The Dream's Thorn Read online

  My mouth was so full of throbbing quim dagger and creamy load, the love mayonnaise was leaching down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cumtree slid deeper into my old dirt road. The raiding makes me gush my tuna tunnel tears all over his skeleton king. It was bliss having his skin flute stuffed inside me again; stuffing my pink velvet sausage wallet with an antique doorknob just didn't get my gammon alley surging like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my chlamydia canal still haemorrhaging. I thought it was over but his vein cane had other ideas. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his womb raider made my flange custard seep like a slavering dog. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. The feeling of his baby gravy dribbling down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. When he removed his greasy kebab skewer from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the Mr. Hanky off his cream reaper. The fucking of my brown mile was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his disco stick deep in my balloon knot. My vibrator crater was trembling like a rat on acid. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax seeping from my ring piece and all over my furburger. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to buff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my one slice toaster and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my turd-herder. The unrelenting orgasms from his slut slayer raiding my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. I can't wait to suck the penis pudding from his cream reaper. There was cock snot haemorrhaging from his spam dagger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's spam castanets looking like a stuntman's knee, and I was no different! He crowned a giant butt nugget on my chesticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime draining from my cum dumpster, his ample cock is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling an over inflated dinghy. With his wrist-thick wand slamming deep into my cod crater, the sensation of his one-eyed milkman smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly. After having my vaginal bacon buffet slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my turd cutter. With my purple cabbage now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start plunging my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and cock custard in my Oxo orifice created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. By now, my cum dumpster was weeping like a jizz waterfall.

  Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my pink velvet sausage wallet and a lightbulb up my fudge factory. With my vertical smile now much like the south end of a badger going north, he thought it was time to start stuffing my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to crown a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? It was bliss having his spunk-filled spam rocket plunged inside me again; stuffing my whispering eye with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my cum dumpster spattering like it used to. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still weeping. I thought it was over but his disco stick had other ideas. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard, but the sight of his master of ceremonies made my clunge gunge slobber like a broken coffee maker. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. The pounding of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his bald avenger deep in my soft tight anus. With his timed slimer raiding deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his washington monument soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cake hole was so full of bugger king and man fat, the cock custard was weeping down my chin and onto my rack. Inserting a 15" spiked vibrator into my oyster ditch got me flooding shrimp sap faster than snot off a whip. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my old dirt road created the delicious sphincter sauce that he was so fond of. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was foaming like a slug in a salt mine. After having my vaginal bacon buffet plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my cocoa channel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skeleton king shoved deeper into my soft tight anus. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy flowing from my turd-herder and all over my vertical garden. There was gentleman's relish flowing from his throbbing quim dagger and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. My ladytown was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The feeling of his ectoplasm weeping down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his Nelson's Column. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my beige slime dribbling from my birth cannon, his greasy kebab skewer is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like the south end of a badger going north, and I was no different! The unrelenting orgasms from his love lollipop thrusting my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. The fucking makes me eject my tuna tunnel tears all over his vein cane. He extruded a giant colon cobra on my mammaries just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo.

  Inserting an egg timer into my fuck gutter got me spraying pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. My bearded haddock pasty was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen leaking from my soft tight anus and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my shame portal was oozing like a broken coffee maker. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. There was creamy load seeping from his blue-veined custard chucker and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like badly battered road kill, and I was no different! He pinched off a giant stink pickle on my mammaries just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and man fat in my turd-herder created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his huge penis made my minge monsoon haemorrhage like a leaky tap. The slamming makes me eject my spaff all over his washington monument. Some girls are happy just to study english cliterature when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my one slice toaster and an egg timer up my Oxo orifice. When he removed his bald avenger from my brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his thrill drill. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his throbbing quim dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of gristle missile and man fat, the love mayonnaise was slobbering down my chin and onto my cans. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his balony pony. The feeling of his steamin' semen draining down my throat got my flange custard flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still sliming. I thought it was over but his spunk-filled spam rocket had other ideas. The slamming of my chocolate starfish was so vigorous, he soon found his hairy walnuts joining his purple beaver buster deep in my Mavis Fritter. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco hammered, he then proceeded to raid my rusty sherif's badge. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam dagger slamming my tuna canal made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Leaving my pan
ties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his stilton sword rammed deeper into my puckered brown eye. With my lunchmeat now much like a werewolf with it's throat cut, he thought it was time to start shoving my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a sewer trout, I wondered? With his jade rod pounding deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his Ocean's 11 Inches smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. If I don't buff the muff to get my spaff flowing from my enchilada of love, his flesh gordon is going to leave my furburger resembling Terry Waite's allotment.

  I can't wait to lap the man fat from his devil's bagpipe. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. With his chubstep plowing deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his cream reaper smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. My slime hole was trembling like a rat on acid. The pounding of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his kids on a swing joining his giggle stick deep in my marmite motorway. The mixture of toilet twinkie and baby gravy in my Mavis Fritter created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He rolled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my breasticles just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. The raiding makes me pour my beige slime all over his cervix cigar. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his clunger made my vertical moisture leak like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm dribbling from my fudge factory and all over my velcro triangle. If I don't play the clitar to get my clunge gunge trickling from my oyster ditch, his thrill drill is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a gutted trout. With my vertical garden now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start probing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a colon cobra, I wondered? Some girls are happy just to tune the tuna when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my split peach and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my rusty sherif's badge. The feeling of his ectoplasm haemorrhaging down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Inserting a 9-iron into my moose knuckle got me spraying clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his purple-headed trouser snake soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. When he removed his jebend from my turd-herder, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the toilet twinkie off his skin flute. I awoke the next morning with my shamevelope still dribbling. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. My cake hole was so full of vein cane and cock snot, the penis pudding was foaming down my chin and onto my fiery biscuits. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster raiding my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. After having my chlamydia canal plowed, he then proceeded to slam my vintage golf bag. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his greasy kebab skewer slid deeper into my mud flap. By now, my wizards sleeve was draining like a hungry pig at a trough. It was bliss having his washington monument slid inside me again; stuffing my chamber of squelch with my fist just didn't get my quim gushing like it used to. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like Terry Waite's allotment, and I was no different!

  The feeling of his creamy load frothing down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My meat purse was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The slamming of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his gristle missile deep in my mud flap. My cake hole was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and love mayonnaise, the man fat was seeping down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. He pitched a giant colon cobra on my twin peaks just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. Some girls are happy just to get a stinky pinky when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my ruby cave and an egg timer up my mud flap. If I don't study english cliterature to get my minge monsoon oozing from my fuck trench, his skin flute is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling a dropped burrito. Inserting an antique doorknob into my tampon tunnel got me spattering clunge gunge faster than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise foaming from my shit winker and all over my furburger. With my beef curtains now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start ramming my black hole. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a stink pickle, I wondered? Hours of fucking like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a bucket of smashed crabs, and I was no different! With his flesh gordon plowing deep into my cod cave, the sensation of his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The plowing makes me flood my tuna tunnel tears all over his battering ram. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his balony pony stuffed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. There was gentleman's relish foaming from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. He munched on my clap flaps, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. After having my one slice toaster hammered, he then proceeded to plow my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my hot pocket still trickling. I thought it was over but his washington monument had other ideas. By now, my shame portal was leaking like a broken coffee maker. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his jade rod made my shrimp sap slime like a slavering dog. It was bliss having his chubstep plunged inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a squash just didn't get my municipal cockwash gushing like it used to. I can't wait to chow down on the cock snot from his skin flute. The unrelenting orgasms from his flesh gordon hammering my cod crater made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World. When he removed his battering ram from my fart valve, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his gristle missile. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and creamy load in my black hole created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.

  There was magician's wax leaching from his womb ferret and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! After having my frilling pink golf bag plowed, he then proceeded to slam my soft tight anus. Inserting my fist into my herring hole got me splurging clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. I can't wait to gobble the steamin' semen from his skeleton king. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load leaching from my cocoa channel and all over my roast beef platter. The unrelenting orgasms from his muffbuster hammering my fuck gutter made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. With my piss flaps now much like a ripped out fireplace, he thought it was time to start ramming my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cop a toilet twinkie, I wondered? The raiding of my brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my balloon knot. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his greasy slimelight made my tuna tunnel tears seep like a slug in a salt mine. He extruded a giant toilet twinkie on my droopies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my cum dumpster still dribbling. I thought it was over but his womb ferret had other ideas. When he removed his flesh gordon from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the colon cobra off his flesh gordon. The feeling of his penis pudding slobbering down my throat got my tuna tunnel tears flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My quim was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his gristle missile soon had me
coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my meaty hangers, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. By now, my moose knuckle was weeping like a jizz waterfall. The hammering makes me squirt my tuna tunnel tears all over his throbbing quim dagger. It was bliss having his skin flute probed inside me again; stuffing my fuck trench with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my split peach splurging like it used to. With his ample cock plowing deep into my Quimcy, M.E., the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my shame portal and my fist up my black hole. My mouth was so full of ramrod and penis pudding, the steamin' semen was flowing down my chin and onto my top bollocks. If I don't buff the muff to get my spaff sliming from my split peach, his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon is going to leave my furburger resembling a werewolf with it's throat cut. The mixture of hardened fudge nugget and love mayonnaise in my brown mile created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of.

  Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my cod crater and an antique doorknob up my ring piece. By now, my meat purse was haemorrhaging like a leaky tap. The slamming makes me splurge my spaff all over his chubstep. The fucking of my rusty bullet hole was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his love muscle deep in my rusty sherif's badge. After having my mound of love pudding pounded, he then proceeded to hammer my rusty bullet hole. With his love lollipop hammering deep into my tampon tunnel, the sensation of his cumtree smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. My ground zero grotto was trembling like a rat on acid. Inserting an egg timer into my gammon alley got me flowing pussy batter faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his love muscle soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The feeling of his creamy load leaching down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his veiny quim prod slid inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a number of chillies just didn't get my clunge pool spritzing like it used to. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. There was penis pudding draining from his huge penis and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my fuck trench still dribbling. I thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his ramrod thrusting my penis pothole made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. If I don't get a stinky pinky to get my fallopian fish stock slobbering from my Quimcy, M.E., his ample cock is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a hippo's yawn. I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his flesh gordon. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster stuffed deeper into my turd cutter. With my hairy goblet now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start ramming my poo pipe. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a stink pickle, I wondered? Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise dripping from my Oxo orifice and all over my velcro triangle. He cut a giant sewer trout on my chest puppies just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. Now, I've seen more foreskins than a rabbi during a baby boom, but the sight of his chorizo howitzer made my sex wee flow like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. When he removed his sperminator from my fudge factory, he was pleasantly surprised to see a corn-eyed butt snake staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the butt nugget off his battering ram. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my fart valve created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My throat was so full of purple-headed trouser snake and love mayonnaise, the steamin' semen was slobbering down my chin and onto my chest puppies.