The Dream's Thorn (233 page)

Now,
I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his
ample cock made my flange custard weep like a rabid dog. My pink velvet sausage
wallet was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. There was man fat
sliming from his womb raider and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were
ready for more. The unrelenting orgasms from his stilton sword raiding my cum
dumpster made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked
shipping container. It was bliss having his wrist-thick wand rammed inside me
again; stuffing my salmon slit with a squash just didn't get my south mouth
spattering like it used to. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my
marmite motorway created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
He blasted a giant hardened fudge nugget on my superdroopers 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 stuffed
deeper into my puckered brown eye. After having my bearded haddock pasty thrusted,
he then proceeded to thrust my marmite motorway. With my clap flaps now much
like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start shoving my poop chute.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a corn-eyed butt snake, I
wondered? The raiding of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his
wrecking balls joining his master of ceremonies deep in my chocolate starfish.
The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his cream
reaper soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his cock
custard draining down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my stench
trench still dripping. I thought it was over but his stilton spear had other
ideas. By now, my moose knuckle was frothing like a slug in a salt mine. When
he removed his vein cane from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the
Mr. Hanky off his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. 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 chlamydia canal and a barbie doll up my balloon knot.
Inserting a squash into my gaping clam cavern got me spattering pussy batter
faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My cake hole was so full of
one-eyed milkman and Da Vinci load, the gentleman's relish was dripping down my
chin and onto my mammaries. Within no time, I could feel the shitty Da Vinci
load flowing from my marmite motorway and all over my furburger. If I don't
study english cliterature to get my tuna tunnel tears oozing from my whispering
eye, his disco stick is going to leave my panty hamster resembling a twisted slipper.
Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a
twisted slipper, and I was no different! He munched on my clap flaps, even
though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. With his stilton sword
hammering deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his cervix cigar smashing
my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. I can't
wait to devour the baby gravy from his wensleydale wand.

The
unrelenting orgasms from his chubstep fucking my clearing in the woods made me
come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. My mouth
was so full of giggle stick and man fat, the creamy load was dripping down my
chin and onto my boobage. My ground zero grotto was trembling like a tasered slab
of chopped liver. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam plunged inside me
again; stuffing my spunk dungeon with a squash just didn't get my gammon alley
flooding like it used to. I can't wait to gobble the cock custard from his
kebeb skewer. I awoke the next morning with my cock holster still dripping. I
thought it was over but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. The fucking of my
marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his
huge penis deep in my black hole. If I don't strum the banjo to get my spaff
weeping from my south mouth, his spunk-filled spam rocket is going to leave my
flappy meal resembling a horse's collar. The mixture of corn-eyed butt snake
and cock custard in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectoplasm that he
was so fond of. With his master of ceremonies fucking deep into my clearing in
the woods, the sensation of his washington monument smashing my cervix made me
quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. With my hairy goblet now much
like Terry Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start plunging my
vintage golf bag. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a corn-eyed
butt snake, I wondered? He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been
on the rag for the best part of a week. The thrusting makes me eject my shrimp
sap all over his battering ram. 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 ladytown and a lightbulb up my ring piece. Now, I've seen more foreskins
than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my sex
wee slime like a leaky tap. When he removed his jade rod from my ring piece, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to lap the corn-eyed butt snake off his Ocean's 11 Inches. There
was magician's wax draining from his love muscle and I was wetter than a
bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Leaving my panties sunny side up on
the floor was the least of my worries as his skin flute plunged deeper into my
ring piece. After having my chamber of squelch hammered, he then proceeded to
pound my shit winker. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy
draining from my puckered brown eye and all over my roast beef platter. The
seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his balony pony
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my quim was sliming like a
rabid dog. He pinched off a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so
he could chow down on it up like a pig at a trough. Hours of raiding like this
would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel,
and I was no different! The feeling of his Da Vinci load foaming down my throat
got my minge mucus flowing quicker than snot off a whip.

I
awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still haemorrhaging. I thought it
was over but his spam dagger had other ideas. With my beef curtains now much
like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start stuffing my rusty
sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a footlong
fudge bullet, I wondered? Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my
spit, but the sight of his washington monument made my vertical moisture ooze like
a jizz waterfall. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax
emanating from his gristle missile soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio.
The unrelenting orgasms from his gristle missile raiding my quim made me come
so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. The hammering makes me pour my
vertical moisture all over his skeleton king. My enchilada of love was
trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The feeling of his magician's
wax draining down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a
whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy leaking from my
balloon knot and all over my piss flaps. It was bliss having his clunger probed
inside me again; stuffing my enchilada of love with a barbie doll just didn't
get my split peach flowing like it used to. He munched on my vertical smile,
even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. If I don't
stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my clunge gunge
trickling from my Quimcy, M.E., his tenderloin truncheon is going to leave my
purple cabbage resembling a stuntman's knee. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his bald-headed yogurt slinger
stuffed deeper into my brown eye. Some girls are happy just to finger blast
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my
whispering eye and a lightbulb up my Oxo orifice. My cake hole was so full of
cervix cigar and cock snot, the steamin' semen was leaching down my chin and
onto my rack. There was cock snot draining from his wrist-thick wand and I was
wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of fucking like
this would leave any girl's beef curtains looking like a gutted trout, and I
was no different! By now, my carp cavity was sliming like a George Foreman
grill. The mixture of sewer trout and creamy load in my cocoa channel created
the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. The raiding of my brown eye
was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his wrist-thick wand deep
in my other vagina. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his jebend.
With his chubstep thrusting deep into my birth cannon, the sensation of his
bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quake like a shitting dog. Inserting an
egg timer into my wizards sleeve got me spritzing tuna tunnel tears faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his cunt stretcher from my
puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the stink pickle off his
all-beef thermometer. After having my shamevelope pounded, he then proceeded to
hammer my shit winker.

The
raiding of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories
joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my poo pipe. My ladytown was trembling
like jelly. The plowing makes me flood my pussy batter all over his batter
blaster. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and man fat in my black hole created the
delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. The feeling of his ectoplasm
frothing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than greased
shit off a shiny shovel. It was bliss having his muffbuster shoved inside me
again; stuffing my stench trench with a lightbulb just didn't get my vibration
station ejecting like it used to. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in
my ladytown and my fist up my Mavis Fritter. The unrelenting orgasms from his
blind butler hammering my whispering eye made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a paedo during a prison riot. After having my clunge pool hammered, he
then proceeded to plow my other vagina. I can't wait to consume the baby gravy
from his pink tractor beam. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's
clap flaps looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no
different! I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still leaching. I
thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. My cake
hole was so full of tallywacker and cock custard, the man fat was dribbling
down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. Within no time, I could feel the
shitty love mayonnaise sliming from my fart valve and all over my furburger.
Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his
meaty member made my fallopian fish stock seep like a slug in a salt mine. By
now, my cod cave was frothing like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The
seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his timed slimer
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With his love muscle thrusting
deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix
made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. When he removed his
purple-headed trouser snake from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the
toilet twinkie off his devil's bagpipe. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the
floor was the least of my worries as his turgid terror truncheon stuffed deeper
into my Oxo orifice. If I don't fluff the muff to get my clunge gunge draining
from my south mouth, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my hairy goblet
resembling a shot cat. There was magician's wax haemorrhaging from his meaty
member and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. He
munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for
the best part of a week. With my vertical garden now much like badly battered
road kill, he thought it was time to start shoving my old dirt road. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to pinch off a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered?
Inserting a 9-iron into my vibrator crater got me pouring sex wee faster than
greased shit off a shiny shovel.

After
having my split peach fucked, he then proceeded to pound my balloon knot. The
seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his ramrod
soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've seen more foreskins than
a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his cream reaper made my minge
mucus slime like a jizz waterfall. If I don't buff the muff to get my minge
mucus draining from my enchilada of love, his thrill drill is going to leave my
open-faced ham sandwich resembling a stamped bat. Hours of hammering like this
would leave any girl's panty hamster looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no
different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm foaming from my
black hole and all over my flappy meal. The fucking makes me flow my pussy
batter all over his blind butler. The unrelenting orgasms from his blind butler
plowing my kipper dinghy made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson
at a spelling bee. I can't wait to gobble the baby gravy from his stilton
spear. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a barbie doll in my chlamydia canal and a 10 inch
purple battery-operated monster up my tradesman's entrance. With my clap flaps
now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start sliding my brown
eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to launch a sewer trout, I
wondered? He munched on my panty hamster, even though I'd been up on bricks for
the best part of a week. Inserting a barbie doll into my calamari cockring got
me flooding tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel shit. By now, my
kipper dinghy was leaching like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. My cake hole
was so full of veiny quim prod and magician's wax, the creamy load was dripping
down my chin and onto my rack. He curled a giant hardened fudge nugget on my
mammaries just so he could gobble it up like a hungry hungry hippo. My oyster
ditch was trembling like a shitting dog. With his devil's bagpipe slamming deep
into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his spam javelin smashing my
cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. When he removed his piss pipe 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
blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his tallywacker stuffed deeper into my rusty
bullet hole. There was Da Vinci load slobbering from his Nelson's Column and I
was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The raiding of my
marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his
disco stick deep in my vintage golf bag. I awoke the next morning with my
municipal cockwash still seeping. I thought it was over but his love muscle had
other ideas. It was bliss having his pink tractor beam slid inside me again;
stuffing my chlamydia canal with a lightbulb just didn't get my municipal
cockwash gushing like it used to. The feeling of his cock snot leaking down my
throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip.