmeat resembling a stamped bat. My kipper dinghy was trembling like a
shitting dog. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had my redwings
for the best part of a week. With my velcro triangle now much like an over
inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start ramming my tradesman's
entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? It was bliss having his sperminator slid inside me again;
stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with a barbie doll just didn't get my
bearded haddock pasty squirting like it used to. When he removed his skeleton
king 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 gobble the butt nugget
off his sperminator. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish
emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
By now, my ground zero grotto was dripping like a hungry pig at a trough. Some
girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having my fist in my chamber of squelch and a barbie doll up my rusty
bullet hole. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking
like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! The thrusting of my
cocoa channel was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his bald
avenger deep in my turd cutter. The mixture of stink pickle and penis pudding
in my chocolate starfish created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so
fond of. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still flowing. I thought
it was over but his brie baton had other ideas. The feeling of his Da Vinci
load haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than
snot off a whip.