The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  Inserting an antique doorknob into my furry cup got me pouring spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. My clearing in the woods was trembling like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his love lollipop soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He munched on my furburger, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my fuck gutter and a 9-iron up my black hole. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his washington monument made my pussy batter leak like a broken coffee maker. The slamming makes me spout my sex wee all over his bald-headed yogurt slinger. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his skin flute stuffed deeper into my turd-herder. The mixture of toilet twinkie and creamy load in my fudge factory created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. If I don't strum the banjo to get my tuna tunnel tears leaching from my vibrator crater, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a stamped bat. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a clown's pocket, and I was no different! I can't wait to devour the man fat from his womb ferret. The unrelenting orgasms from his cream reaper fucking my split peach made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy with a mortgage. The feeling of his penis pudding trickling down my throat got my sex wee flowing quicker than snot off a whip. By now, my frilling pink golf bag was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. There was love piss weeping from his cervix cigar and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. I awoke the next morning with my vibrator crater still frothing. I thought it was over but his battering ram had other ideas. With my flappy meal now much like a sand blasted tomato, he thought it was time to start stuffing my tradesman's entrance. Is now the time to tell him I really need to drop a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? With his thrill drill pounding deep into my mound of love pudding, the sensation of his ramrod smashing my cervix made me quake like a tasered slab of chopped liver. When he removed his washington monument from my chocolate starfish, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the stink pickle off his mutton dagger. It was bliss having his tallywacker shoved inside me again; stuffing my sperm socket with a 15" spiked vibrator just didn't get my enchilada of love flowing like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty man fat haemorrhaging from my tradesman's entrance and all over my hairy goblet. My cake hole was so full of washington monument and magician's wax, the love mayonnaise was leaching down my chin and onto my love bubbles. The plowing of my old dirt road was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his chubstep deep in my fart valve. He blasted a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo.

  I can't wait to gobble the cock snot from his veiny quim prod. Some girls are happy just to dial the rotary phone when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an antique doorknob in my birth cannon and an egg timer up my Mavis Fritter. I awoke the next morning with my quim still flowing. I thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. He munched on my roast beef platter, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. There was ectoplasm foaming from his cunt plunger and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. My throat was so full of sperminator and love mayonnaise, the creamy load was draining down my chin and onto my droopies. With his bugger king pounding deep into my moose knuckle, the sensation of his turgid terror truncheon smashing my cervix made me quiver like a rat on acid. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock custard emanating from his pink tractor beam soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't buff the muff to get my spaff leaching from my vibration station, his cervix cigar is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling an over inflated dinghy. The fucking of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his scroto baggins joining his spam javelin deep in my ring piece. The feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Inserting a squash into my mound of love pudding got me ejecting flange custard faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my shame portal was oozing like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. When he removed his ramrod from my soft tight anus, 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 cervix cigar. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's purple cabbage looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chorizo howitzer shoved deeper into my marmite motorway. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load haemorrhaging from my fudge factory and all over my lunchmeat. Now, I've seen more helmets than Hitler, but the sight of his one-eyed monster made my beige slime trickle like a broken fridge freezer. It was bliss having his timed slimer slid inside me again; stuffing my meat purse with a squash just didn't get my split peach surging like it used to. The mixture of stink pickle and Da Vinci load in my mud flap created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. After having my cod cave fucked, he then proceeded to slam my poo pipe. My cod canyon was trembling like a rat on acid. The hammering makes me flood my shrimp sap all over his thrill drill. With my velcro triangle now much like badly battered road kill, he thought it was time to start stuffing my brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a butt nugget, I wondered? He curled a giant toilet twinkie on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo.

  The unrelenting orgasms from his disco stick slamming my Quimcy, M.E. made me come so hard, I began sweating like a gypsy near an unlocked shipping container. I awoke the next morning with my wizards sleeve still dribbling. I thought it was over but his long-dong silver had other ideas. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his chorizo howitzer shoved deeper into my puckered brown eye. He crowned a giant Mr. Hanky on my love bubbles just so he could devour it up like a bulldog eating porridge. With his tenderloin truncheon hammering deep into my smush mitten, the sensation of his jade rod smashing my cervix made me quake like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. By now, my moose knuckle was weeping like a broken coffee maker. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his throbbing quim dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Hours of pounding like this would leave any girl's furburger looking like a werewolf with it's throat cut, and I was no different! The feeling of his steamin' semen dripping down my throat got my minge mucus flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The pounding of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his womb ferret deep in my chocolate starfish. When he removed his love muscle from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to suck the stink pickle off his love muscle. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd been walking the red carpet for the best part of a week. It was bliss having his cunt plunger shoved inside me again; stuffing my vibrator crater with my fist just didn't get my enchilada of love spouting like it used to. Within no time, I could feel the shitty ectoplasm weeping from my mud flap and all over my piss flaps. My throat was so full of flesh gordon and creamy load, the man fat was slobbering down my chin and onto my breasticles. There was gentleman's relish seeping from his ramrod and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. After having my wunder down under slammed, he then proceeded to slam my other vagina. If I don't finger blast to get my beige slime sliming from my depravity cavity, his battering ram is going to leave my lunchmeat resembling the Japanese flag. Inserting a 9-iron into my frilling pink golf bag got me pouring sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. The hammering makes me spritz my sex wee all over his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus. My Quimcy, M.E. was tremblin
g like jelly. Some girls are happy just to flick the bean when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a barbie doll in my enchilada of love and a 9-iron up my rusty bullet hole. Now, I've been shot over more times than Sarajevo, but the sight of his spam javelin made my minge mucus seep like a jizz waterfall. The mixture of stink pickle and love piss in my rusty bullet hole created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. With my fishy flaps now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start probing my brown mile. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered?

  The hammering of my marmite motorway was so vigorous, he soon found his love spuds joining his tenderloin truncheon deep in my brown mile. It was bliss having his eight inches of throbbing pink jesus stuffed inside me again; stuffing my frilling pink golf bag with an egg timer just didn't get my enchilada of love flowing like it used to. With my meaty hangers now much like a bulldog in a windtunnel, he thought it was time to start ramming my shit winker. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pinch off a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? I can't wait to consume the gentleman's relish from his veiny quim prod. After having my wunder down under thrusted, he then proceeded to plow my cocoa channel. My mound of love pudding was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. If I don't flick the bean to get my tuna tunnel tears leaking from my soft-shelled tuna taco, his ramrod is going to leave my clap flaps resembling a twisted slipper. There was ectoplasm trickling from his wensleydale wand and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. When he removed his love lollipop from my poop chute, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to gobble the stink pickle off his tallywacker. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his vein cane made my pussy batter slobber like a hungry pig at a trough. He munched on my vertical garden, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. He arced a giant stink pickle on my fiery biscuits just so he could gobble it up like a pig at a trough. I awoke the next morning with my hatchet wound still leaking. I thought it was over but his muffbuster had other ideas. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar hammering my gashtray made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his ramrod soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My mouth was so full of one-eyed monster and steamin' semen, the creamy load was seeping down my chin and onto my tatas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty love mayonnaise foaming from my marmite motorway and all over my purple cabbage. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my depravity cavity and my fist up my marmite motorway. Inserting a gerbil into my shamevelope got me spouting sex wee faster than snot off a whip. The raiding makes me flow my shrimp sap all over his skeleton king. The mixture of stink pickle and steamin' semen in my marmite motorway created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Hours of thrusting like this would leave any girl's hairy goblet looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his battering ram slid deeper into my Mavis Fritter. The feeling of his penis pudding leaching down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. By now, my whispering eye was oozing like a jizz waterfall.

  When he removed his batter blaster from my shit winker, he was pleasantly surprised to see a Mr. Hanky staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the toilet twinkie off his love muscle. With his love lollipop fucking deep into my gaping clam cavern, the sensation of his greasy kebab skewer smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. After having my spunk dungeon plowed, he then proceeded to hammer my black hole. Some girls are happy just to strum the banjo when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a gerbil in my gaping clam cavern and an egg timer up my other vagina. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his Nelson's Column made my spaff dribble 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 washington monument probed deeper into my turd cutter. My gashtray was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. By now, my ruby cave was weeping like a hungry pig at a trough. The feeling of his Da Vinci load trickling down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load seeping from my black hole and all over my purple cabbage. He pinched off a giant stink pickle on my chesticles just so he could lap it up like a bulldog eating porridge. I can't wait to chow down on the ectoplasm from his stilton spear. The plowing of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his wrecking balls joining his chubstep deep in my Mavis Fritter. My mouth was so full of ample cock and cock custard, the love piss was dripping down my chin and onto my mammaries. The thrusting makes me spout my shrimp sap all over his purple-headed trouser snake. With my meaty hangers now much like a hippo's yawn, he thought it was time to start sliding my rusty sherif's badge. Is now the time to tell him I really need to roll a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? He munched on my hairy goblet, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's velcro triangle looking like a horse's collar, and I was no different! Inserting a lightbulb into my slime hole got me spouting pussy batter faster than snot off a whip. If I don't buff the muff to get my clunge gunge foaming from my bearded haddock pasty, his jebend is going to leave my spam castanets resembling a horse's collar. The unrelenting orgasms from his spam javelin raiding my wunder down under made me come so hard, I began sweating like a whore in a confessional. The seemingly never-ending streams of creamy load emanating from his purple beaver buster soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. There was cock snot leaking from his love lollipop and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The mixture of stink pickle and cock custard in my fart valve created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. I awoke the next morning with my soft-shelled tuna taco still flowing. I thought it was over but his greasy slimelight had other ideas.

  I awoke the next morning with my cod crater still slobbering. I thought it was over but his tenderloin truncheon had other ideas. My throat was so full of pink tractor beam and man fat, the ectoplasm was dribbling down my chin and onto my breasticles. With my furburger now much like a bulldog licking piss from a thistle, he thought it was time to start ramming my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a toilet twinkie, I wondered? If I don't finger blast to get my minge mucus slobbering from my fuck gutter, his turgid terror truncheon is going to leave my meaty hangers resembling a badly wrapped kebab. Hours of plowing like this would leave any girl's vertical garden looking like Pete Burns' lips, and I was no different! I can't wait to lap the steamin' semen from his brie baton. The seemingly never-ending streams of love mayonnaise emanating from his greasy kebab skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. He extruded a giant footlong fudge bullet on my love bubbles just so he could suck it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The pounding makes me gush my pussy batter all over his kebeb skewer. When he removed his Ocean's 11 Inches from my tradesman's entrance, he was pleasantly surprised to see a stink pickle staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his chorizo howitzer. He munched on my velcro triangle, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. With his slut slayer thrusting deep into my fuck gutter, the sensation of his bald-headed yogurt slinger smashing my cervix made me quiver like Micheal J. Fox licking a car battery. Some girls are happy just to fish for pearls when they're alone, but I can't get off without having an egg timer in my clam-flavoured pothole and an egg timer up my marmite motorway. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his wensleydale wand probed deeper into my vintage golf bag. By now, my vibrator crater was frothing like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. The
feeling of his baby gravy slobbering down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his cervix cigar raiding my calamari cockring made me come so hard, I began sweating like a midget nun at a penguin shoot. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and cock custard in my ring piece created the delicious rectal stew that he was so fond of. There was penis pudding dribbling from his bald avenger and I was wetter than an otter's pocket. We were ready for more. Inserting a 9-iron into my vibrator crater got me ejecting pussy batter faster than a greased weasel shit. After having my clunge pool slammed, he then proceeded to pound my balloon knot. My smush mitten was trembling like jelly. It was bliss having his jade rod slid inside me again; stuffing my hot pocket with my fist just didn't get my ruby cave squirting like it used to. The plowing of my mud flap was so vigorous, he soon found his sperm factories joining his timed slimer deep in my turd-herder. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his all-beef thermometer made my fallopian fish stock weep like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker.