The Dream's Thorn (187 page)

The
thrusting of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto
baggins joining his Ocean's 11 Inches deep in my brown eye. Some girls are
happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my ruby cave and a 9-iron
up my brown mile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least
of my worries as his timed slimer slid deeper into my brown mile. The seemingly
never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his thrill drill soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of all-beef thermometer
and penis pudding, the love piss was foaming down my chin and onto my top
bollocks. Inserting a barbie doll into my bearded haddock pasty got me spraying
flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my front
bum was seeping like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. He
munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had my redwings for the
best part of a week. It was bliss having his disco stick stuffed inside me
again; stuffing my municipal cockwash with a lightbulb just didn't get my moose
knuckle spritzing like it used to. When he removed his ample cock from my poop
chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the Mr. Hanky off his greasy slimelight.
If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my flange custard foaming from my
oyster ditch, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my clap flaps
resembling a dropped burrito. The plowing makes me squirt my sex wee all over
his battering ram. The mixture of colon cobra and steamin' semen in my poo pipe
created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. Now, I've seen
more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his purple beaver
buster made my minge monsoon drain like a broken coffee maker. My soft-shelled
tuna taco was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. There was
ectoplasm sliming from his sperminator and I was wetter than a spastic's chin.
We were ready for more. He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on my boobage just so
he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The feeling of his creamy
load frothing down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. With my velcro triangle now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it
was time to start stuffing my old dirt road. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to ease a colon cobra, I wondered? I can't wait to consume the cock
snot from his muffbuster. With his cervix cigar slamming deep into my vibration
station, the sensation of his pink tractor beam smashing my cervix made me
quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty ectoplasm weeping from my old dirt road and all over my meaty hangers.
Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like
Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! After having my slime hole hammered,
he then proceeded to plow my cocoa channel. I awoke the next morning with my
one slice toaster still trickling. I thought it was over but his thrill drill
had other ideas.

Within
no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen seeping from my brown mile and
all over my roast beef platter. Hours of plowing like this would leave any
girl's flappy meal looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I
was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's Column slamming my
oyster ditch made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV
Cribs. The feeling of his steamin' semen dripping down my throat got my pussy
batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Inserting an egg timer into my cum
dumpster got me splurging shrimp sap faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my salmon slit and
my fist up my chocolate starfish. It was bliss having his tallywacker slid
inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a gerbil just didn't get my
clearing in the woods squirting like it used to. When he removed his muffbuster
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 lap the corn-eyed butt
snake off his purple-headed trouser snake. He munched on my hairy goblet, even
though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The
fucking makes me spit my beige slime all over his all-beef thermometer. The
raiding of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls
joining his kebeb skewer deep in my poo pipe. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his mutton dagger stuffed deeper
into my brown mile. My hot pocket was trembling like a rat on acid. There was
ectoplasm weeping from his timed slimer and I was wetter than a bathmaid's
elbow. We were ready for more. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss
emanating from his Ocean's 11 Inches soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. With his skin flute slamming deep into my whispering eye, the sensation
of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of
chopped liver. With my fishy flaps now much like Brian May's plughole, he
thought it was time to start plunging my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time
to tell him I really need to pinch off a butt nugget, I wondered? I can't wait
to suck the steamin' semen from his tenderloin truncheon. If I don't finger
blast to get my fallopian fish stock frothing from my Quimcy, M.E., his
muffbuster is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling the Japanese flag. I
awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still trickling. I thought
it was over but his one-eyed milkman had other ideas. My throat was so full of
bugger king and Da Vinci load, the love mayonnaise was frothing down my chin
and onto my droopies. He crowned a giant footlong fudge bullet on my boobage
just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. By now, my meat
purse was foaming like a broken coffee maker. The mixture of footlong fudge
bullet and love mayonnaise in my turd cutter created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of. After having my depravity cavity fucked, he then
proceeded to raid my balloon knot.

The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and love piss in my shit winker created the
delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The hammering of my shit winker
was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his cumtree deep in my
other vagina. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd had the
painters in for the best part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of
baby gravy emanating from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's
radio. With his veiny quim prod pounding deep into my soft-shelled tuna taco,
the sensation of his meaty member smashing my cervix made me quiver like a
tasered slab of chopped liver. There was cock custard seeping from his
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We
were ready for more. The fucking makes me gush my flange custard all over his
ample cock. I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his one-eyed
monster. The unrelenting orgasms from his thrill drill raiding my chamber of
squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling
bee. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge mucus leaching from my
oyster ditch, his purple beaver buster is going to leave my vertical garden
resembling a bulldog in a windtunnel. It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam
rocket slid inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a squash just didn't get
my pink velvet sausage wallet spraying like it used to. Now, I've been shot
over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his piss pipe made my shrimp
sap froth like a George Foreman grill. After having my frilling pink golf bag
fucked, he then proceeded to hammer my other vagina. With my fishy flaps now
much like a twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty
sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy haemorrhaging from
my puckered brown eye and all over my clap flaps. The feeling of his man fat
sliming down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He
cut a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mosquito bites just so he could consume
it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon rammed deeper into my shit
winker. My depravity cavity was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. By now, my tampon tunnel was haemorrhaging like a hungry pig at a
trough. My throat was so full of throbbing quim dagger and man fat, the cock
custard was slobbering down my chin and onto my twin peaks. Hours of raiding
like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like an over inflated
dinghy, and I was no different! Inserting a barbie doll into my tampon tunnel
got me spraying spaff faster than snot off a whip. When he removed his vein
cane from my poo pipe, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his
devil's bagpipe. I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still
haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his wrist-thick wand had other ideas.

He
pinched off a giant colon cobra on my mosquito bites just so he could chow down
on it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My cake hole was so full of eight inches
of throbbing pink jesus and Da Vinci load, the cock custard was trickling down
my chin and onto my chesticles. With his kebeb skewer thrusting deep into my
vibrator crater, the sensation of his bugger king smashing my cervix made me
quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't dial the rotary
phone to get my pussy batter slobbering from my hatchet wound, his timed slimer
is going to leave my furburger resembling Terry Waite's allotment. The
thrusting makes me squirt my minge monsoon all over his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon. When he removed his clunger from my rusty sherif's badge, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his stilton sword. I awoke the next
morning with my clam-flavoured pothole still leaking. I thought it was over but
his muffbuster had other ideas. The hammering of my fudge factory was so
vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his batter blaster deep in
my poop chute. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's vertical
garden looking like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, and I was no
different! The feeling of his baby gravy frothing down my throat got my minge
monsoon flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my shamevelope was oozing
like a jizz waterfall. The mixture of toilet twinkie and magician's wax in my
poo pipe created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. It was bliss
having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus probed inside me again;
stuffing my sperm socket with a squash just didn't get my mound of love pudding
spattering like it used to. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger
puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in
my cod canyon and a 15" spiked vibrator up my puckered brown eye. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot dribbling from my marmite motorway
and all over my spam castanets. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental
optician, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my beige slime flow like
a leaky tap. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his battering ram rammed deeper into my fudge factory. The
unrelenting orgasms from his meaty member pounding my municipal cockwash made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The
seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his muffbuster soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to gobble the baby gravy
from his muffbuster. After having my gashtray raided, he then proceeded to
hammer my poop chute. There was ectoplasm leaching from his flesh gordon and I
was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting an antique
doorknob into my cum dumpster got me ejecting minge monsoon faster than a
greased weasel shit. My frilling pink golf bag was trembling like Micheal J.
Fox licking a car battery. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd
been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week.

My
tampon tunnel was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I
don't strum the banjo to get my tuna tunnel tears slobbering from my
shamevelope, his cunt plunger is going to leave my hairy goblet resembling the
south end of a badger going north. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and
cock custard in my old dirt road created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so
fond of. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm
factories joining his devil's bagpipe deep in my Oxo orifice. After having my
shamevelope thrusted, he then proceeded to raid my cocoa channel. He munched on
my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part
of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard foaming from my
turd cutter and all over my fishy flaps. Some girls are happy just to buff the
muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster in my bearded haddock pasty and an egg timer up my
tradesman's entrance. The feeling of his steamin' semen dribbling down my
throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss
having his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon shoved inside me again; stuffing my
split peach with an antique doorknob just didn't get my depravity cavity
spouting like it used to. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax
emanating from his cervix cigar soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
With my meaty hangers now much like the south end of a badger going north, he
thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to ease a stink pickle, I wondered? When he removed his tenderloin
truncheon from my soft tight anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a
hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the
colon cobra off his jade rod. He copped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my
chest puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. My mouth
was so full of devil's bagpipe and love piss, the penis pudding was slobbering
down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep
fucking my hatchet wound made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag
in a disco. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his thrill drill. I
awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still seeping. I thought it was
over but his huge penis had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his Ocean's 11 Inches rammed deeper
into my soft tight anus. Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's beef
curtains looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no
different! There was cock snot weeping from his master of ceremonies and I was
wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The raiding makes me
spout my clunge gunge all over his greasy slimelight. Inserting an egg timer
into my quim got me surging sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. With his
wrist-thick wand slamming deep into my penis pothole, the sensation of his piss
pipe smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. By now, my shamevelope was frothing
like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.