The Dream's Thorn

by Amy Woods

  There was Da Vinci load slobbering from his jebend and I was wetter than a spastic's chin. We were ready for more. The mixture of footlong fudge bullet and Da Vinci load in my cocoa channel created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his tallywacker shoved inside me again; stuffing my one slice toaster with a barbie doll just didn't get my shame portal splurging like it used to. Hours of slamming like this would leave any girl's meaty hangers looking like that bathroom door in The Shining, and I was no different! He curled a giant Mr. Hanky on my fiery biscuits just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster in my ruby cave and an egg timer up my mud flap. I can't wait to consume the Da Vinci load from his batter blaster. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree hammering my pink velvet sausage wallet made me come so hard, I began sweating like Joseph Fritzel on MTV Cribs. The pounding of my poo pipe was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his brie baton deep in my rusty bullet hole. My mouth was so full of sperminator and baby gravy, the man fat was dribbling down my chin and onto my chesticles. My slime hole was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. With his womb raider thrusting deep into my pink velvet sausage wallet, the sensation of his stilton spear smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his jade rod rammed deeper into my shit winker. Inserting a squash into my furry cup got me spattering sex wee faster than a greased weasel shit. I awoke the next morning with my calamari cockring still sliming. I thought it was over but his spam javelin had other ideas. After having my tuna canal fucked, he then proceeded to pound my puckered brown eye. If I don't fish for pearls to get my vertical moisture leaching from my oyster ditch, his bald avenger is going to leave my panty hamster resembling the south end of a badger going north. He munched on my lunchmeat, even though I'd had Aunt Flo visiting for the best part of a week. By now, my ladytown was weeping like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. When he removed his slut slayer from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to consume the hardened fudge nugget off his purple-headed trouser snake. Within no time, I could feel the shitty baby gravy oozing from my brown mile and all over my purple cabbage. The seemingly never-ending streams of magician's wax emanating from his cunt stretcher soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like a darts team's goalkeeper, he thought it was time to start plunging my Mavis Fritter. Is now the time to tell him I really need to extrude a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his one-eyed milkman made my vertical moisture foam like a rabid dog. The slamming makes me surge my minge monsoon all over his cunt plunger.

  It was bliss having his bugger king shoved inside me again; stuffing my cock holster with a lightbulb just didn't get my wunder down under splurging like it used to. There was love mayonnaise flowing from his master of ceremonies and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. He munched on my fishy flaps, even though I'd been up on bricks for the best part of a week. Now, I've seen more japseyes than an oriental optician, but the sight of his master of ceremonies made my fallopian fish stock foam like a hungry pig at a trough. By now, my penis pothole was leaking like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. The thrusting of my turd cutter was so vigorous, he soon found his man marbles joining his spam javelin deep in my black hole. The unrelenting orgasms from his veiny quim prod thrusting my cod canyon made me come so hard, I began sweating like a white mouse in a tampon factory. When he removed his clunger from my Oxo orifice, he was pleasantly surprised to see a sewer trout staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the footlong fudge bullet off his master of ceremonies. The mixture of sewer trout and cock custard in my other vagina created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. My cake hole was so full of purple beaver buster and ectoplasm, the cock snot was dribbling down my chin and onto my boobage. The feeling of his man fat leaching down my throat got my pussy batter flowing quicker than snot off a whip. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load draining from my other vagina and all over my furburger. Some girls are happy just to audition the finger puppets when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a squash in my clunge pool and a 9-iron up my puckered brown eye. I can't wait to chow down on the baby gravy from his piss pipe. After having my front bum hammered, he then proceeded to slam my shit winker. Inserting a number of chillies into my Quimcy, M.E. got me flowing clunge gunge faster than a greased weasel shit. The seemingly never-ending streams of penis pudding emanating from his blood-engorged mayonnaise cannon 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 blind butler shoved deeper into my turd cutter. If I don't stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion to get my minge monsoon slobbering from my wizards sleeve, his skeleton king is going to leave my beef curtains resembling a manatee in yoga pants. I awoke the next morning with my shame portal still trickling. I thought it was over but his giggle stick had other ideas. He curled a giant colon cobra on my breasticles just so he could consume it up like a pig at a trough. My tampon tunnel was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The raiding makes me squirt my sex wee all over his greasy slimelight. With my roast beef platter now much like a blind cobbler's thumb, he thought it was time to start ramming my fart valve. Is now the time to tell him I really need to blast a footlong fudge bullet, I wondered? Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's flappy meal looking like a motorway pileup, and I was no different!

  I can't wait to suck the gentleman's relish from his ample cock. The seemingly never-ending streams of gentleman's relish emanating from his clunger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. Now, I've had more hands up me than The Muppets, but the sight of his chubstep made my shrimp sap foam like a George Foreman grill. Some girls are happy just to play the clitar when they're alone, but I can't get off without having a number of chillies in my enchilada of love and a barbie doll up my fart valve. Within no time, I could feel the shitty magician's wax seeping from my Mavis Fritter and all over my flappy meal. My throat was so full of stilton spear and ectoplasm, the love mayonnaise was draining down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and penis pudding in my brown eye created the delicious porthole pudding that he was so fond of. It was bliss having his washington monument rammed inside me again; stuffing my split peach with a 10 inch purple battery-operated monster just didn't get my gaping clam cavern ejecting like it used to. The feeling of his baby gravy weeping down my throat got my fallopian fish stock flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. With his flesh gordon pounding deep into my bearded haddock pasty, the sensation of his cunt stretcher smashing my cervix made me quake like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. The pounding of my poop chute was so vigorous, he soon found his jingle-jangle jewellery joining his skin flute deep in my turd-herder. By now, my whispering eye was oozing like a broken fridge freezer. The unrelenting orgasms from his purple-headed trouser snake pounding my gaping clam cavern made me come so hard, I began sweating like a paedo during a prison riot. After having my meat purse pounded, he then proceeded to thrust my fudge factory. My birth cannon was trembling like a tasered slab of chopped liver. Inserting an egg timer into my ruby cave got me spattering spaff faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his batter blaster plunged deeper into my brown eye. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd had the painters in for the best part of a week. If I don't dial the rotary phone to get my beige slime leaching from my shame portal, his cheese-crusted cock is going to leave my flappy meal resembling a hippo's yawn. I awoke the next morning with my spunk dungeon still foaming
. I thought it was over but his turgid terror truncheon had other ideas. With my vertical garden now much like an over inflated dinghy, he thought it was time to start plunging my cocoa channel. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a colon cobra, I wondered? When he removed his throbbing quim dagger from my turd cutter, he was pleasantly surprised to see a toilet twinkie staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to lap the colon cobra off his cream reaper. There was steamin' semen seeping from his womb raider and I was wetter than a bathmaid's elbow. We were ready for more. The pounding makes me splurge my vertical moisture all over his kebeb skewer. He rolled a giant corn-eyed butt snake on my superdroopers just so he could chow down on it up like a bulldog eating porridge.

  I can't wait to suck the love mayonnaise from his wensleydale wand. 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 shamevelope and a lightbulb up my ring piece. The hammering makes me spray my flange custard all over his ample cock. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his vein cane made my fallopian fish stock weep like a slavering dog. It was bliss having his washington monument plunged inside me again; stuffing my depravity cavity with a barbie doll just didn't get my quim spraying like it used to. There was man fat haemorrhaging from his long-dong silver and I was wetter than an Italian cruise ship. We were ready for more. My cake hole was so full of disco stick and love mayonnaise, the man fat was weeping down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. Inserting an antique doorknob into my quim got me gushing clunge gunge faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. The unrelenting orgasms from his bald avenger hammering my cod cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like a pregnant nun. With his kebeb skewer pounding deep into my chamber of squelch, the sensation of his stilton sword smashing my cervix made me quake like jelly. After having my soft-shelled tuna taco slammed, he then proceeded to pound my old dirt road. The feeling of his penis pudding seeping down my throat got my beige slime flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. He extruded a giant sewer trout on my boobage just so he could lap it up like a hungry hungry hippo. The thrusting of my tradesman's entrance was so vigorous, he soon found his trouser conkors joining his ample cock deep in my brown mile. The mixture of stink pickle and man fat in my poop chute created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. With my vertical smile now much like a stuntman's knee, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to arc a Mr. Hanky, I wondered? By now, my meat purse was sliming like a slug in a salt mine. If I don't flick the bean to get my shrimp sap leaching from my furry cup, his womb raider is going to leave my roast beef platter resembling Terry Waite's allotment. I awoke the next morning with my wunder down under still sliming. I thought it was over but his bald avenger had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' semen haemorrhaging from my cocoa channel and all over my piss flaps. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been surfing the crimson tide for the best part of a week. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his timed slimer rammed deeper into my soft tight anus. When he removed his long-dong silver from my balloon knot, he was pleasantly surprised to see a colon cobra staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to chow down on the Mr. Hanky off his giggle stick. The seemingly never-ending streams of ectoplasm emanating from his wensleydale wand soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. My cod crater was trembling like a rat on acid.

  Some girls are happy just to stimulate the genitals through phalangetic motion 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 brown mile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his spam javelin stuffed deeper into my tradesman's entrance. The pounding of my balloon knot was so vigorous, he soon found his clock weights joining his wrist-thick wand deep in my chocolate starfish. The seemingly never-ending streams of baby gravy emanating from his kebeb skewer soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. If I don't fluff the muff to get my pussy batter draining from my hot pocket, his all-beef thermometer is going to leave my beef curtains resembling the south end of a badger going north. The mixture of stink pickle and magician's wax in my chocolate starfish created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. He copped a giant sewer trout on my cans just so he could suck it up like a bulldog eating porridge. My mouth was so full of greasy kebab skewer and cock snot, the love mayonnaise was weeping down my chin and onto my sweater puppies. He munched on my open-faced ham sandwich, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. Hours of raiding like this would leave any girl's piss flaps looking like a gutted trout, and I was no different! With my open-faced ham sandwich now much like that bathroom door in The Shining, he thought it was time to start plunging my puckered brown eye. Is now the time to tell him I really need to pitch a sewer trout, I wondered? Inserting a lightbulb into my cock holster got me spritzing minge monsoon faster than a greased weasel shit. My calamari cockring was trembling like Muhammad Ali on a tumble dryer. By now, my soft-shelled tuna taco was haemorrhaging like Adele waiting for Greggs to open. I can't wait to devour the penis pudding from his pink tractor beam. With his turgid terror truncheon raiding deep into my furry cup, the sensation of his chorizo howitzer smashing my cervix made me quiver like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The slamming makes me pour my spaff all over his muffbuster. When he removed his wrist-thick wand from my puckered brown eye, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the toilet twinkie off his love muscle. Now, I've taken more poundings than the Somme, but the sight of his blue-veined custard chucker made my clunge gunge leach like Augustus Gloop's mouth at the sight of Willy Wonka's chocolate river. I awoke the next morning with my bearded haddock pasty still weeping. I thought it was over but his one-eyed monster had other ideas. Within no time, I could feel the shitty creamy load draining from my fart valve and all over my furburger. It was bliss having his bald avenger probed inside me again; stuffing my ruby cave with a squash just didn't get my wizards sleeve spouting like it used to. There was steamin' semen foaming from his Nelson's Column and I was wetter than an English summer. We were ready for more. The feeling of his love piss leaching down my throat got my minge monsoon flowing quicker than a greased weasel shit. The unrelenting orgasms from his long-dong silver fucking my ground zero grotto made me come so hard, I began sweating like Gary glitter at PC World.

  With his batter blaster thrusting deep into my calamari cockring, the sensation of his blind butler smashing my cervix made me quiver like a shitting dog. The pounding makes me spray my minge monsoon all over his gristle missile. Leaving my panties sunny side up on the floor was the least of my worries as his cunt stretcher stuffed deeper into my chocolate starfish. I can't wait to lap the magician's wax from his purple beaver buster. Inserting a squash into my carp cavity got me surging tuna tunnel tears faster than greased shit off a shiny shovel. He munched on my vertical smile, even though I'd been on the rag for the best part of a week. The pounding of my vintage golf bag was so vigorous, he soon found his chin pounders joining his disco stick deep in my tradesman's entrance. When he removed his slut slayer from my black hole, he was pleasantly surprised to see a footlong fudge bullet staring back as him. He knew I couldn't wait to devour the corn-eyed butt snake off his muffbuster. Now, I've been told the sperm bank will accept my spit, but the sight of his piss pipe made my sex wee flow like there was a midget inside me with a super soaker. With my beef curtains now much like a shot cat, he thought it was time to start ramming my mud flap. Is now the time to tell him I really need to cut a hardened fudge nugget, I wondered? He rolled a giant sewer trout on my mosquito bites just so he could lap it up like a pig at a trough. The mixture of Mr. Hanky and man fat in my poo pipe created the delicious rectoplasm that he was so fond of. Within no time, I could feel the shitty steamin' s
emen haemorrhaging from my cocoa channel and all over my lunchmeat. There was love mayonnaise dribbling from his meaty member and I was wetter than a well diggers arse. We were ready for more. The feeling of his man fat haemorrhaging down my throat got my spaff flowing quicker than greased shit off a shiny shovel. By now, my fuck gutter was leaking like someone had poured fairy liquid into Niagara Falls. 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 lightbulb in my fuck gutter and a gerbil up my rusty bullet hole. Hours of hammering like this would leave any girl's fishy flaps looking like a twisted slipper, and I was no different! I awoke the next morning with my penis pothole still dripping. I thought it was over but his cream reaper had other ideas. My mouth was so full of batter blaster and ectoplasm, the love piss was haemorrhaging down my chin and onto my mosquito bites. The seemingly never-ending streams of cock snot emanating from his spam dagger soon had me coated like a plasterer's radio. It was bliss having his cumtree rammed inside me again; stuffing my clearing in the woods with a 9-iron just didn't get my fuck gutter ejecting like it used to. If I don't play the clitar to get my vertical moisture haemorrhaging from my carp cavity, his stilton spear is going to leave my beef curtains resembling that bathroom door in The Shining. My wunder down under was trembling like an epileptic at a Pink Floyd concert. The unrelenting orgasms from his cumtree raiding my ruby cave made me come so hard, I began sweating like Mike Tyson at a spelling bee.