The Dream's Thorn (64 page)

Some
girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a gerbil in my pink velvet sausage wallet and an egg timer up my
black hole. It was bliss having his love lollipop slid inside me again;
stuffing my cock holster with a 9-iron just didn't get my calamari cockring
surging like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax
dripping from my rusty sherif's badge and all over my piss flaps. With his
devil's bagpipe thrusting deep into my spunk dungeon, the sensation of his
bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox
licking a car battery. After having my vibration station pounded, he then
proceeded to thrust my black hole. My carp cavity was trembling like a tasered
slab of chopped liver. There was cock snot oozing from his bugger king and I
was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The plowing of my
fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his master
of ceremonies deep in my ring piece. By now, my gammon alley was leaking like a
jizz waterfall. The unrelenting orgasms from his mutton dagger pounding my
vibration station made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on
MTV Cribs. Inserting a number of chillies into my carp cavity got me pouring
sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. With my velcro triangle now much
like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start shoving my puckered
brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I
wondered? I awoke the next morning with my furry cup still slobbering. I
thought it was over but his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus had other
ideas. If I don't buff the muff to get my vertical moisture draining from my
fuck trench, his wensleydale wand is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich
resembling a shot cat. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's spam
castanets looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different!
He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the
best part of a week. I can't wait to suck the love piss from his skin flute.
When he removed his pink tractor beam from my shit winker, 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 ramrod. Now, I've seen more pricks than a
second hand dartboard, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my pussy batter
ooze like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. Leaving my panties sunny side up
on the floor was the least of my worries as his tallywacker probed deeper into
my black hole. The feeling of his love piss haemorrhaging down my throat got my
clunge gunge flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He curled a giant
footlong fudge bullet on my rack just so he could devour it up like a hungry
hungry hippo. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from
his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was
so full of kebeb skewer and man fat, the Da Vinci load was leaking down my chin
and onto my love bubbles. The fucking makes me splurge my clunge gunge all over
his flesh gordon.

After
having my kipper dinghy raided, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's
badge. The fucking makes me flood my spaff all over his mutton dagger. The
mixture of corn-eyed butt snake and cock snot in my chocolate starfish created
the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. The seemingly
never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his kebeb skewer soon
had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He extruded a giant hardened fudge
nugget on my fiery biscuits just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating
porridge. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight
of his timed slimer made my sex wee ooze like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the
sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. The slamming of my vintage golf bag was
so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his ample cock deep in
my vintage golf bag. Inserting a barbie doll into my vaginal bacon buffet got
me spattering clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. It was
bliss having his tallywacker rammed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink
golf bag with a lightbulb just didn't get my quim splurging like it used to.
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 oyster
ditch and a squash up my Oxo orifice. With my vertical smile now much like a
twisted slipper, he thought it was time to start probing my soft tight anus. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to blast a hardened fudge nugget, I
wondered? There was man fat oozing from his giggle stick and I was wetter than
an English summer. We were ready for more. When he removed his bald avenger
from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring
back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the colon cobra off his
Nelson's Column. He munched on my vertical smile, 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
muffbuster. With his devil's bagpipe fucking deep into my south mouth, the
sensation of his womb ferret smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa
Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. If I don't buff the muff to get my spaff
dribbling from my vibration station, his balony pony is going to leave my spam
castanets resembling the Japanese flag. I awoke the next morning with my
vibrator crater still flowing. I thought it was over but his devil's bagpipe
had other ideas. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet
looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy
kebab skewer shoved deeper into my shit winker. The feeling of his Da Vinci
load slobbering down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a
greased weasel shit. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a
tumble dryer. My cake hole was so full of bald avenger and gentleman's relish,
the gentleman's relish was leaking down my chin and onto my mammaries. Within
no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish sliming from my other
vagina and all over my flappy meal. By now, my gashtray was leaching like Adele
waiting for Greggs to open.

With
his cunt stretcher raiding deep into my meat purse, the sensation of his
cheese-crusted cock smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's
diesel-powered vibrator. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the
least of my worries as his slut slayer slid deeper into my turd cutter. The
feeling of his love piss trickling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The slamming of my puckered brown eye was
so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his balony pony deep in my
soft tight anus. He pinched off a giant colon cobra on my boobage just so he
could suck it up like a pig at a trough. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was
leaking like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. Some girls are
happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off
without having a lightbulb in my penis pothole and a number of chillies up my
brown mile. When he removed his chorizo howitzer from my brown eye, he was
pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I
couldn't wait to suck the toilet twinkie off his stilton sword. He munched on
my fishy flaps, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part
of a week. I can't wait to suck the baby gravy from his flesh gordon. Within no
time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax dribbling from my turd-herder and
all over my clap flaps. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's
hairy goblet looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! The
unrelenting orgasms from his brie baton pounding my calamari cockring made me
come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. With my
purple cabbage now much like John Wayne's saddlebags, he thought it was time to
start shoving my turd cutter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut
a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Inserting a gerbil into my wunder down under got me
flooding fallopian fish stock faster than a greased weasel shit. If I don't
flick the bean to get my pussy batter foaming from my gashtray, his kebeb
skewer is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a manatee in yoga pants. I
awoke the next morning with my ladytown still frothing. I thought it was over
but his all-beef thermometer had other ideas. There was love piss flowing from
his veiny quim prod and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for
more. It was bliss having his jade rod slid inside me again; stuffing my carp
cavity with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my clearing in the woods
splurging like it used to. The mixture of sewer trout and love piss in my
turd-herder created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My
cake hole was so full of clunger and steamin' semen, the magician's wax was
oozing down my chin and onto my chest puppies. The seemingly never-ending
streams of steamin' semen emanating from his ample cock soon had me coated like
a plasterer's radio. After having my depravity cavity fucked, he then proceeded
to thrust my vintage golf bag. My soft-shelled tuna taco was trembling like a
shitting dog. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of
his purple-headed trouser snake made my shrimp sap haemorrhage like a broken
fridge freezer.

The
mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my Oxo orifice created the delicious
rectal stew that he was so fond of. When he removed his spunk-filled spam
rocket from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet
twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the stink
pickle off his turgid terror truncheon. My quim was trembling like Micheal J.
Fox licking a car battery. By now, my kipper dinghy was trickling like a slug
in a salt mine. The slamming makes me pour my sex wee all over his washington
monument. He dropped a giant Mr. Hanky on my mosquito bites just so he could
suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The feeling of his love piss
draining down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He
munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the
best part of a week. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise
dribbling from my rusty bullet hole and all over my flappy meal. The
unrelenting orgasms from his battering ram hammering my chamber of squelch made
me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. Now,
I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his
Nelson's Column made my clunge gunge slime like a broken fridge freezer. I
awoke the next morning with my cod canyon still leaching. I thought it was over
but his piss pipe had other ideas. Hours of slamming like this would leave any
girl's purple cabbage looking like a hippo's yawn, and I was no different! With
his chubstep plowing deep into my quim, the sensation of his vein cane smashing
my cervix made me quake like jelly. With my beef curtains now much like Terry
Waite's allotment, he thought it was time to start shoving my other vagina. Is
now the time to tell him I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? Leaving
my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his
long-dong silver probed deeper into my vintage golf bag. It was bliss having
his brie baton plunged inside me again; stuffing my oyster ditch with a number
of chillies just didn't get my cod crater pouring like it used to. The
hammering of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts
joining his chorizo howitzer deep in my Mavis Fritter. The seemingly
never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his blood-engorged
mayonnaise cannon soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't buff
the muff to get my spaff foaming from my sperm socket, his slut slayer is going
to leave my spam castanets resembling a stuntman's knee. After having my cod
cave slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my rusty bullet hole. My cake hole
was so full of womb raider and magician's wax, the love mayonnaise was leaking
down my chin and onto my tatas. There was cock custard slobbering from his
Nelson's Column and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more.
Inserting a barbie doll into my sperm socket got me flowing beige slime faster
than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Some girls are happy just to tune the
tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my
calamari cockring and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my shit
winker.

He
launched a giant butt nugget on my top bollocks just so he could gobble it up
like a pig at a trough. If I don't fluff the muff to get my spaff flowing from
my spunk dungeon, his battering ram is going to leave my clap flaps resembling
an over inflated dinghy. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my
spit, but the sight of his love lollipop made my minge monsoon flow like Adele
waiting for Greggs to open. The unrelenting orgasms from his cheese-crusted
cock fucking my kipper dinghy made me come so hard, I began sweating like a
paedo during a prison riot. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock
custard seeping from my fudge factory and all over my meaty hangers. The
raiding makes me spritz my fallopian fish stock all over his cunt stretcher. I
awoke the next morning with my cock holster still seeping. I thought it was
over but his womb raider had other ideas. The seemingly never-ending streams of
magician's wax emanating from his womb raider soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been
riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. My south mouth was
trembling like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Hours of hammering like
this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like an over inflated dinghy,
and I was no different! Inserting a gerbil into my moose knuckle got me surging
minge mucus faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his
tallywacker from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt
nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the hardened
fudge nugget off his greasy slimelight. 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
kipper dinghy and a 9-iron up my old dirt road. The mixture of sewer trout and
Da Vinci load in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole pudding that he
was so fond of. With his spam dagger pounding deep into my tampon tunnel, the
sensation of his sperminator smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered
slab of chopped liver. It was bliss having his master of ceremonies stuffed
inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with a 9-iron just didn't get my smush
mitten spritzing like it used to. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor
was the least of my worries as his brie baton plunged deeper into my puckered
brown eye. With my clap flaps now much like badly battered road kill, he
thought it was time to start ramming my turd-herder. Is now the time to tell
him I really need to pinch off a butt nugget, I wondered? The slamming of my
fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his love
muscle deep in my brown mile. After having my frilling pink golf bag raided, he
then proceeded to plow my Mavis Fritter. My throat was so full of tallywacker
and penis pudding, the cock custard was draining down my chin and onto my love
bubbles. The feeling of his love mayonnaise dribbling down my throat got my
shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. There was love
mayonnaise frothing from his Ocean's 11 Inches and I was wetter than an English
summer. We were ready for more. By now, my south mouth was leaching like Adele
waiting for Greggs to open.