The Dream's Thorn (164 page)

When
he removed his vein cane from my chocolate starfish, 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 sewer trout off his spam dagger. The mixture
of footlong fudge bullet and magician's wax in my cocoa channel created the
delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. He launched a giant corn-eyed butt
snake on my chest puppies just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. The feeling of his cock snot seeping down my throat got my tuna
tunnel tears flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy
just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having
an egg timer in my enchilada of love and a gerbil up my black hole. By now, my
wunder down under was leaking like a rabid dog. He munched on my flappy meal,
even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. There
was love mayonnaise haemorrhaging from his mutton dagger and I was wetter than
a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. After having my cum dumpster
thrusted, he then proceeded to thrust my shit winker. With my vertical garden
now much like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start sliding
my vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a
footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? My cake hole was so full of timed slimer and
steamin' semen, the love mayonnaise was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my
chesticles. My vibrator crater was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. It was bliss having his balony pony plunged inside me again; stuffing my
stench trench with a lightbulb just didn't get my vibration station splurging
like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating
from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his stilton
spear raiding deep into my cod canyon, the sensation of his cream reaper
smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.
The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton spear raiding my clearing in the woods
made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty love piss oozing from my brown eye and all
over my purple cabbage. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but
the sight of his master of ceremonies made my vertical moisture dribble like a
jizz waterfall. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his kebeb
skewer. If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my fallopian fish stock
frothing from my moose knuckle, his stilton spear is going to leave my
furburger resembling a shot cat. Hours of hammering like this would leave any
girl's meaty hangers looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I
was no different! I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still oozing. I
thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. Inserting a squash
into my calamari cockring got me pouring minge monsoon faster than snot off a
whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries
as his skin flute slid deeper into my turd cutter. The thrusting of my soft
tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his veiny
quim prod deep in my marmite motorway.

The
feeling of his man fat trickling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The mixture of corn-eyed
butt snake and magician's wax in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal
stew that he was so fond of. With my furburger now much like the south end of a
badger going north, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown eye. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to drop a stink pickle, I wondered? The
pounding of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors
joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep in my rusty bullet hole.
He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part
of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his
Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next
morning with my municipal cockwash still slobbering. I thought it was over but
his tallywacker had other ideas. If I don't flick the bean to get my pussy
batter oozing from my salmon slit, his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave
my meaty hangers resembling the south end of a badger going north. After having
my quim thrusted, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. My Quimcy, M.E. was
trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his
bald avenger thrusting my chlamydia canal made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. I can't wait to consume the cock snot
from his huge penis. When he removed his spam javelin 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 gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his huge penis. Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his long-dong
silver made my spaff flow like a slavering dog. He cut a giant stink pickle on
my chesticles just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. By
now, my clearing in the woods was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to
open. With his skin flute raiding deep into my oyster ditch, the sensation of
his meaty member smashing my cervix made me quake like a rat on acid. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax weeping from my tradesman's
entrance and all over my panty hamster. There was love piss seeping from his
battering ram and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for
more. It was bliss having his tenderloin truncheon probed inside me again;
stuffing my hot pocket with a lightbulb just didn't get my quim flooding like
it used to. Inserting my fist into my meat purse got me splurging sex wee
faster than a greased weasel shit. My throat was so full of mutton dagger and
ectoplasm, the ectoplasm was frothing down my chin and onto my mosquito bites.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his wrist-thick wand probed deeper into my chocolate starfish. Hours of plowing
like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a blind cobbler's
thumb, 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 a barbie doll in my slime hole and a 15" spiked vibrator up
my poo pipe.

Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his Nelson's Column
made my vertical moisture flow like a jizz waterfall. He munched on my meaty
hangers, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. With my
vertical smile now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start
shoving my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
pitch a colon cobra, I wondered? The pounding of my balloon knot was so
vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in
my chocolate starfish. After having my fuck gutter thrusted, he then proceeded
to thrust my cocoa channel. With his bugger king pounding deep into my
ladytown, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me
quiver like a shitting dog. I awoke the next morning with my cod cave still
draining. I thought it was over but his batter blaster had other ideas. He
copped a giant toilet twinkie on my fiery biscuits just so he could devour it
up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to lap the love mayonnaise from
his purple beaver buster. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed
trouser snake pounding my moose knuckle made me come so hard, I began sweating
like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. The raiding makes me squirt my sex wee all
over his jade rod. There was love mayonnaise leaking from his blind butler and
I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. If I don't tune
the tuna to get my spaff slobbering from my enchilada of love, his one-eyed
monster is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a bucket of
smashed crabs. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's clap flaps
looking like a badly wrapped kebab, and I was no different! My cake hole was so
full of devil's bagpipe and ectoplasm, the baby gravy was foaming down my chin
and onto my fiery biscuits. When he removed his purple beaver buster from my
marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his
stilton spear. My oyster ditch was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped
liver. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his
greasy slimelight soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Within no time,
I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dripping from my old dirt road and all
over my hairy goblet. It was bliss having his all-beef thermometer slid inside
me again; stuffing my gashtray with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get
my vibration station squirting like it used to. Inserting a 9-iron into my
wunder down under got me gushing minge mucus faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. The mixture of toilet twinkie and creamy load in my marmite
motorway created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now,
my wizards sleeve was dripping like a George Foreman grill. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror
truncheon plunged deeper into my poop chute. The feeling of his creamy load
seeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than snot
off a whip.

Some
girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a barbie doll in my vibrator crater and a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster up my other vagina. He munched on my fishy flaps, even
though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. There was
steamin' semen haemorrhaging from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter
than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The feeling of his love piss
leaking down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased
weasel shit. After having my ladytown raided, he then proceeded to fuck my turd
cutter. I awoke the next morning with my split peach still frothing. I thought
it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. It was bliss having his
Ocean's 11 Inches probed inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a gerbil
just didn't get my herring hole spritzing like it used to. With my flappy meal
now much like a badly wrapped kebab, he thought it was time to start plunging
my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet
twinkie, I wondered? The mixture of stink pickle and ectoplasm in my Mavis
Fritter created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The
unrelenting orgasms from his love muscle raiding my sperm socket made me come
so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. By now, my whispering
eye was foaming like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. He eased out a giant
Mr. Hanky on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. Inserting a barbie doll into my clunge pool got me splurging clunge
gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The plowing of my vintage golf bag was
so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his washington monument
deep in my brown eye. Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the
sight of his love lollipop made my spaff drip like a jizz waterfall. If I don't
tune the tuna to get my beige slime leaking from my oyster ditch, his one-eyed
monster is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a gutted trout. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton
spear rammed deeper into my shit winker. My mouth was so full of muffbuster and
magician's wax, the cock custard was flowing down my chin and onto my droopies.
I can't wait to chow down on the Da Vinci load from his huge penis. The raiding
makes me flow my vertical moisture all over his jade rod. The seemingly
never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his veiny quim prod from my
cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's
vertical garden looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! My Quimcy,
M.E. was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty cock snot trickling from my turd cutter and all over my
roast beef platter.

Some
girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a gerbil in my split peach and a lightbulb up my brown eye.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty love piss dripping from my turd cutter
and all over my beef curtains. With my spam castanets now much like a
stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to arc a butt nugget, I wondered? The
seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his chubstep
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning with my
smush mitten still leaking. I thought it was over but his ample cock had other
ideas. He crowned a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage just so he could
chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Leaving my panties sunny
side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his kebeb skewer slid
deeper into my black hole. Inserting a number of chillies into my quim got me
flowing sex wee faster than snot off a whip. The plowing of my fart valve was
so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his love muscle deep in my
fudge factory. My throat was so full of spunk-filled spam rocket and steamin'
semen, the gentleman's relish was slobbering down my chin and onto my sweater
puppies. The mixture of butt nugget and Da Vinci load in my brown eye created
the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his
Nelson's Column plunged inside me again; stuffing my carp cavity with a 9-iron
just didn't get my cum dumpster splurging like it used to. My vibration station
was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't
stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon
draining from my sperm socket, his sperminator is going to leave my panty
hamster resembling Pete Burns' lips. He munched on my clap flaps, even though
I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more
action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his batter blaster made my pussy
batter drain like a broken coffee maker. When he removed his cervix cigar from
my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as
him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his chubstep. I can't
wait to devour the gentleman's relish from his slut slayer. The feeling of his
creamy load sliming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his clunger thrusting deep into my
clunge pool, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quake
like jelly. The pounding makes me surge my sex wee all over his chorizo
howitzer. By now, my shamevelope was weeping like a broken coffee maker. Hours
of thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking
like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different! After having my penis
pothole raided, he then proceeded to raid my turd cutter. There was steamin'
semen haemorrhaging from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an English
summer. We were ready for more.