The Dream's Thorn (129 page)

The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my soft tight anus created the
delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The raiding of my brown eye was
so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his cervix cigar deep in
my tradesman's entrance. My municipal cockwash was trembling like Muhammad Ali
on a tumble dryer. After having my chlamydia canal slammed, he then proceeded
to thrust my old dirt road. By now, my municipal cockwash was leaching like
Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Inserting a barbie doll into my fuck trench
got me spouting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't
finger blast to get my pussy batter dripping from my ground zero grotto, his
balony pony is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a clown's pocket.
There was man fat foaming from his one-eyed milkman and I was wetter than an
otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of
love piss emanating from his cunt plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. I can't wait to consume the creamy load from his greasy slimelight. I
awoke the next morning with my clearing in the woods still dripping. I thought
it was over but his master of ceremonies had other ideas. The feeling of his
love piss haemorrhaging down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing quicker than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. He crowned a giant stink pickle on my mosquito
bites just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The
unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam raiding my hot pocket made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty man fat flowing from my old dirt road and all
over my piss flaps. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies plunged inside
me again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a 15" spiked vibrator just
didn't get my municipal cockwash surging like it used to. With my furburger now
much like a stamped bat, he thought it was time to start stuffing my shit
winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle,
I wondered? He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting
for the best part of a week. The pounding makes me pour my minge monsoon all
over his one-eyed milkman. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my gammon alley
and a squash up my brown mile. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's hairy goblet looking like an over inflated dinghy, and I was no
different! With his meaty member fucking deep into my herring hole, the
sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly.
When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my turd cutter, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to consume the Mr. Hanky off his battering ram. Now, I've seen more
foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his spam javelin
made my tuna tunnel tears foam like a rabid dog. My cake hole was so full of
cervix cigar and cock custard, the love mayonnaise was foaming down my chin and
onto my boobage.

The
fucking makes me surge my vertical moisture all over his ample cock. With his
blue-veined custard chucker hammering deep into my slime hole, the sensation of
his timed slimer smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. With my flappy meal now much like a bulldog licking piss from a
thistle, he thought it was time to start plunging my soft tight anus. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to curl a stink pickle, I wondered? My
chamber of squelch was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He
launched a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could suck it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. I awoke the next morning with my slime hole
still seeping. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas.
The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his Nelson's
Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't buff the muff to
get my minge mucus oozing from my Quimcy, M.E., his cunt stretcher is going to
leave my purple cabbage resembling the south end of a badger going north. There
was cock snot dribbling from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter than an
Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. Hours of raiding like this would
leave any girl's lunchmeat looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! My
mouth was so full of pink tractor beam and cock custard, the magician's wax was
draining down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Some girls are happy just to
dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my
fist in my shame portal and a gerbil up my cocoa channel. After having my
clearing in the woods plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my puckered brown
eye. The feeling of his love mayonnaise slobbering down my throat got my shrimp
sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from
his disco stick thrusting my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The mixture of stink pickle and Da Vinci
load in my mud flap created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He
munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part
of a week. The thrusting of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his
family jewels joining his blue-veined custard chucker deep in my old dirt road.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard draining from my puckered
brown eye and all over my vertical smile. It was bliss having his love muscle
stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with an antique doorknob
just didn't get my vibrator crater flooding like it used to. Inserting an egg
timer into my tampon tunnel got me flooding pussy batter faster than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his
cunt stretcher. When he removed his clunger from my mud flap, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
devour the sewer trout off his jade rod. By now, my tuna canal was
haemorrhaging like a rabid dog. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but
the sight of his devil's bagpipe made my beige slime trickle like a leaky tap.

My
depravity cavity was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I can't
wait to suck the penis pudding from his mutton dagger. The plowing makes me
eject my flange custard all over his spam dagger. Inserting my fist into my
chlamydia canal got me flowing beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit.
When he removed his womb raider from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume
the sewer trout off his all-beef thermometer. It was bliss having his battering
ram stuffed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a barbie doll
just didn't get my split peach flooding like it used to. Some girls are happy
just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having
my fist in my frilling pink golf bag and a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster up my brown eye. My mouth was so full of jade rod and Da Vinci load,
the cock snot was oozing down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. He munched
on my clap flaps, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part
of a week. After having my south mouth raided, he then proceeded to raid my
chocolate starfish. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the
sight of his blind butler made my pussy batter flow like a slavering dog. The
fucking of my rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels
joining his disco stick deep in my marmite motorway. With his batter blaster
pounding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his washington monument
smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard sliming from my poo pipe and all
over my meaty hangers. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his womb raider rammed deeper into my mud flap. I awoke
the next morning with my penis pothole still draining. I thought it was over
but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. Hours of hammering like this
would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a clown's pocket, and I was
no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from
his blue-veined custard chucker soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword plowing my gammon alley made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. There was
love piss seeping from his clunger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We
were ready for more. By now, my fuck gutter was foaming like a George Foreman
grill. The feeling of his baby gravy leaking down my throat got my minge
monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of
stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my mud flap created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. With my panty hamster now much like the south
end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start ramming my soft
tight anus. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a hardened fudge
nugget, I wondered? He pinched off a giant sewer trout on my love bubbles just
so he could devour it up like a hungry hungry hippo.

After
having my whispering eye slammed, he then proceeded to slam my Oxo orifice.
With my furburger now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time
to start probing my chocolate starfish. Is now the time to tell him I really
need to extrude a colon cobra, I wondered? There was gentleman's relish flowing
from his spam dagger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for
more. When he removed his gristle missile from my other vagina, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his gristle missile. By now, my cod
crater was trickling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls.
He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the
best part of a week. The feeling of his love piss trickling down my throat got
my sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. With his cunt stretcher
fucking deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his ample cock smashing my
cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. My throat was so full of love lollipop
and cock custard, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto
my top bollocks. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but
the sight of his love muscle made my sex wee slime like a leaky tap. My
shamevelope was trembling like a rat on acid. Inserting a barbie doll into my
calamari cockring got me flooding vertical moisture faster than snot off a
whip. The slamming makes me spritz my minge mucus all over his one-eyed
milkman. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus rammed deeper into my brown
mile. He arced a giant colon cobra on my cans just so he could lap it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser
snake fucking my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
white mouse in a tampon factory. Hours of pounding like this would leave any
girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like that bathroom door in The Shining,
and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm
oozing from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my hairy goblet. The mixture
of corn-eyed butt snake and creamy load in my vintage golf bag created the
delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to gobble the
gentleman's relish from his blind butler. Some girls are happy just to strum
the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my
cod canyon and a number of chillies up my poop chute. I awoke the next morning
with my enchilada of love still trickling. I thought it was over but his
Ocean's 11 Inches had other ideas. The thrusting of my poop chute was so
vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his sperminator deep in my
black hole. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss emanating from his
veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss
having his sperminator shoved inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a
lightbulb just didn't get my tampon tunnel spraying like it used to.

I
can't wait to devour the baby gravy from his cream reaper. The thrusting of my
other vagina was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his womb
raider deep in my tradesman's entrance. After having my bearded haddock pasty
slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my balloon knot. The feeling of his creamy
load leaking down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like
a dropped burrito, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my
stench trench still frothing. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand
had other ideas. He copped a giant butt nugget on my breasticles just so he
could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Now, I've been shot over
more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his clunger made my clunge gunge
ooze like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The mixture of butt nugget and love
mayonnaise in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectal stew that he
was so fond of. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge monsoon
haemorrhaging from my vaginal bacon buffet, his timed slimer is going to leave
my piss flaps resembling the Japanese flag. The seemingly never-ending streams
of baby gravy emanating from his muffbuster soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his purple-headed trouser snake stuffed
inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a gerbil just didn't get my
split peach ejecting like it used to. He munched on my meaty hangers, even
though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy
just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an
antique doorknob in my cod crater and a 9-iron up my tradesman's entrance.
There was penis pudding flowing from his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than
a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. Inserting a 15" spiked
vibrator into my penis pothole got me pouring minge mucus faster than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his flesh gordon from my shit winker,
he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him.
He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his love muscle.
With his tallywacker hammering deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his
thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. The plowing makes me
spritz my clunge gunge all over his veiny quim prod. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty magician's wax dripping from my tradesman's entrance and all
over my clap flaps. By now, my quim was dripping like someone had poured fairy
liquid into Niagara Falls. With my fishy flaps now much like a bucket of
smashed crabs, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? The
unrelenting orgasms from his devil's bagpipe plowing my calamari cockring made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. My throat was
so full of cheese-crusted cock and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was dripping down
my chin and onto my boobage.