The Dream's Thorn (97 page)

The
unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper hammering my moose knuckle made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. The feeling of his
steamin' semen leaching down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than
snot off a whip. He pinched off a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my sweater
puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
After having my fuck trench pounded, he then proceeded to pound my fudge
factory. 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
lightbulb in my oyster ditch and a number of chillies up my poop chute. Now,
I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his brie
baton made my fallopian fish stock weep like a broken coffee maker. Hours of
fucking like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a shot
cat, and I was no different! It was bliss having his gristle missile stuffed
inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a squash just didn't get my fuck
gutter ejecting like it used to. The pounding makes me spout my pussy batter
all over his kebeb skewer. The mixture of butt nugget and gentleman's relish in
my poo pipe created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaking from my poo pipe and
all over my fishy flaps. By now, my gammon alley was frothing like a jizz
waterfall. With his timed slimer thrusting deep into my gaping clam cavern, the
sensation of his blue-veined custard chucker smashing my cervix made me quake
like jelly. When he removed his tallywacker from my poop chute, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his womb ferret. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
sperminator stuffed deeper into my balloon knot. My mouth was so full of kebeb
skewer and penis pudding, the steamin' semen was leaking down my chin and onto
my sweater puppies. I can't wait to consume the penis pudding from his womb
ferret. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from
his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the
next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still dribbling. I thought it was
over but his cheese-crusted cock had other ideas. Inserting a number of
chillies into my furry cup got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. There was love mayonnaise trickling from his cunt plunger
and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on
my piss flaps, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.
My clunge pool was trembling like a shitting dog. The pounding of my
tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining
his greasy slimelight deep in my vintage golf bag. If I don't tune the tuna to
get my clunge gunge trickling from my furry cup, his love lollipop is going to
leave my vertical garden resembling a gutted trout.

After
having my split peach slammed, he then proceeded to slam my mud flap. The
fucking makes me flow my minge monsoon all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger.
I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still frothing. I thought it was
over but his piss pipe had other ideas. He munched on my purple cabbage, even
though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his
muffbuster probed inside me again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a
15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my stench trench spraying like it used
to. I can't wait to suck the ectoplasm from his kebeb skewer. If I don't flick
the bean to get my vertical moisture oozing from my kipper dinghy, his chorizo
howitzer is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a hippo's yawn. There
was man fat weeping from his skin flute and I was wetter than an English
summer. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of stilton spear and
penis pudding, the baby gravy was draining down my chin and onto my chest
puppies. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of
his wrist-thick wand made my minge mucus flow like a George Foreman grill. By
now, my south mouth was leaking like a slug in a salt mine. When he removed his
Ocean's 11 Inches from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the sewer
trout off his all-beef thermometer. Hours of plowing like this would leave any
girl's roast beef platter looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no
different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm leaking from my
shit winker and all over my meaty hangers. The unrelenting orgasms from his
blue-veined custard chucker slamming my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a pregnant nun. With his jebend hammering deep into my
quim, the sensation of his mutton dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like
Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like a tasered
slab of chopped liver. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock custard in
my brown mile created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The
pounding of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his family
jewels joining his skin flute deep in my balloon knot. With my furburger now
much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start stuffing my ring
piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a colon cobra, I
wondered? 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 ladytown and a
15" spiked vibrator up my brown eye. The feeling of his cock snot oozing
down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
Inserting an antique doorknob into my depravity cavity got me spraying tuna
tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending
streams of cock custard emanating from his meaty member soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. He blasted a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chest
puppies just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge.

The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and baby gravy in my turd-herder created the delicious
sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The pounding makes me flood my clunge
gunge all over his spam javelin. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da
Vinci load haemorrhaging from my other vagina and all over my fishy flaps.
Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's clap flaps looking like a
stamped bat, and I was no different! Inserting a number of chillies into my
gashtray got me pouring spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. The thrusting
of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining
his stilton sword deep in my turd cutter. The unrelenting orgasms from his
veiny quim prod thrusting my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a white mouse in a tampon factory. My salmon slit was trembling like
Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Now, I've been shot over more times
than Sarajevo, but the sight of his gristle missile made my pussy batter dribble
like a jizz waterfall. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster in my ladytown and an egg timer up my shit winker. I can't wait to
gobble the Da Vinci load from his Nelson's Column. If I don't audition the
finger puppets to get my vertical moisture weeping from my tampon tunnel, his
ample cock is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a horse's collar. The
feeling of his man fat trickling down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of
cheese-crusted cock and man fat, the love mayonnaise was seeping down my chin
and onto my twin peaks. After having my cod cave thrusted, he then proceeded to
raid my vintage golf bag. He crowned a giant butt nugget on my chest puppies
just so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having
his skeleton king rammed inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with
an egg timer just didn't get my ground zero grotto squirting like it used to.
The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I
awoke the next morning with my Quimcy, M.E. still flowing. I thought it was
over but his muffbuster had other ideas. He munched on my panty hamster, even
though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. With his
washington monument thrusting deep into my sperm socket, the sensation of his
spam dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd
concert. There was love piss sliming from his cream reaper and I was wetter
than an English summer. We were ready for more. With my hairy goblet now much
like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start shoving my brown
eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a toilet twinkie, I
wondered? When he removed his cream reaper from my rusty bullet hole, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his veiny quim prod. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his ramrod
rammed deeper into my fart valve.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his kebeb skewer slamming my split peach made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. 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 clunge pool and a 15" spiked vibrator up my rusty sherif's
badge. I can't wait to devour the steamin' semen from his tenderloin truncheon.
With his ample cock thrusting deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his
brie baton smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. By now, my wizards sleeve was flowing like a George Foreman grill.
Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his
slut slayer made my pussy batter dribble like a broken fridge freezer. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his cumtree soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
cock snot frothing from my ring piece and all over my beef curtains. It was
bliss having his Ocean's 11 Inches rammed inside me again; stuffing my Quimcy,
M.E. with a gerbil just didn't get my cock holster gushing like it used to.
There was Da Vinci load dripping from his disco stick and I was wetter than an
otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting an egg timer into my frilling
pink golf bag got me spouting minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and man fat in my vintage golf bag
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He pinched off a
giant hardened fudge nugget on my twin peaks just so he could consume it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. After having my cod canyon slammed, he then
proceeded to slam my puckered brown eye. The feeling of his man fat foaming
down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. The thrusting of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he soon found his
chin pounders joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my turd-herder. I
awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still frothing. I thought
it was over but his cervix cigar had other ideas. He munched on my purple
cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. If
I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter foaming from my vibration
station, his purple-headed trouser snake is going to leave my clap flaps
resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. My cod canyon was trembling like Muhammad
Ali on a tumble dryer. My mouth was so full of Nelson's Column and love piss,
the penis pudding was slobbering down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Hours
of pounding like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like Brian
May's plughole, and I was no different! The pounding makes me flood my clunge
gunge all over his piss pipe. With my furburger now much like a badly wrapped
kebab, he thought it was time to start plunging my Oxo orifice. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree
stuffed deeper into my mud flap.

By
now, my furry cup was foaming like there was a midget inside me with a super
soaker. He blasted a giant colon cobra on my mammaries just so he could gobble
it up like a pig at a trough. With my velcro triangle now much like a bulldog
licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start probing my
turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to curl a toilet
twinkie, I wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's panty
hamster looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! Some girls are
happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion when they're
alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my one slice toaster and a
squash up my black hole. The mixture of stink pickle and cock snot in my shit
winker created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait
to gobble the Da Vinci load from his stilton spear. After having my hatchet
wound slammed, he then proceeded to slam my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've
seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his love lollipop made my minge
monsoon haemorrhage like a slug in a salt mine. The thrusting makes me eject my
tuna tunnel tears all over his blue-veined custard chucker. It was bliss having
his spam javelin slid inside me again; stuffing my hatchet wound with my fist
just didn't get my oyster ditch spattering like it used to. My wizards sleeve
was trembling like a rat on acid. The feeling of his Da Vinci load trickling
down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
With his timed slimer slamming deep into my south mouth, the sensation of his
jebend smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. He munched on my
furburger, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a
week. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still leaching. I
thought it was over but his cervix cigar had other ideas. When he removed his
spam dagger from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt
nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the toilet
twinkie off his wensleydale wand. If I don't flick the bean to get my flange
custard frothing from my gammon alley, his chubstep is going to leave my roast
beef platter resembling badly battered road kill. The thrusting of my old dirt
road was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his piss pipe
deep in my balloon knot. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his meaty member plunged deeper into my brown eye.
Inserting a barbie doll into my depravity cavity got me gushing beige slime
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. There was man fat oozing from his
chubstep and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat oozing from my shit winker and
all over my hairy goblet. My throat was so full of brie baton and magician's
wax, the penis pudding was flowing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The
seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his meaty member
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.