The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his jade rod made my clunge gunge dribble like a hungry pig at a trough. When he removed his battering ram from my cocoa channel, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the sewer trout off his slut slayer. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his womb ferret plunged deeper into my turd cutter. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had my redwings for the best part of a week. My shame portal was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my ring piece created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. There was love piss seeping from his balony pony and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. I can't wait to gobble the Da Vinci load from his brie baton. The feeling of his cock snot trickling down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. After having my smush mitten fucked, he then proceeded to plow my other vagina. With his gristle missile thrusting deep into my slime hole, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my mound of love pudding still frothing. I thought it was over but his balony pony had other ideas. The hammering of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his Ocean's 11 Inches deep in my mud flap. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser snake slamming my shamevelope made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. The fucking makes me surge my minge mucus all over his greasy kebab skewer. My mouth was so full of ample cock and man fat, the gentleman's relish was oozing down my chin and onto my rack. The seemingly never-ending streams of Da Vinci load emanating from his piss pipe soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having my fist in my gashtray and a lightbulb up my old dirt road. With my clap flaps now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start stuffing my other vagina. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? By now, my moose knuckle was draining like a George Foreman grill. If I don't buff the muff to get my spaff weeping from my gashtray, his washington monument is going to leave my vertical smile resembling a badly wrapped kebab. It was bliss having his veiny quim prod slid inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my slime hole squirting like it used to. He rolled a giant butt nugget on my chest puppies just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Inserting a gerbil into my spunk dungeon got me spritzing shrimp sap faster than a greased weasel shit. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a rabid baboon's arse, and I was no different!

  When he removed his muffbuster from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a butt nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the corn-eyed butt snake off his timed slimer. Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my sperm socket got me spritzing minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The thrusting of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his salty protein grapes joining his one-eyed milkman deep in my chocolate starfish. 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 birth cannon and a gerbil up my old dirt road. With my furburger now much like the Japanese flag, he thought it was time to start probing my balloon knot. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a butt nugget, I wondered? It was bliss having his cheese-crusted cock stuffed inside me again; stuffing my gammon alley with an egg timer just didn't get my bearded haddock pasty flooding like it used to. By now, my stench trench was dribbling like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon shoved deeper into my puckered brown eye. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his battering ram made my shrimp sap leach like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The thrusting makes me spout my tuna tunnel tears all over his batter blaster. The feeling of his Da Vinci load sliming down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. If I don't strum the banjo to get my beige slime frothing from my spunk dungeon, his sperminator is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling badly battered road kill. He pitched a giant sewer trout on my boobage just so he could devour it up like a pig at a trough. Within no time, I could feel the shitty cock custard slobbering from my turd cutter and all over my open-faced ham sandwich. There was gentleman's relish foaming from his disco stick and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a stamped bat, and I was no different! The seemingly never-ending streams of steamin' semen emanating from his veiny quim prod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. After having my fuck gutter slammed, he then proceeded to fuck my balloon knot. My mouth was so full of meaty member and ectoplasm, the ectoplasm was draining down my chin and onto my chesticles. My chlamydia canal was trembling like jelly. I awoke the next morning with my birth cannon still foaming. I thought it was over but his skeleton king had other ideas. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. The mixture of toilet twinkie and love mayonnaise in my brown eye created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his all-beef thermometer. With his sperminator raiding deep into my chlamydia canal, the sensation of his skeleton king smashing my cervix made me quake like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert.

  With his long-dong silver raiding deep into my salmon slit, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quiver like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Some girls are happy just to finger blast when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 15" spiked vibrator in my cum dumpster and a barbie doll up my turd cutter. When he removed his skeleton king from my other vagina, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the footlong fudge bullet off his cream reaper. The mixture of colon cobra and creamy load in my poop chute created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With my flappy meal now much like Brian May's plughole, he thought it was time to start stuffing my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? I can't wait to consume the steamin' semen from his sperminator. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, and I was no different! Inserting a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster into my vibration station got me pouring tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. If I don't play the clitar to get my sex wee leaking from my cod cave, his gristle missile is going to leave my fishy flaps resembling a bucket of smashed crabs. The pounding makes me spray my shrimp sap all over his tenderloin truncheon. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple beaver buster raiding my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a fat slag in a disco. My mouth was so full of Ocean's 11 Inches and Da Vinci load, the Da Vinci load was dripping down my chin and onto my twin peaks. The fucking of my fudge factory was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his clunger deep in my turd cutter. It was bliss having his Nelson's Column stuffed inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a number of chillies just didn't get my clam-flavoured pothole ejecting like it used to. He munched on my flappy meal, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was leaching like Wayne Rooney's dick in an OAP home. My penis pothole was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. I awoke the next morning with my carp cavity still draining. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. He curled a giant butt nugget on my love bubbles just so he could consume it up like a hungry hungry hipp
o. The feeling of his steamin' semen oozing down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his mutton dagger made my tuna tunnel tears slime like a jizz waterfall. After having my vaginal bacon buffet pounded, he then proceeded to slam my rusty sherif's badge. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his long-dong silver soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer stuffed deeper into my chocolate starfish. There was magician's wax dripping from his one-eyed monster and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more.

  The feeling of his love piss flowing down my throat got my vertical moisture flowing quicker than snot off a whip. The thrusting makes me flood my pussy batter all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger. Inserting a 9-iron into my enchilada of love got me flowing minge monsoon faster than snot off a whip. It was bliss having his cream reaper probed inside me again; stuffing my chlamydia canal with a squash just didn't get my gashtray gushing like it used to. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my cod cave and a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster up my chocolate starfish. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like a darts team's goalkeeper, and I was no different! He munched on my fishy flaps, 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 ramrod slid deeper into my rusty bullet hole. I awoke the next morning with my fuck gutter still frothing. I thought it was over but his cumtree had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin thrusting my bearded haddock pasty made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. My throat was so full of jebend and baby gravy, the love mayonnaise was oozing down my chin and onto my chesticles. The plowing of my fart valve was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spunk-filled spam rocket deep in my rusty bullet hole. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise leaking from my soft tight anus and all over my clap flaps. The mixture of toilet twinkie and magician's wax in my other vagina created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. When he removed his blind butler from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the colon cobra off his jebend. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his balony pony soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My depravity cavity was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. He blasted a giant stink pickle on my chesticles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. If I don't flick the bean to get my tuna tunnel tears frothing from my ladytown, his blind butler is going to leave my open-faced ham sandwich resembling an over inflated dinghy. By now, my carp cavity was haemorrhaging like a slug in a salt mine. After having my herring hole slammed, he then proceeded to hammer my tradesman's entrance. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his cervix cigar made my fallopian fish stock foam like a slavering dog. With my piss flaps now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start plunging my fudge factory. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? I can't wait to chow down on the man fat from his tallywacker. With his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus raiding deep into my one slice toaster, the sensation of his bald avenger smashing my cervix made me quiver like jelly.

  Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a lightbulb in my slime hole and a gerbil up my poo pipe. I awoke the next morning with my kipper dinghy still foaming. I thought it was over but his wensleydale wand had other ideas. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd been riding the cotton pony for the best part of a week. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my shrimp sap leaking from my sperm socket, his veiny quim prod is going to leave my vertical garden resembling a dropped burrito. The thrusting of my puckered brown eye was so vigorous, he soon found his family jewels joining his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon deep in my soft tight anus. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his vein cane soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The unrelenting orgasms from his ample cock pounding my vaginal bacon buffet made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin plunged deeper into my old dirt road. I can't wait to chow down on the creamy load from his Ocean's 11 Inches. By now, my calamari cockring was trickling like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. With my piss flaps now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start shoving my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his chubstep made my spaff flow like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. It was bliss having his chubstep slid inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a squash just didn't get my front bum flooding like it used to. After having my wizards sleeve plowed, he then proceeded to fuck my vintage golf bag. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and steamin' semen in my soft tight anus created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. The feeling of his Da Vinci load foaming down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. My Quimcy, M.E. was trembling like jelly. When he removed his greasy slimelight from my Mavis Fritter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a hardened fudge nugget staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his spam javelin. Inserting an antique doorknob into my oyster ditch got me spraying minge monsoon faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He dropped a giant Mr. Hanky on my rack just so he could consume it up like a bulldog eating porridge. The plowing makes me spray my tuna tunnel tears all over his cunt stretcher. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's roast beef platter looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen flowing from my rusty bullet hole and all over my clap flaps. My cake hole was so full of washington monument and creamy load, the cock custard was seeping down my chin and onto my mammaries. With his Ocean's 11 Inches slamming deep into my cock holster, the sensation of his thrill drill smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery.

  Within no time, I could feel the shitty gentleman's relish haemorrhaging from my puckered brown eye and all over my meaty hangers. By now, my stench trench was seeping like a slug in a salt mine. My cake hole was so full of bugger king and cock snot, the magician's wax was oozing down my chin and onto my superdroopers. The mixture of colon cobra and penis pudding in my shit winker created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's vertical smile looking like a bulldog in a windtunnel, 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. My wizards sleeve was trembling like jelly. With his cream reaper raiding deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his tallywacker smashing my cervix made me quake like Vanessa Feltz's diesel-powered vibrator. Inserting a gerbil into my clunge pool got me flowing beige slime faster than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his jebend pounding my carp cavity made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. When he removed his blind butler from my rusty sherif's badge, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the hardened fudge nugget off his battering ram. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my pussy batter seeping from my penis pothole, his cunt plunger is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling badly battered road kill. There was baby gravy dripping from his cream reaper and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. After having my sham
e portal fucked, he then proceeded to slam my marmite motorway. The fucking makes me eject my beige slime all over his pink tractor beam. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his Nelson's Column soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. The raiding of my shit winker was so vigorous, he soon found his two amigos joining his piss pipe deep in my Oxo orifice. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his blind butler probed deeper into my fart valve. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his stilton spear made my vertical moisture seep like a broken coffee maker. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still draining. I thought it was over but his stilton sword had other ideas. The feeling of his ectoplasm trickling down my throat got my shrimp sap flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. I can't wait to lap the ectoplasm from his giggle stick. He pitched a giant Mr. Hanky on my chest puppies just so he could gobble it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With my piss flaps now much like Pete Burns' lips, he thought it was time to start shoving my Oxo orifice. Is now the time to tell him I really need to ease a corn-eyed butt snake, I wondered? It was bliss having his piss pipe shoved inside me again; stuffing my gaping clam cavern with a number of chillies just didn't get my gashtray splurging like it used to.