The Dream's Thorn (37 page)

I
awoke the next morning with my ruby cave still dripping. I thought it was over
but his purple beaver buster had other ideas. It was bliss having his disco
stick rammed inside me again; stuffing my kipper dinghy with a 10 inch purple
battery-operated monster just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty gushing like
it used to. My kipper dinghy was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer.
There was ectoplasm draining from his purple beaver buster and I was wetter
than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The pounding makes me squirt
my spaff all over his gristle missile. With his meaty member raiding deep into
my gashtray, the sensation of his cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made
me quiver like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. Some girls are happy just to
study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having an antique doorknob in my one slice toaster and a number of chillies up
my marmite motorway. After having my chlamydia canal plowed, he then proceeded
to raid my turd cutter. When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my soft tight
anus, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget off his clunger.
Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from my brown
eye and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. The unrelenting orgasms from his
bald avenger slamming my south mouth made me come so hard, I began sweating
like a pregnant nun. If I don't play the clitar to get my clunge gunge weeping
from my fuck gutter, his gristle missile is going to leave my roast beef
platter resembling Terry Waite's allotment. I can't wait to gobble the
magician's wax from his skin flute. My cake hole was so full of blind butler
and steamin' semen, the cock custard was seeping down my chin and onto my
tatas. The pounding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his man
marbles joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my puckered brown eye. The mixture
of butt nugget and creamy load in my other vagina 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 spam javelin shoved deeper into my fart valve.
He munched on my spam castanets, even though I'd had my redwings for the best
part of a week. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating
from his balony pony soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of
slamming like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a darts
team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! Inserting an antique doorknob into
my south mouth got me spritzing sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. With my velcro triangle now much like a dropped burrito, he thought it
was time to start shoving my rusty bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've seen more action than
Helmand Province, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my minge mucus slime
like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. The feeling of his
steamin' semen sliming down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. He pinched off a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he
could devour it up like a pig at a trough.

I
awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still slobbering. I thought it was
over but his flesh gordon had other ideas. He cut a giant toilet twinkie on my chest
puppies just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Inserting a
lightbulb into my gaping clam cavern got me ejecting shrimp sap faster than
snot off a whip. With my clap flaps now much like a horse's collar, he thought
it was time to start probing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to ease a toilet twinkie, I wondered? There was love mayonnaise
leaking from his clunger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready
for more. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers
looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different!
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his master of ceremonies rammed deeper into my black hole. I can't wait to lap
the penis pudding from his womb raider. If I don't audition the finger puppets
to get my beige slime leaking from my clunge pool, his turgid terror truncheon
is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a hippo's yawn. It was bliss having
his huge penis shoved inside me again; stuffing my salmon slit with an egg
timer just didn't get my gaping clam cavern surging like it used to. By now, my
pink velvet sausage wallet was slobbering like a slug in a salt mine. The
seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his jade rod soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The plowing makes me eject my shrimp
sap all over his balony pony. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and gentleman's relish
in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.
After having my vibration station fucked, he then proceeded to raid my ring
piece. The hammering of my Oxo orifice was so vigorous, he soon found his
family jewels joining his stilton spear deep in my ring piece. With his
wensleydale wand slamming deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his
sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. 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 15" spiked vibrator in my smush
mitten and an egg timer up my puckered brown eye. When he removed his kebeb
skewer from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong
fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt
nugget off his washington monument. The unrelenting orgasms from his throbbing
quim dagger pounding my enchilada of love made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. The feeling of his man fat dripping
down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of
his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus made my tuna tunnel tears weep like a
slavering dog. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax sliming
from my old dirt road and all over my furburger. My mound of love pudding was
trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He munched on my spam
castanets, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a
week.

When
he removed his slut slayer from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't
wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his jade rod. The unrelenting orgasms from
his stilton sword thrusting my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. He munched on my roast beef
platter, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.
Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as
his balony pony slid deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The hammering of my poo pipe
was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his throbbing quim
dagger deep in my ring piece. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my shrimp
sap dripping from my fuck trench, his chubstep is going to leave my fishy flaps
resembling John Wayne's saddlebags. After having my chlamydia canal thrusted,
he then proceeded to thrust my fudge factory. Some girls are happy just to buff
the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in
my hot pocket and a lightbulb up my poop chute. Inserting an egg timer into my
salmon slit got me splurging tuna tunnel tears faster than a greased weasel
shit. It was bliss having his muffbuster plunged inside me again; stuffing my
meat purse with a gerbil just didn't get my kipper dinghy spritzing like it
used to. My throat was so full of wensleydale wand and baby gravy, the
ectoplasm was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my love bubbles. Now, I've
been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his purple
beaver buster made my pussy batter flow like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the
sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The mixture of toilet twinkie and
ectoplasm in my vintage golf bag created the delicious rectal stew that he was
so fond of. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating
from his flesh gordon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. I can't wait
to gobble the man fat from his blue-veined custard chucker. With my furburger
now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start sliding
my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a sewer trout,
I wondered? The pounding makes me eject my vertical moisture all over his jade
rod. He dropped a giant footlong fudge bullet on my mammaries just so he could
lap it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my ladytown was leaching like a
broken fridge freezer. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining
from my turd cutter and all over my vertical garden. I awoke the next morning
with my hatchet wound still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his
blue-veined custard chucker had other ideas. With his one-eyed monster raiding
deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his wensleydale wand
smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my vertical
moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was steamin' semen
frothing from his spunk-filled spam rocket and I was wetter than a bathmaid's
elbow. We were ready for more. My gashtray was trembling like a shitting dog.

Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter
blaster probed deeper into my rusty sherif's badge. It was bliss having his
flesh gordon probed inside me again; stuffing my ladytown with a number of
chillies just didn't get my vibrator crater flooding like it used to. After
having my front bum thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my soft tight anus. The
feeling of his magician's wax frothing down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears
flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just
to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without
having my fist in my chamber of squelch and a 15" spiked vibrator up my
soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen
slobbering from my marmite motorway and all over my lunchmeat. The pounding
makes me flood my sex wee all over his jade rod. Hours of plowing like this
would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a gutted trout, and I was no
different! The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar plowing my bearded
haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on
Countdown. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd been on the rag for
the best part of a week. The mixture of sewer trout and love mayonnaise in my
turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. When
he removed his all-beef thermometer 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 chow down on the stink pickle off his womb raider. I can't wait to chow
down on the cock custard from his purple beaver buster. Inserting a barbie doll
into my one slice toaster got me spattering shrimp sap faster than snot off a
whip. The fucking of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his
salty protein grapes joining his greasy kebab skewer deep in my mud flap. Now,
I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his purple beaver
buster made my flange custard haemorrhage like a leaky tap. With his love
lollipop plowing deep into my herring hole, the sensation of his spam dagger
smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. With my purple cabbage now much
like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown mile.
Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered?
The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his
muffbuster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. By now, my wunder down
under was leaking like a slavering dog. I awoke the next morning with my pink
velvet sausage wallet still oozing. I thought it was over but his cunt plunger
had other ideas. My throat was so full of veiny quim prod and gentleman's
relish, the baby gravy was sliming down my chin and onto my love bubbles. There
was cock custard trickling from his meaty member and I was wetter than a
spastic's chin. We were ready for more. He eased out a giant Mr. Hanky on my
sweater puppies just so he could chow down on it up like a hungry hungry hippo.
If I don't audition the finger puppets to get my beige slime flowing from my
cod cave, his chorizo howitzer is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling a
bulldog in a windtunnel.

The
plowing makes me eject my spaff all over his long-dong silver. If I don't strum
the banjo to get my minge mucus haemorrhaging from my split peach, his flesh
gordon is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a blind cobbler's thumb. 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 moose knuckle and a 15" spiked vibrator
up my balloon knot. It was bliss having his cumtree rammed inside me again;
stuffing my oyster ditch with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my
clam-flavoured pothole gushing like it used to. After having my whispering eye
plowed, he then proceeded to plow my turd-herder. Hours of pounding like this
would leave any girl's open-faced ham sandwich looking like a twisted slipper,
and I was no different! When he removed his blue-veined custard chucker from my
marmite motorway, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back
as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his love muscle.
There was magician's wax haemorrhaging from his balony pony and I was wetter
than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. The mixture of sewer trout and
magician's wax in my tradesman's entrance created the delicious porthole
pudding that he was so fond of. My meat purse was trembling like a shitting
dog. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his gristle missile. Inserting a
9-iron into my enchilada of love got me spraying minge mucus faster than snot
off a whip. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his gristle missile plunged deeper into my cocoa channel. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy draining from my black hole and all
over my spam castanets. The feeling of his ectoplasm seeping down my throat got
my shrimp sap flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The
seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his cunt
plunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of
disco stick and love mayonnaise, the cock custard was foaming down my chin and
onto my mosquito bites. The thrusting of my tradesman's entrance was so
vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his battering ram deep in my
chocolate starfish. The unrelenting orgasms from his jade rod pounding my
chamber of squelch made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at
PC World. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of
his bald-headed yogurt slinger made my flange custard drip like someone had
poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. He munched on my vertical garden, even
though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. With his
bald-headed yogurt slinger raiding deep into my cum dumpster, the sensation of
his kebeb skewer smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. I awoke the next
morning with my birth cannon still draining. I thought it was over but his chorizo
howitzer had other ideas. With my piss flaps now much like a blind cobbler's
thumb, he thought it was time to start probing my rusty sherif's badge. Is now
the time to tell him I really need to crown a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered?
By now, my ruby cave was seeping like a slug in a salt mine.