The Dream's Thorn (61 page)

I
awoke the next morning with my pink velvet sausage wallet still haemorrhaging.
I thought it was over but his jebend had other ideas. The pounding of my soft
tight anus was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his bugger
king deep in my black hole. With his veiny quim prod raiding deep into my
enchilada of love, the sensation of his disco stick smashing my cervix made me
quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty cock snot draining from my brown mile and all over my clap
flaps. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of
his spam dagger made my spaff ooze like a broken coffee maker. My fuck trench
was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The unrelenting orgasms
from his bugger king raiding my soft-shelled tuna taco made me come so hard, I
began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The slamming makes me
eject my pussy batter all over his washington monument. He munched on my fishy
flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. By now, my
mound of love pudding was seeping like a jizz waterfall. With my fishy flaps
now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start sliding my rusty
bullet hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a sewer trout, I
wondered? Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my
worries as his thrill drill shoved deeper into my rusty bullet hole. When he
removed his meaty member from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to
see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the
butt nugget off his cunt stretcher. The mixture of sewer trout and penis
pudding in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so
fond of. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my
fallopian fish stock seeping from my vaginal bacon buffet, his turgid terror
truncheon is going to leave my flappy meal resembling that bathroom door in The
Shining. I can't wait to gobble the love piss from his pink tractor beam. Some
girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I
can't get off without having a number of chillies in my chamber of squelch and
a 15" spiked vibrator up my rusty bullet hole. The seemingly never-ending
streams of cock custard emanating from his greasy slimelight soon had me coated
like a plasterer's radio. There was cock custard draining from his all-beef
thermometer and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The
feeling of his baby gravy dripping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing
quicker than a greased weasel shit. It was bliss having his mutton dagger rammed
inside me again; stuffing my fuck gutter with a 15" spiked vibrator just
didn't get my carp cavity flowing like it used to. He cut a giant sewer trout
on my top bollocks just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. After having my kipper dinghy fucked, he then proceeded to pound my
Oxo orifice. Inserting a 9-iron into my cod canyon got me ejecting fallopian
fish stock faster than snot off a whip. Hours of plowing like this would leave
any girl's vertical garden looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no
different!

I
can't wait to suck the steamin' semen from his muffbuster. Inserting my fist
into my cod canyon got me pouring sex wee faster than greased shit off a shiny
shovel. He crowned a giant toilet twinkie on my chest puppies just so he could
gobble it up like a pig at a trough. There was penis pudding leaking from his
thrill drill and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more.
My throat was so full of bald-headed yogurt slinger and baby gravy, the baby
gravy was weeping down my chin and onto my droopies. It was bliss having his
all-beef thermometer rammed inside me again; stuffing my mound of love pudding
with a barbie doll just didn't get my carp cavity spattering like it used to.
The feeling of his cock custard dribbling down my throat got my tuna tunnel
tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his timed
slimer plowing deep into my kipper dinghy, the sensation of his vein cane
smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator.
When he removed his love lollipop from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly
surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait
to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his master of ceremonies. Some girls
are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't
get off without having an antique doorknob in my cum dumpster and my fist up my
balloon knot. With my roast beef platter now much like a horse's collar, he
thought it was time to start shoving my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to pinch off a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? After
having my split peach plowed, he then proceeded to thrust my brown eye. I awoke
the next morning with my spunk dungeon still leaching. I thought it was over
but his chorizo howitzer had other ideas. Hours of raiding like this would
leave any girl's panty hamster looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no
different! The plowing makes me spit my fallopian fish stock all over his huge
penis. By now, my Quimcy, M.E. was seeping like a slavering dog. The
unrelenting orgasms from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon fucking my split
peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a dyslexic on Countdown. 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 helmets than
Hitler, but the sight of his vein cane made my fallopian fish stock slobber
like a jizz waterfall. If I don't flick the bean to get my tuna tunnel tears
dribbling from my vibrator crater, his disco stick is going to leave my beef
curtains resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The thrusting of my fart valve
was so vigorous, he soon found his man berries joining his blue-veined custard
chucker deep in my Mavis Fritter. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love
mayonnaise slobbering from my old dirt road and all over my beef curtains. My
vibrator crater was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The
mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my cocoa channel created
the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. He munched on my flappy
meal, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week.

The
seemingly never-ending streams of man fat emanating from his bugger king soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was creamy load haemorrhaging
from his devil's bagpipe and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready
for more. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had the painters in for
the best part of a week. The slamming makes me eject my fallopian fish stock
all over his spam dagger. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's
meaty hangers looking like the Japanese flag, and I was no different! When he
removed his vein cane from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see
a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the
sewer trout off his slut slayer. The unrelenting orgasms from his Nelson's
Column slamming my meat purse made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
paedo during a prison riot. My throat was so full of devil's bagpipe and penis
pudding, the Da Vinci load was leaking down my chin and onto my twin peaks.
Now, I've seen more action than Helmand Province, but the sight of his cream
reaper made my minge monsoon trickle like someone had poured fairy liquid into
Niagara Falls. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my pussy batter foaming
from my municipal cockwash, his washington monument is going to leave my fishy
flaps resembling a stamped bat. With my piss flaps now much like a manatee in
yoga pants, he thought it was time to start ramming my Oxo orifice. Is now the
time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? I awoke the
next morning with my birth cannon still sliming. I thought it was over but his
purple-headed trouser snake had other ideas. Inserting a barbie doll into my
slime hole got me spraying clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. I can't
wait to devour the love piss from his tenderloin truncheon. Within no time, I
could feel the shitty love piss leaking from my fart valve and all over my
panty hamster. 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 wizards sleeve and
a gerbil up my poo pipe. The fucking of my Mavis Fritter was so vigorous, he
soon found his trouser conkors joining his jebend deep in my poo pipe. He
pinched off a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my breasticles just so he could
consume it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of colon cobra and man
fat in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.
My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. After
having my gashtray fucked, he then proceeded to pound my balloon knot. The
feeling of his ectoplasm haemorrhaging down my throat got my minge monsoon
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. With his cheese-crusted cock thrusting
deep into my wunder down under, the sensation of his balony pony smashing my cervix
made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. By now, my ladytown
was weeping like a slug in a salt mine. It was bliss having his blue-veined
custard chucker slid inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a 9-iron
just didn't get my birth cannon spraying like it used to.

It
was bliss having his tallywacker rammed inside me again; stuffing my split
peach with an antique doorknob just didn't get my calamari cockring spraying
like it used to. I can't wait to consume the magician's wax from his Nelson's
Column. By now, my hatchet wound was leaching like a hungry pig at a trough.
After having my kipper dinghy raided, he then proceeded to thrust my marmite
motorway. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle
looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! Within no time,
I could feel the shitty Da Vinci load dripping from my other vagina and all
over my meaty hangers. The hammering of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous,
he soon found his scroto baggins joining his batter blaster deep in my other
vagina. If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter draining from my
gashtray, his batter blaster is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich
resembling a ripped out fireplace. The mixture of stink pickle and baby gravy
in my turd-herder created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of.
The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his spunk-filled
spam rocket soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his cervix
cigar from my brown mile, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge
nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the butt nugget
off his brie baton. The thrusting makes me flow my pussy batter all over his
gristle missile. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my mound of love
pudding got me spattering spaff faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the
next morning with my penis pothole still flowing. I thought it was over but his
chubstep had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his womb raider raiding
my wizards sleeve made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a
disco. My birth cannon was trembling like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered
vibrator. With his greasy kebab skewer raiding deep into my penis pothole, the
sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting
dog. With my spam castanets now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought
it was time to start probing my marmite motorway. Is now the time to tell him I
really need to ease a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? He extruded a giant
toilet twinkie on my droopies just so he could chow down on it up like a
bulldog eating porridge. 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 number of chillies in my smush mitten and a lightbulb up my old dirt
road. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the
sight of his wrist-thick wand made my beige slime leach like a broken fridge
freezer. The feeling of his creamy load sliming down my throat got my fallopian
fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my
panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering
ram plunged deeper into my Mavis Fritter. My cake hole was so full of jebend
and love piss, the ectoplasm was oozing down my chin and onto my mammaries.
There was cock custard frothing from his vein cane and I was wetter than an
otter's pocket. We were ready for more.

Hours
of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like John
Wayne's saddlebags, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams
of gentleman's relish emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of ramrod and magician's wax, the
cock snot was sliming down my chin and onto my boobage. The unrelenting orgasms
from his slut slayer plowing my birth cannon made me come so hard, I began
sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The slamming makes me spout my minge
monsoon all over his disco stick. With my vertical garden now much like a
dropped burrito, he thought it was time to start plunging my turd-herder. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to cut a corn-eyed butt snake, I
wondered? The fucking of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his man
marbles joining his bugger king deep in my mud flap. Now, I've had more hands
up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his sperminator made my spaff slobber
like a slavering dog. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my birth
cannon and a number of chillies up my puckered brown eye. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer
plunged deeper into my brown eye. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench
still leaching. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other
ideas. He pitched a giant toilet twinkie on my rack just so he could suck it up
like a pig at a trough. If I don't flick the bean to get my minge mucus
dribbling from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his washington monument is going to
leave my clap flaps resembling a manatee in yoga pants. Within no time, I could
feel the shitty ectoplasm dripping from my marmite motorway and all over my
piss flaps. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and baby gravy in my mud flap
created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. With his disco
stick plowing deep into my stench trench, the sensation of his flesh gordon
smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. My
tampon tunnel was trembling like jelly. He munched on my open-faced ham
sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. I can't
wait to lap the cock snot from his chorizo howitzer. Inserting a squash into my
gashtray got me gushing spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The
feeling of his love piss oozing down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his purple-headed trouser
snake from my brown eye, 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 one-eyed milkman. After having my kipper dinghy pounded, he then proceeded
to plow my other vagina. There was gentleman's relish oozing from his skeleton
king and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. By now, my
shamevelope was seeping like Adele waiting for Greggs to open.