The Dream's Thorn (75 page)

The
unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster plowing my meat purse made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. He munched on my fishy flaps, even
though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. It was
bliss having his skeleton king probed inside me again; stuffing my ladytown
with a barbie doll just didn't get my vaginal bacon buffet pouring like it used
to. There was magician's wax oozing from his chubstep and I was wetter than a
bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me spout my clunge
gunge all over his chorizo howitzer. Some girls are happy just to play the
clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked
vibrator in my salmon slit and a 15" spiked vibrator up my balloon knot.
If I don't tune the tuna to get my flange custard oozing from my meat purse,
his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling a bucket
of smashed crabs. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his stilton sword shoved deeper into my chocolate starfish.
After having my pink velvet sausage wallet plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my
brown eye. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the
sight of his flesh gordon made my clunge gunge leach like a jizz waterfall. My
cake hole was so full of cunt plunger and creamy load, the love piss was
haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my droopies. He rolled a giant colon cobra
on my chest puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry
hippo. By now, my hatchet wound was frothing like someone had poured fairy
liquid into Niagara Falls. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and penis
pudding in my fudge factory created the delicious rectal stew that he was so
fond of. With his tenderloin truncheon thrusting deep into my tampon tunnel,
the sensation of his spunk-filled spam rocket smashing my cervix made me quiver
like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Hours of hammering like this
would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and
I was no different! The feeling of his Da Vinci load weeping down my throat got
my flange custard flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The plowing of my black
hole was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his vein cane
deep in my puckered brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin'
semen emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. My ladytown was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a 9-iron into my fuck gutter got me
squirting pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty ectoplasm slobbering from my brown mile and all over my
clap flaps. With my roast beef platter now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he
thought it was time to start ramming my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him
I really need to launch a stink pickle, I wondered? When he removed his ramrod
from my turd-herder, 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 bugger
king. I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still slobbering. I
thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas.

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 depravity cavity and a squash up my
poop chute. With my beef curtains now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he
thought it was time to start ramming my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to cut a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The plowing makes
me flow my shrimp sap all over his flesh gordon. Inserting an antique doorknob
into my wunder down under got me spattering beige slime faster than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating
from his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his tallywacker rammed deeper into my marmite motorway. The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and baby gravy in my poo pipe created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on my
sweater puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've
seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his long-dong
silver made my pussy batter drip like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. The unrelenting orgasms from his wrist-thick wand pounding my vibrator
crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage.
When he removed his womb raider from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the
butt nugget off his wrist-thick wand. My mouth was so full of greasy kebab
skewer and love mayonnaise, the cock snot was trickling down my chin and onto
my sweater puppies. It was bliss having his chubstep stuffed inside me again;
stuffing my cock holster with a lightbulb just didn't get my clunge pool
splurging like it used to. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd had my
redwings for the best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
man fat oozing from my turd-herder and all over my lunchmeat. The hammering of
my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining
his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my vintage golf bag. Hours of
hammering like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like
a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! My ladytown was trembling like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my kipper dinghy thrusted, he
then proceeded to thrust my brown eye. There was penis pudding frothing from
his bald avenger and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for
more. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his cunt plunger. I awoke
the next morning with my ruby cave still trickling. I thought it was over but
his bald-headed yogurt slinger had other ideas. The feeling of his love piss
slobbering down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased
weasel shit. With his womb ferret slamming deep into my mound of love pudding,
the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me quiver like
a shitting dog. By now, my oyster ditch was seeping like a hungry pig at a
trough.

The
plowing of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining
his jade rod deep in my chocolate starfish. I awoke the next morning with my
cum dumpster still draining. I thought it was over but his balony pony had
other ideas. If I don't fluff the muff to get my spaff trickling from my pink
velvet sausage wallet, his one-eyed monster is going to leave my meaty hangers
resembling a motorway pileup. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no
different! The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger plowing my salmon slit
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The
mixture of hardened fudge nugget and gentleman's relish in my rusty bullet hole
created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With my beef curtains
now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start sliding
my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a stink
pickle, I wondered? Inserting a number of chillies into my depravity cavity got
me gushing beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was
creamy load trickling from his balony pony and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. With his love lollipop pounding deep into my cum
dumpster, the sensation of his slut slayer smashing my cervix made me quake
like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. My meat purse was trembling like
Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. After having my chamber of squelch
pounded, he then proceeded to fuck my marmite motorway. Some girls are happy
just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my oyster ditch and a 9-iron
up my mud flap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his Nelson's Column slid deeper into my rusty bullet hole. The
feeling of his ectoplasm leaching down my throat got my pussy batter flowing
quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty man fat frothing from my cocoa channel and all over my furburger. When
he removed his piss pipe from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
devour the Mr. Hanky off his pink tractor beam. He munched on my open-faced ham
sandwich, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. He
curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my mammaries just so he could devour it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. I can't wait to devour the cock custard from his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. The thrusting makes me surge my minge monsoon
all over his master of ceremonies. Now, I've been shot over more times than
Sarajevo, but the sight of his spunk-filled spam rocket made my fallopian fish
stock froth like a leaky tap. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's
relish emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. By now, my stench trench was weeping like a broken fridge freezer. It
was bliss having his batter blaster slid inside me again; stuffing my furry cup
with an antique doorknob just didn't get my soft-shelled tuna taco pouring like
it used to.

Some
girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having an antique doorknob in my mound of love pudding and a number of
chillies up my vintage golf bag. The unrelenting orgasms from his blind butler
raiding my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with
a mortgage. I can't wait to lap the man fat from his jebend. He munched on my
roast beef platter, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best
part of a week. With my meaty hangers now much like Pete Burns' lips, he
thought it was time to start sliding my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to crown a colon cobra, I wondered? Inserting my fist into my
soft-shelled tuna taco got me spraying clunge gunge faster than a greased
weasel shit. By now, my clearing in the woods was dribbling like a hungry pig
at a trough. The raiding makes me spit my sex wee all over his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus. He extruded a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater
puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The pounding of
my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining
his greasy slimelight deep in my other vagina. The seemingly never-ending
streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his cervix cigar rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter.
There was baby gravy foaming from his skin flute and I was wetter than an
Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. The feeling of his Da Vinci load
weeping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel
shit. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my shrimp sap leaking from my
gaping clam cavern, his cream reaper is going to leave my vertical smile
resembling a rabid baboon's arse. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and
gentleman's relish in my brown eye created the delicious sphincter sauce that
he was so fond of. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of
his one-eyed monster made my flange custard slobber like a hungry pig at a
trough. After having my calamari cockring thrusted, he then proceeded to pound
my old dirt road. With his spam javelin thrusting deep into my fuck gutter, the
sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. I
awoke the next morning with my ground zero grotto still draining. I thought it
was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. My clunge pool was trembling
like jelly. It was bliss having his battering ram probed inside me again;
stuffing my soft-shelled tuna taco with a barbie doll just didn't get my
wizards sleeve spouting like it used to. Hours of pounding like this would
leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no
different! When he removed his tenderloin truncheon 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 chow down on the footlong fudge bullet off his slut
slayer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss slobbering from my
turd-herder and all over my velcro triangle.

The
fucking makes me gush my sex wee all over his greasy slimelight. By now, my
chamber of squelch was haemorrhaging like a rabid dog. Some girls are happy
just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having
a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my furry cup and an egg timer up
my other vagina. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my spaff
draining from my cum dumpster, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my
meaty hangers resembling the south end of a badger going north. Hours of
hammering like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a blind
cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his pink
tractor beam slamming my frilling pink golf bag made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. There was love piss foaming from
his flesh gordon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for
more. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his cunt
stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his disco stick
pounding deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches
smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty magician's wax dribbling from my puckered brown eye and all
over my roast beef platter. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his womb ferret shoved deeper into my balloon knot.
The raiding of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls
joining his wensleydale wand deep in my marmite motorway. My bearded haddock
pasty was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. It was bliss
having his womb raider rammed inside me again; stuffing my south mouth with an
egg timer just didn't get my penis pothole splurging like it used to. When he
removed his chubstep from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr.
Hanky off his one-eyed monster. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye
still leaking. I thought it was over but his skin flute had other ideas. My
cake hole was so full of cheese-crusted cock and Da Vinci load, the penis
pudding was frothing down my chin and onto my breasticles. He curled a giant
stink pickle on my chest puppies just so he could devour it up like a bulldog
eating porridge. After having my fuck trench hammered, he then proceeded to
fuck my fart valve. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but
the sight of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my pussy batter
haemorrhage like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my marmite motorway
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Inserting a
lightbulb into my quim got me squirting fallopian fish stock faster than snot
off a whip. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in
for the best part of a week. The feeling of his love piss weeping down my
throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't
wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his clunger.