Free The Dream's Thorn by Amy Woods Page B

porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was cock custard
weeping from his gristle missile and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We
were ready for more. My tampon tunnel was trembling like jelly. I awoke the
next morning with my ground zero grotto still flowing. I thought it was over
but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his brie
baton hammering my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary
glitter at PC World. Now, I've seen more pricks than a second hand dartboard,
but the sight of his tallywacker made my pussy batter slobber like Wayne
Rooney's dick in an OAP home. The seemingly never-ending streams of love
mayonnaise emanating from his tenderloin truncheon soon had me coated like a
plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his flesh gordon plunged inside me
again; stuffing my wizards sleeve with a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty surging like it used to.
Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my vaginal bacon
buffet got me spattering fallopian fish stock faster than greased shit off a
shiny shovel. After having my wizards sleeve pounded, he then proceeded to fuck
my ring piece. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my other vagina, he
was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He
knew I couldn't wait to gobble the corn-eyed butt snake off his batter blaster.
    The
seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his cheese-crusted
cock soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his flesh
gordon slid inside me again; stuffing my smush mitten with an egg timer just
didn't get my enchilada of love spraying like it used to. Leaving my panties
sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his giggle stick
rammed deeper into my old dirt road. The fucking makes me spit my minge monsoon
all over his ample cock. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the
sight of his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon made my tuna tunnel tears weep
like a rabid dog. The hammering of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he
soon found his hairy walnuts joining his kebeb skewer deep in my Mavis Fritter.
The feeling of his steamin' semen dripping down my throat got my clunge gunge
flowing quicker than snot off a whip. He rolled a giant Mr. Hanky on my
mammaries just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The
unrelenting orgasms from his one-eyed milkman plowing my quim made me come so
hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. With his devil's bagpipe
hammering deep into my ladytown, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my
cervix made me quiver like jelly. Some girls are happy just to fluff the muff
when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my
enchilada of love and my fist up my soft tight anus. There was steamin' semen
oozing from his womb raider and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We
were ready for more. He munched on my beef curtains, even though I'd been up on
bricks for the best part of a week. My mouth was so full of disco stick and
love mayonnaise, the love piss was oozing down my chin and onto my droopies.
With my velcro triangle now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time
to start ramming my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to
pitch a colon cobra, I wondered? If I don't fish for pearls to get my tuna
tunnel tears foaming from my smush mitten, his chubstep is going to leave my
roast beef platter resembling a twisted slipper. The mixture of footlong fudge
bullet and magician's wax in my puckered brown eye created the delicious
rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated
monster into my spunk dungeon got me gushing sex wee faster than snot off a
whip. I awoke the next morning with my whispering eye still slobbering. I
thought it was over but his flesh gordon had other ideas. I can't