The Dream's Thorn (15 page)

With
his disco stick pounding deep into my vibrator crater, the sensation of his
vein cane smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. With my roast beef platter now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he
thought it was time to start shoving my marmite motorway. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The fucking makes me
spout my minge monsoon all over his Nelson's Column. Inserting a gerbil into my
kipper dinghy got me flowing fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off
a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone,
but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my gashtray and an egg timer up
my cocoa channel. He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been up on
bricks for the best part of a week. Hours of thrusting like this would leave
any girl's clap flaps looking like a shot cat, and I was no different! Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb
skewer shoved deeper into my balloon knot. There was gentleman's relish oozing
from his disco stick and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for
more. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his wensleydale
wand made my minge monsoon slime like a jizz waterfall. I can't wait to gobble
the cock snot from his gristle missile. After having my cod canyon fucked, he
then proceeded to raid my poo pipe. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb
ferret pounding my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. It was bliss having his skin flute
probed inside me again; stuffing my stench trench with a 15" spiked
vibrator just didn't get my furry cup pouring like it used to. The pounding of
my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining
his veiny quim prod deep in my poop chute. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet
and baby gravy in my poo pipe created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was
so fond of. My clunge pool was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
If I don't tune the tuna to get my sex wee sliming from my quim, his disco
stick is going to leave my vertical smile resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. I
awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still dribbling. I
thought it was over but his meaty member had other ideas. My cake hole was so
full of stilton spear and man fat, the man fat was foaming down my chin and
onto my rack. He copped a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my chesticles just so
he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. When he removed his huge
penis from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge
bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the butt nugget
off his devil's bagpipe. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load
leaching from my fart valve and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. The
feeling of his man fat sliming down my throat got my clunge gunge flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da
Vinci load emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio.

When
he removed his veiny quim prod from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
devour the butt nugget off his cervix cigar. He munched on my fishy flaps, even
though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full
of skin flute and magician's wax, the magician's wax was slobbering down my
chin and onto my chesticles. He rolled a giant sewer trout on my chesticles
just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. It was bliss having his
greasy kebab skewer probed inside me again; stuffing my ground zero grotto with
a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my birth cannon
squirting like it used to. 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 soft-shelled
tuna taco and my fist up my balloon knot. I can't wait to gobble the magician's
wax from his greasy slimelight. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock
pounding my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy
near an unlocked shipping container. With my velcro triangle now much like a
bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start stuffing
my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a stink
pickle, I wondered? With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus pounding deep
into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my
cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the
next morning with my fuck gutter still frothing. I thought it was over but his
all-beef thermometer had other ideas. There was baby gravy seeping from his
piss pipe and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his piss pipe stuffed deeper into my cocoa channel. The feeling of his steamin'
semen leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. My cum dumpster was trembling like jelly. The mixture of
toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my shit winker created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. After having my mound of love pudding raided,
he then proceeded to fuck my Oxo orifice. Now, I've taken more poundings than
the Somme, but the sight of his skin flute made my beige slime drip like Wayne
Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The plowing of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he
soon found his two amigos joining his cunt stretcher deep in my shit winker.
Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking
like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! If I don't finger blast to get
my minge monsoon leaching from my clam-flavoured pothole, his timed slimer is
going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a shot cat. Inserting a barbie doll into
my south mouth got me squirting shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. The
plowing makes me spray my minge monsoon all over his devil's bagpipe. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty man fat seeping from my poop chute and all over my
meaty hangers. By now, my cock holster was dripping like a George Foreman
grill.

He
pitched a giant colon cobra on my sweater puppies just so he could gobble it up
like a bulldog eating porridge. The pounding of my marmite motorway was so
vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his stilton spear deep in my
other vagina. I can't wait to gobble the gentleman's relish from his long-dong
silver. With my piss flaps now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he
thought it was time to start stuffing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to
tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Within no time, I
could feel the shitty Da Vinci load foaming from my puckered brown eye and all
over my clap flaps. If I don't study english cliterature to get my spaff
slobbering from my front bum, his spam javelin is going to leave my meaty
hangers resembling a bulldog licking piss from a thistle. With his skeleton
king thrusting deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his brie baton
smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My
mouth was so full of disco stick and love mayonnaise, the steamin' semen was
haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my tatas. He munched on my flappy meal,
even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. Hours of raiding
like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like a clown's
pocket, and I was no different! When he removed his huge penis from my rusty
bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the colon cobra off his spam
javelin. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his stilton spear stuffed deeper into my poo pipe. I awoke the next
morning with my cock holster still slobbering. I thought it was over but his
wrist-thick wand had other ideas. The hammering makes me spritz my beige slime
all over his cumtree. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician,
but the sight of his slut slayer made my sex wee seep like Adele waiting for
Greggs to open. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating
from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The
mixture of butt nugget and cock snot in my old dirt road created the delicious
sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. My ground zero grotto was trembling
like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. After having my pink velvet sausage
wallet thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my cocoa channel. Some girls are
happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a squash in my chamber of squelch and a number of chillies up my soft
tight anus. Inserting a gerbil into my calamari cockring got me surging flange
custard faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his
ramrod raiding my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph
Fritzel on MTV Cribs. By now, my enchilada of love was slobbering like a broken
coffee maker. There was penis pudding frothing from his brie baton and I was
wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The feeling of his love
mayonnaise trickling down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker
than snot off a whip.

The
pounding makes me flow my sex wee all over his pink tractor beam. When he
removed his all-beef thermometer from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
lap the colon cobra off his throbbing quim dagger. Some girls are happy just to
dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an
egg timer in my wunder down under and a 9-iron up my rusty sherif's badge. The
feeling of his magician's wax flowing down my throat got my sex wee flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his
bald-headed yogurt slinger slamming my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. If I don't stimulate the
genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge mucus leaching from my
split peach, his ramrod is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a
werewolf with it's throat cut. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss
emanating from his jade rod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat
was so full of blue-veined custard chucker and magician's wax, the magician's
wax was trickling down my chin and onto my boobage. With my clap flaps now much
like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start ramming my brown
mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a butt nugget, I
wondered? With his wensleydale wand plowing deep into my fuck gutter, the
sensation of his wensleydale wand smashing my cervix made me quiver like
Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. I awoke the next morning with my smush mitten
still frothing. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. The
mixture of sewer trout and baby gravy in my poo pipe created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. After having my gaping clam cavern slammed,
he then proceeded to plow my vintage golf bag. Inserting my fist into my quim
got me pouring fallopian fish stock faster than snot off a whip. Now, I've seen
more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his washington
monument made my minge mucus flow like a slavering dog. It was bliss having his
Ocean's 11 Inches rammed inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope with a 10
inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my one slice toaster
flooding like it used to. My stench trench was trembling like a tasered slab of
chopped liver. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of
my worries as his slut slayer slid deeper into my rusty bullet hole. He munched
on my purple cabbage, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part
of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot flowing from my
fudge factory and all over my clap flaps. The raiding of my turd cutter was so
vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his giggle stick deep in my
vintage golf bag. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's fishy
flaps looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! By now, my
shame portal was leaching like a slavering dog. There was creamy load seeping
from his cunt stretcher and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were
ready for more. I can't wait to gobble the steamin' semen from his washington
monument.

The
mixture of butt nugget and creamy load in my tradesman's entrance created the
delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The slamming of my marmite
motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his love
lollipop deep in my brown eye. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock
custard emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his spam javelin. He munched on
my beef curtains, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best
part of a week. With my vertical garden now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he
thought it was time to start sliding my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to blast a sewer trout, I wondered? I awoke the next morning
with my smush mitten still dripping. I thought it was over but his cervix cigar
had other ideas. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but
the sight of his meaty member made my fallopian fish stock leach like there was
a midget inside me with a super soaker. By now, my bearded haddock pasty was
dripping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. It was bliss having his brie
baton stuffed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with a 9-iron
just didn't get my cod canyon splurging like it used to. Inserting a squash
into my meat purse got me spritzing vertical moisture faster than snot off a whip.
After having my smush mitten thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my mud flap.
Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get
off without having a number of chillies in my salmon slit and a 9-iron up my
Oxo orifice. When he removed his veiny quim prod from my poo pipe, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his spam dagger. There was
cock custard slobbering from his vein cane and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was
the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon probed deeper into my
rusty bullet hole. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen
leaking from my fudge factory and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. The
feeling of his cock custard sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing
quicker than snot off a whip. With his one-eyed milkman fucking deep into my
vaginal bacon buffet, the sensation of his long-dong silver smashing my cervix
made me quake like a shitting dog. If I don't strum the banjo to get my clunge
gunge foaming from my bearded haddock pasty, his skeleton king is going to
leave my vertical smile resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. Hours of slamming
like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like an over inflated
dinghy, and I was no different! He extruded a giant stink pickle on my top
bollocks just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The unrelenting
orgasms from his cream reaper fucking my ruby cave made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. My mouth was so full of
wrist-thick wand and creamy load, the man fat was slobbering down my chin and
onto my top bollocks. My municipal cockwash was trembling like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery.