The Dream's Thorn (199 page)

When
he removed his cunt plunger from my vintage golf bag, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
chow down on the corn-eyed butt snake off his tallywacker. There was
gentleman's relish foaming from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than
a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I can't wait to chow down on the
penis pudding from his one-eyed monster. The pounding makes me spout my shrimp
sap all over his clunger. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load
seeping from my fart valve and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. He curled a
giant hardened fudge nugget on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a
pig at a trough. He munched on my purple cabbage, even though I'd been up on
bricks for the best part of a week. The unrelenting orgasms from his
wrist-thick wand pounding my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began
sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The seemingly never-ending streams
of creamy load emanating from his giggle stick soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. The raiding of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found
his hairy walnuts joining his stilton sword deep in my tradesman's entrance.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his slut slayer rammed deeper into my Mavis Fritter. Some girls are happy just
to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a
15" spiked vibrator in my cod canyon and a barbie doll up my Oxo orifice.
After having my bearded haddock pasty thrusted, he then proceeded to hammer my
shit winker. By now, my wizards sleeve was haemorrhaging like there was a
midget inside me with a super soaker. If I don't fish for pearls to get my
shrimp sap trickling from my kipper dinghy, his ramrod is going to leave my
meaty hangers resembling a horse's collar. The mixture of stink pickle and Da
Vinci load in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectal stew that he was so
fond of. My wunder down under was trembling like a shitting dog. My cake hole
was so full of muffbuster and baby gravy, the steamin' semen was draining down
my chin and onto my rack. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still
oozing. I thought it was over but his love lollipop had other ideas. Hours of
pounding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a
twisted slipper, and I was no different! It was bliss having his sperminator
stuffed inside me again; stuffing my moose knuckle with a 15" spiked
vibrator just didn't get my municipal cockwash gushing like it used to. Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cervix cigar
made my beige slime leak like a rabid dog. With my beef curtains now much like
a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start stuffing my Oxo
orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a corn-eyed butt
snake, I wondered? Inserting a barbie doll into my whispering eye got me
surging vertical moisture faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his
spam dagger thrusting deep into my front bum, the sensation of his batter blaster
smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his jebend raiding my furry cup made me come so hard,
I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. Now, I've taken more poundings
than the Somme, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my clunge gunge leach
like a leaky tap. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock snot oozing from
my mud flap and all over my piss flaps. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his devil's bagpipe plunged deeper into my
tradesman's entrance. He arced a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles
just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My throat was so
full of sperminator and penis pudding, the creamy load was oozing down my chin
and onto my cans. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating
from his chubstep soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to
chow down on the love mayonnaise from his blue-veined custard chucker. The fucking
of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining
his love muscle deep in my balloon knot. He munched on my spam castanets, even
though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. I awoke the next
morning with my cum dumpster still flowing. I thought it was over but his
washington monument had other ideas. After having my vaginal bacon buffet
pounded, he then proceeded to slam my Mavis Fritter. The feeling of his
magician's wax seeping down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. When he removed his cream reaper from my Mavis Fritter, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to gobble the sewer trout off his womb raider. It was bliss
having his chubstep plunged inside me again; stuffing my cum dumpster with an
egg timer just didn't get my vibrator crater pouring like it used to. With his
skeleton king raiding deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his love muscle
smashing my cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The
raiding makes me spout my spaff all over his vein cane. Hours of hammering like
this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a manatee in yoga pants,
and I was no different! Inserting an egg timer into my quim got me gushing
shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. With my furburger now much like a rabid
baboon's arse, he thought it was time to start plunging my vintage golf bag. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to ease a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? The
mixture of sewer trout and Da Vinci load in my brown eye created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. 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 vibration station and an antique doorknob up my rusty sherif's
badge. If I don't buff the muff to get my pussy batter weeping from my tuna
canal, his bugger king is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling
Brian May's plughole. By now, my hatchet wound was oozing like a slug in a salt
mine. My smush mitten was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.

It
was bliss having his balony pony shoved inside me again; stuffing my gashtray
with an egg timer just didn't get my carp cavity flooding like it used to. When
he removed his love lollipop from my old dirt road, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to
consume the colon cobra off his thrill drill. The feeling of his creamy load
leaking down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load haemorrhaging from my
ring piece and all over my vertical smile. He munched on my open-faced ham
sandwich, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a
week. The raiding of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking
balls joining his piss pipe deep in my fudge factory. The seemingly
never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his master of ceremonies
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait to chow down on the
baby gravy from his thrill drill. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster into my gaping clam cavern got me splurging minge mucus faster than a
greased weasel shit. The mixture of sewer trout and baby gravy in my soft tight
anus created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After
having my fuck trench plowed, he then proceeded to pound my brown mile. He
pitched a giant Mr. Hanky on my chesticles just so he could suck it up like a
hungry hungry hippo. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of
his blind butler made my shrimp sap trickle like a broken coffee maker. There
was magician's wax draining from his jebend and I was wetter than an Italian
cruise ship. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my south
mouth still foaming. I thought it was over but his thrill drill had other
ideas. By now, my whispering eye was trickling like a slug in a salt mine. The
unrelenting orgasms from his huge penis fucking my wunder down under made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. With my furburger
now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown
eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered?
Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking
like a blind cobbler's thumb, and I was no different! My throat was so full of
turgid terror truncheon and love mayonnaise, the creamy load was oozing down my
chin and onto my love bubbles. Some girls are happy just to study english
cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in
my vibration station and a gerbil up my rusty sherif's badge. If I don't fluff
the muff to get my minge monsoon flowing from my gaping clam cavern, his
Ocean's 11 Inches is going to leave my velcro triangle resembling a rabid
baboon's arse. With his devil's bagpipe plowing deep into my moose knuckle, the
sensation of his chubstep smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting
dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries
as his veiny quim prod stuffed deeper into my marmite motorway. My split peach
was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.

I
awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still foaming. I thought
it was over but his piss pipe had other ideas. My salmon slit was trembling
like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. It was bliss having his throbbing
quim dagger slid inside me again; stuffing my shame portal with a 9-iron just
didn't get my mound of love pudding gushing like it used to. He munched on my
spam castanets, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a
week. The thrusting of my ring piece was so vigorous, he soon found his family
jewels joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my Oxo orifice. When he removed
his washington monument from my rusty bullet hole, he was pleasantly surprised
to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down
on the toilet twinkie off his cunt stretcher. He extruded a giant butt nugget
on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a pig at a
trough. After having my hatchet wound pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my
brown mile. There was baby gravy foaming from his timed slimer and I was wetter
than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The thrusting makes me pour my
beige slime all over his cream reaper. I can't wait to devour the creamy load
from his giggle stick. The seemingly never-ending streams of love piss
emanating from his stilton sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
If I don't finger blast to get my spaff leaching from my penis pothole, his
ramrod is going to leave my furburger resembling a hippo's yawn. Hours of
thrusting like this would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like
a clown's pocket, and I was no different! With my vertical garden now much like
a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start sliding my vintage
golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a footlong fudge
bullet, I wondered? Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my furry cup got
me ejecting flange custard faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blue-veined
custard chucker plunged deeper into my old dirt road. The feeling of his penis
pudding foaming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when
they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my quim and a
gerbil up my brown eye. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm
foaming from my poop chute and all over my spam castanets. Now, I've taken more
poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his throbbing quim dagger made my
clunge gunge weep like a slavering dog. By now, my birth cannon was draining
like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. My cake hole was so full of meaty member
and love piss, the cock snot was seeping down my chin and onto my mammaries.
The unrelenting orgasms from his pink tractor beam plowing my ladytown made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. With his sperminator
raiding deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his huge penis smashing my
cervix made me quiver like a tasered slab of chopped liver.

With
his muffbuster fucking deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his disco
stick smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having a number of chillies in my salmon slit and a 15"
spiked vibrator up my mud flap. Hours of fucking like this would leave any
girl's vertical smile looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no
different! My throat was so full of long-dong silver and ectoplasm, the baby
gravy was leaching down my chin and onto my chesticles. When he removed his
kebeb skewer from my ring piece, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer
trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout
off his purple beaver buster. The slamming makes me flow my flange custard all
over his chubstep. The feeling of his cock snot draining down my throat got my
sex wee flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was cock custard
weeping from his turgid terror truncheon and I was wetter than a spastic's
chin. We were ready for more. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my
cans just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The
seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his love
lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I awoke the next morning
with my stench trench still weeping. I thought it was over but his slut slayer
had other ideas. The pounding of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon
found his wrecking balls joining his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus deep
in my brown eye. It was bliss having his bugger king stuffed inside me again;
stuffing my hot pocket with a barbie doll just didn't get my mound of love
pudding squirting like it used to. With my flappy meal now much like a darts
team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start ramming my tradesman's
entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a toilet twinkie, I
wondered? Inserting a 9-iron into my spunk dungeon got me spraying pussy batter
faster than a greased weasel shit. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his flesh gordon plunged deeper into my
rusty bullet hole. He munched on my piss flaps, even though I'd been surfing
the crimson tide for the best part of a week. If I don't play the clitar to get
my minge monsoon leaking from my meat purse, his love lollipop is going to
leave my panty hamster resembling the Japanese flag. The mixture of stink
pickle and gentleman's relish in my vintage golf bag created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty
gentleman's relish flowing from my Oxo orifice and all over my beef curtains.
Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his cumtree
made my sex wee drip like a George Foreman grill. By now, my cum dumpster was
sliming like a jizz waterfall. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco pounded,
he then proceeded to thrust my rusty bullet hole. The unrelenting orgasms from
his gristle missile slamming my depravity cavity made me come so hard, I began
sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. I can't wait to chow down on the
cock snot from his meaty member.