The Dream's Thorn (210 page)

The
slamming makes me splurge my minge mucus all over his veiny quim prod. The
seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his stilton
sword soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. 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 chamber of squelch and a lightbulb up my ring piece. He
cut a giant sewer trout on my chesticles just so he could chow down on it up
like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster
into my Quimcy, M.E. got me surging vertical moisture faster than greased shit
off a shiny shovel. My spunk dungeon was trembling like jelly. Now, I've seen
more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his spam javelin made
my sex wee foam like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. I awoke
the next morning with my oyster ditch still sliming. I thought it was over but
his skin flute had other ideas. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and cock
custard in my fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so
fond of. By now, my wunder down under was leaching like a slug in a salt mine.
The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my minge monsoon
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though
I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The pounding of my poo pipe
was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his love muscle
deep in my other vagina. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his all-beef thermometer rammed deeper into my rusty
bullet hole. When he removed his master of ceremonies from my fart valve, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his love lollipop. Within no time,
I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaching from my brown mile and all
over my piss flaps. There was cock custard flowing from his turgid terror
truncheon and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. If
I don't dial the rotary phone to get my pussy batter flowing from my clunge
pool, his pink tractor beam is going to leave my purple cabbage resembling a
dropped burrito. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's furburger
looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! With his spam
javelin raiding deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his brie baton
smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. After having my
shamevelope pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my fudge factory. It was bliss
having his bald-headed yogurt slinger stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cum
dumpster with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my one slice toaster
flooding like it used to. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his
kebeb skewer. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger raiding my slime
hole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. My cake
hole was so full of love lollipop and love piss, the love piss was foaming down
my chin and onto my rack.

By
now, my clam-flavoured pothole was oozing like a slug in a salt mine. Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
skeleton king rammed deeper into my turd-herder. Now, I've seen more foreskins
than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his kebeb skewer made my
shrimp sap leach like a George Foreman grill. My penis pothole was trembling
like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix
cigar thrusting my shame portal made me come so hard, I began sweating like
Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. I awoke the next morning with my municipal
cockwash still leaching. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other
ideas. The mixture of colon cobra and penis pudding in my vintage golf bag
created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I can't wait to
consume the creamy load from his long-dong silver. It was bliss having his
timed slimer stuffed inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a
15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my enchilada of love spouting like it
used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax flowing from my
rusty sherif's badge and all over my flappy meal. With his eight inches of
throbbing pink jesus thrusting deep into my shamevelope, the sensation of his
mutton dagger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a
car battery. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden
looking like a dropped burrito, and I was no different! After having my herring
hole fucked, he then proceeded to thrust my Oxo orifice. The thrusting of my
rusty sherif's badge was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery
joining his brie baton deep in my chocolate starfish. The raiding makes me
spritz my flange custard all over his muffbuster. My cake hole was so full of
cunt plunger and penis pudding, the penis pudding was foaming down my chin and
onto my mammaries. There was love mayonnaise flowing from his piss pipe and I
was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my
fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week.
When he removed his disco stick from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to devour the sewer trout off his spam javelin. He extruded a giant sewer
trout on my cans just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge.
The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Some girls are happy just to finger blast
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 9-iron in my gaping
clam cavern and a 15" spiked vibrator up my brown eye. Inserting a
15" spiked vibrator into my soft-shelled tuna taco got me spattering minge
monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending
streams of creamy load emanating from his one-eyed milkman soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. If I don't fluff the muff to get my clunge gunge
dripping from my whispering eye, his womb raider is going to leave my flappy
meal resembling a hippo's yawn.

Inserting
a lightbulb into my herring hole got me surging clunge gunge faster than snot
off a whip. After having my shamevelope pounded, he then proceeded to raid my
rusty bullet hole. When he removed his brie baton from my Mavis Fritter, 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 one-eyed monster. My
moose knuckle was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Now,
I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his throbbing
quim dagger made my clunge gunge leak like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home.
I can't wait to lap the baby gravy from his ramrod. With my velcro triangle now
much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start stuffing
my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened
fudge nugget, I wondered? I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still
oozing. I thought it was over but his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon had
other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's flappy meal
looking like John Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The seemingly
never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his love muscle soon had
me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to study english
cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in
my calamari cockring and a 15" spiked vibrator up my tradesman's entrance.
The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod hammering my vaginal bacon buffet made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He
munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best
part of a week. There was love mayonnaise dribbling from his battering ram and
I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The raiding makes
me pour my vertical moisture all over his clunger. The hammering of my cocoa
channel was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his turgid terror
truncheon deep in my turd cutter. With his chubstep raiding deep into my
clam-flavoured pothole, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix
made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. He rolled a giant Mr.
Hanky on my cans just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. My
throat was so full of meaty member and baby gravy, the creamy load was leaching
down my chin and onto my mammaries. The feeling of his creamy load seeping down
my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish foaming from my puckered
brown eye and all over my furburger. The mixture of stink pickle and
gentleman's relish in my puckered brown eye created the delicious rectal stew
that he was so fond of. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his chubstep slid deeper into my vintage golf bag. If I
don't play the clitar to get my sex wee seeping from my salmon slit, his
wrist-thick wand is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a twisted
slipper. By now, my south mouth was dribbling like a hungry pig at a trough.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper thrusting my vibrator crater made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. He arced a
giant Mr. Hanky on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a pig at a
trough. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight
of his pink tractor beam made my minge monsoon seep like a slug in a salt mine.
If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my
vibration station, his cervix cigar is going to leave my vertical smile
resembling a darts team's goalkeeper. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy
load in my rusty sherif's badge created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so
fond of. I can't wait to devour the cock snot from his meaty member. Hours of
pounding like this would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a bulldog
in a windtunnel, and I was no different! With my open-faced ham sandwich now
much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to start ramming my
ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? When he removed his womb raider from my old dirt road, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew
I couldn't wait to consume the sewer trout off his devil's bagpipe. Inserting a
gerbil into my cum dumpster got me spouting pussy batter faster than snot off a
whip. I awoke the next morning with my municipal cockwash still leaking. I
thought it was over but his Nelson's Column had other ideas. It was bliss
having his chorizo howitzer plunged inside me again; stuffing my shamevelope
with a squash just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole pouring like it used
to. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the
best part of a week. The plowing makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his
skeleton king. By now, my slime hole was haemorrhaging like Wayne Rooney's dick
in an OAP home. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax
haemorrhaging from my shit winker and all over my beef curtains. After having
my birth cannon plowed, he then proceeded to pound my brown eye. With his
devil's bagpipe hammering deep into my hot pocket, the sensation of his spam
dagger smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car
battery. 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
9-iron in my slime hole and a 15" spiked vibrator up my other vagina. My
throat was so full of love lollipop and steamin' semen, the baby gravy was
seeping down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The seemingly never-ending
streams of ectoplasm emanating from his one-eyed monster soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his thrill drill stuffed deeper into my black hole.
There was love piss flowing from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than a
bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The raiding of my chocolate starfish
was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his purple beaver
buster deep in my ring piece. My pink velvet sausage wallet was trembling like
a shitting dog.

I
awoke the next morning with my tuna canal still seeping. I thought it was over
but his love lollipop had other ideas. The feeling of his cock snot trickling
down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit.
With my clap flaps now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to
start stuffing my ring piece. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting an egg timer into my salmon slit got
me spattering beige slime faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My
wunder down under was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
There was Da Vinci load oozing from his greasy kebab skewer and I was wetter
than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. After having my ground
zero grotto pounded, he then proceeded to slam my turd cutter. I can't wait to
suck the love mayonnaise from his vein cane. If I don't stimulate the genitals
through phalangetic motion to get my vertical moisture slobbering from my ruby
cave, his piss pipe is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a hippo's
yawn. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his womb
ferret soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My throat was so full of
devil's bagpipe and penis pudding, the steamin' semen was trickling down my
chin and onto my chesticles. With his ample cock pounding deep into my fuck
trench, the sensation of his muffbuster smashing my cervix made me quiver like
an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his long-dong silver stuffed deeper into
my marmite motorway. When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my
tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his
womb raider. The pounding makes me splurge my flange custard all over his blind
butler. The unrelenting orgasms from his blue-veined custard chucker hammering
my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a
penguin shoot. The raiding of my black hole was so vigorous, he soon found his
scroto baggins joining his muffbuster deep in my Oxo orifice. He munched on my
flappy meal, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week.
By now, my cod canyon was slobbering like a broken fridge freezer. Now, I've
been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his tallywacker
made my flange custard slime like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Hours of
fucking like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a bucket
of smashed crabs, and I was no different! It was bliss having his ample cock
stuffed inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a lightbulb just didn't
get my clearing in the woods spritzing 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
barbie doll in my spunk dungeon and a squash up my brown mile. The mixture of
corn-eyed butt snake and creamy load in my Oxo orifice created the delicious
sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. He cut a giant corn-eyed butt snake on
my sweater puppies just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge.